Dusk to dawn, sunrise, sunset

Sometimes that old song, “sunrise….sunset…” runs through my head, because my daily life is framed by those “commonplace” events. I get up shortly before dawn, and I go to bed about the time dusk melts into night. Here on the coast, our sunsets and sunrises are often obscured by fog or clouds. That’s one of the things I miss about the desert. Long, drawn-out visual feasts as the sun comes and goes from that part of the world. Here are those events that I captured during my trip. Some of the pictures were in previous posts.

The barbies enjoy last light at Spencer Hot Spring.

Gratuitous picture of my campfire, because that’s what usually happens at dusk.

First light behind Spencer.

First light west of Spencer.

The glow creeps down the mountains.

I am usually in the soaking tub during sunrise.

Even the approaching storm couldn’t dim the sunrise.

It merely softened the glow.

Looking south toward Tonopah.

The western glow gets brighter.

and brighter.

Last light in Shoshone, CA. I had dinner there.

Sunrise at Tecopa Hot Springs.

The clouds are lovely.

Warm glow.

Looking west.

Light on the mountains.

Clouds and light.

Some birds watch sunrise with me.

Sunset at Quartzsite, AZ.

Sunrise at Quartzsite.

Morning glow.

The sun is coming.

Sunset at Mojave National Preserve.

Burned trees in the sunset.

Light slips away.

The approaching dust storm can’t stop the sunrise.

Cold dawn in Tonopah.

Pavarotti, updated

I enjoy opera, mostly tenors, not the Wagnerish stuff. Pavarotti is my favorite. But whenever I listen to him, I either start swilling wine, singing at the top of my lungs, crying, making up lyrics, or all of the above. WTF?

Update: Do NOT listen to opera right before bedtime. That music was in my head all night. I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, and my brain was singing, “I’ve got to PEE, Ivegottopee Ivegottopee Ivegottopee-ee, I’ve got to pee! I’ve got to pee!

The many faces of Pyramid Lake

There is a special detour we often use when we are heading to Nevada or Arizona. It skips Highway 395 and Reno, which is a big plus, but it also goes by Pyramid Lake, which has a stark beauty all its own. No matter how many times I’ve taken pictures, I always find myself reaching for my camera when we pass the lake. The color of the lake changes with time of day and how blue the sky is.

We call the Pyramid Lake detour the “Pyramid Lake Ops,” based on a trip that was almost an “oops.” It was winter, almost dark, and there had been a lot of snow in the Sierras. We weren’t thinking about that enough when we decided to take our usual detour. Pyramid Lake is on the east side of some low mountains, which serve as a moisture barrier. There was only light snow around the lake, but when we turned away from the lake and headed west, we found ourselves in deep snow with no way to turn around or stop. It was a wild ride through the snow on dirt road, for two and a half long, scary hours. Steve drove magnificently, so we did not have to spend that cold night in a snowdrift. When we got to Susanville, we checked into a nice motel and celebrated our near miss. Now any trip past the lake is dubbed an “ops” with the caveat that it could become an “oops.”

The road

I tend to break down road trips into road pictures, scenery pictures, and place pictures. This is a representative sampling of road pictures from my walkabout.

The Nevada/California state line, facing Nevada.

Looking back at California.

Almost to Pyramid Lake.

Approaching Pyramid Lake.

“Name Playa” east of Fallon, NV, on Highway 50, the “loneliest road in America.”

A fairly nameless stretch of “Name Playa.”

Where the “loneliest phone in America” used to be, at the Sand Mountain turn, on Highway 50. Nevada removed all of its payphones, even this famous one. Jerks.

Edwards Creek Valley, between Fallon and Austin, NV. Looking west, back toward Fallon.

The eastern edge of Austin, NV, before the road heads up Austin Pass.

Highway 376 to Tonopah.

The road to Spencer Hot Spring, which is where I spent the night before heading to Tonopah. The faint white area in the valley to the left of the road is the hot spring.

Highway 127, between Shoshone, CA, and Baker, CA.

Kelbaker Road, between Baker and Kelso Depot.

Kelbaker Road, in the northern part of Mojave Preserve.

South of Kelso Depot, by the Granite Mountains, almost to I-10.

Return trip. Approaching the eastern edge of Mojave Preserve from the south.

The Preserve boundary.

In the burned part of the Preserve.

Headed toward Cima Road and Kelso Depot.

Approaching Kelso Depot on Cima Road.

Heading north on Kelbaker Road toward Baker.

