Incredible.....

The Ruins

These are photos of the where the ruins are. 1st photo is of the remains of an actual ruin. Next is a pile of modern made adobe bricks that are being used to help keep part of the ruins in shape enough so that people can tell where these ancient Pueblo Indian homes were. Most of the photos are of rebuilt walls that are on top of what is left of the ancient walls. There has been one 'home' completely rebuilt. It has a ladder on the side as most of the homes were entered through the roof for protection, and privacy. There are doors there are barely wide enough for an average person to enter. The roof is low, and there is a fire pit for warmth and winter cooking. Vigas or wood poles were used to support the roof. Some of the 'homes' or apartments were as much as 4 stories high.

You Know You Are Obsessed When...

...you're tempted to stop and examine every bike you see, no matter how nice or "crappy." Your walking companions are accustomed to this and stop in front of bicycles pre-emptively when you are with them.



... you walk by a freshly painted house or fence and wonder what the closest matching RAL colour code would be. You narrow it down to two, both of which you remember by heart.



...you get confused when trying to walk places. You are accustomed to the cycling route.



...you happen upon a scenic spot, and you wonder how well your bike would photograph there.



...it is impossible to snap a photo inside your apartment without getting at least a small piece of bike in the frame.

...you decide to rent a boat on vacation, and it ends up being a pedal boat.



...you arrive in a foreign country and the first thing you do is sort out your bike situation. Later you also tend to the small stuff, like making sure your mobile phone works and that you can withdraw cash. You don't even bother with public transport.



Bicycle in Vienna? Check! Despite the pouring rain and the worst jetlag ever.

New chickens

The newer chickens never seem in the mood for portraiture.



We came up on the losing end of the chicken lottery this time. Out of eight mystery chick picks, five were cockerels (males), and only three were pullets (females).

What kind of homesteading woman am I, if I couldn't watch what had to happen?



The squeamish kind, I guess.

Hubby is just as content to do it all himself, I think, to avoid having me standing over his shoulder. "Offering suggestions," as I see it... "Bossing me around," according to him. "And stressing me out."

We made the rookie mistake (according the the Backyard Chicken Forum) of cooking them without letting them rest in the fridge for at least 24 hours, so they were a little tough.

Cotton Candy Ice

Yesterday afternoon we were in Grand Marais to pick up some groceries and possibly shoot the sunset. We were contemplating just heading back home without shooting sunset, though, because the cloud cover was so thick. But, just as we were deciding whether or not to head back, the clouds right along the horizon started to clear. So, we headed over to the campground to photograph the shoreline looking to the west. I sure was glad we decided to try it, because sunset was glorious! Especially when photographed over this shoreline ice that Jessica said looked like cotton candy. We also ran into fellow photographer and friend Bryan Hansel, who was coming out of the library when he noticed the same thing we did and headed to the same location as us. It's always a wonderful experience to witness a sunset such as this. Even better when you can share it with others!

Cars - A Necessary Evil

When Jasia announced the topic of this edition of the COG, I'll have to admit that I cringed a bit. Cars have never been a "big" thing in my family. They were pretty much seen as a necessary evil, a utilitarian object required to get from one place to another. So much so, that I don't think that I have even one photograph of any of our cars. Well, that is, except for the one below, and several others of cars that were involved in accidents in which the cars were totaled. Those pictures aren't pretty and my brother and I were fortunate to walk away from the accidents uninjured with only a few bruises and scratches. I had a love-hate relationship with many of my cars. However, several other, more favorable, incidents involving cars and my family came crawling out of the recesses of my mind.


One of the earliest cars that I remember my family owning was the Nash Rambler. And, of course, we all absolutely adored the song "Beep Beep" when it came out in 1958. I wonder if that guy ever got his car out of second gear? It was a nice car though a bit small for a growing family. It was a bit crowded when we were all riding in it at the same time.

