El Ray Hotel

Santa Fe, NM

God Bless The USA

I snap this photograph off the parking lot of Dairy Queen, which has been on Eitan's mind the last 100 miles, if not the past several weeks. DQ is in the small town of Espanola on the NM-68, the quickest route (vs. scenic) to Santa Fe running mostly next to the Rio Grande river. Inside there is a table of seven or eight Hispanic boys located at a corner-booth offering a view of the restaurant otherwise filled with families and elderly people; this changes when the girls softball team comes 'a marching in - even I experience the frisson. The gals in uniform, legs showing, are loud and attention-seeking though not really flirty - they are probably too young to be aware of their effect on the boys. Or am I just clueless? Eitan stuffs his face into a mint-Oreo Blizzard ignoring the commotion. Madeleine a bit more interested in these things: "Are they teenagers?" she asks. Outside, in the parking lot, I chat with the coach who lives in the mountains about 50 miles outside of Espanola where, with coaching, he is the history teacher and PE instructor. He marvels at the kids' accents. We each secretly envy the other.

We drive by St Francisco di Assisi.

Me: "Do you want to see a church?"

Eitan: "No, I want to see a Dairy Queen."

Eitan, from back of the car: "We haven't been to DQ yet."

Me: "Well, that's your problem. DQ is everywhere you just haven't seen one."

Eitan: "You haven't seen one either."

Me: "Not true. I've seen plenty."

Eitan: "Why haven't you told me?"

Me: "Why should I do that? After all your teasing about my belly. I'm on a new diet. A no-Dairy Queen diet."

Eitan: "that's so unfair- your belly is not my problem."

Me: "Seems like it is now."

Roadside sign: "Stop Dreaming, Start Eating. Dairy Queen 12 Miles Ahead."

E: "Oh! Oh! Oh!"

Sonnet, shocked: "Four hot dogs for five bucks. That's dinner for a family."

Eitan is unable to finish his extra-large Blizzard.

Sonnet: "Just don't get sick in the car."

Eitan: "Ohhh, suicide mission."

Sonnet: "Cut that out. Seriously."

Yellow Truck, Taos Plaza

San Francisco di Assisi #18

This morning we visit the Taos Pueblo, which is the only living Native American community designated both a World Heritage Site by UNESCO and a National Historic Landmark. The multi-storied adobe buildings have been continuously inhabited for over 1,000 years. My photograph of the church San Francisco.

Madeleine: "Did those Indians paint the windows?"

Me: "Where is Spain?"

The kids have no idea.

Me: "How can you not know where Spain is?"

Eitan: "We don't know everything, Dad."

Me: "Well you are going to know this. What country is across the channel from Britain?"

Madeleine: "Russia?"

Me:

Eitan: "France."

Me: "And what is next to France?"

Eitan: "Germany."

Me: "And the other side?"

Eitan: "I don't know. We haven't gotten that far yet."

Madeleine: "Is he a proper Indian?"

Me: "Why don't you kids ask him where we can find a good Mexican?"

On Being A Teenager; Taos

Me: "What kind of teenagers do you kids wish to be?"

Eitan: "Really sporty, no drugs. I want to have a few close friends like Joe and Cyrus. I don't want to be in an 'all powerful gang.'"

Me: "Why not?"

Eitan: "Um, because I just don't like being the all powerful person."

Me: "Seems reasonable. How about you?"

Madeleine: "I want to be someone who does not have pimples and isn't fat. I don't want to take drugs. I want to be sporty."

Eitan: "That's what I said!"

Madeleine: "Well you just said it first! "

Eitan: "Think of your own!"

Madeleine: "YOU think of your own!"

Me: "Enough! You guys are acting like teenagers."

Madeleine: "Why would you say something like that, Dad?"

Taos is barely a city - more like a town, really - with 4,700 people according to the 2000 census. It is located near the Rio Pueblo de Taos, a tributary of the Rio Grande and, just to the west, is the Rio Grande Gorge, cutting through the basalt flows of the Taos Plateau volcanic field crossed by the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, US Route 64. The elevation is 6.950 feet which Sonnet and I feel during our runs (Me: out . . of. . shape . . .). Taos has its own pueblo, sacred and ancient site where Native Americans meet for ceremonial purposes. Only eight families live here year-round as there is no water nor electricity.

