Mary Panttaja

So we had a great visit with our good friend Valerie in Palisade, CO, bought peaches (look up Palisade, CO), and headed south on 128. What a beautiful drive!! It follows the Colorado through enormous red rock—hardly anyone on this route—just a couple of resorts. Deeper and deeper red rock desert made more luscious by reading E Abbey as he talks about his time here before there was anything but the idea of a series of national parks.

So my literary brother sent me a link to the local Moab newspaper late last night and I read the lead article this morning. Sure enough, almost every tamarisk plant along the Colorado River is dead, eaten by the tamarisk beetle which they have imported to devour the imported tamarisk. It is a massive undertaking and it is hard to envision how they will deal with the debris (or if they will). But the challenge of managing invasive species is a very valuable thing to step up to. We deal with this in our own California rivers and in our fields. My battles with yellow star thistle are an ever-ongoing theme.

Planning to camp high up on the mesa, Dead Horse, in the middle of Islands in the Sky. The view is not to be missed and we are praying for a massive thunderstorm—that would be real entertainment. Meanwhile we sit and work in an internet cafe on the main drag, thoughts about our launching enterprise commanding our attention. And even on a cool day in the deserted (and desert) of Moab, the air conditioning is nice for a while. Why don’t we know what others know—we seem to often come to the canyonlands in August. And have the place to ourselves.

Wednesday morning we bought a USA Today at a truck stop where we had a nice simple lunch. A few interesting articles—no impending catastrophic news about the Tour de France, thank goodness. (We’re traveling to help us get over our withdrawal from watching the tour.)

In the paper, I was shocked to see the large format weather map of the United States showing the high temperatures for the day. A few small yellow islands surrounded by orange and red. Everywhere. Orange and red range from the 80’s to the 100’s. The whole country was baking hot, except a few corners in the 70’s (including San Francisco).

Anyway, it was a little unnerving, knowing all the news about global warming and radical weather, a seeing such a uniform swelter holding sway over the country.

But today it’s sprinkling here in—where are we?—Vernal, UT, Dinosaur National Monument, and Palisade, CO—or at least overcast much of the day. Only 87 degrees.

Tomorrow we’re off to Moab and we’ll see how this moderating pattern holds up. Or not.

Yesterday, the 31st, we executed one of our favorite loops: a 12 mile paddle on the Snake River between Pacific Creek and Deadman’s Bar and a 11 mile bike ride back to the car. Easy on both legs (pun intended) as the river is basically flat, though fast, and the only hazard on the bike ride is wind.

This section of the Snake doesn’t host the large commercial raft operations, they put in at Deadman’s Bar, so we shared the river with only a few small drift boats (mostly folks being taught how to fly fish, but at the time of day when no fish would deign to be caught) and two men in an aluminum canoe. We were able to paddle away from them all and have our section of the river mostly to ourselves.

A generous sprinkling of wildlife:

• The usual steadfast fisherman of the river, ospreys.
• Three bald eagle sightings; one soaring out of a tree on the bank, one standing on a sandbar wrestling with a small fish, and the third dive bombing in on the second to steal lunch. They were all mature, the white of the heads and tails very stark in the even blues, greens, and greys of the river.
• A variety of ducks, geese, and mergansers including babies.
• A pair of cranes feeding in the grass along the refuge.
• A small herd of antelope that fluttered back into the trees, a few stopping to look back and stare at us.
• An elk in the distance grazing.
• A medium size herd of bison, looking for all the world like cattle grazing out on a ranch.
• A few pronghorn, one of the more unique creatures of Wyoming.

Today we are headed south. We just passed an early section of the Green River, which we will, more or less, be following down to it’s confluence with the Colorado near Moab. It will take us a few days to get there. Tonight we may camp near the confluence of the Green and the Yampa (northwestern Colorado) near Dinosaur National Monument. And maybe another paddle/peddle tour, this time on the Green.

As we were about to leave, I casted about for something to read—not just anything (I have a large stack of business and technical books on the desktop)—but something comforting and inspiring to read. In the library, I was scanning my nature essay section and pulled out “Desert Solitaire, A Season in the Wilderness” by Edward Abbey. Of course, since we are heading to the red rock country, it was especially pertinent.

I mused a bit on those books that I would always own, those writers that always speak to me very personally. Many of the most important books in my life are of the experience of the person/soul/sensibility coming into contact with the natural world. That experience of nature and the planet is, for me, a key touchstone in my process of keeping in touch with who I really am. It helps me move passed my egoic worries and concerns and feel what really is.

