West

The West Spanish Peak, pictured and nearby Le Vita Inn, is the higher of the two Spanish Peaks, two large igneous stocks which form an eastern outlier of the Culebra Range, a subrange of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Though not a fourteener, it is the twelfth most topographically prominent peak in the state.

Due to its position well east of the Culebra Range and on the edge of the eastern plains of Colorado, West Spanish Peak enjoys great local vertical relief in almost all directions. For example, it rises over 5,200 ft (1,585 m) in less than 4 miles on both its north and south flanks.

While the Spanish Peaks have the appearance of volcanic cones, they are actually stocks, remnants of an igneous batholith which formed underground around 25 million years ago. They are surrounded by radiating dikes, up to 14 miles long, made of the same material. This feature makes is unique and draws geologists from around the world. It ain't a bad place to spend some time.

Poodle

I take an enthusiastic Eitan for a power-walk this morning, 0705h. The girls sleep (Sonnet set her watch alarm for 6AM to run but didn't happen).

I go to Frenchs Barbershop in Walsenberg while the kids at the water slides. Inside I ask the barber for the usual "number three" which, Dear Reader, any fellow will tell you is the number-three blade on an electric shaver. It is generally understood that such ratings are the same throughout the world. When I go to The Turks in Richmond I get the same cut each time - number three - and every time it is exactly the same. Number three. I have been chopped in Mayfair - number three - same. Tony's in Berkeley - same. Rockefeller Centre - same. In Colorado, however, The Three equals a razor shave and boy do I get it. The kids instantly crack up after reading my expression ("is dad pissed?" I can almost hear them think). Sonnet soothes: "Don't worry honey. It will grow back." And then worried: "when is your next meeting?" I tell Eitan he is lucky as By God the boy needs a haircut. We giggle that I look like a "French poodle, dad." Great.

Colorado Sunset

Here is fishing pond at 7,500 feet, facing due-west.

Sonnet and I discuss Jon Edwards or rather, I give her my opinion and she listens. What is it with these middle aged men and their dicks? Women, it would seem to me, have different requirements from a relationship over time. They want love and validation in many various ways which is not necessarily sexual- in fact, I might suggest that this drive declines. Men, on the other hand, view middle-age as the last chance for a final hurrah. For youth itself. Many freak out and I ask the inevitable question: is this inevitable? What happens when something new presents itself following perhaps years of monogamy? Edwards, Clinton and just about every rock star I can think of provide an answer - balls in! There are two ways to avoid the temptation's nature: stay away from it and share it. With your partner. When it happens - as it will. It is when the communication stops that trouble begins. Luckily for us, I cannot not tell Sonnet everything which (indeed I appreciate) drives her crazy. But I think it also makes her feel loved, and needed. So on balance it is pretty good for both of us.

Strangely at a restaurant, Eitan orders soup for dinner. Madeleine orders a BLT - she had the same for lunch. If left to their devices, both kids would eat Fruit Loops until their end.

I am definately missing Michael Phelps. The Olympics pretty boring this second week, though Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh's gold in the beach volley-ball exciting. So is Jamaica Bolt's double WR in the 100 and 200m which is equally impressive to Phelps eight (well, not really). Jamaica Bolt could not have come at a better time for the sport, which seems as doped as the Tour de France. Marrion Jones really killed it for me - I trusted her skill, speed, poise and beauty and it turns out she was a Balco client who lied smiling. What a fraud. Of course the worst was likely Florence Griffith Joyner who in Seoul in '88 ran 10.49 in the 100m. Drugged up Marrion Jones clocked a 10.65 in '98 and nobody comes closer. Flo-Jo died age 39 and while she never tested positive her untimely death adds suspicion.

Nugget and Honey

We stop by Bill and Martine's ranch and the horses gallop up to say "hello." The creatures give Madeleine a big sniff and I am certain they remember her. For Madeleine's part she is not shy- feeding them straw and grass and murmuring quietly to them. Bill gives her a few pellets and reminds us how to stroke the horse to make them feel comfortable. They are beautiful, well cared for animals. Both kids thrill to ride them.

