Pet Photographers

I hightailed it for Gettysburg, PA that morning.

I planned to stop at about the half-way point in Charleston, WV because of course, they had a Starbucks!

I continued up on I64 and felt completely creeped out by the state. Dunno what it was, but I couldn’t wait to get to PA.

I got off at the wrong exit in what turned out to be South Charleston, WV and was driving around a very industrial neighborhood looking for my streets. I flagged down a car and asked for directions.

The guy asked Are you really from CA? Yes. Well, you know now, to keep your windows rolled up and your doors locked around here.

Well, no, I didn’t really know that. The man and his wife said we were a bit far, but he would lead me to the Mall where the Starbucks was. The Mall?

At one point, he even ran back and handed me his wife’s card and said if we got separate to just call her because she’d have her cell phone on!

How dear!

I got my Starbucks – in the mall – and saw a bookstore out of the corner of my eye as I was headed back to the garage. I ended up purchasing Barak Obama’s latest book on tape, The Audacity of Hope, and broke the long silence that had enveloped me from Day 1 on the road.

I pulled into the great battlefield at Gettysburg at the sweet light of evening. I pulled the car over and hauled out the tripod and camera. Little did I know that when you approach Gettysburg from the west on Rte 30, the battlefield you hit first is just a tiny chunk of the entire preserved area.

It’s definitely an eerie place. Apparently, its still the place in North America that sustained the most casualties. In all, 51,000 men were hurt or killed; 7,000 died alongside about 5,000 horses.

It took a while, but I drove through the town a couple of times in search of the Wyndham. I finally found it a good distance from the charming old part, but the hotel is nearly brand new. I got a great rate of $107, had a great burger and a beer in the bar and had a wonderful, last sleep on the road.

I was still worried about my car, even though I’d just driven 450 miles after the storm, so I trucked on over to the Volvo dealer in Prairie Village. They were so friendly and accommodating! They took the car, put it up on the lift, saw nothing but a little missing windshield washer fluid, filled me up and sent me on my way.

I love those good Volvo dealers!

I drove clear across Missouri all the way to St. Louis on I70. What a miserable highway stretch. There’s a LOT of traffic between these two cities. It wasn’t fun.

I stopped briefly in Columbia, MO in search of a good breakfast. I had a really hard time finding anything, so instead I found a car wash and a Subway. It was the only fast food I ate on the entire trip and it was awful. I can’t believe people eat that by choice.

I hopped out to take photos of the Arch of St. Louis, the gateway to the West, then headed for another long stretch to Lexington, KY.

Once I got out of East St. Louis, I followed I64 for Lexington, KY. It once again emptied out and was a wonderful, pleasant, scenic drive. I drove through southern Illinois, southern Indiana and finally entered Kentucky. I stopped at a gas station in some small town and asked the Indian working behind the counter if he knew what yellow-flowered plant was in all the fields. He said he’d never noticed it before. Had no idea. I still have no idea what it was, but it sure was pretty.

About 9:30pm, I was less than ten minutes from my exit, I heard on the CB that there was a smokey between markers 66 and 67. It was pitch black, but I was watching for him mostly because I had nothing better to do. I was cruising along on cruise control at exactly the speed limit when, the flashing blue lights appear in MY rear view mirror! Mine!!! I’m, like, what the hell! I wasn’t drunk, I wasn’t speeding, all my lights work….hmmm.

Says he pulled me over for weaving. Yeah. I go through the spiel about where I’m headed, what I do, blah blah blah. It was very interesting that he kept asking similar questions different ways to see if I’d slip up. Then my CB squawked. He jumped. Said what’s that! I said, calmly, knowing I have nothing illegal, it’s a CB radio, sir.

Step out of the car and hand it to me.

Now just one minute. He’s on the safe side of the road and I have to get out with all that speeding traffic and go to the other side of the car?

Yup.

So I hand him the radio and he seems perplexed by the fact that it’s hand-held and yada yada. Then he wants to go through all my stuff. All of it!

Well, I didn’t really feel like making a stand for my rights, so I said sure. He looked through everything. He REALLY looked at the car’s wheel wells. He was sure I was transporting SOMEthing to fill the evening’s quota.

Well, he didn’t find anything, gave me indecipherable directions about where to find a hotel, and I drove off. I drove way past my exit, and that turned into a nightmare of avoiding detours, etc.

I finally checked into a Marriott Suites and crashed. It was a long, ten-hour driving day and I was beat.

I woke up to a gorgeous, blue sky, climbed into the car and headed for Kansas City, MO. I would be staying with a friend I’d met on that same photo workshop from five years earlier, a wonderful photographer in his own right, Dick O’Kell.