So my mind started to make a list of who these people were. One day I’ll will do it more completely, but here is a start:

• Gary Snyder
• Edward Abbey
• Aldo Leopold
• Wendell Berry
• Gretel Erhlich
• Barry Lopez
• Robert Thurman
• Peter Mathiessen
• Farley Mowat

I know there are more—but today it’s E Abbey and the red rock desert. And that is quite enough.

On the route to Jackson, WY, we took a small detour through Southeastern Idaho to a place called Gray’s Lake. We’ve been here before and never found the lake. And there is a reason we never found the lake—it’s really a very large marshland of reeds with a little bit of surface water. The lake is important as a national wildlife refuge and a major breeding site for Sand Hill Cranes. (Which I learned about reading Aldo Leopold’s famous book “The Sand County Almanac”—one of my favorite thinkers and one of my favorite books.)

So we drove around the lake and saw many pairs of cranes foraging in the cut hay fields, one pair with a baby. Many flocks of cranes soared overhead, each so gigantic that even a small group is very impressive.

As we left the visitor center we found a dirt road that I remembered fondly. It runs from Gray’s Lake through the headwaters and drainage of Tincup Creek. Where the creek hits the main road (Hwy 34) there stands the remnants of an old establishment that is vaguely called Tincup.

This is a very delicate 14 miles through the Rockies: Aspen groves, long creek meaders, open sage brush, and valleys forming from dozens of beaver damns. It is just as beautiful as I remember—and yet such a small thing, just a creek running through its own little neighborhood. And still, it is somewhere I will visit again, just to see it or to sit in its shadows and carefully watch.

Rain yesterday afternoon, but things are dry, and crisp and cold, this morning.

We stayed over in a campground in Wells, Nevada last night (clean, efficient and functional if noisy and inelegant), at the base of the Ruby Mountains, which are one my favorite places that I’ve never really explored yet. Still on the list, but we need a week to stay here and wander.

Passing through Elko yesterday, we looked up and there was His Holiness the Dalai Lama on an enormous billboard, his hands clasped together in namaste. You couldn’t help but grin. It was just two years ago that we drove through Wells and noticed a newspaper headline that promoted that he was speaking that day in Sun Valley. We dashed up to see him. And it’s just one year since I went with Cynthia (Jim was under his travel restriction) to his teaching in NYC. Quite a surprise to keep discovering him out here in the desert.

We found a great bicycle ride last night. A 4% grade on the road up into the Ruby Mountains that went on and on, though we were running out of light. It is quite hazy and overcast here due to the heavy layer of smoke that has settled in from some fire—the moon was a soft orange when it broke through early this morning.

With the wifi at the campground and the new SlingBox at home, we are listening to the dramatic news from the Tour de France while we wake up with our coffee. It’s really early, but all is cozy here.

PS. Jim figured out that maybe I could power my MacBook Pro with a DC to AC converted plugged into the car; and sure enough, it won’t charge, but I got an extra 90 minutes on a essentially dead battery yesterday. That was very cool; at least I can work while we drive and preserve battery.

We are preparing to head out traveling again. This time just the two of us and the pop-up tent camper. The entire rig is small but pretty complicated. We carry the following with our car and a 10 foot trailer:

• Our traveling office includes the following:
  • 2 Macs (now running SlingPlayer to our SlingBox at home to help us follow the Tour de France next week)
  • EVDO cellular network
  • Network hub that can work off the car battery (or the camper battery)
  • Cellular camera and a digitial media transfer device
  • Digital voice recorder
  • HP all-in-one (printer, fax, copier; which we have yet to use)
  • Garmin GPS unit
  • Of course, the two IPhones (a different wireless network)
  • We are also currently maintaining a T-Mobile account for really fast wireless where it’s available (Starbucks for example)

• An old Yakima space case (Gorrila tape patches and stickers abound) carrying our folding flat water kayak
• An extra set of old bike racks on the car for when we want to shuttle without the trailer
• Riding on top of the camper: Two Jackson white water kayaks (for only up to class 3; we’re wooses)
• Two Ibis mountain bikes–much more worn this year than ever before. (Ibis Cycles is back in business in Scotts Valley, which is good news.)

The camper itself is minimially outfitted: no air conditioning, no microwave, no shower. The only indulgence is that these little Fleetwood campers are the only RV’s that come with king-size beds—still using sleeping bags—but they are wide and long. When we are on the road, while we like having access to electricity and tables and chairs for our work, we’d rather feel a little more like we are camping and spend a lot of our days out of doors rather than be coddled inside a house-like environment. So the tent-camper is fitting.

