Breakwater at Rockland

Another scenic view in Maine.

Breakwater at RocklandI couldn’t remember where this photo was taken, either. I knew it was in Maine and I knew I’d taken it on one of our outings with John and Lorna. So I e-mailed Lorna a copy of the image and asked her. The response came back almost immediately: Samoset Resort in Rockland, ME.

I remembered the drive to the parking area clearly — past the resort grounds to a shady lot with several dozen cars already parked. We walked from the lot to the water’s edge where this long, stone breakwater awaited us. There were people on the rock wall, walking in either direction. I managed to get a shot where you couldn’t see any of them.

The rocks were huge and placed precisely. It was an amazing feat of engineering — at least I think so. The surface was smooth enough for a vehicle to drive on it — maybe even a mountain bike with fat tires. But you did have to pay attention while walking on it. One wrong step could mean a badly twisted ankle.

Rockland Lighthouse, MaineYou also can’t see the building at the end of breakwater about a mile from where this photo was taken. Here it is. It was a lighthouse and apparently still functions as one. But it’s closed to the public, so you can just walk around it or onto its stone steps. We spent some time sitting out in the sun, watching the boats go by. It was a peaceful, relaxing place. There was some fog in the trees on the other side of the channel — the same fog we’d walked through earlier in the day when visiting the Owl’s Head Lighthouse. (Did I get that one right, Lorna?)

John and LornaI took this photo of John and Lorna on the way back to the car. John’s not an easy guy to get a picture of. It seem like every time you tell him to stand still and pose for a picture, he acts like he doesn’t believe someone’s really going to take his picture. So you have to take a few of them in a row for one of them to come out natural enough to use. This one gets them both.

Racing [with] Boats

What a rush!

My Lake Havasu job on Friday turned out to be two jobs.

I’d been hired by a man based in Oregon who had designed and built a totally custom, stainless steel speedboat. His company, Liquid Technologies, had brought the boat down to Havasu to participate in a big boating event there. It was the second time the boat was in the water and he wanted to get video of the boat out on the lake. He’d hired Todd from Joker’s Wild Promotions to do the camera work.

Todd met me at the airport at 8 AM on Friday. He decided to sit behind me in the helicopter, so we’d both have pretty much the same view. We took just that door off. It was still cool and the last thing I needed was to catch a cold. Then we put on our life jackets and climbed on board.

Todd told me the game plan as I warmed the engine. The boat would be at the cove at the Nautical Inn, just southwest of London Bridge. We’d go there and circle it as it backed out, then follow it slowly through the no wake zone to the open lake. Then the boat would cruise at about 50 knots and we’d fly with it.

He asked how low I could fly. I told him I didn’t know — I hadn’t flown with a boat before. He told me to stick with my comfort level. No problem there — I’d never do anything I wasn’t comfortable with.

We took off and got to the cove within minutes. The boat was about 45 feet long and silver, looking very sleek. It was surrounded by literally dozens of similar boats, most of which had bright paint jobs, just parked along the cove. We circled the cove three times as it backed out, getting lower with each pass. Then we followed it.

The day was perfect for flying. Little or no wind, still cool and comfortable. The lake water was almost mirror smooth. Zero-Mike-Lima seemed to have all the power in the world with just two of us on board, even with close to full tanks of fuel.

The boat had four men in it, each wearing life jackets and headsets. They did their absolute best not to look at us. That turned out to be a pain in the neck later on, when Todd wanted them to speed up and they never saw his hand signals. We followed them down the lake at a good clip and I got closer and lower in gradual steps. After a while, I was about 15 to 20 feet off the top of the lake, 30 feet from the boat, cruising along beside it at 50 to 60 knots.

Todd gave me instructions to position us in relation to the boat. In front, looking back. Behind, looking forward. Above, looking down. Low, looking straight on. I followed his instructions, keeping an eye on the boat and on the lake in front of me. There were only a few boats out there and I didn’t want to overfly any of them at low level, so once or twice I had to shift position to dodge around another boat.

