As soon as it warms up, I keep saying, I will start on all of those projects that have been on hold all winter. Temps have been rising here in Vail, Colorado, but then it went and snowed four inches on Friday night. Will summer ever arrive?
If it does, in fact, stop snowing, my priority project is getting the Old Lady in better road condition. This vehicle, a 1970 VW van, has impressed me over these last few years. It chugs steadily over mountain passes and otherwise just gets me where I need to go. Of course, anything this old is way finicky and constantly threatening to explode, but I guess I’ve committed to it and am not willing to let it go, especially after all I went through in the fall:
I may have mentioned it then, but when I returned to the U.S. after a prolonged absence, the van was full of mice nests, and it basically smelled like crap. I freaked out about Hantavirus and cleaned the entire thing out with bleach.
My summer plan is to gut the interior, put a new floor down and build a sleeping platform with storage underneath. Currently, an unusable sink and some sort of cooler are inside, along with bench seats that fold out into a bed. Those have got to go.
Mechanically, things are looking pretty good. I just put in new air filters, but other than that, I trust most engine issues to real mechanics. Anyhow, now I’ve written down the plan, so it must be put into action. As soon as the snow melts.
“A Warrior knows that the farthest-flung star in the universe reveals itself in the things around him.”
-Paulo Coelho, in The Warrior of the Light
I vowed to read more Paulo Coelho this year, so when I saw his Warrior of the Light: A Manual (2004) on the bookshelf of a friend, I snatched it straightaway. I expected it to be like his other books that I have read so far: simple, but possessing some kind of deeper meaning. Coelho creates characters we can identify with because they mess up like we do or get sidetracked on the way of pursuing something bigger out of life. Warrior of the Light does these things as well, but instead of being a continuous narrative, it is more like a collection of meaningful sayings that each identifies some aspect of what it means to be a Warrior of the Light. At the beginning, Coelho says that a Warrior is “someone capable of understanding the miracle of life, of fighting to the last for something he believes in.”
For the next 130 or so pages, this idea is developed so that each reader can identify with the ways of the Warrior. By the end of the book, we see how this ideal person is similar to the person that we are striving to emulate and that a Warrior also endures failures, as we do, along the way. Some aspects of the Warrior that I liked the most are:
- “A Warrior does not spend his days trying to play the role that others have chosen for him.”
- “A Warrior of the Light makes decisions. His soul is as free as the clouds in the sky, but he is committed to his dream.”
- “The true companions of a Warrior are beside him always, during the difficult times and the easy times.”
- “A Warrior of the Light is not afraid of disappointments because he knows the power of his sword and the strength of his love.”
- “A Warrior of the Light views life with tenderness and determination.”
- “A Warrior of the Light has learned that God uses solitude to teach us how to live with other people.”
- “If he thinks only of the goal, he will not be able to pay attention to the signs along the way. If he concentrates only on one question, he will miss the answers that are there beside him.”
Note: These photographs are of a full moon rising near Arches National Park, Utah. I discovered that if I moved, the image blurred all over my screen. I was frustrated, at first, that my camera could not capture the beauty of such a massive yellow moon rising over the desert landscape. But then, I just had fun playing with the light.
Castleton Tower is one of the most distinctive desert rock towers along Utah SR-128. It sticks up all alone out there, a red sandstone pillar, weathered and webbed with vertical cracks characteristic of this type of rock. The cracks make for good rock climbing, as you can wedge your hands and feet into them and scoot upwards, and the mild springtime temperatures make now a good time of the year to take up the challenge. Now that the ski lifts have closed at Vail, I am finding that it is just as easy to convince me to go climb as it was to convince me to go ski during the winter. Last week, I decided to roadtrip out to Moab for a few days to climb with my friend John, who is a local with a great van. I had never climbed Castleton Tower, and he had not done it in a while, so we camped nearby the night before and set out early in order to beat the crowds that turn up there at this time of the year.
It was a super-windy day out, and a bit on the cold side, but after a few hours of grunting and moaning through the tight chimneys on the Kor-Ingalls route, we topped out for a view of the other magnificent towers in the area.
John led, and I climbed second behind him, mostly glad that I was not the one leading (but, of course, wishing that I were good enough to do it as smoothly as he did).
Yee haw. More springtime adventures upcoming.
