Day Fourty-Two, One-Oh-Four AM

The object of my affection.

IN ALL ACTUALITY it's already the 29th of May. But through the magic of sleep, it's still just the 28th in my world. 21 hours or so before Kristen arrives home from her big trip. Back to our life together! It will be nice to have her home. Only one thing stands between me and her now:

Cleaning the house.

Better get off to bed then!

-F

Day Fourty-One, Eleven Twenty PM

AND SIX WEEKS winds down to an end. Only about 48 hours now til Kristen is home! I'm excited to see her and touch her finally. In retrospect, it went fast, but at times it was painfully slow and she was far away. But now very soon, she'll be here.

The hectic work schedule is winding down to an end, and will soon be over. I can't wait. I'm exhausted. But made some cash and once again, rent is in the bank before it's due. Been a good year from that retrospect.

That's it for now. I leave you with a self-portrait from work today...

-F

Days Thirty-Eight, Nine and Fourty, Twelve-Oh-Five AM

Chatsworth. Outside, slightly windy... And we replicated what we did in studio.

ITS NEARLY OVER. The long stretch of days that is. Classic example of why in this industry, you never count your eggs before they're hatched. Or discount them, as may be more appropriate in this case...

Booked to work the 25 & 26th of May, I got called to work the 27th. I said yes, knowing I would get paid early on the first of June. I figured I wouldn't work the 25th and 26th, I hadn't been contacted. There were rumours of the crew having contacts in LA they might use, so I safely opted to take the 27th full well knowing I could clean house for Kristen's arrival on the 29th on my off days.

Wrong.

Not only booking the aforementioned days, I also added the 24th to the same gig. Well, it's all over now. Delightful crew, talented people and another fashion superstar to add to my belt. The man who rebirthed Dior turns out to be a amazing artist and photographer as well. If he wasn't so nice, and so inspirational, I might become depressed... but walking away, he's quite the gentleman, and an accomplished photographer too.

He posts some of what he does here; soon perhaps what we did will appear there as well? In any case, it was a joy to see someone so talented work on such a great project. Lucky bastard!

-F

Day Thirty-Seven, Eight Fourty PM

Downtown at a rainy dusk, May 23rd, 2008

JUST A QUICK little post to highlight an enjoyable evening. An evening that capped a crazy day of shuffling jobs, paperwork, estimates and billing. The kind of stuff that bogs you down and makes you heart pound with the stress of getting it done.

The finish line was making it out to El Segundo in time to meet my father-in-law for dinner. Just the two of us, at the bar. A few drinks, dinner, and conversation. He's a good man, who raised an exceptional daughter. He's also talented at what he does- and a good storyteller. In short, it was a good night.

Coming home, I was struck by how sometimes, when you let go of the lifetime accounting columns, you realize you have it pretty good. Sure, maybe not all the things you wanted to do by now are done, but all in all, life is beautiful.

Wrapped in that warm thought, with the stereo playing Phoenix, I drove home. I even indulged my inner photographer- and illegally took the car pool ramp onto the 110 north to take in the sweeping vistas of central city, wrapped in the unseasonal rainy skies. Nothing like risking a $271 fine for a good view...

-F

Day Thirty-Two, Twelve-Nineteen AM

The Drive... but faster. Only the clouds stay the same.

ALBUQUERQUE COMING DOWN. We had accomplished all our trip would let us. John and I set out to shoot the Durango Train one last time early in the am- we captured what we could and drifted back downgrade to Durango and the last ride home.

Scott likes the Snacks.

It was a classical roadtrip in all the senses possible: Miles to travel (too far), snacks to have (too many) and a random stop on the highway (Continental Divide... which side are we on?). And, finally a rough train ride to home. I think the images best honor the travels...

In Bloomfield NM, a clerk is still wondering why I took this photo. So am I .

In the end, no one wanted to get into the car. Not to leave, anyway.

Scott, looking into the Rio Grande (East) Drainage. We think.

No more pictures, please. Oh, and this is the West drainage. To the Colorado?

Moonrise, Amtrak style.

Yeah, we're not driving but I'm bored!

The end of the Trip, The end of the Day.

-F

Day Thirty-One, Ten-Oh-Seven PM

Is it the sun or the safety yellow making him squint?

SATURDAY WAS THE come-down day. We had traveled thousands of miles (at least a thousand anyway) to pay respects to the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge RR, and now it was over. We woke up lazily and went looking for breakfast burritos. John's craving hadn't subsided.