As we prepare our for our sojourn, I realize how fickle I am. Sometimes I really want to be just wandering around the world. (Currently reading “Vagabonding” by Rolf Potts.) Live the footloose life, unattached to a place, mirroring an international version of “On the Road”. And other times, I really want to sit and be still and focus. And home is a really productive place to do that. In addition, the two life styles have some difficulty sychronizing. If you want to be engaged in group activities (like play in a band, working in a writing group, or having a personal social life) you need to be around much of the time—making you less free to wander in time and space, even if you can make your work travel with you. So maybe “work” can go where you go, but “community” is a harder thing to take on the road.

Well, if this is the worst problem we have to resolve, then life is good. It does look like we may be settling in for a bit of a work challenge come our return, so this is an important R&R trip. I hope to make significant progress on the the next draft of the novel, and maybe start thinking about finding a professional editor. Fun stuff.

We’re off traveling again after a lovely beginning-of-summer party at our house. Magically, Saturday was the only cool day (in the eighties) we’ve had in a week. So lucky planning. And/or diligent prayers.

All seven us are snuggled into our SUV, an efficient way for us to travel. The aging Lexus only gets used when there are more than four of us to ride, or when we tow the camper. We manage most everything else with the Prius which has become our everyday car. I sold my darling Nissan 300Z (1991) to a local mechanic who can rebuild the engine himself. It was hard to see it go, but a good financial decision, and it was fun to see how excited he was to have it.

Meanwhile, after lunch, everyone is napping, except Jim, who is driving, and Gloria, who is four. Fortunately we are almost there so Corey (six months old) won’t have to tolerate the carseat much longer—which is not one of her stronger skills. We are off to spend a week in Ashland, Oregon at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. I think we have six or seven plays planned over five days—a very busy schedule. The week is all about theatre (the plays, the actors, the direction, the music, the dancing), family (there will be eighteen of us here), and food. Okay, it’s all about the food. Choosing restaurants and menus is a critical part of the experience for us. The favorite restaurant by far is Thai Pepper. We’ve been eating there for decades and it ususally takes 4 tables assembled on the deck to serve us. It’s a beautiful place and no one ever seems to get tired of the excellent food.

Tomorrow night, maybe neuvo latino food at the restaurant Tabu with a performance of the Tempest.

We’ve been traveling light this trip—no car rentals, as few taxis as possible. In Boston, nothing but the T (the Boston subway system) and walking. Yesterday’s trip back to the Newark airport went as follows:

• A mile walk to the subway station with our roller bags and computers.
• A longish subway ride to the train station
• An Amtrak train ride from Boston South Station to New York Penn Station
• A New Jersey transit train from NY Penn to Newark Liberty Airport (on which I penned most of this post)
• A monorail, the AirTrain, across the airport to Portal P
• A phone call to order up the Day’s Inn hotel van to take us to the hotel

All in all, very efficient. Though it was a big day of travel (and today was more of the same: bus to Newark airport, AirTrain to the terminal, flight to LA and then to SF; bus to the car park, and the drive home), we got a lot done. It is really possible to read and work on the trains and subways, so the time is not lost. The airplane is a little more difficult to work on for several reasons (space, power, network access, and that grim sleepiness that overtakes me on the plane), so today was not quite as productive.

Meanwhile, New Jersey was just there gliding by the window.

It’s interesting to watch the updraft of my work change momentum. Some moments I can barely contain all the ideas and energy that is trying to get things to happen. Other moments, like today, I can’t quite figure out what wants to get done. It may be some mild tiredness from a week of travel, or just a flux in the flow. In those moments, I go to the to-do list and try to knock some tedious things off the list, or clean out my email, or edit the to-do list. There is always something that can be done. That way, those things aren’t in my way when I’m really ready to do something more creative.

We are sitting at a table on the train working, and the bays along the Atlantic Ocean are sliding by the window: boats in moorage, small harbors, sun and clouds, flat islands lying offshore, small towns and little parks.

Working while traveling has been pretty effective this trip. We could always find a way to use stray moments at coffee, at the station, on the train. The train is particularly great because it provides electricity with every seat (at least in business class). So with Jim’s Verizon wireless we have the whole working environment.

Okay. Now there’s a beach with sunbathers and bright umbrellas. We haven’t tried that working environment yet—always something new to try. Maybe with a mojito…