We lived out in the country, about 10 miles from the largest town (Warsaw) and nearest movie theatre. All of us (Mom, Dad, and 4 kids) would drive into Warsaw every Saturday to get groceries and once in a great while we would be treated to a movie. The Saturday Matinee at the Lake Theatre was a special event. We'd get a big bag of popcorn and a large pop to share. On this particular day it was "101 Dalmatians" that was showing, the original animated version, so it would have been 1961. Don't know why but that has stuck with me through the years. It is really irrelevant to the story. Anyway, the movie was over and we left the theatre. It was early evening and the street lights had just come on, shedding an eerie green light over everything which changed colors so they didn't look like they usually did. We were all excited and talking about the movie as we piled into our car. Dad put the key in the ignition and turned it, but nothing happened. The car wouldn't start. It was then that we started noticing that something wasn't quite right. We had gotten into the wrong car! We quickly got out and strolled down the block a little ways where we found our car, right where we had left it.

When my brother got out of the Navy in the spring of 1968, he bought a Chevrolet Corvair convertible. I don't remember the details but one day, for some reason, he wanted to go into North Webster, probably to hang out with some friends, and didn't want to leave his car in town. So he wanted me to take him in. Mom was at work so his was the only car available since I didn't have my own car at that time. Problem was, the Corvair was a stick shift, and I had only driven cars with an automatic transmission. No problem, he said, he'd teach me! And so he drove the car to the field out back of the house, I slid into the driver's seat and we chugged and jerked our way around that field until I could smoothly get the car out of one gear and into the next. And that is how I learned to drive a car with a manual transmission.

The first new car that I owned, and subsequently fell in love with, was an American Motors Hornet Hatchback. I spent the year 1973 in Iceland, at the Keflavik Naval Air Station, and one of the "perks" that I took advantage of at the end of my tour of duty was a discount on the purchase of a new car. I remember spending hours going over the various brochures that were provided. Sure, I wanted a car that looked nice, performed well, was dependable, etc. But most of all I wanted something that I could travel well with. Something that would even allow me to sleep in the car, if necessary. Billed as "a sports car with room to travel in" the AMC Hornet Hatchback seemed to fit my needs and also happened to fall within my budget!

The car was delivered to a dealership in Elkhart where I picked it up while I was on leave in January 1974. It was metallic blue, and beautiful. Over the next three years that car, dubbed "Old Blue," and I criss-crossed the United States several times. From northern Indiana to Florida, then to California, then to Rochester, New York, back to Indiana, back to California, and various places in-between. I just couldn't bear to part with the car in 1977 when I was transferred to Japan so it was put in storage for two years. The car was paid for. It had a lot of miles put on it but had been taken care of quite well and was in good shape. I figured it would be cheaper to pay for storage than to have to buy a new car when I returned.

A friend stationed at Point Mugu retrieved the car from storage and prepared it for my return. When I picked up the car in May 1979 it was as good as new, better even, since I didn't have car payments to make! That summer was, without a doubt, the best summer of my life and a journey I'll always remember. After a quick trip to San Diego to visit friends I headed north, along the coast highway, taking plenty of time before finally reaching friends in the Seattle, Washington area. To say that I took advantage of the fold-down back seats for sleeping would be an understatement. I lived in "Old Blue" that summer. Eventually, I made my way back to Indiana in time to start the fall semester at Indiana State University in Terre Haute.

Old Blue got me through school and held up well for a few more years. But during the winter of 1984 the heater quit working, which meant the windows couldn't be defrosted. And with winters in northern Indiana being what they are, I really needed a heater and defroster. When I took it in to get it checked out I was told that it would cost more to repair than the car was worth. So, it was with great sadness that I traded in Old Blue and purchased my next car. When the dealer looked at the odometer and saw that it said a bit over 80,000 miles he was impressed. "Wow, a ten year old car with only 80,000+ miles, and in great shape." For a moment the thought went through my mind, maybe I shouldn't tell him the actual mileage. But then, honesty, or perhaps some thoughts of bragging rights, came over me and he was astounded when I told him it actually had 180,000+ miles. Needless to say, the trade-in value plummeted, and I got next to nothing for Old Blue. Nothing except a lot of very good memories. And those are priceless.