It may be over, the winter. This will not surprise a bunch of you who have been out running around in shorts and sandals for a few weeks now, but things are just starting to melt here in Vail, CO. It still snowed a few inches one eve last week, though, and every time I see flurries, I wonder if it will be the last snow. The ski lifts closed two weekends ago now (and just last weekend at Breckenridge). The end of the season went out with a bunch of live music and other activities here in Vail, such as the final Street Beat and a car giveaway (which I was determined to win, but did not). One of my best gal pals (pictured at right) came out to visit from Michigan, and as soon as the music got going, the snow started coming down in big, wet flakes. It was one of those soaking snows, and I was glad for it, as it hopefully gave her an accurate taste of what it is like to live somewhere where it just snowed over 500 inches in one season.
Speaking of tasting things…
There is nothing like catching snowflakes on the tip of your tongue. I may have to wait a few months to do it again. In the meantime, there is a lot of living to do out there, folks. So drop me a comment every now and then to let me know what life is looking like in your neck of the woods.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee, / Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, / But on the viewless wings of Poesy…
-John Keats, in “Ode to a Nightingale”
Ah. The sounds of spring are finally in the air. The birds are singing, which of course brings to mind some of my favorite poems in the English language, including “Hope is the thing with feathers” (Emily Dickinson), “To a Skylark” (Percy Shelley) and—of course—John Keats: “Ode to a Nightingale.”
“Ode to a Nightingale” is 80 lines long (eight 10-line stanzas), and you can read the entire poem by clicking on this link to Bartleby.com. I am not going to summarize it all here, but I would like to make a few comments on the final two stanzas. Keats takes a pretty gloomy tone at the beginning of the poem and admits that he has been having thoughts of Death and dying, but a bird that he sees singing in a tree seems to bring his thoughts back to life. This is the theme that I pick up on when I read the poem: how something so simple such as a singing bird can have the power to elevate our moods or to “toll” us into living. The final two stanzas, in which Keats addresses the bird and then reflects on its power to transform his thoughts read:
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the selfsame song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that ofttimes hath
Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self.
Adieu! the Fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hillside; and now ’tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades.
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?
Thanks to the following source for the above quotations from John Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale”–
Palgrave, Francis T. The Golden Treasury. London: Macmillan, 1875; Bartleby.com, 1999. www.bartleby.com/106/. [April 14, 2008].
Living in a yurt probably would not be all that convenient. It is not like you would just want to set one of these things up in the suburbs, which is okay by me. The bigger the backyard, the better. As mentioned in the last post, the Tennessee Pass Cookhouse (pictured below)
had me thinking about what it would be like to live in a yurt. After we finished our dinner and walked back outside, the sun had set, and nightlight was coloring the snow in shades of purple and gray.
Maybe if I lived in a place like this, I would have to snowshoe or ski home each night. But then I would sit out on the porch, and I would look out over a backyard like this and take a deep breath. Then slowly, slowly, I would watch stars hang themselves over the mountains in an inky night sky.
It’s true: I dream about living in a yurt. Yes, a yurt: a portable circular tent-type structure of Mongolian design. Yurts were once used by nomadic people in Central Asia, but today they’re being sold and set up on mountain property by companies such as Pacific Yurts. Since I’m now living in Vail, Colorado, and real estate prices are ridiculous (hundreds of thousands of dollars for a wimpy studio apartment), the idea of living in a yurt has become more attractive. It would work, I think, to have some land and live in a yurt. I know two people who do this (one in Idaho and another in Colorado), and I’m sure that there are some challenges with this idea, such as where to put the outhouse and how to manhaul in your supplies, but there are plenty of people out there who are making it happen. When The Sister recently visited, we showshoed into the Tennessee Pass Cookhouse, located about a mile away from the base of the Cooper ski area, near Leadville, Colorado.
The Cookhouse is a yurt that has been set up as a nice restaurant—I would definitely recommend it for anyone coming to visit the area (and go for the elk tenderloin; it was good). Visitors can choose to either strap on showshoes or cross-country ski in through the forest.
I thought that they did the outhouse quite nicely (above, back right). It was built near the yurt, and they had decorated the inner walls with vintage ski posters and had candles burning inside so that you could see what you were doing.