Back on Highway 127, north of Baker, heading for Shoshone.

Approaching the turn-off for Dumont Dunes, on Highway 127.

The scenery on 127 is spectacular.

Almost to Tecopa, south of Shoshone.

Driving through the mudhills between Tecopa and Shoshone.

Entering Shoshone.

Approaching Lone Mountain, north of Shoshone.

Short detour east to visit Ash Meadows Wildlife Refuge.

Leaving the refuge via the west entrance.

Blowing dust.

I think we are already north of Beatty, NV, on Highway 95.

Highway 95, north of Beatty, NV.

Goldfield, NV, an old mining town. It is the county seat of Esmerelda County.

The Goldfield Hotel on the left.

Approaching a snow squall north of Goldfield.

Arriving in Tonopah in late afternoon, with snow flurries and plummeting temperatures.

Leaving Tonopah the next morning on Highway 95 north. Temperature about 21 degrees.

After a fruitless detour to Fish Lake Valley Hot Spring, which was overrun by a pack of dirtbiking campers with no etiquette. This is Hot Spring Road looking west toward the White Mountains.

Looking back at the hot spring. White dots are the assholes who camped five feet from the soaking pool.

White Mountains from Hot Spring Road.

Heading north again, toward a second detour before returning to Highway 95.

West on Highway 3.

Wild horses ahead!

North on the last leg of our detour.

Very pretty detour.

The clouds were amazing.

They made great shadows.

Almost back to Highway 95.

Junction ahead.

We turn left, toward Hawthorne.

North on Highway 95.

Lobster crossing at the outskirts of Mina.

Of course I had to take this picture.

Approaching Hawthorne.

Walker Lake north of Hawthorne.

Another detour near Silver City.

Fall colors near the Carson River.

We saw a couple of nice campgrounds near here.

Approaching Pyramid Lake from the south.

Getting closer to the lake.

There it is.

Pavement ends at Warrior Point.

Approaching The Willows.

Approaching The Needles.

A view of ancient shorelines as we head away from the lake.

Approaching the turn toward California.

Our turn.

Almost to Susanville.

Lassen Plateau west of Susanville.

the plateau.

Between Old Station and Lassen Park.

Between Lassen Park and Redding.

Home.

 

Humming, whistling, and head songs

I have always had a tendency to hum or whistle mindlessly, but it used to be in moderation, such as humming Jingle Bells when I take a shower (for which I’ve taken huge teasing from my husband) or tunelessly whistling while sweeping the floor. But it is completely out of control now, and it is driving me bonkers. Basically, if I am not watching tv, listening to music, or talking to somebody, I am humming some musical riff my mind made up, and I am humming it over and over and over and over. . . .  I still do some whistling, but it has been mostly pushed out by the humming. They aren’t even real songs, just simple boring tunes, repeated endlessly until I catch myself doing it, and then starting up again if my mind wanders.

And to make matters worse, when I go to bed at night, the chorus from some simple song (like Que Sera Sera) starts playing over and over in my head. It is there when I get up to use the bathroom. It is there when I wake up to roll over. And it is there when I wake up in the morning. It makes me want to scream.

I’ve begun to wonder if it my mind’s way of trying to soothe me during this difficult year, kind of like musical worry beads, but it is so damned irritating that there isn’t anything soothing about it. It is driving me batty (yes, I know, short trip). I’m thinking I need to start playing music on the stereo constantly to shut this thing down. I haven’t been playing music as much as I used to because I’m rather bored with my CDs. I haven’t had much new music the last year so I’ve overplayed all of the ones I do have, but I’m going to dig through them and find some I haven’t played for a while, before I start smacking myself in the head to shut down that infernal bad radio.

Thatmaywellbeebutt

Since I used this term in a previous post, I thought I should explain it. Obviously, it is a tweaked version of the phrase, “that may well be, but….” My husband and I use the tweaked version as our favorite smartass answer during a disagreement. We often just shorten it to beebutt. We have my older sister to thank for this silly “word.”

Years ago, my sister was tortured by a particularly determined but clueless telemarketer while she was eating dinner or doing some other thing that she didn’t want to break away from. When my sister politely told the telemarketer that she was busy, it had no effect on the woman. She simply said, “That may well be, but…” and launched into her spiel. Again my sister told her she was busy, and again the woman beebutted and launched. At that point, annoyed sister told the woman she was hanging up. As sis pulled the phone away from her ear and began to hang up, the last thing she heard coming out of the phone was, “That may well be, but…”

Now, I can understand the telemarketer using the phrase if someone says to her, “I tried your company and wasn’t satisfied” (That may well be, but we have revamped our customer service to be more responsive to our customers’ needs), or “I’ve used similar products and didn’t like them” (That may well be, but we are different from other companies and would like to offer you this deal…”).