What’s interesting to me about all this is that I didn’t have to give the flying much thought. Both hands and feet just did what they needed to do to get the helicopter where I wanted it to be. I’d expected the work to be challenging and to require a lot of concentration to do. But it wasn’t that difficult at all. I think it’s because of the flying conditions — which were so darn easy — and the power available to me. There’s no way I could have done the job as easily in an R22 with its limited power and two good-sized people on board.

We got down to the pumping station for one of the two reservoirs near the Parker Dam and I saw an unpleasant sight: high tension power line towers. “I think there are wires ahead,” I said to Todd.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I forgot to tell you about them.”

Great. “Well, I want to stop before we get to them,” I said.

He assured me that that’s as far as they’d go. I stopped over the water, climbed up a bit, and went into a slow circle about a half mile upriver from the wires. The boat kept going, then turned around and came back to us. Then we started up again, now going upriver. We started getting fancy, coming up behind the boat, passing it, and flying around its front end as it sped by us. A maneuver very similar to one I’d done at a carmaker’s test track for a film crew months before. Todd was very pleased.

We got back to town and they boat turned around again. Todd switched to still photos. He had a professional Canon camera capable of 6 shots per second at 8 megapixels. We followed the boat about 1/4 back down the lake. It turned and came back. More still photos, more video.

Then we were done. We headed back to the airport. The 1.2 hours of Hobbs time had gone quickly.

I asked Todd how I’d done. He said that I was now his current favorite pilot. Unfortunately, he doesn’t want to pay my ferry costs from Wickenburg (1.6 hours round trip), so I don’t know how much work he’ll give me in the future.

We shut down and I closed up the ship. Then we went into town, where he dropped off the video and still photos at his office. One of the guys who works with him, Larry, wasted no time feeding the video into a computer. I got to see some of it. The beginning wasn’t too impressive as I warmed to the task and Todd got used to a new video camera. But then there were a bunch of great sequences. He had over 45 minutes of raw video to go into a 10-minute final video. The still photos were even better. I got to see them on Todd’s computer. He promised to send me a few; maybe I’ll get to show one or more of them off here.

Larry dropped me off at the Nautical Inn, where I met with the client and presented my bill. He was a nice man, excited about the sport and his new boat. He paid me with a check and I left them to find my next client.

Todd had gotten me hooked up with the guys from Extreme Boats magazine. They wanted to get photos of some of the other speedboats as they went downlake for a “lunch run.” So I met with Casey, the magazine publisher, and hitched a ride out to the airport with him and two other guys from the magazine. The other guys left us at the helicopter and a video guy joined us a while later. I took off two doors, stowed them in the video guy’s truck, handed out life vests, and we climbed aboard. A while later, we were on our way back to the cove south of the bridge.

This flight would be significantly different. There were a bunch of boats to shoot and they were all waiting for us. A soon as they caught sight of the helicopter, they took off downlake. Although I was already moving at close to 100 knots, these guys weren’t planning on cruising at only 50. They were race boats and they wanted to race. With a helicopter.

I caught up with our first target boat and dropped down to lake level. I was flying at 90 knots, 20 feet above the water’s surface, and got a real rush out of the experience. Casey snapped away at each boat — his camera could do 8 shots per second at 8 megapixels — then instructed me to chase down the next one. I’d do what I could — some boats were just too fast and too far ahead to catch up with — and then we’d turn around and head back up the lake looking for other boats to shoot.

This was entirely different from the morning’s shoot, which I now considered a training exercise. This was closer to real life race boat photography. The only difference here is that the drivers weren’t in a real race. They wanted the helicopter to take pictures of them. So when they saw me drop back and pick up another target, some of them turned around and chased me down.

To further complicate matters and make it a bit more challenging, it was after noon and the lake was full of boats. Dodging them became a real chore, but overflying them was not an option at that altitude for safety reasons. There was a slight breeze that occasionally sent a ripple of air over the water — just enough to give the helicopter a vertical wiggle. A downdraft — even a slight one — was not something you wanted when you were only 15 feet off the water’s surface.

Meanwhile, the video guy shot some video out the bubble and through his open door. One of his targets was a boat full of girls promoting David Clark products. We were racing along beside them and he was shooting what was probably excellent video when one of the bimbos on board decided to stand up and moon us.

“What the hell is she doing?” one of the guys said.