The inside of the yurt was warmed by a wood stove, and the windows allowed for some good natural lighting. I think that this yurt was 34- or 36-feet in diameter, which would allow for a crowd of up to 30 diners. I couldn’t help but sit there and sip wine while thinking about what it would be like to have a yurt of my own…
“…it seemed that her love was unrequited, but what did that matter? Anyone who loves in the expectation of being loved in return is wasting their time.” –from Paulo Coelho’s The Devil and Miss Prym
In 2008, I told myself that I’d read more fiction, generally, and more Paulo Coelho, specifically. I’ve been reading a lot of fiction, but it’s already April, and I’ve only finished my first Coelho novel for the year: The Devil and Miss Prym (2000). This book is subtitled “A Novel of Temptation,” and it reads like a modern-day morality tale in which the forces of Good and Evil are pitted against each other. The story takes place over a seven-day period during which a stranger visits the remote village of Viscos and offers its inhabitants enough gold to sustain itself indefinitely in return for the murder of one of its members. The stranger first confronts the young Miss Prym with the proposal and puts her in the position to decide whether or not she will tell the village members or simply walk away with a portion of the gold herself. As in Coelho’s The Alchemist, this story is simple and general enough so that readers will easily identify with struggles that the main characters are experiencing. Overall, I found this book to be a meaningful read, as it challenges us to look at the ways in which temptation shows up in our own lives. The Devil and Miss Prym will inspire readers to look at the ongoing tensions between Good and Evil in their current situations, and it tells a captivating story in the process. One thing I like about Coelho’s books (the Harper Perennial editions, at least) is that they contain “about the author” and “about the book” sections at the end. Coelho is a fascinating character, himself, and on the topic of learning some of life’s lessons through reading fiction, he says:
“I don’t think that life’s lessons are in books or music or whatever. I think that true lessons are in experience. So when you read a book or listen to music or talk to someone, you share some of your thoughts and have the feeling that you are not alone.” –Paulo Coelho
Vanscape: it’s what you get when you view a Volkswagen van against the backdrop of some stellar scene. I think that I made this word up a few months ago when I drove my 1970 Volkswagen to Utah for a few weeks (to view the original post, click here for “Down and Out” on Landscape: Vanscape?). At that time, I drove the van along Utah’s super-scenic SR-128, visited a friend in Moab, camped in Arches National Park, and then camped and climbed at Indian Creek. It was a good trip, and I’m always plotting return visits. On my recent return, I took some time to catch a few photos of what I’d consider to be the ultimate Volkswagen graveyard, a place called Tom Tom’s in Moab. As far as I’ve heard, Tom Tom’s is no longer operational; you can’t just show up and barter for parts. At one time, I think that you could, but then Tom Tom evidently passed away, and people started complaining about the mess. Or what they considered a mess.
So supposedly Tom Tom’s is now a museum, but as long as I’ve known about the place, I’ve never seen it open. Seeing all of those broken-down vans makes a van owner like myself sort of fearful. I don’t want my van to end up like that, but at the same time, I know that most vehicles that old are on the verge of being left behind. I’ve thought about it many times—pretty much every time I hand over stacks of cash to a VW mechanic, I think about driving mine into the desert and leaving it there. Or better yet, starting it on fire and watching it burn. Tom Tom’s is a testament to the fact that other van owners think of doing the same things and that some of them do.
For now, I’m thankful that my Old Lady is still chugging along, as she was above in Arches at sunrise. I’m waiting for the snow to melt here in Vail before bringing her out and getting back on the road.
With nearly 20 inches of new snow here last week in the Vail Valley, it’s hard to believe that spring is starting to happen out there. But a recent getaway to Moab/Indian Creek confirmed it. Yep, there are places—right now—where people are wearing flip-flops and climbing outside in the afternoon sun. My motorcycle-diva friend Karen (waking up in tent, at right) provided the impetus for the journey. Her friend was running in a race in Moab, so we decided to rally there for some adventures. This fall, she took a three-month Pacific Northwest motorcycle trip (trying to stay on backroads as much as possible), so I trusted her in the driver’s seat for the afternoon. We cruised out of Moab on Spanish Valley and then headed up into the hills. There was still some snow up there, and a few places where I had to dismount so that she could navigate through patches of ice, but the view of Castle Valley from above was well worth the bits of walking that were required.
Good coffee stops aside, Moab isn’t one of my favorite places in the world. But I dream about everything that surrounds it. Deep red rock canyons, crack climbing, coyote songs, and spacious desert vistas: these are the things I crave, and a night camping at the Bridger Jack Mesa gave me enough of a fix…for a little while. Of course, I’m already planning a return.
The climbing the next day at Indian Creek’s Pistol Whipped was painful and as humbling as ever. I went out with two guys who seemed to float up that stuff effortlessly, as if a 5.12 finger crack were a warm-up. Struggle: I suppose that enough of it is important to keep life fresh, and climbing in the desert will probably always put me back in my place.
As soon as it warms up, I keep saying, I will start on all of those projects that have been on hold all winter. Temps have been rising here in Vail, Colorado, but then it went and snowed four inches on Friday night. Will summer ever arrive?