But to say it to somebody as a response to “I’m eating dinner right now and don’t want to talk on the phone” (That may well be, but…”), or “I’m hanging up now because you are not listening to me” (That may well be, but…”), well, that’s just plain silly. With a verbal tic like that, I doubt that the woman had a successful career as a telemarketer (Thatmaywellbeebutt she probably found another way to annoy people with her utter obliviousness).

Motel meeting

During the last evening we spent in a motel on our way home, the barbies got together and had a meeting about what a boring trip it had been for them. They demand better photo opportunities in the future.

Everybody listen up.

Discussion ensues.

We want more photo essays.

All dressed up with nothing to do.

Most of us didn’t even get to soak in the hot springs.

KO weighs in on the discussion and then asks gypsy barbie for a date.

Eskimo barbie asks somebody to turn down the heater.

The uncool barbies are left out of the discussion.

One-armed gymnast barbie gets bored with the meeting.

She’s a bit of a ham.

Gold medal ham.

Lighten up!

Zombie walk, updated

Update: Thanks to a comment from the staff at the zombie research society blog, I went to their site and browsed a bit. I found the most awesome wedding cake there. I just warms the bloody cockles of my heart to find something that combines my love of wedding cakes with my love of zombies. For more fun like this, go to:

http://zombieresearch.net/

Mojave National Preserve

Mojave National Preserve, south of Baker, CA, and east of Barstow, CA, is one of my favorite places. We camped there the first night of our trip home from Arizona. There was a big windstorm in the forecast, but it wasn’t supposed to hit until the following morning. I woke at midnight to big wind. By morning it was even bigger. Instead of a leisurely departure, we had to throw all of our stuff in the car and leave by 8am. At least we got one pretty evening.

Pavement ends, preserve begins.

That’s my head.

Volcanic layers.

Granite and burned trees. In 2005, the Hackberry Complex fire roared through a piece of the preserve.

Our campsite in Mid Hills Campground. Much of the campground was burned in the Hackberry fire, but small sections survived.

View from the campsite, with a mix of burned and living trees.

Steve unloads the dusty car.

Our star bed, which was a dust bed by morning.

Campsite.

Time to sort out the barbies. Their morning photo shoot had to be abandoned due to wind.

 

I still haven’t glued the back of Sarah’s head back on. I rather like her this way.

Sunset begins.

Dinosaur waiting for a starring role in photo shoot.

Chicken posole for dinner.

Sunset view.

Moon.

Cozy fire at sunset.

Sunset through burned trees.

Evening glow.

A friendly visitor looking for crumbs.

There are several species of kangaroo rat, but I think this is a Miriam’s kangaroo rat.

I fed him Ak Mak crackers.

Morning dust obscures Cima Dome.

Burned tree and threatening sky.

Burned tree in front of granite.

Time to leave. Driving through burned area.

Back to unburned part of the preserve.

Leaving the preserve.

On to Kelso Depot. I recommend it as a stop for anybody in the area.

Hot spring Barbies

I visited two of my favorite hot springs while traveling to Arizona. Spencer Hot Spring is a primitive hot spring in a valley east of Austin, NV. Tecopa Hot Springs is a funky old resort town with several different bathhouses. It is near the southeast entrance to Death Valley, south of Shoshone, CA, between Beatty, NV, and Baker, CA. I spent the night at both places and soaked multiple times. Several of the girls clamored to soak with me.

The north tub at Spencer Hot Spring.

Relaxing by the tub.

Nice view.

Say cheese!

Cheeseburger burger!

Into the tub at dusk.

Feels great!

Great sky.

Aaahhhh.

Drying off.

A picture of Tecopa Hot Springs from my campsite. It used to be a thriving little winter hot spring town, with multiple private resorts and a county-run campground and bathhouse. The county bathhouse was free, and very nice. Then the county decided to raise the price of the campground, charge for the bathhouse, and get a concessionaire to run it. All of the regulars stopped spending the winter there. Now we usually stay at the rather decrepit, slightly grubby resort on the hill. The tubs aren’t as clean as they should be, but the camping fee comes with 24 hour use of the bathhouse, which also has showers and bathroom.