A few wrong names and directions later, we settled on a decent Mexican joint called Nyarit. Not a bad choice after all. Breakfast / lunch accomplished we set out to climb over Molas pass on US-550 and wander about northeast of Silverton.

Dan on the drill. Drill, Dan, Drill.

We had seen in the ubiquitous pamphlets at every hotel a working mine exhibit called "Old Hundred". Maybe I should be more clear: the mine made more money for the construction workers than the owners. Not much ore was pulled out, but they built such an impressive facility it made an easy switch to running tours with working machinery. As for a "working" mine, it hadn't been mined since the 1970's.

Your very own Old Hundred tour. In 13 seconds.

Our guide Dan was a 17 year veteran miner of the San Juan Mountains. He knew all the gear in the mine, and how it worked. Less interested in the inner working of the compressed air rock drill, I wanted to sit down with Dan and pepper him with questions of what it was like to work 10, 12 hours underground. But I didn't have the chance.

Paydirt!

The tour was fascinating, but quick. We wandered back into the daylight and tried our hands at gold panning from the trough out front. Salted heavily with silver pellets, it wasn't hard to feel like an old hand. We became so engrossed that one of us managed to expel air from his derriere. We'll mention no names but I'm pretty Sure the people panning Just to our right know who iT was.

Panning for solder pellets is fun.

Finally we quit the Old Hundred and headed back towards town. At the juncture in the road we took one last drive northeasterly. A Porcupine stopped the car (John wanted to shoot a photo) and we all tumbled out near a stream. The water drew our attention, and Scott cast the first stones. First hundred probably. As the sun slipped behind the ridge, we worked feverishly at damming the creek.

Dambuilders.

The creek won out, aided by the sun. It was getting late. We turned around for Durango, and eventually, home. The trip was coming to an end.

-F

Day Thirty, Ten Twenty-Three PM

"Thru the San Juans, not around them."

WE CAUGHT ABOUT the last bar open on a Thursday night in Durango to have a well deserved beer and dinner. My sleeves and pants were still covered in the mud from being stuck; my finger nails we stained rust red. No matter! We had a more important discussion at hand: when to ride the Durango and Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad.

Scott returning to the Silver Vista in Silverton. Note see-through roof.

Fighting off a will to sleep in after our ordeal, we decided to ride the next day after all, leaving our last full day to relax and wander. But the best decision we made that night was to pay a bit more to ride a first-class car: the Silver Vista.

Good times, good times.

Two things you should know: Glass roof, and snacks. We climbed aboard Friday and spent the next 6 hours staring at the gorgeous scenery of the Animas River gorge. This ride was why we came to Colorado, and it was worth it 100%. Ask for Bob, and even indulge in a drink or two. You won't regret it.

480 starts out the 8am trip, May 16th, 2008

-F

Day Twenty-Nine, Seven Fifty-Four PM

Rand McNally Sucker Map: The State of Entrapment.

"ARE YOU PLANNING on leaving the state?"

"Yes, to Colorado."

"Great. Are you planning on using all state highways in New Mexico?"

"Probably."

"And will you be traveling on any unpaved roadways in your underpowered Dodge Magnum Wagon?"

"Absolutely."

"Fine, fine, just sign here Mr. Terry and we'll get you on you way. Thanks for using Enterprise."

So maybe that isn't how it went, but perhaps in the future the State of New Mexico should reconsider granting state highway designations to unpaved roadways. But in retrospect, it lead to an interesting afternoon of high adventure...

Scott, Fat Man. Bradbury Science Museum.

We left Albuquerque about 10am in a steady rain. They were calling for snow in the higher elevations above 7500 ft but that wasn't a problem, accumulations would be light. Off we went with Scott on the map, John as co-pilot and me driving. After one detour (a mountain road marked "other road" by Rand McNally, but not "dirt road" as it accurately was) we arrived in Los Alamos and toured the museum.

We pulled out of Los Alamos in a light rain. Crossing into the lab area, we cut through to NM State Highway 4 and climbed higher. Fresh snow closed in, heavy in the trees. The road was wet but not slippery, and the views of the Valdez Caldera were breathtaking.

We dropped down the road to the intersection of Hwy 4 and 126. There was a warning of 13 miles of road on 126 that was "impassible" during winter. Not a surprise, they don't plow some roads in the mountains of LA in winter too. And it was mid-May, cold or not. We ventured on. A few miles down the pavement ended- NM DOT was working on a section of the road (presumably to pave it?). We followed the posted detour; it was a smaller road but we soon popped back onto NM-126 a mile ahead.