I tend to hang on to cars until the very end. I'm on my third vehicle since Old Blue, a Chevy Cavalier, also a hatchback style, but without a name, that I've had for eight years now and it's getting close to 140,000 miles. It too has been a good, faithful car but the miles that have been put on it haven't been nearly as much fun as those with Old Blue.

Somewhere in my boxes of pictures I would like to think that I have a photo of Old Blue, but I haven't found it yet, and a picture isn't really needed for me to remember. But this picture shows what she looked like.

While trying to locate a picture on the 'net I discovered that in the 1974 movie "The Man with the Golden Gun" James Bond drove a red AMC Hornet hatchback special coupe. And, if you are a collector, for $39.99 you can actually purchase a 1/43 scale die cast model of the car. Cool, yes, but not really something that I want. The memories are sufficient.

Can Stop, Will Stop: TRP Mini-V Brakes

I have embarked on a long term test ride of a Honey cyclocross bike, similar to the one I rode in the Kearsarge Klassic last summer. When asked about component preferences on the demo bike, one thing I requested was stronger brakes. I had remarkably poor stopping power with the cantilever brakes on the bike I'd borrowed earlier, and I generally have not had good luck with cantis. I described these problems to Honey and we decided to try v-brakes. They suggested the TRP CX8.4 "mini-vs."




The TRP CX8.4 linerar pull brakes were designed for maximum stopping power oncyclocross bikes. Unlike full sized v-brakes, they were also designed to work with integrated road levers (this particular model works best withCampagnolo and SRAM)without requiring an adapter- reducing bulk, weight and complexity. These brakes have a number of features to recommend them for cyclocross racing, but having no experience with that side of things I will stick to describing them in the context of "just riding."




Under my weak grip, theTRPs feel reassuringly powerful. Those with strong hands could in fact find this problematic, but for me it is a welcome change from having to worry about stopping a fat-tire roadbike with cantis at the bottom of a hill. This is the first time I have used v-brakes on such a bike, and the quality of the braking does feel different from centerpulls and cantilevers. I have to apply pressure differently to regulate exactly how much I want to brake, but it didn't take long to train my hands to "understand." When attempting to slow down at high speeds, the braking is not harsh or jerky, but it is stronger than typical - so it helps to have a gentle touch, or else to use only one finger on the lever. For harder braking, there is a luxurious, modulation-friendly margin before coming to a full stop that I find especially helpful. In the past, I have had to get creative in order to stop on downhills during unpaved rides, and I've even employed my foot as an auxilliary brake on a couple of occasions. The TRPs are at their best precisely in those situations.




I have ridden the bike only a couple of times so far, but our winter conditions have allowed me to immediately try it on snow and slush. Getting the rims slushy did reduce braking power, but there was so much of it to begin with that it remained manageable. Basically, with the mini-vs the bike rides with slush-clogged rims like it did with dry rims when it had cantis.




The Honey cross is set up with a carbon fiber fork, and I have not detected any judder with the TRPCX8.4s. These brakes easily clearthe 700Cx35mm tires currently on the bike, and look like they could fit a fender. My understanding is they will not clear a 650B x 42mm tire; for that full sized v-brakes may be required.




With an MSRP of $149 per set, the TRP CX8.4 brakes seem like an excellent and accessible option for those seeking extra braking power on a roadbike with canti/v bosses. As I get the opportunity to try other brakes worth mentioning, I will continue the "can stop, will stop" series (See also: Paul Racer centerpull brakes).

Goldfields on Figueroa

Goldfields on Figueroa, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

Here are some goldfields up on the slopes of Figueroa Mountain in Santa Barbara County. The mountain is spectacular, with beautiful displays of wildflowers.

Photos... and the heat wave

We had some aviation training today and along the way, I was able to snap a few images.

Here is a north side picture of Liberty and Ptarmigan Ridges. It has been a really hot week on the mountain, and the snow is melting quite rapidly...