Me: "Taos is a 'Taco' without the 'c.'

Eitan, Madeleine:

'Sup

Pity the lad, pictured, who has been away from football for three weeks. He begs to be on my notebook to watch games or memorise fixtures, update himself of the Premiere League which (he pleads) "is starting now !" Is there no break? Apparently not and Eitan rattles off the various trophies: Champions League, FA Cup, Carling Cup, Premiere League and the UEFA Cup - I can't keep them apart. Which is the most important, you wonder? Eitan: "Champions League, definitely, because it is the top-four teams from all the best leagues in Europe - from the Big Countries like Russia and France and Italy. You know, the one's that are famous." Hmm. Pictured, he rattles off every player from Manchester United and lesser teams in thePremiereship. I quiz him about the best player in each position. And the best player in the world? Messi. Not Rooney? "It depends if he gets his form back. If he doesn't, it is Rinaldo. Actually, they are tied."

And there you have it.

Eitan: "Dad, do you want to see how Rooney does his run-ups?" (He charges the ball, kicking it into the living room wall)

Me: "Knock it off!"

Madeleine: "If you get it in (ie, hit the wall) you get a buddy. Two buddies!"

Eitan: "Ok, but I only need one." (he gets down on his hands and knees to eye his shot)

Me:

Eitan: "Dad. Dad! I had to get the ball right between Madeleine's hands and guess what I just did?"

Me:

Eitan: "I got it in!"

Me: "Did I just say something before?"

Madeleine: "You are always boasting, Eitan."

Eitan: "Not!"

Madeleine: "Too!"

Me:

Stan Silver

Stan and Silver arrive in Taos, driving over the mountains from Grand Junction. They stay at the Taos Inn (No children allowed) which they show us this morning, pictured. The Inn made of of several adobe houses dating to the 1800's which, then, surrounded a small plaza (now the entrance lobby). In the 1890s, Dr Thomas Paul Martin arrived as the county's first - and only - physician and bought the largest of the houses. Martin's wife, Helen, a gifted batik artist and the sister-in-law of artist Bert Phillips, one of the "Taos Founders" - it was in the Martin's dining room in 1912 that Phillips and Ernest Blumenschein founded the Taos Society of Artists.

The Martins went on to purchase additional buildings surrounding the plaza, renting to writers and artists including Pawnee Bill and, famously, D. H. Lawrence who lived here for a year working on "The Boy in the Bush" which he completed in '24 ("Chatterley" was '28). When the hotel burned in '36, the same year Martin died, Helen bought the sole remaining property, Tarleton house, and founded the Hotel Martin which was social, intellectual and artistic hub. Greta Garbo came here. Later owners renamed it the Taos Inn; in '82, the Inn was placed on the National and State Registers of Historic Places.

Stan tells me that most recently the Inn owned for 20 years by Dennis Hopper, who bought the place shortly after Easy Rider. He and Jack and Peter and their crew must have partied their asses off - the perfect place for debauchery - away from prying eyes.

Hee Haw!

Bill and ranch means one thing for the kids: horses. Misty (the youngest and Praline's daughter), Nugget (oldest "and sort of the boss" (Eitan)); Honey (yellow-golden) and Praline (she, just like Misty, has a white stripe going down her snout - pictured). Missing is Buckwheat, who was a cross between Nugget and Honey, with the same colour fur as Honey and a black main like Nugget (Eitan informs me). Nugget and Praline are ridable while Misty and Honey are too young with Bill "working them in." Martine takes each little cowboy for 45 minute rides up to and along the wall (she saw a mountain lion several months ago, and this morning - bear tracks!) in the evening and again, before breakfast. It is a lot of work, too, with saddling the horses. They are strong, beautiful animals whose line bread for the quarter-mile; they are excellent ranch horses as well, with sure footing and even temperament. Gentle souls. Bill is a real cow-hand who is able to break in the new animals, which requires patience and know-how. Every autumn he goes on a 100-mile ride into the Rockies, though this year may be more difficult after injuring, or even breaking, several ribs in a fall (Martine, with black toe-nails: "and that is why you wear cowboy boots"). The horses weight about 1,000 pounds. Fortunaly Bill tossed onto a soft, dirt ground - if the outback, "it would have been serious" Martine says.