Park, KS

The drive was beautiful across I70, flat, green fields and blue skies. I stopped in Park, KS to have a look-see at the giant church sticking tall out of the flats surrounded by dumpy, run-down homes. I didn’t see a single child, woman or man in the entire neighborhood, although I did get to photograph a train crawling to the giant silos!

Dick and Beverly treated me to some yummy wine (I actually brought them a wine from Sedona that turned out to be quite good!) and good food. I felt amazingly blessed to be so well taken care of by Hotel O’Kell.

Slept well!!!

This is the day I really thought I was going to die.

It started out ok, though. I woke up and dived into the hot mineral springs. Pagosa Springs sits on a giant geothermal water release that comes out of the ground at 155 degrees. They’ve created 17 pools of varying degrees and sizes. They’re all wonderful. I got in all of them in the hour that I had to lolligag before hitting the road.

Pagosa Hot Mineral Springs, CO

I’ve always wondered if there were negative health effects of sitting in communal hot springs, and later learned that it’s possible to catch communicable diseases, namely certain infections and herpes from these baths. While the obvious, wonderful effects on the sking are immediate and delightful, I can’t help but wonder how safe these types of baths really are.

I headed out at noon after doing laundry and drove in the direction of Great Sand Dunes National Park. It’s a long way from nowhere, but I really liked 112. It’s straight as an arrow on the extremely flat San Luis Valley with the giant Sangre de Cristo mountains to the east. You’re humming along at 7,500 feet again and it’s breathtaking.

The park is not popular; it only receives about 300,000 visitors a year. It’s probably because it’s not that beautiful. The sand is brown -and even with the ridges all covered with snow from the previous two days of storms, it’s not that pretty.

I climbed around for two hours, took some photos, then hit the road at 4pm.

Little did I know that a giant storm system was brewing on the eastern side of the Rockies. I flew back to 160, picked up I25 and then hooked the short-cut, 24, up to I70. That’s when I got the scare of my life.

Once I passed the endless suburbia surrounding Colorado Springs, the road flattened out and got lonelier and lonelier. Pretty soon, I was all alone out there. I was headed East, well, a bit Northeast, and dark, ominous clouds filled everything in the sky to the North. It was clear in the direction I was headed, but I could see – and then feel -the wind start to pick up.

At about 6pm, the cup clouds started to form just above me. Having grown up in MN, I knew that they were ripe tornado formations. Problem was, I had no idea what to do in case a tornado appeared in front of me. Do I stay in the car? Do I drive away? I had no idea and I was scared to death.

So, I increased my speed from 70, to 75 and then to 80 just trying to get to the clear area before the world turned inside out on top of me. When I got to the intersection of 24 and I70, I didn’t get off the road! I didn’t know what to do. The wind was screaming across the road, blowing giant, washing-machine-sized tumbleweeds in front of me. At first, I was able to avoid them. Finally, there were just too damned many. I must have driven over a hundred and every time, the thump, thump, crunch under my car had me cringing in fear of all the ruptured, broken things I would find the next morning. IF I lived through the night.

Funny thing was, I had a CB radio – and the truckers wouldn’t talk to me. I called all my friends and got only voicemail, all the weather radio stations posted on the blue signs came in static. I had no information and no idea what to do. And on top of all that, I felt this huge pressure to press on!

Finally, I spoke to Dena O’Connell, who just happens to have the CB handle Truck Stop Mama, and she told me that there weren’t any longer any tornado warnings and I should just drive on to Burlington, CO.

I did, I got there safely, paid the lowest amount for the whole trip, and had a nice, long rest.

I did look at my pix before going to sleep, however, and started crying when I saw the angel in my images who had been there all along. Now, I don’t really believe in that kind of thing, but what the hell.

Canyon X was a big disappointment. Jackson Bridges means well, so well! But the five or six-hour allotment for this canyon is too much. There’s kind of an upper and a lower canyon, but they’re not special.

AND, I was appalled that there was no prep talk about bathroom requirements and other safety issues.

Canyon X

His wife, who runs the office, said Jackson would be providing everything for lunch, including water. Thank goodness it wasn’t hot that day, ’cause there was no water to be had.

If you’re considering this trip, skip it. I would visit Upper and Lower Antelope Canyon multiple times instead. After all, this excursion costs $150!

I got in the car, found a car wash and headed for Pagosa Springs, CO. I was a little torn between heading for Telluride and making straight for Pagosa Springs, but I decided I’d dawdled too much already and felt behind!

The dry, desert drive from Page, through Four Corners into CO was almost unremarkable – beautiful, yes – but unremarkable except for one stunning side drive.

Monument Valley National Park was on the way, kinda, so I drove through it. It is spectacular, too, but I didn’t stop. Not for even one photo. I did NOT like the scattered mobile homes dotting the landscape, but, well, it’s their land. The Navajo choose how to regulate this amazing place.