I'll post more photos later today (when I can get some time to process them.) Photo by Mike Gauthier

In the Woods

We took our first trip to the Jemez Mountains last Thursday to start woodcutting for the winter. When we got there we had to sit in the truck and wait for a rain shower to pass before we could start cutting. After the rain I noticed this nice pine tree with lots of green moss on the left side and the log and rock at it's base to make a nice photo.

Wally

We chose a balloon at random to watch as it went up from the beginning as they unrolled out the balloon from it's bag onto a tarp, filled it with cold air, heated it with the propane burner, rose up into the air and then lifted off to fly away, or in this case maybe swim would be the better word. This is the first year that Wally has come to the Balloon Fiesta, so it was his first flight here. Maybe even his first flight in New Mexico. We learned from the card that was handed out by one of the crew members that he was from Wisconsin and had just been "born" this year.
Most balloons have a web site and many give out cards simular to baseball cards that have information about the balloon.

Anatoli the Anole

My husband rescued a baby Carolina Anole (Anolis carolinensis, a.k.a. Green Anole) from certain death. He recovered nicely, and is now living in Geckie's old cage.

He's much more swift and agile than Geckie, and unlike a leopard gecko, he can cling to the glass sides of the aquarium.

We named him Anatoli. Yes, that's Anatoli the Anole, in keeping with our ludicrously juvenile reptile-naming scheme.

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See FC's recent post on Mood Lizards for a great series of pictures of a Green Anole changing colors.

Badby to Nether Heyford along Nene Way

The journey begins

Friday 17 June . With Marta. Approx 8 - 9 miles. Slightly humid and showery, but pleasant underfoot.







We took the (metaphorical) bull by the horns of our dilemma, and decided to attack the Nene Way from the South-West, starting at Badby. Not quite the source, it seems, so that is for another day - we intend to track that down when we've completed the whole route. That could take some time, since the next available date is at least a fortnight away.





We didn't set off until about 12.30, and for future expeditions we must do better.

The start is clearly marked from the Green in Badby, past some cottages, then through fields by a small stream.

The infant Nene?

The path leads to the road into Newnham, climbing the hill

Alfred Angas Scott was a famous motorcycle manufacturer and he stayed at the New Inn in 1908. The Newnham hill climb was a regular motorcycle event before World War 2. It was held on Good Fridays. On Thursday 20 July 2000, a similar race was held.

The path goes through the churchyard and downhill past a large monument, overgrown with vegetation - the path leads through to a cottage with a well outside, then down hill, along the streets. Some of the signs are not exactly obvious, but all went well until we came to a gate into a field where an obvious concrete track led down to another gate on our right, towards trees by a river... eventually we realised there was no way out, and returned. A local farmer set us right, saying that we really should have noted the way the arrow before the gate was pointing - up to the left past a telegraph pole and through various gates with a white disc waymarker.





This section was hillier than we expected, and the more scenic as a result. We came out at Little Everdon Hall, set in parkland, with a Countryside Stewardship sign on the gate. Very attractive hamlet. After the last house there is a sign to the left - as we walked we passed one or two places where there are turns to the left from the path, and a few confusing signs.

Every WHICH way?

Marta has a well-earned coffee. There was no bull today.

Through fields of barley, and rapeseed with poppies, we passed a gate where swallows were perching. They let us get pretty close to them before flying off.

Swallows

We arrived at the road to Weedon Bec. We called in to the first pub for a drink, and were amused by a small child with a remarkably placid puppy in a room which looked more like a living room than a bar. In the local mini-supermarket we bought a sandwich 'meal deal' and took this along to eat where the Nene Way follows the Grand Union Canal towpath briefly, past Weedon Wharf to Bridge 25. We lost track of the actual path in Weedon, but found it near the cemetery under the Canal Aqueduct. We managed to orientate ourselves by the position of the Canal and the very busy West Coast Mainline railway beyond.















At Bridge 25 we left the canal towpath, and made our way towards the A5. Not the most scenic part of the walk, but not quite as tricky to cross as we thought. We went slightly to the right of the footpath to get a better view of the traffic!