Charlie's At La Veta

Madeleine finds herself in a familiar spot as we arrive in La Veta. We are here for one night before pushing on to Taos where we will see Stan and Silver. Martine takes the kids out for horse rides in the evening and morning, God bless. They are different little dudes away from the concrete and high-expectations of London.

Sonnet has been following an intense training routine, gifted her by our uber-athlete Edwin. One day easy, the next repeats or a timed run. All done in the early morning hours to avoid the heat, which has been around 90-degrees since arriving in CO. Unfortunately the altitude has played havoc - I join her and we shuffle five miles outside La Veta or 6,187 feet. My parent's cabin- house around 5,000 feet while I write from Taos or 6,969 feet. Sonnet's half-marathon in late September and she hopes the suffering will pay off at sea-level. Here is the science any way: at altitude, the body adapts to the relative lack of oxygen hypoxia in one or more ways like increasing the mass of red blood cells and hemoglobin, or altering muscle metabolism. Proponents clamim that when the athletes travel to competitions at lower altitudes they will still have a higher concentration of red blood cells for 10-14 days, and this gives them a competitive advantage. some athletes liver permanently at high altitude, only returning to to sea level to compete, but their training may suffer due to less available oxygen for workouts (sources: Formenti, Federico, et al, (June 2010); Wehrlin, Zuest and Marti (June 2006); and Gore, Clark and Suanders (September 2007))

Sonnet: “How about a 12-mile hike when we are in Santa Fe?”

Madeleine: “No way!”

Me: “Sounds excellent.”

Madeleine: “I could barely do six miles!”

Me: “Well now you will do twelve.”

Madeleine: “This is some vacation.”

Spanish Peak West With Moon, #4

This beautiful mountain is one of the Spanish Peaks, which we have seen before and I think one of the most beautiful spots I have known. The peaks are a pair of volcanic mountains located in southwestern Huerfano County and behind Bill and Martine's ranch. The two peaks, West Spanish Peak and East Spanish Peak, are easternmost outliers of the otherwise non-volcanic Culebra Range of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Formed by a massive igneous intrusion during the tertiary period, the mountains designated a National Natural Landmark in 1976 as one of the best known examples of igneous dikes. Geologists come from around the world study the unique wall-formations which frame the mountain; photographers set up on Martine's property to take photographs "every three minutes at sunrise and sunset" she tells me and it is easy to understand why: the mountain's personality changes with the light and cloud movement.

The peaks were an important landmark on the Santa Fe Trail, and can be seen as far north as Colorado Springs 133 miles away, and as far west a Alamosa (85 miles) points south to Raton New Mexico (66 miles) and points east of Trinidad (up to 15). I first spy my friends on the highway an hour outside of La Veta driving 75 mph (CO speed limit, dude) and, at first, dismiss them for being misplaced in my memory. We track them all the way in.

Self Portrait XVIII

I pack up the SUV and we are off to La Veta. As with the majority of families across this great country of ours, I drive. The car may be the last bastion of the 1950s male. Here we are, the American Dad, behind the wheel with our aviator sunglasses, in complete control of the family and by extension - everything else. No doubt the children fight in the back and I swing away; we get lost which causes the only serious arguments in my relationship with my wife; we stop at family restaurants and sit in booths and eat hamburgers and french fries. A vacationing family with two attractive teen-agers sit next to us at the car rental and I note to the father that we are a few years behind them; he eyes me up and sagely replies: “Expect the unexpected.” The teens stair at me blankly. Can't wait for the next five years.