We stay at the La Vita Inn which has not change a bit since last time - in fact, we are in the same room. There is a cozy bar and after dinner I head their to finish my wine and watch some Olympics. Madeleine stops by the check out the scene - me and other, ahem, alcoholics drinking Manhattans or whatever - and I of course tell her she is not allowed. Before my message actioned the bar-tender insists Madeleine stay: "I am co-owner of this joint" she says, and promptly serves Madeleine a fruit punch cocktail. This much to Madeleine's delight, no doubt. I get into some low-grade trouble when Madeleine bursts into our room (it is well past 9PM bedtime) announcing loudly: "I just had a drink at the bar!" Later, after the angels asleep, Sonnet suggests "a bar might not be appropriate for a six year old." Oh vey.

Spanish Mountains III

We see an old friend.

We visit a National Forrest Office to get a stamp for Madeleine's stamp-book. Alas, the National Forrest is not a National Park and so no imprint. Oh well. The ranger gives us a few good trail heads and notes that bears have been in nearby La Veta (the kids give each a worried check: hiking?!). I learn a few things about a bear: if spotted, do not run (this triggers their chase instinct); avoid eye-contact and talk softly to reassure the bear that no harm meant. Try to show no fear. I tell Madeleine if she runs, she must run faster then Eitan which elicits an ar-ar from the city-wise kids: is this the best dad can come up with? We have been in the US well over a month - family style, Dear Reader, fa-ma-lee style. I am able to get away with this thanks to mobile technology - my phone and Blackberry never off while our hotels have wi-fi. It is a mixed blessing: I can be with everybody while still getting stuff done yet being always-connected means it is hard to shut off. Even for an afternoon (though alcohol helps). Despite this aggravation the balance is well worth it. I would rather be here than an office. And I'm not going back to a bazillion emails.

How rich is rich, I wonder? McCain thinks $5,000,000 a year. Interesting as the per capita is about 40 grande. Property records reviewed by The Associated Press give McCain and Cindy at least eight homes: A ranch and two condos in Arizona; three condos in Coronado, Calif.; a condo in La Jolla, Calif.; and another in Arlington, Va. The number of houses is a bit trickier to determine since the ranch has at least four houses and a two-story cabin on it. Not a bad trade-up for the man. Not bad at all.

Barber Shop

We plan our full day around the Walsenberg Water Slides and the kids press their faces against the car window to better see the yellow, red and blue tubes as we near the park. But calamity! Despite the perfect day - hot and blue skies - the park closed despite the hours: "10AM to 7PM, Seven Days A Week From Memorial Day to Labour Day." Rest assured it is 10:01AM when we arrive. Hope fades by noon and a grounds keeper tells us the the closure may be the result of school, which started today and stolen our life guards. It is a bust and the Little Shakespeares devastated and grumpy, taking out their irritation on each other and on us.

We stroll the Walsenburg High Street and have lunch at a caf complete with booths and a Formica counter, where we sit. The chairs green Naugahyde and well-worn, as they should be since this place has been here at least 40 years. The best part is the signage: "Alpine Rose Cafe" complete with over-sized light-bulbed arrow pointing to the inside (light-bulbs long dead). There are Denver Broncos schedules dating back to at least the early '90s and a signed John Elway poster: "To Rose," he writes smiling. Despite a few busy tables, there is one waitress and I ask her if she has help. "Yea" she replies "she's over at the court-house." Sonnet anticipates disaster and I'm thinking it will take an hour to get our food since the waitress also the cook. Yet we are surprised: the gal arrives carrying everything - four plates of food and our drinks - in ten minutes. We are impressed. Both kids have "a classic" BTW: she a BLT and he a steak-sandwich.

From the caf I go to the barber shop, who is "out to lunch 'til 1PM" but never returns. The barber has been here since 1977 and I imagine he was punctual his first three or four years. After that - why bother?