The road was still fine- broad, well drained and only slightly muddy. We cruised passed some cabins with people out playing in the light snow & rain, the first sign of life in a while. We all concluded that the "impassible winter road" was completely passible and kept on.

Climbing toward the divide we expected to cross before our final descent to the town of Cuba and NM-550, the road started getting mushy. I kept light on the gas, stayed out of the ditches on either side, and breathed a sigh of relief to see the snow on the road. It firmed up the mushy road wonderfully. Over the top, the mud came back, and I shifted into low and went slow. It was getting slippery in a big way.

As we dropped down, we came around the bend and into... Meadows. Damn. Natures own little sumps, a land of piss poor drainage. I looked at John with a conspiratorial glance. John had more driving experience in shitty conditions, and I was glad to give him the wheel.

No matter. We made it another mile before it caught us.

John and I had stayed "on the bubble" for at least 7 miles. That is, on the crown of the road, keeping the weight of the car from falling to one side (and stuck) in the now slippery-as-ice mud. But the perfect off-camber road surface did us in. The back end of the heavy Magnum slid over and bogged down. We were stuck. Any attempt a brute forcing it out was going to put us in the the drainage ditch with no chance of salvation.

We piled out and into the mud. Shoes stuck to the clay-like red goop. John sized it up, and then asked aloud: " Ok, any flat sticks or wood lying around?" Scott started looking. I began mentally sizing up the hike back to the last known humans- seven sticky rainy snowy miles back. And even so, would a tow truck make it in? As these thoughts flashed through my head we got down to business of harvesting anything the forest could spare us.

Several sticks, a push and a shove later, we went forward 8 feet. We had about 5 miles to go to get back to what might be pavement. More sticks, more digging with hands in the cold mud, 8 more feet. Rebuild, repeat. We advanced 3 times for 25 feet: only 26,375 feet to go. The rain began to pickup, and seemed to get colder.

Before my eyes, Scott turned into a delicious looking chicken drumstick, and John... a burger.

Shaking such Donner Party thoughts out of my head, we scavenged farther afield and Scott brought back more sticks, and I found a pile of cut trees willing to part with large sheets of bark. We laid out sticks and "paved" long stretches for both tires- 10 feet out from each of the four wheels. Minus appreciable tools, we built a road that would do the Army Corps of Engineers proud.

John began rocking it slowly. Scott and I pushed in time with each rock. The wheels of the Dodge were blocked solid with mud. The wheel wells, the floor boards, the undercarriage, all sticky with mud that wouldn't break loose from your boots with a stick, much less the tires of the car. But we had done something else this time: we realized the mud was a saturated layer 3 inches deep. We scraped long troughs for the tires that went down to the firm layer below.

The silver Magnum started to slowly move forward. The crab to the left side started to disappear. Scott and I had to jog to keep pushing forward but it was moving, moving. After one and one half hours, we were free! John stayed on it until we got onto a higher, dryer ridge slightly down the road.

Spirits quickly sank when we saw a Ford Expedition come sliding towards us with as much difficulty as were were having- but in 4 wheel drive. Not able to pass safely, we waited for him to come by. He brought tales of worse road ahead, and since he had a tow strap, we began to thing of following him back up the hill the way we came. Longer. Uphill. We gingerly turned around and started up behind this helpful soul. That's when the UPS truck came around the bend, sliding.

You can't make shit like this up.

Now it was rescue by committee. Our friend in the Expedition convinced the UPS driver to turn around, too. UPS man started out and barely made it up the first small rise. Nothing like the hill ahead, and his spinning tires grooved the road with deep ruts that would make it harder for our piss poor two wheel drive to follow.

Survivors!

That was it. Instinct took over and we 3 agreed instantly: down was shorter, and the only option. Expedition man bid us safe journey, doubtingly, but gave us his tow rope. We exchanged phone numbers for possible rescue once one of us reached phone service.

Last Ounce of Water: Note the Dirty Thumb Nail.

We slipped and slided our way down the road, with thankfully little uphill, and a touch of better road now and again. John masterfully "kept it on the bubble". Minus a scary moment sliding slowly toward a drop off embankment 30ft high, we moved slowly and steadily forward. Our UPS escort followed close behind, his dually rear wheels helping him float a bit above the muck that had bogged us down.

Wheels of Muck.

6 miles later, we crossed a creek bridge and rolled onto a paved road. We had suffered a 3 hour delay taking "the direct route" but had triumphed! After 15 minutes of trying to scrape our boots clean, we got back on the road to Durango.