“We’ll have to edit that out,” the other guy said.

The guys obviously weren’t amused. Sometimes women can be so stupid that I’m embarrased to be one.

We flew around the lake for about an hour, chasing boats, trying to pass them for bow shots, and sometimes succeeding. One of the boats we were supposed to shoot was having engine problems and was dead in the water. They didn’t shoot any pictures or video.

On the way back to the airport, Casey told me about how one of his photographers had taken a swim in an R22. The pilot had been flying so low along the water that he routinely dragged one or both skids along the water surface. The photographer had asked him several times to fly higher, saying that if he wanted photos from that low, he’d be in a boat. The pilot evidently hadn’t gotten the message. On one of his low dips to the water, he dug the skid in too deeply and it caught. The helicopter flipped over and sank. The pilot and photographer were okay, but I wonder whether the pilot learned his lesson.

I don’t think I’d impressed Casey as much as Todd. I like to think that isn’t my fault — that the boat driver’s desire to race with a helicopter — and beat it — had made me look bad. But my helicopter’s never exceed speed with doors off is 100 knots. How can I be expected to catch up with and pass a boat going faster than that?

I settled up with Casey and spent a half hour relaxing in the FBO while the fuel guy topped off my tanks. (There’s still a price war going on at Lake Havasu City Airport and the fuel at Sun Western Flyers is cheaper than in Wickenburg.) It was about 2 PM when I climbed on board and headed home.

A Town on the Coast of Maine

But which one?

I put off writing about this photo because I wasn’t sure exactly where I snapped it. I know it’s in Maine and I know I took in in October, when Mike and I went to spend a week with John and Lorna at their place in Winterport. I wrote about the trip in my old blog, but it hasn’t made it to this blog yet. (I still have about 60 entries to import; I did about 12 yesterday.)

The Coast of MaineThere’s no place in the world that looks as much like New England as some of these New England coastal towns. It’s the harbors, I think, filled with all kinds of boats, and the typical New England style architecture all around. And the colors, too.

I took this photo late in the afternoon from a park overlooking the harbor. We’d just spent a while walking around the town, browsing shops. It had been a foggy morning — every morning was foggy while we were there — and if you have really sharp eyes, you can see the fog bank way out to sea in this photo. (It may be easier to see in the larger header version of this image, which should eventually rotate to the top of this page if it isn’t already showing.)

I’m not sure what town this is. We did a lot of driving up and down the coast. It might be Searsport, Belfast (my vote), Camden, Rockport, or Rockland. (I admit that I’m looking at a map right now, trying to figure it out.) I’m hoping Lorna or Larry read this soon and use the comment link to tell us.

One more thing: there can’t be anyplace else in the country that’s more different from central Arizona than the coast of Maine. It was a great trip, refreshing to be back in a place where rain and fog were relatively common weather phenomena and where I could smell the salt air almost everywhere I went.

A Trip Back East

Some photos from a trip back to New Jersey and New York for the Thanksgiving Holidays.

I didn’t want to go, but Mike talked me into it. Then we made flight reservations before I could change my mind. It would be a short trip. I’d fly out on Wednesday and return on Saturday. Only three nights, and those would be made comfortable with a room at the Glenpointe Marriott in Teaneck, NJ. Dinner with my family at my brother’s house in New Jersey on Thursday, dinner with Mike’s family at a restaurant in Queens on Friday, Dim Sum with family and friends in Ft. Lee, NJ on Saturday morning.

The New York/New Jersey metro area where I grew up and lived most of my life is very different from Wickenburg, AZ, where I live now. So different that I decided to take some photos to try to document some of the differences. I could have done better, but this is what I’ve got to share. This is the view from our hotel room in Teaneck, NJ, on Thursday morning. It had snowed and rained during the night and it was bitter cold that day.

This looks out to the southwest. As you can see, there are lots of tall trees, but they’re pretty much bare in late November. The overall effect is gray. A gray day with gray skies, gray trees, and gray pavement. I hated the gray of the New York metro area in the winter months. But it was the cold that finally chased me out of the area.