Las Vegas

We depart Santa Fe this morning and pull off HW160 for lunch in Las Vegas... Colorado (my photo driving to the Santa Fe Trail, a National Monument, but we chicken out due to the electrical storm). Las Vegas has a DQ and the kids go nuts for it - the only thing worth reporting, other than the cashier's wicked afro, is Eitan's hand which gets stuck between the car. And the car door. A nice guy runs into the gas station and brings a bag of ice for our little hero. Boy I looked into his eyes when it happened and I thought for sure we had the first bone-break in our young family - as a good doctor once told me, "every boy has at least one." Encouraging, for sure.

This morning Sonnet and I take advantage of Stan who minds the kids allowing us to stroll Canyon Road in Santa Fe. This is where the serious art is and the Stanfills knows most of the proprietors - in fact, Shelton bought three pieces the other day. We get some warm welcomes, naturally, and meet a retired curator of Frank Lloyd Wright, who lived in one of Wright's houses before moving to New Mexico "13 months ago and three days." He's excited to be here. We share thoughts on the V&A and London and he tells about Wright's ability to bend light and how this effects the "spirit and emotions of place." Pretty cool. I kick Sonnet to retrieve his card - afterall we considered an architectural tour of the US this year. It was to be this year but I think maybe not for another few or at least until Eitan and Madeleine can appreciate it. Or we send them to camp. Better.

Madeleine (a bit jealous): "Eitan didn't actually break his hand."

Eitan: "Can Michael Phelps beat Usain Bolt?" (Bolt sets World Records in the 100 and 200m at the Beijing Olympics)

Eitan: "Can Michael Phelps beat Auntie Katie?"

Madeleine and Eitan sit at the bar at the La Vita Inn. I tell them to keep quiet "or you will have to show your identification."
Madeleine: "What is that?"

I tell Madeleine one day she will be married and I will lose her forever. Says she matter-of-factly: "don't worry dad, I'll come and visit."

Madeleine on providing grand-kids one day: "Definitely one or two. But not three. Or four, Dad."

Convert

Here is Katie in a convertible in San Francisco. She is in the BA for meetings at Stanford. Go, girl.

We watch Obama's speech to the Veterans of Foreign Wars and even the kids are spell-bound. Obama offers a contrast to McCain's "I'll chase Osama Bin Ladin to the gates of hell" which got a standing ovation at the Saddleback - just what we need America. Obama's maternal grandfather served in WW2 BTW and is buried at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific at Punchbowl. Boy I'll bet those American Swift Boat scum would otherwise wish to do him in.

Spinster

Photograph by Sonnet. There is a textiles wing at the Indian Museum and she buries herself for an hour or so while I tell the kids a story: the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles battle Submarine Man who has caused an earthquake turning California into an island. From there, he drags the detached state to Carvagio at the bottom of the Pacific where he plans to enslave Californians and eventually use them in his attempt to conquer America. I am a genius. Any case, pictured is a Southwestern loom and beautiful in its simplicity. The amount of work that goes into a simple garment staggering then - yet as now, taken for granted I am sure. Sonnet takes photographs of the interesting tapestries, clothing and technologies for herself and colleagues at the V&A.

Eitan: "I'm so borrred." Repeat endlessly.

In back of the car, both kids repeat "chicken pie" over and over and over until I scream at them.

Adobe

Eitan gets pretty pissed off when I suggest that he is DDG and he will get loads of smooches from the girls when a teenager. I then make kissing noises. This usually elicits a glare of sheer hatred: "Stop it Dad! That is not funny." Yes, these are the easy years in that regard.

We see the toy-museum on Museum Hill and it is fab. The exhibits are collected from every country and displayed in simple show boxes; they also cover different epoques. What is surprising (or perhaps least surprising?) is how similar the crafts - regardless of continent the themes of religion, community, war, family and farming hold true then and now.

We're tired after the morning and Sonnet picks up lunch from Whole Foods - the first healthy meal in like a month I think. Eitan is thrilled beyond belief to find ManU v. Newcastle on the tele - it is a taped game but so what? Heaven, My Dear Friend. Heaven.

Eitan is bored and I tell him to enjoy it. "How can I enjoy IT when IT is not enjoyable?" he asks.