Showing the Signs of the Effort.

The lesson here is: Don't drive NM State Highways after rain in a rental, and if Rand McNally calls your road a "other through highway" don't buy into it. It's a crock.

Two Hours from Durango: Bloomfield Sunset.

All of which are good rules to follow. Unless you want to have a good time!

-F

Postscript: The friendly Expedition driver kindly sent a truck with rescue gear after us an hour after we parted ways, and 30 min before we hit cell service. He could be out there yet. Godspeed, lad, Godspeed.

Day Twenty-Eight, Eight Twenty Eight AM

The delightful Fireside Cabins: screw "The Springs"!

MORNING CAME LAZILY to our cozy little cabin on the on the San Juan River. We assembled our stuff, showered and finally headed out in search of breakfast in the mid morning. John was feeling a hankering for a good breakfast burrito so we consulted the local dining guide we got the previous night from the hotel.

We stumbled onto the Flying Burrito by chance. As we drove to another possibility, John spotted the ad so we decided to go for it. Far south of the main drag (far is relative in the Springs) we found it: a little trailer perched on the hill. It looked promising!! Good Mexican trailer food. That is until we stepped up to order. The hosts were plain old white girls, and John's burrito was made the night before. And seriously, it was more like a taquito in size. We ate the not completely appalling food, but it wasn't real Mexican either.

John ponders his toy burrito.

Finished with that we headed for Chama, New Mexico. The western end, and the headquarters for the Cumbres and Toltec Scenic Railroad. Opening day was fast upon them: May 24th. Not a steamed up loco in sight so we contented ourselves to walking around the resting equipment. Soon we bored of that and headed for lunch. And our final destination, Albuquerque Skyport to pick up Scott.

The rough texture of a 60 year old wooden gondola.

Tank car, brakestaff, clouds.

Still standing, still working. Chama's water tank.

4 hours later we dropped through Santa Fe. Chama had few food options. The burrito scare kept us from being experimental. Espanola had a few more, Santa Fe offered nothing we wanted... But we had seen a place that we both had a craving for. I'll leave the name out but suffice it to say it starts with a W and ends with a Schnitzel. Best of all there was one near our hotel.

If you consider 10 miles away near.

We trekked and found our chosen lunch spot. After dodging the rain for several days, a squall finally caught us at lunch. At a lunch that was all outdoor with no shelter. We hid as best we could and ran to the car with our food.

It was all over after that. Back to the hotel to nap, send photos of us in the room to Scott ("tell john to stop humping my pillow") and wait for his plane. Buy 12 that night we were home and crashing, ready for the next day: Los Alamos Labs, and finally, Durango.

Missing you! Or, don't focus so hard on the viewfinder you forget you're also taking a self portrait.

-F

Day Twenty-Seven, Seven Seventeen PM

Taos Pueblo. UN Heritage Site # 492 of 851.

IF THIS IS Tuesday, it must be Antonito. Or Alamosa. Or possibly Pagosa Springs, but I do know where we started: Taos.

Sun halos behind the spires. San Francisco de Asis Church, Taos.

After sleeping in past the complimentary breakfast at the Sagebrush Inn (see day Twenty Six's post), John and I set out to find breakfast. Well, breakfast with a detour. I had seen a familiar face from the highway; the face of an Ansel Adams photo. It started off as a quick stop but soon expanded into a mini photo session of the building. Finally we packed it in and went to eat.

Ansel Adams had it easier. Although this angle is more like Paul Strand's photo.

After briefly considering a Lotaburger breakfast, we ended up at a local Mexican breakfast joint that was excellent. Finishing up, we looked at the map and decided to head north to the Taos Pueblo.

John, burrito, Nikon manual.

Taos Pueblo was beautiful, but more interesting was the fact that the Indians (Native Americans?) have figured out they've been giving away their distinctive image for free for far too long. Not only was it $10 to enter the Pueblo, but it was $5 to shoot photos. We paid disgruntledly, but soon had no regrets as John and I merrily snapped our way through the whole place.

Taos Pueblo Door Study.

Finally we tired and headed northwest towards the underling drive of this trip: trains. We headed out west crossing over the Rio Grande on a high bridge. A bridge that shook like a bastard for every truck that passed, a fact we found out while standing in the middle of the center over a 400 foot drop. We retreated back to the car where I contemplated trading our rental for this tight van (down by the river).

P-p-p-pimpin' Van. Tight.