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Here’s another look from our hotel room window. This view looks toward the southeast. The highway in the foreground is I-95, which stretches from Maine to Florida. The body of water is some marshland that might just be close enough to the Meadowlands to be considered part of it. The gray buildings poking into the gray sky are the skyscrapers of New York City off in the distance. The pointy one on the left is the Empire State Building, which is now the tallest building in New York again. It formerly held that title from 1934 to 1977, when the World Trade Center was completed. With the WTC gone, this depression-era building is once again the tallest in the city.

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On Friday, we drove to Queens. Here’s a snapshot taken on the Cross Bronx Expressway, which goes from the George Washington Bridge (on the Hudson River), across the top of Manhattan and the middle of the Bronx, to two of the bridges to Long Island: the Whitestone and the Throgs Neck. When I was growing up, this area of the Bronx was filled with burned-out building shells, and we’d often see broken-down or abandoned cars being stripped on the side of the road as we drove through. But the buildings have they’ve since been renovated and people live there once again. Don’t get the idea that this is an up-and-coming area of New York, though. It’s still a poor, crime-ridden area. Ever read Bright Lights, Big City?

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I forgot to take photos the day before, on the way to my brother’s house. We took the New Jersey Turnpike (I-95 down) and there are lots of weird scenic things along that, like the big gas tanks that appeared in a scene of Stephen King’s The Stand and Newark Liberty International Airport. Next time.

Here’s a pretty poor photo of the roadway on the Whitestone Bridge.

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There are three bridges that’ll get you from the Bronx to Queens and Long Island and they’re all pretty similar in appearance: single-span suspension bridges. The Triboro Bridge has some nice art deco touches that make it my favorite of the three bridges, but that one’s much closer to Manhattan, which was out of our way. The Throgs Neck bridge has great views of the Long Island Sound which, in the summer, is full of sailboats and very picturesque. Of course, the Whitestone Bridge does offer the best long-distance views of Manhattan. I took a bunch of photos and this one was the best. It really gives you the flavor of new York from a distance. The tugboat with barge in the foreground, the plane departing La Guardia Airport (out of this shot on the left), and the huge cluster of buildings in midtown Manhattan. You can clearly see the Empire State Building almost dead center and CitiCorp Center (look for the slanted roof to the right). Astoria, Queens is in the foreground, on the other side of the water. And you can just about see the heavy black bridge of the train trestle that parallels the Triboro Bridge. If the World Trade Center were still standing, its towers would appear to the far left in this photo.

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If you’ve never been to New York and you have the opportunity to visit, don’t pass it up. New York is like no other place on earth. As I was telling a Phoenix cab driver just the other day, it’s one of the few U.S. cities that blend old and new in a way that leaves you breathless. Go downtown, to the Wall Street area, and see exactly what they mean by the “Canyons of Wall Street.” The streets are so narrow and the buildings are so tall that light rarely gets down to the street. Although midtown has more tall buildings, the streets are a bit wider. You won’t believe the crowds walking the streets during a weekday lunch hour, the sea of yellow cabs, the bicycle messengers, the street vendors. This time of year, they’re roasting chestnuts near Rockefeller Center and steam is rising from manhole covers and vents on the street.

I do love New York, but I don’t have enough money to live there the way I want to. And New York is one of the grayest places I know.

We didn’t get into the city during this trip. Next time I go back, I’ll take some photos. But you might have to wait a few years. Once in Queens, we hopped on the Cross Island Parkway to go to Mike’s Mom’s apartment. I took this shot out the front window of the car. It’s an interesting example of one of Robert Moses’s parkways. He built them all over Long Island — Queens is on the eastern end of Long Island — and this was probably one of his first. One of the trademarks of his roadways was his stone overpasses. They all look pretty much the same, but they’re really nicely executed. When you look at this photo, it’s hard to imagine that tens of thousands of people live within a mile of where it was taken.

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This stretch of roadway is sunken in and surrounded by trees. Mike and I had our first apartment together about 5 miles further down this road, in Bayside. We had a wonderful view of Littleneck Bay (you’ve heard, perhaps, of Littleneck clams?), but had to listen to a never-ending stream of cars going by far beneath our terrace.