Denver to La Veta is due south and a pleasant drive through open space. We pass through Pueblo, Fort Garland (Air Force academy there) and Colorado Springs where we pull off the highway for lunch at Chilli's (ghastly) and I run across the street to a 7-11 to use the pay-phone to call Astorg Partners. I learn that there are very few public telephones left while mobile to Europe stupidly expensive. 7-11 is a vision of hell. A woman waits for a call and smokes away - two-feet from me. Another, not unattractive, pulls in to buy fags and fill her brown Dodge with gas. There is a video rental machine next to me. Scruffy children buy candy that would make mine cry if they were here. Nasty. The other thing about CS, and I think most sprawling cities, is how difficult it is to walk. Crossing the town's main street, which is more like a highway, takes patience and care – these driving bastards will hit you. There is a narrow, unused, crosswalk and, to somebody's credit, I find a pedestrian light. I wait five minutes for 20 seconds which is barely enough time to cross five lanes. After Chilli's we complete this American moment at Baskin Robbin's 31-wonderful flavors. Gotta roll with it.

Eitan examines a box of Russell Stover chocolates: “Oh, I need to eat this.”

First Day, First Grade

Tess has her first day of school and there are some emotional moments around the table. Tess is mostly oblivious to the excitement while Thia makes sure she remains firmly in the picture. A pattern to be followed forever, no doubt. Later on we discuss Eitan and Madeleine's reception year – both ready thanks to day-care, where Eitan spent the majority of his day .. from ten-months (I still recall his carer, Ingrid, an large Jamaican who scooped the boy up in her enormous loving arms.. he knew a good thing while Sonnet and I felt mildly guilty about the whole thing). Madeleine the risk-taker back then and first day butterflies? No problemo. She could hardly get away.

Many US public schools now begin the fall term in mid-August. What's up with that? School hours also seem to be longer with the day ending at 4PM. The American summer a cultural occurrence, unifying generations of families and a God Given Right for any youngster lucky enough to grow up in the US of A. Who wasn't bored out of his mind by Labor Day? From my generation, it was not unusual for both parents to work so kids were left with .. a lot of freedom. Combine that with the suburbs and pot, well, a lot of good memories there, for sure. For me, this meant walks across the UC campus to Telegraph Avenue to buy comic books or vinyl records followed by Blondie's pizza or frozen yogurt (the first fro-yo in America, my sister tells me). Eventually swimming soaked up the free time while MTV took the rest. My pals and I in Walnut Creek did nothing between morning and afternoon practice - it was fab-u-lous. Sonnet and Marcus's solution was summer camp: Trojan Ranch and Prairie Mansfield in Colorado. These long breaks a far cry from England where the annual holiday time might be about the same – 12 weeks or so – but spread across the year. Each good in its own way.

Me: “Are you guys missing anything from school?”

Madeleine: “Art?”

Me: “Anything else.”

Madeleine: “Not really.”

Me: “How about you Eitan?”

Eitan: “Friends, literacy and maths.”

Me: “Are you nervous about your new teacher?”

Madeleine: “Yes.”

Me: “Why?”

Madeleine: “Because sometimes she is a bit strict.”

Me: “Like what does she do?”

Madeleine: “I don't know. They just said that.”

Thia

Denver Museum - Libeskind

Thia and Tess, King Tut

We are with Beecher, Whitney and Frank from yesterday and here the kids take a break for this photo. Tess starts first-grade tomorrow. These kids grow up, I will sure say.

Today we are at the Denver Museum to see the Tutankhamun exhibition, which is the largest collection of its kind assembled outside of Egypt (I have a hard time removing the Steve Martin song "King Tut" from my mind BTW -classic). Since its discovery by Brit Howard Cotter in 1922, the cause of Tut's death has been debated: was the Boy King assassinated at 19? A CT scan taken in 2005 proves otherwise (and robs us of our mystery): Tut had badly broke his leg and it became infected. DNA analysis, conducted in 2010, showed he had malaria - these two conditions, combined, led to his death.