I tell Eitan I will take him to the pool in a half-hour. He replies: "Aw, Dad! I cannot possibly wait that long!"

Heaven and Hell

Another beautiful day in Santa Fe, another museum. This time we go to "museum hill" where we visit the Indian contemporary, which includes cultural items, a history of the geography and tribes and a retrospective on Indian comics - cool for many reasons but mainly because they give out DC and Marvel comics - the new ones too, with lots of bad-ass characters like Wolverine. The older issues I recognise from way-back when Berkeley's Telegraph Ave. had two comic book shops. The ancient 10¢ books had all kinds of stereotypes, surprise-surprise. The most offensive cover: "Indians Run Wild And This Is 1959!"picturing a touristy homey with his black camera strapped from his neck. He is tied to a totem pole and next to his wife who is hot and vulnerable. Arrows fly, boy. Arrows fly.

Santa Fe is a mixture of white trash, (rich)(white) retirees, monied tourists (white), the indigenous and the poor who are vaguely menacing. Ford trucks tail-gate regardless of your lane. The culture here is world-class for a small town and amazingly supports museums, crafts, fairs, dance and the opera too of course. Visitors feed the economy with their buying and the historic plaza takes advantage of our need to spend: we visit a cowboy chic shop and the French sales-woman comments on my "French shirt," an Izod, and then is surprised when I reply en francais justifying my Jr year exchange. She is from Paris and now here, lucky her. Sonnet exams a belt with a $2,400 price tag and we are assured "it is one of a kind." And one that will stay there, I assure her.

Eitan asks how long until we arrive? Again. And again. And again. Finally I counter: "if we are 40 miles from our destination and driving 40 miles per hour, how long do you think?"
It is beyond him. For now anyways. Sonnet meanwhile suggests that she learned eight times seven in the fifth grade.

Me: "What was your favorite thing in the museum?"
Madeleine: "I liked that thing with heaven and hell."
Me: "Do you understand what that means?"
She: "Hell is when you put pins in your eyeballs forever."

Bill

Bill is husband to Martine. He is also a horse whisperer - he has a gentle way with people and animals which is patient and calming. Bill and Martine's ranch in Le Veta is a highlight of our trips to Colorado and Madeleine especially has taken to their extended-family. Both kids follow the horses lives via the occasional update - this year 27 year-old Charlie passed away which brought tears to Madeleine's eyes. Bill and I discuss the Boléro - I am not sure I can get away with one in London but I love the look and am contemplating, Dear Reader. We enjoy Santa Fe yesterday and visit the IAIA to see the Fritz Sheldon exhibition. Sheldon a Native American trained in European techniques and encouraged to include his nations experiences. Not surprisingly it is dark and violent. It reminds me of German George Baslitz whose post WW2 abstracts capture the horror of his post-war country.

Eitan is insufferable this morning so we try something different: silent treatment. It works. Boy does it work.

The Opera House

Marcus goofs in front of ... ?

"Every July and August since 1957, opera lovers have been drawn to the magnificent northern New Mexico mountains to enjoy productions by one of America's premier summer opera festivals. Here, The Santa Fe Opera's dramatic adobe theater blends harmoniously with the high desert landscape. It is this fusion of nature and art that leaves such an enduring impression on all who come. More than half the audience of 85,000 comes from outside New Mexico, representing every state in the union as well as 25 to 30 foreign countries.

"More than 1,600 performances of nearly 140 different operas have been given here, including nine world premieres and 40 American premieres, among them Lulu, The Cunning Little Vixen, Capriccio, and Daphne. Recent premieres include the world premiere of Madame Mao, commissioned from Bright Sheng, in 2003, the premiere of the revised version of Osvaldo Golijov's Ainadamar, in 2005, the American premiere of Thomas Ades's The Tempest, in 2006, and the American premiere of Tan Dun's Tea: A Mirror of Soul in 2007. The 2008 season brings the American premiere of Adriana Mater by Kaija Saariaho, whose L'amour de loin received its American premiere here in 2002."