At this point be careful to go straight ahead, avoiding the clear path diagonally to the right. The Nene Way and the Macmillan Way follow the same route here for a short distance. You go over a footbridge and across a wide field towards Flore church.

All Saints Church, Flore

You walk through the churchyard, and go to the right past the school, along Nether Lane and Kings Lane. At this point we just missed seeing a fox and cubs playing in a field, according to a couple who had been watching them.





The Nene Way leaves Flore between two thatched walls



The path continues across fields east, then south-east, then south into Nether Heyford, crossing the slightly wider river.

The Nene near Nether Heyford

Memorial Weather

Both high camps have been receiving lots of new snow over the past couple of days. Memorial Day itself put drifts up to 50 cm deep around camp. High winds (40-50 mph) pasted the wet snow to most surfaces. The general forecast, at least initially, looks better for early-June. Hopefully we'll avoid the all too common "Junuary" weather pattern.






Climbers have been unsuccessful in reaching the summit for almost a week due to weather and avalanche concerns - although challenging conditions have been welcome training conditions for climbers with their sights set on even loftier peaks.




Stop by the Climbing Information Center in Paradise for the most current information on the mountain. We're open everyday at 06:00 - come on up and talk to us early, the Paradise Inn is open again for the season and they do serve espresso!




See you on The Mountain.

In Case You Were Wondering...

Yes, I did find someplace cooler! When last I left you, I was sweltering in 100 degree temperatures, along with much of the Midwest and the East Coast! Thursday morning (July 21st) I continued driving through Toledo and on into “Pure Michigan” northward. At Standish (north of the “thumb”) I followed U.S. 23 along the coast of Lake Huron. It was a very nice tree-lined drive with little traffic, but views of the lake were few and far-between. Of course, I could have stopped at one of the many public access areas but the temperature was still near 100 degrees and I was quite comfortable in my air conditioned van!



The temperature did drop the further north I drove but still in the 90s. Oddly enough it wasn't until I turned inland a ways that the temperature dropped into the upper 80s. I spent the night at very pleasant State Park at Onaway on the shores of Black Lake near the upper tip of the Lower Peninsula. The temperature actually got into the 70s overnight. Upper 70s but 70s nevertheless!



It seems that every campground has a different atmosphere to it. Some have open campsites with little privacy but the people seem friendlier there than at the campgrounds where the sites are more secluded. Some, by their very nature – such as those on or near lakes - tend to be noisier than others. It was tempting to spend a few days at Onaway but it was a busy place with lots of kids and dogs and was very noisy.



So on Friday morning I went in search of a more quiet, secluded place where I could simply relax and perhaps work on the research papers I had accumulated while in Ohio...



No, it's not Michigan! But thought I'd share this, which was taken about six weeks ago in the Rocky Mountains. Perhaps it will make someone feel a little cooler during this heat wave ;-)

Blue Ridge Parkway :: Brinegar Cabin

The grounds were neatly mowed. The garden was lying fallow. The cabin was locked. Peeking into the windows revealed nothing but empty spaces, except for a large object covered with a sheet. It was likely the loom used in demonstrations during the “prime” visitor season, summer.



The Brinegar Cabin, at milepost 238.5 on the Blue Ridge Parkway. A placque at the top of the hill overlooking the cabin proclaims:

The Brinegars were not famous or rich, but they were important to their families and neighbors. In 1876 Martin Brinegar purchased this 125 acre farm from Henderson Crouse, Caroline Joines' uncle, for $200. Two years later Martin and Caroline were married; he was 21 and she was 16. there were many small communities close by where the Brinegars visited their families and friends, traded for supplies, and attended church and school.

Martin and Caroline first lived in a one-room cabin that was already here. Their three children – Alice, Sarah, and John – were born in that cabin. As the family grew Martin built the cabin that stands here now. Their last child, William, was born in this cabin, but died as an infant.