SFO To CO - Fallen Tree

The kids have been good travel companions excluding those moments when, Sonnet points out, "they about to kill each other." This is a far cry better than their earlier life when an air plane meant only one thing: screaming. Loudly. Non-stop. We reminiscence about the time Eitan nine-months and we flew to Florida for my Grandmother's 90th - the boy good from London to Washington but inconsolable from Dulles to Sarasota. We received a number of dirty looks on that one, oh boy. Now they quietly sit in their seats drawing with crayons or, more likely, plugged into the entertainment unit watching whatever catches their fancy and Sonnet allows - from London to SFO, ten hours, uninterrupted. No wonder long-haul means something different to them.

Meanwhile in London we learn the shocking news that water and wind have tumbled our beloved ancient pine tree. Fortunately it occurred around 6AM so nobody about and it missed the house. Aggie, who is house-sitting, is helping us sort the mess - she reports that we "will now get more sunshine in the backyard." I am feeling sad about this - that old, dignified, tree was one of my favorite things about our home.

Le Cat

Madeleine loves "Sweetie Pie" who is a curious and friendly soul and puts up with a lot. Madeleine, as we all know, has been on a two year campaign for a dog and when we return to London, she will be rewarded with .. a cat (two working parents and a dog don't quite foot, we have decided). From this morning we are saying good-bye to Grace and Moe and the Bay Area until the next time. Everybody feeling glum but soon we will be in Colorado for the second part of our touring road show.

Altamount Pass

The future is here. I hang my ass out the window to take this photo of the wind turbines at Altamount Pass just beyond Livermore on HW580. We are about one hour from San Francisco having just come through the valley. No wonder the turbines here, too - the wind gusty (wind speeds are up to 8 meters per second) and sounds like a growling animal. The turbines form scattered lines on the ridgeway across an area of about 15 kilometers in diameter. Hundreds are visible from the road. A quick Internet troll notes that there are over four-thousand of these babies, making this the world's largest wind farm by number of turbines. There are at least seven varieties visible, including one type that is vertical like an egg-beater. There are no paved roads leading to them either and the wind, anyway, is too strong for a leisurely walk. A small parking area is located at the top of the pass (about 1,000 feet altitude) for trucks and us to check our breaks before the steep decent. We have been here before -emergency poddy stop.

The turbines in my photo are the larger type with blades - and I am guessing here - five-meters in length. The towers must be 25 meters in height or higher. 100% of the windmills in action as we pass while usually only a batch in play depending on the wind direction, force and etc. I have watched these things go up since the mid-1980s. Pretty cool.

We have a discussion at the French Hotel about whether smoking should be a choice.

Me: "What if I told you that you could not have that piece of cake you are eating?"

Madeleine: "That would not be fair!"

Me: "What if I told you that piece of cake was going to cause you to die a slow and awful death?"

Madeleine: "Well, I guess that would be fair."

Me: "Would you still eat it?"

Madeleine: "Probably not."

Eitan: "I would not."

Me: "Why do you think people smoke?"

Eitan: "Well, mostly because they become addicted. When they are a teen-ager."

Madeleine: "They smoke even though their parents say no."

Me: "Good going. Have we learned anything?"

Madeleine: "We can eat cake?"

Lake Alpine Sunrise #8

One departing shot of Lake Alpine whom I have known since '84.

We leave the Sierras yesterday, crossing the San Joaquin Valley which, historian Kevin Starr notes, is "the most productive unnatural environment on Earth." The SJV is also known as "The food basket of the world" or "The nation's salad bowl" producing oranges, peaches, garlic, tangerines, tomato's, kiwis, hay, nuts, grapes, tangerines and about any crop imagined. The J. G. Boswell Company's farming operation in Kings County is the largest single cotton farm in the world, occupying over 40,000 acres. Go figure. The major river supplying the valley is the San Joaquin, with tributaries of the lower Stanislaus, Tuolumne, Merced, and Fresno rivers. The California Aqueduct extends the entire length of the bioregion. The southern portion of the bioregion includes the Kings, Kaweah, and Kern rivers, which drain into closed interior basins. No significant rivers or creeks drain into the valley from the Coast Range. We pass through it all, stopping, as we always do, in Farmington to fill the tank, load up on junk food, and take a leak.

Remarkably, the San Joaquin Valley has the state's highest rate of food insecurity according to California.