At Mike’s mom’s place, we had bagels for breakfast. This is a photo of me holding a real New York bagel. Notice that it is large and plump. The outside is crusty and the inside is moist and almost doughy. It doesn’t have blueberries or cranberries or any other type of berry in it. This one has sesame seeds (my personal favorite), but they also come plain, egg, poppy seed, salt, pumpernickel, onion, cinnamon raisin, or everything. Everything means seeds, onion, and salt and is a real assault to the taste buds. A common way for a New Yorker to eat a bagel is to slice it open and toast it, then cover each half with cream cheese and slices of lox (smoked salmon). Some people add red onions, capers, and/or tomatoes. (I don’t like tomatoes on my bagels.) A quick spread of cream cheese is referred to as a “schmear” in New York; I prefer a more generous helping. You can’t get a good bagel anywhere outside of the New York metro area, although you can get decent ones here and there. Einstein Brothers makes a decent bagel. Bagels do not come in the grocery freezer section; anything you find there that is labeled a bagel is a mere imitation.

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The next time you go to New York, have a bagel as described above. It’s part of the New York experience and should be required for all serious visitors. And, while you’re at it, take a ride down to the Lower East Side and have a corned beef, pastrami, and tongue on rye sandwich at Katz’s Deli. Get that with mustard. Do not ask for it with mayonnaise; you will be forcibly removed from the premises and publicly laughed at out on the street. A Dr. Brown’s Creme soda is a nice accompaniment — and don’t forget the kosher pickle. Leave the Carnegie Deli for the tourists. What you’ll learn — among other things — is how to properly make a sandwich. There should be more meat than bread. That’s something they just don’t get outside the New York metro area.

But I digress, again. This is a photo of the Throgs Neck Bridge, taken from Mike’s mom’s patio. She’s on the 7th floor and has a nice view out this way. Beyond the bridge is the Long Island Sound. Imagine it with lots of sailboats and you’re imagining the view on a summer Sunday afternoon. Put some green leaves in the tree in the foreground to complete the picture.

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As you can see, it isn’t always grey in New York in the winter. Friday was a very nice day, although it was still bitter cold, with temperatures in the 30s and enough wind to make it feel a lot colder. Of course, it did get gray again on the next day.

Here’s a look at the George Washington Bridge from the foot of the Palisades. The Palisades, in case you’re wondering, are a line of cliffs along the Hudson River in New Jersey. This photo was taken from a boat basin/park area almost directly across the river from the northernmost end of Manhattan. The view is to the southeast.

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The GW Bridge has two decks — upper and lower — and is a major route between New Jersey and eastern New York. It’s actually the first bridge you get to if you sail up the river from New York Harbor. The next bridge is the Tappan Zee, which is at least 20 miles further upriver. To cross the river closer to downtown Manhattan, you can use one of two tunnels: the Lincoln (midtown at around 30th Street) and the Holland (downtown at around Houston).

When I was growing up in New Jersey, my family had a small boat that we used to take out in the river. I’ve been around Manhattan by boat more times than I can count. It’s a neat trip that you can do on the Circle Line tour boats. We also took a few perilous trips into New York Harbor and around the Statue of Liberty. I say perilous because our boat was really small and the water can get rough out in the harbor. I also remember going past Ellis Island long before it was fixed up and opened to the public. I’ve never been on the island, though.

Anyway, all those boat trips started at the base of the George Washington Bridge, on the New Jersey side. I can still remember the smell of the water at low tide, and the look of all those exposed barnacles. And the way the boat floated up and down as it was loosely tied at the boarding area. We didn’t swim in the river back in those days — it was too polluted south of the Tappan Zee — but we did fish in it, although we never ate any of the fish we caught.

Here’s a shot of one of the “waterfalls” coming down the Palisades to the Hudson River. It’s really probably just runoff from a storm drain, but when we were kids, it was a waterfall and it was one of the most beautiful things we’d ever seen. My family often drove along the river’s shore road on Sunday outings. That’s back in the days when taking a drive in the family car was a cheap and fun day out. There were no malls, no computer games, no cell phones. We’d get in the car and go for a drive and drink up everything we saw out the window. If it was autumn, we’d go to a place called Tices Farms, which had apples and doughnuts (note the spelling) and cider and pumpkins for sale. When I got out of the car to take this photo, the smell of wet leaves brought me back to a time when we would rake them into huge piles and take turns jumping in them. Leave stems would stick in our sweaters and hair and we’d be breathless in the cool autumn sun. I don’t know if you can see it clearly, but there’s ice in the water in this photo. We’re talking cold enough to make a waterfall freeze. Cold.