Stan and Silver have been attending since 1974 and have seen "oh, at least 50 operas since then."

L'Opera

We see The Marriage of Figero at the Santa Fe Opera, which has to be one of the most spectacular settings for such a thing in the world let alone Colorado. The hall is surrounded by mountains and faces the setting sun, which we watch through the pink and orange clouds.

I am hooked before Mozart's first note. Joining us are everybody - Shelton and Bill who with Stan unite the three brothers; Bill and Martine, Marcus and Brigitte. Before the performance we have dinner at Tom's adobe house - Tom, you see, is a now-retired Alaskan opthomologist who saved Marcus's life when Marcus had eye-cancer at age five or '73. He made sure that Marcus had the best care anywhere, at this time in Iowa, when radiation treatments were a novelty. After this, the performance superfluous. But sublime.

Another Day, Another Tooth

Eitan loses a tooth this AM while chomping on his Fruit Loops. It has been wiggling for some time and the blood surprises a few grannies sitting next to us - but really, it is all good. The boy happily boasts to anybody but mostly Madeleine that the Tooth Ferry "owes" him four bucks (we have a discussion about whether the Tooth Ferry should settle in pounds or dollars). His wrist-band BTW presented to him by an Ouray Life Guard for passing the "Deep End Test." Since I cannot remember his last bath - the band naturally stays on. His last hair cut in June. Maybe.

Blue Mesa

We leave Montrose saying good-bye to Katie and Mark. On the drive away we stop at the Blue Mesa Dam - pictured - which creates the largest body of water in Colorado and allows for places like Montrose to exist. A post tells us:

Dam Embankment: 3,100,000 CU YD
Reservoir Capacity: 941,000 AC FT
Height above river: 341 feet
Spillway Tunnel Diameter: 21 feet
Power Plant Output: 98 MW
Crest Length: 800 feet

The water is cold too - about 49 degrees - which compares to the Pacific's 60-62 (in these temps your nuts go into serious hiding even with a wet-suit). Still a water skier goes for it bothered only by the fisherman sitting idle in their boats. Not a bad life.

In Seguach, a small town of 500, we visit the local museum interesting because Chief Ouray spent his summers here so there is plenty of his history. Recall, Dear Reader, that Ouray was the Utes, who were moved from their territorial lands to Indian "reserves" in the 1850s; the brave Ouray went to Washington to be told of his people's humiliation. His and other treasures are housed in a white-wall built in 1851 by the earliest settler. Over time, it has served as a home, the blacksmiths, the local high school (until the 1940s) and finally the sheriff's office and jail until 1959. Arthur Packer, the infamous cannibal captured in 1891 and tried eventually in the state capital, stayed here before his transfer. Packer garnished at least six co-travelers on their way to gold in thar mountains. Today the old jail is open for viewing and Eitan and Madeleine have no problem closing themselves behind bolted doors. Frankly it gives me the creeps: two cells each hold bunk beds with light nor room to move. A crapper, in its own contained cell, rests outside the bunks. Prisoners whittled their names or "painted" images using matches on the walls which are visible clearly today. Cool. The children ask good questions and give it their interest, which make the elderly staffers feel good I think. Probably too cuz we are likely the only guests today and perhaps the weekend. Still it is a jewel.

We pull into Santa Fe this evening surviving mountain storms and Sonnet's driving. OK, her driving is not bad usually but I am cranky. We see Bill and Martine who stop by our hotel to say 'hello' and discuss horses; we then meet everybody for dinner including Brigitte and Shelton (Stan's brother) who retired several years ago but still Chairs the Telluride Film Festival, which he founded and begins next week-end. A committee of two select the films BTW and nobody knows what it will be, even Shelton, until the day.

Right and Left

Here is the determination I have known since day-one. In this instance, applied to the jungle-gym but it could easily by Kumon (maths), the classroom, football &c. It is also applied to her brother who constantly rags her these days. I tell Madeleine that Eitan has her button, and after explaining what this means, I advise her the best solution is to ignore him. This is, like, totally impossible so instead they trade blows in the back of the car until somebody (me) screams bloody-hell. Yes, we are at that point in the holiday familiar to all vacationing families: we are about to kill each other.

