We are heading east on U.S. 60 in the direction of Superior, AZ. Picketpost Mountain looms on the horizon. Mike Valle is driving the motorcycle; your humble correspondent rides shotgun.
Category: Photographs
A Good Time to Swim the Tiber
More shots of Rome here.
At the Hermitage
Grateful to Live in Arizona
I've lived in Hawaii, Santa Barbara, Boston, and the Midwest, not to mention other places in the USA and abroad: Salzburg, Austria, Freiburg, Germany, and Ankara, Turkey. No place beats Arizona, all things considered. That is a mighty subjective judgment, to be sure, but if a blogger cannot vent his subjectivity, who can?
For one thing, Arizona is in the West and we all know that the West is the best, far, far away from the effete and epicene East, lousy with liberals, and the high taxes they love; but not so far West as to be on the Left Coast where there was once and is no more a great and golden state, California. Geographical chauvinism aside, there is beauty everywhere, even in California, when you abstract from the political and economic and social malaise wrought by destructive leftists, the majestic Sierra Nevada, for example, the Range of Light (John Muir). Herewith, an amateur shot of the the Sedona red rock country:
I Introduce Two New Friends to the Superstition Mountains
One of the great boons of blogging is that the blogger attracts the like-minded. Below are two medical doctors I had the great pleasure of spending the day with in a satisfying break from my Bradleyan reclusivity. Dave K. found me via this weblog and initiated correspondence, so I knew he would be simpatico. I didn't know about his wife, Barbara C. , but she turned out also to be a member of the Coalition of the Sane, a Trump supporter, and one charming lady of Italian extraction.
Halcyon October in the Western Superstitions
Photo credit: Barbara Caffaratti
Train Bound for Nowhere
Theme music: Kenny Rogers, The Gambler
The Open Road from the Cockpit of a Jeep Wrangler
Theme music: Eagles, Take it Easy
Parker Pass, Western Superstitions, March 2019
Peripatetic Philosophy in the Western Superstitions
Dale Tuggy and I explored some new trails in a four and one half hour ramble out of the Cloudview Trailhead, 30 March 2019. Weather exquisite, companionship excellent, conversation both deep and wide-ranging. Physical condition at the end: righteously tuckered and ready for re-hydration. In a word, beer.
Prandial and Post-Prandial Pleasures
With Brian B. and Mike V. at Los Locos Gringos, my favorite local Mexican eatery. There is nothing better than a good meal and good conversation with like-minded friends. After Mike sped away on his iron horse, Brian and I spent the rest of the afternoon playing chess at Gecko Espresso. Mike, on the right, is one sharp-dressed man these days. Me? I am still of the '60s sartorially speaking.
Snow on Superstition Mountain
On the Dutchman’s Trail to Parker Pass
My e-mail to Jeff and Dennis:
Weather forecast looks favorable. The Sage of the Superstitions will take you boys on a pussy cat hike and introduce you to Parker Pass. I don't believe you two have been out this way. Out and back, 4. 6 miles. Little elevation change, but a number of creek crossings. If we feel like it we can explore an unmarked side trail.Sunrise at 7:06. Please be at my house at 6:30. No hike if rain.
Weather proved more than favorable. Cold but clear after a few days of rain. Distant ridges flecked with snow. Ethereal wisps of cloud wreathed some peaks. Streams running strong; one even babbled in a language indecipherable. Numerous stream crossings tested our agility. Not too much mud and dreck, just enough to add interest and texture. The hike commenced at the First Water trailhead at 7:15 AM. A leisurely climb brought us to the pass at the stroke of 9:00. A half-hour at the pass for coffee and snacks, and then we mosied on down, making it back to the Jeep at 10:45. I calculated our pace to be about 1 and 1/2 miles per hour. Nothing to crow about, of course, but not bad for old men in rugged country.
Access road in very good shape despite all the rain. Didn't even need the four-wheel drive, but used it anyway to give it some exercise and keep the fluids viscous and happy.
Kerouac in Scollay Square
Beatific October, Kerouac month hereabouts, is at its sad redbrick end once again and it is time for me to stop the hyper-romantic Jacking off. From On the Road:
Kerouac Alley
A Northern California reader sends this photo of a street scene in the vicinity of City Lights Bookstore, San Francisco. I made a 'pilgrimage' to Lawrence Ferlinghetti's famous bookstore in the early '70s. That was before the Kerouac street sign was up.
Some of Ferlinghetti's poetry can be read here. To my surprise, Ferlinghetti is still alive at 99. By contrast, old Kerouac quit the mortal coil and "the slaving meat wheel" at age 47. He is, we hope, "safe in heaven, dead."