The Brinegars did all the usual work of living on a farm – raising crops and animals, preserving food, and cutting firewood. Martin also made shoes for his neighbors. He was a local justice of the peace and notary public, and for many years he served as clerk for the Pleasant Grove Baptist Church. Caroline made clothing for her family and augmented their income by gathering medicinal plants like bloodroot, snakeroot, and black cherry bark and selling them to nearby drug merchants.

In 1925 Martin was caught in a storm on his way home from church and died from pneumonia eight days later. He was 68. The state of North Carolina bought the Brinegar farm in 1935 to become part of the Blue Ridge Parkway. Although Caroline had a lifetime tenure to stay in her home, she went to live with her daughter Sarah when it became too noisy here for her. Caroline died in 1943 when she was 82.

Gravestones don't lie? When did Bela die?

The gravestone for Bela Goodrich, my 5th Great Grandfather, is located in Adams Cemetery, Troy Township, Whitley County, Indiana and has the inscription "1776-1845" and "War of 1812". Neither the year of his birth nor the year of his death is correct!



This is not the original marker. Another researcher, a descendant of Price Goodrich, Bela's son, says she was told by an uncle that the original marker was illegible and in bad condition when some family members decided to erect a new marker. Apparently they didn't know his year of death or, perhaps, that is how they interpreted the remaining transcription on the original marker. At any rate, a new stone was set with the incorrect dates. So when was Bela born and when did he die? Stick with me, and we'll see, maybe.





Wethersfield, Connecticut Vital Records 1634 - 1868, from the Barbour Collection online at Rays' Place (and elsewhere) show that Bela Goodrich, son of John 3rd & Abigail, was born February 4, 1777. Those records also show that his parents John Goodrich and Abigail Price were married on October 1, 1776, just four months prior to Bela's birth! John and Bela moved with their families to Franklin County, Ohio about 1807 and 31 years later, in 1838, Bela along with some of his grown children came to Whitley County, Indiana. Bela is not listed in the 1840 census for Whitley County but his son Price and son-in-law, James Joslin, are both listed.



On May 6, 1852, Bela, aged 75, applied for Bounty Land based on his service in the War of 1812 while living in Franklin County, Ohio. He also applied again on May 31, 1855. This time he was 78 years old.

Bela is enumerated in both the 1850 and 1860 Whitley County, Indiana census records. In 1850 he is age 74, in the household with his daughter Abigail and her husband Jonas Joslin (my 4th Great Grandparents). In 1860, Bela is listed as being age 83 and is living with his grandson, Silas Goodrich.

So, we know he was still living in 1860 because he's listed in the census, right? Well, I have found instances where deceased people were listed in the census records, but another clue was found in the Columbia City News. The item below first appeared March 25, 1862 and ran almost weekly, with the last "testimonials" for the Scandinavian Remedies being June 2, 1863.

"Home Testimony. Huntsville. Whitley Co., Ind.

"Dr. C. W. Robeck: Sir. This is to certify that I was very much reduced in strength, and was confined to bed rom [sic] general debility and disease and being advised to try your Scandinavian Remedies, I did so with the most satisfactory result. I have since had several attacks of the sam [sic] character, which have always been removed by these remedies and can conscientiously recommend them to the afflicted. Yours truly, BELLA [sic] GOODRICH."

We're getting a little closer... chances are, if he was giving a testimony for a "remedy" he'd still be alive. I think we would be safe in assuming he was living in June of 1863.



An article that was published in the Columbia City Post on February 24, 1892 gave bits of information regarding early settlers and current residents. Of particular interest was this one-liner... "Bela Goodrich was a soldier and died at the age of 87 years. He was the father of Price Goodrich and grandfather to Fletcher Goodrich of Richland township."



We have no way of knowing if this article is accurate, but if it is, and if he was born in 1777 and died when he was 87 years old, that puts his year of death at 1864 or possibly early 1865.



There would not be any "official" record of Bela’s death since Whitley County didn't start recording deaths until about 1882, and that is hit-or-miss until about 1900 when the state required them.






So, when did Bela die? What say you?