It was very dark and lonely driving those last few miles on two-lane 160 and I almost, almost hit a deer. My heart was in my throat for the next twenty minutes.

I somehow got a rate at the Pagosa Springs Inn down from $166 to $125. I was so tired – and even a bit hungry – that I stumbled over to Tequila’s, a Mexican restaurant, and had a beer and some food.

Had a great night’s sleep.

I made arrangements with Charly, the owner of Overland Tours, to go to Upper Antelope Canyon with his group at 10am. It’s a bit convoluted trying to figure out which tour company to hire because you can’t visit Upper Antelope on your own any more. After hearing some of the commentary out there, I picked the right guy. I couldn’t believe how obnoxious some of the other guides could be.

Charly is a gnarly, wirey guy covered in tattoos. He looks like a Hell’s Angel more than a slot canyon guide! He hails from Wiesbaden, Germany and is very, very cool on a photo tour. He knows just how much to say to both the amateurs and the pros. He never got in my way and never tried to tell me how to do my job.

I paid Charly’s tour company the $28 fee which included their $20 fee, the $6 Navajo fee and tax. I couldn’t wait to see this canyon – I hadn’t had those photo jitters in ages! In fact, I was so gung ho, I decided to stay an additional day in Page, AZ in order to visit the mysterious Canyon X. The tour wouldn’t be with Charly, however. It would be with Jackson Bridges.

Upper Antelope Canyon

Unfortunately, Upper Antelope Canyon has become a gigantic tourist destination that draws the masses. It’s on Navajo land which means they control who and when and how much. Well, the one thing they don’t control is how many.

We did the short, six-mile trip to the canyon, some of it over a wide, soft bed of canyon sand and arrived at an ideal time. We were there only about an hour and a half, but by the time we were ready to leave, the photo ops were done. The place was packed. It was almost claustrophobic.

I was so enthralled by the canyon that I hauled myself to Lower Antelope Canyon that afternoon. Didn’t even stop for lunch! You do not need a guide for this canyon – just show up and pay the fees.

Lower Antelope Canyon

Lower Antelope is much harder to navigate, so it draws a tiny fraction of the crowd its haughtier neighbor. The parking lot is almost on top of the entrance, but it’s guarded by the Navajo. You have to pay ANOTHER $15 to crawl in and they tell you you can only stay for two hours. Well, nobody checks.

This haunted canyon is the site where eleven tourists, most of them French, died in a flash flood on August 12, 1997. Apparently they were well-warned by the locals in the cave just minutes before, but all refused to heed it. Of the eleven who died, two were never found and only pieces of the others turned up.

Now, the locals diligently watch for thunderstorms as far as ten miles away. If there’s any threat at all, they close up.

A nice plaque with all the names and nationalities sits just in front of the entrance. It’s a very sobering experience.

I had a hard time navigating the ladders as they all go down! You can circumvent all this by walking the quarter mile to the end and working your way up the canyon. I was carrying a camera with a wide angle lens (16-35mm), a backpack with other lenses and a tripod.

While most people prefer Upper Antelope, Lower is serene and beautiful in its own right. It’s not crowded and photographers have all the time they could ever need or want to make pictures.

I kept running into a father/son team in the canyon, so when we both exited at the same time, I asked them if I could join them for lunch. They were Howard Wood (Dad) and Greg (son). Here’s Howard’s beautiful site:
Woodpile Images

We went to the Dam Grill, an apropos name given the nearby Glen Canyon Dam. Lunch was good! I’d go there again.

I checked back into the Marriott and got a good night’s sleep.

I woke up to snow in Flagstaff! Well, I was thrilled. Finally, my AWD car would have something to chew on.

I had never been to Sedona, so I drove south on 89A. Talk about spectacular scenery, this drive ranked in the top two. You enter a deep canyon, surrounded on both sides by huge trees, cliffs and a small river. It twists and turns and hairpins all over the place as you drive down about 2,000 feet.

Sedona was as beautiful as everyone says. It does have a feeling of a Santa Fe wannabe, but I had lunch at the Wildflower Cafe and thoroughly enjoyed the food and the free, wireless internet!

The Frank Lloyd Church, Sedona, AZ

I briefly visited the famous Frank Lloyd Wright church (along with several hundred others), then high-tailed it for Page, AZ. While it didn’t rain at all in Sedona, the snow started again as soon as I hit the 89A canyon. I gotta admit, I got goosebumps from the clomps of snow that hit my windshield. The idea of it turning into giant clomps of hail did occur to me, but we all got lucky. Except for the people almost in front of me – they got into a head-on collision.

You climb all the way back up to 7,300 feet above sea level as you pass through Flagstaff, then 89 just flattens out at a slightly lower plateau for the two and a half hour drive to Page. It’s a stunning drive, but boy is it windy. I saw my first tumbleweeds tear across the highway in front of me. Why does the wind seem always to blow perpendicular to the direction I was driving?