I learn a cool thing today which I have always puzzled: why is Paris's Left Bank called, well, the Left Bank? It doesn't seem this way on a map, I mean really. The "right" and "left" are determined by the directional flow of the river. So the Left Bank is the left side of the Seine going with the flow.

Gunnison II

More on The Gorge:

"We entered a gorge, remote from the sun.... where a rock splintered river roared and howled ten feet below the track.... There was a glory and a wonder and a mystery about the wild ride that I felt keenly." - Rudyard Kipling, 1889

"On August 14, 1882, the first train chugged through the Black Canyon. For the next 67 years, carloads of coal, ore and livestock, as well as passenger cars, traveled this route.

"Later, motor vehicle travel replaced rail service here. The tracks were removed in 1949, but the trestles and railbed remained. Tourists in automobiles drove the old railroad route to reach the superb fishing of the Gunnison River.

"Most of the rail bed has vanished under the rising waters of reservoirs created in the canyon. Today, the trail you've walked is all that's left of the railroad grade. But those who pause here may still feel the "glory, wonder and mystery" of this place as did rail passenger Kipling."

Sonnet gets the three-cheers for arranging our day trip which is now grafted to my brain. Way.

Gunnison

A postage tells us:

"Steep, deep and forbidding, the canyon in which you now stand has long inspired human awe and respect. Ute Indians probably avoided the gorge. Later travelers found it a challenging obstacle.

"Captain John Gunnison explored the are in 1853 His goal was to locate a possible transcontinental railroad route. His party found a chasm so imposing that he gave up his plan to follow the river into this canyon.

"Gunnison's name endures in this country, in spite of his expeditions failure to establish a railroad route. Over 30 years later, another group successfully surveyed the depths of this "Black Canyon of the Gunnison" for construction of the railroad"

Our Ranger Kirk is fabulous and he takes us into a canyon that eventually becomes the Crystal Reservoir or a river depth of ten feet to 240. Just upstream it is dammed again to form Morrow Point Reservoir and the Mesa Blue Reservoir. These reservoirs were formed to "reclaim" waters otherwise "wasted" in the Pacific, creating agriculture in otherwise desert land - Montrose receives less than 3 or 4 inches of water on average (an interesting side-note is that Tucson, AZ, uses one-third Montrose - this because they recycle their sewage and the future, My Dear). The reservoirs are the upper part of the Black Canyon which we know is one of the longest, narrowest, and deepest gorges in the world thank you very much. Below Crystal Dam it begins to roar through massive cataracts and flows through the deepest part of the gorge. It eventually empties into the Colorado near Grand Junction. It drops on average 43 feel per mile - which is more than the Mississippi over 1,000 miles.

Michael Phelps makes it eight! Wow !!

Ice Cream !

At the Candy Store in Ouray the kids score a bowl of ice scream which is described as "one scoop" (I think the cashier has under-charged us, Dear Reader). Strollers are unable to resist a comment and one guy tells Eitan to put his face in it - which he does to everybody's glee including me, snapping away.

Meanwhile, Georgia falls apart as the Russians fail to honor Sarkozy's cease fire+a Russian general indicates Poland may receive a nuclear strike in return for hosting the US missle defense shield. As Madeleine Albright points out, a game-plan for the Caucusus should have been in place "for months" given the tension in the region. But el Presidente caught off guard - this time we know it is serious BTW as Bush shortens his summer holiday to deal with the crisis (who can forget Bush on vacation August in its entirety in 2001 and of course during Katrina). Yes, our frat-boy leader gets duped again by the foreseeable circumstance - recall his most famous love-in: "I looked the man in the eye. I found him to be very straight forward and trustworthy and we had a very good dialogue. I was able to get a sense of his soul." George Bush has discredited an entire field of advanced study - all MBAs, including myself, are shamed.

Madeleine: "Do you think Michael Phelp's dog knows that he is a champion?"