We caught up to the ghosts of the Chili Line, the Denver and Rio Grande Western's line to Santa Fe. It's long gone (torn up post WWII) but some things remain rotting in the New Mexican sun. And something a bit more alive: the Cumbres and Toltec Scenic Railroad.

Even the ties remain... Sixty-Seven years after the last train ran.

Driving in from the high desert- which was neither sunny nor warm this day (downright cold even) -we came to the 3 foot rails of the C&TSRR in Antonito. With nothing running, we snapped pics and ran. The wind is cold in Antonito...

Fires not yet lit, C&TSRR 488 patiently waits the start of the season.

Oil tank cars: the blood that kept the Cumbres line alive long past it's time.

We finished our circular route to Pagosa Springs by going north to Alamosa (the McDonalds cheeseburger has nothing on a Lotaburger) then west, then south through Wolf Creek Pass to Pagosa.

Not a lota burger.

We fished about for a hotel, and lucked out with another cabin with a fireplace. Two for two. Dinner was uneventful (and bad, my meal at least) so we returned to our cozy cabin and crashed out... Tomorrow would be a big day: More trains and back to Albuquerque to pick up Scott.

Bless the Lord for processed foods.

Oh yeah. Almost forgot. John had the worlds most perfect ice cream cookie sandwich for dessert.

-F

Day Twenty-Six, Nine-Oh-One PM

Fireside with John and Frank. Won't you join us?

ALBUQUERQUE. SAY THAT three times fast. Or twenty five times. Or maybe a hundred. I could of because by the time the finally got our rental car, we could have walked to Santa Fe. Not the fastest service ever for Enterprise. But we finally got a silver Dodge Magnum wagon (sweet ride... and oh so cheesy) and got the hell out of town.

One bad Mexican restaurant (recommended by everyone and about as authentic as Fuddruckers) and 2 hours later, we dropped down into on Taos, New Mexico. We drove about town looking for a place to stay for the night. We drove all the way to Taos Valley Ski Resort. Nowhere to stay that didn't look like a horror film waiting to happen, so we returned into town.

Sagebrush Inn, Ca 1920's. Now that's old-timey.

We re-surveyed our previous choices. Looking for something cabin like, John felt confident on the Sagebrush Inn. Apparently it's been around for a while (note historical photo above from the 1920's), but we got a great place with two rooms, two beds and one fireplace. We booked the room and ran off to eat.

Lotaburger Feast.

Lotaburger. Not just a statement of an amount of food, also a fun funky burger joint nestled into the trees north of Taos proper. Not on the art walk or the crystal hippy tours, but damn good. We were starving after our marginal lunch and did it up with fries AND onion rings. Mmmmmm good.

Now that's a tasty fry!

The namesake LOTA.

We closed out the night by trying to torch the hotel. The wood they bring you is about twice as big as the fireplace. Daunting? John and I found this no problem, and soon flames roared up the chimney while we quietly hoped it was well built (see picture at top of post). It heated the room so well we had to open the door. Soon though, the fire died down safely and we both turned in for the night.

-F

Day Twenty-Five, Eight Twenty-Three PM

IN HONESTY, THIS is written from the future. So jump into the way back machine, as we travel back, back, all the way back to mother's day, May 11th, 2008.

On time arrival for the Southwest Chief. 8:29PM on the dot!

After packing all night I staggered out of the house one hour late and proceeded to hammer thru LA getting all the last of my stuff done. You see, after properly celebrating mother's day, I start a big adventure of my own: a road trip with John and Scott around New Mexico and Colorado.

Loaded and ready to go.

In deference of gas prices, and of boredom of driving that far, we decided to ride Amtrak to Albuquerque (via the Southwest Chief) and then off to Colorado, etc, by rental car. So at eight PM on Sunday night, John and I stood on the platform at San Bernardino waiting for the evening's train. Like clockwork it arrived, and we climbed on.

Pulling out of Needles, CA, 2:00 AM.

Two things became readily apparent: 1) Amtrak might as well not have a website. Other than to hold a spot on a train, the train crew has no idea if you'd paid or not. There's a distinct possibility I may have paid for 4 tickets, not 2. Clever. And 2) the railroad is a bit of a freak freighter. But in the end, John and I survived the drunk guy (who was so wasted on the train we both thought he was mentally retarded) and the pretzel guy (The what? Imagine snacking on a back of pretzels in a room full of sleeping people. Like thunder.) and jumped off in Albuquerque. Delirious from not enough sleep we set out on our adventure.

Looking a little groggy, near Gallup NM.

-F