Wait till you read day 5. Thought I was a goner.

Anyway, I arrived early enough in Page, AZ to visit Horseshoe Bend before the sun set. We’d had some severe weather brush by the area – the sky was angry, dark and beautiful, but not great for photos.

I had a wonderful steak salad at the Marriott Courtyard and went to bed.

I got up, got the Starbucks and hit the road for Joshua Tree. Oh – why did I want to go there? Well, one weekend five years ago after the only formal photography training I’ve had, I met my mom in Portland, OR to see the sights and do mom/daughter things. We stumbled onto a street fair and I purchased a beautiful square photo made in Joshua Tree at sunrise. Ever since, I’ve wanted to see it for myself.

The drive down 247 towards Twenty-Nine Palms was one of the loneliest drives I had on the entire trip. I hit the road around 9am on that Sunday morning and I think perhaps ten cars passed me going the other direction. It was spooky and I was so very glad I didn’t do the drive the previous night.

Two hours later, I paid the $15 entrance fee into Joshua Tree and started driving the loop around the park. I stopped to do the Hidden Valley Trail loop, but got spooked by being out there alone without a lot of other people around – and very conscious that my computer and ALL my drives were locked up in my car. I did take some photos, though, and lamented the fact that I couldn’t linger over the wonderfully soft, broken rock surrounded by all those weird-looking trees.

I headed out of the park – wondering how long ago that fire had raged through the flats – and headed found Amboy Road north in the ultimate direction of Flagstaff, AZ.

I took some wrong turns getting out of Twenty-Nine Palms – btw – I was so glad I didn’t stay there! There aint much to choose from! – and eventually ended up merging onto historic Route 66. I passed some pretty lonely scenery – even a dried up lakebed with gigantic, honeycomb-shaped dry pattern!

I felt saddened by all the abandoned way-side businesses along that historic route. I40 really did create the preserved wasteland of a historic era.

Seligman, AZ. The birthplace of Route 66?

Once I hit I40, it was stunning, gorgeous driving for the next six hours. I’ll never forget the pass where the rocks looked like giant ice cream sandwiches.

I made it to Flagstaff before dark and checked into a Radisson. While it was plenty nice, my bathroom had been used after it had been cleaned and there was hair inside the sheets on both beds. Yuk.

After Megan’s delicious coffee, I hit the road at 10:15am. I had an aggressive drive in mind, but no reservations and I was beat from the move.

I headed east towards Hayward, then followed I5 south toward Bakersfield. I was dying to see Joshua Tree National Park and it was a long, long way from Marin. I was all prepared to listen to talk radio and had some CDs to pass the time, but I never even turned on the radio that day.

Somewhere east of Bakersfield on SR58, I encountered the Tehachapi Pass. I knew I had some hills to climb, but I had no idea what would take my breath away at the top of the pass. An amazing wind farm explodes in front of your eyes from nowhere! It’s stunning – wind turbines of all shapes, sizes and design crowd the top of the pass. It was also really cool how the landscape changed from green to brown within just a few miles.

As I drove toward my destination, Twenty-Nine Palms, I just got too tired and had to find my first place to sleep. I chose Barstow, CA and found a Best Western at the edge of town. Barstow was acceptable because my friend Jenny said they had not one, but two Starbucks! It would be the last Starbucks I would have until I got to Charleston, WV. And that was a funny adventure.

The Best Western in Barstow was fine. Nothing special. I found a supermarket and bought a roast chicken, a Ravenswood Zin and a bag of raw carrots and broccoli. Welcome to dinner on the road.

I partially left (meaning I kept an apartment!) New York City by moving to San Francisco in December 2004. I was in search of clean air, beauty, access to the outdoors and a completely different lifestyle.

Earlier, I had made a list of the cities that I thought could support my luxury lifestyle service: fine portrait photography. I added Miami, Dallas, Houston, Las Vegas, LA and blindly added SF. I had a feeling the crunchy, healthy, pricey area would be the most difficult to break into, yet it was the only climate that appealed to me.

I never gave up my apartment in NY, because I couldn’t imagine not having a place here. I AM New York, heart, body and soul. I just needed a break from the polluted heat and humidity of summer and the incessant noise.

Well, I had a hard time getting work in SF. I got a little, but to my surprise, my NY business was booming. I finally decided after two and a half years that I had to move back.

So today was my day. The movers showed up at 2pm and heaved and hauled up and down three flights of stairs for eight hours. My dear, talented friend, Megan Scott, came in and saved me at the last minute by helping me with the final clean up and clear out. I will be forever grateful to her generous gift of time and kindness that day.

Well, it was midnight by the time we were done, so I crashed at her place with my car loaded up for a cross-country drive across the USA.