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The Palisades area of Bergen County in New Jersey is one of its more historic areas. Originally settled by the Dutch in the 1600s, it was a hotbed of activity during the Revolutionary War. Posted alongside roads all over the area are “Washington’s Retreat Route” signs. Yes. This is the area George Washington retreated from when we weren’t doing very well in the first war with the Brits. Why we need that on signs is beyond me. But the area is also full of walking trails that were probably built during the depression. In more than a few places, you can find stairways and paths that climb the Palisades. This is one example, that follows the road for a short distance before cutting right up the cliff. We did a lot of hiking in the area when we lived there. The views from the top of the Palisades are magnificent.

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I took the shot that appears below from the AirTrain that travels around Newark Airport. That’s New York in the background.
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This photo reminds me of a visit by one of my editors when we still lived in New Jersey. I picked him up at the airport and was driving north along the New Jersey turnpike toward our house. He looked off to the right as we climbed a bit of highway that passed over the marshes at the Meadowlands and said, “What city is that?” He was looking at New York. That’s when I realized that the skyline I’d grown up with wasn’t nearly as familiar to everyone else.

Am I homesick? Maybe a bit. Would I go back to live there again? Nope.

Been there, done that.

Back to the Desert

Day 13 brings me to the mountainous desert around Salt Lake.

Despite my less than perfect accommodations, I slept reasonably well. I think it’s because of the sound of flowing water that came in through the door to the back deck. I’d left the door open a few inches, trusting the lock on the screen door to keep out any hotel guests who might be wandering around on the deck. I was in the end room, so the chance of someone walking by my door on their way to another room was remote.

I showered. It was the first motel shower I’d encountered in a long time that couldn’t keep a steady water temperature. Every time one of my neighbors flushed the toilet, I’d come close to getting scalded. The third time this happened, I shut the water off and called it quits.

I packed up the car, checked out, and headed south on 89. I had a Doubleshot to meet my caffeine needs. (My friend Lorna, who has been reading these entries faithfully from her home in Maine, e-mailed me to ask what a Doubleshot is. In case you don’t know, here’s the scoop. A Doubleshot is a canned Starbucks coffee drink. It’s an easy way to get a caffeine fix when I’m on the road. I usually buy a couple of them when I’m in a supermarket and keep them in my cooler. When I can’t find decent coffee elsewhere, I drink a doubleshot. I don’t really like them — they’re too sweet for my taste — but they’re easy.)The road began by following the Snake River through a canyon. When it reached the town of Alpine, WY, the Snake River curved to the northwest while I headed south. Alpine was a nice little town with a lot of tasteful new construction and small businesses. The town was very quiet — it wasn’t even 8 AM yet. I almost passed a drive-up coffee stand. When I spotted it, I hit my brakes hard and pulled in for a latte.

The building was tall and it was quite a reach up to the woman inside it. My Clarkston reused coffee grinds experience had left me a little leery of coffee stands, but I had nothing to worry about here. The woman, who was very friendly, made me an excellent large triple latte. I asked her whether she owned the booth and she told me she didn’t. In fact, it was her last day at work. She was moving back to Spokane, WA. The woman who owned the booth was doing okay, but it was hard to do well in the town because of its heavy Mormon population. I later discovered that Mormons don’t drink coffee. I guess a coffee shop in a Mormon town would be like opening up a pork store in New York’s Lower East Side.

From Alpine, I headed due south on 89, which lies on the east side of the Wyoming/Idaho border. I was in farmland again, but at an elevation well over 5,000 feet. Wheat and alfalfa seemed to be the big crops. One alfalfa field had just been cut — probably the previous day — and the smell of the fresh alfalfa was rich and sweet.

I think I was in Afton when I saw the car wash and pulled in. I’d managed to call Megg on my cell phone and arrange to go to her house in North Salt Lake City that afternoon. My car was dirty and I didn’t want to make a bad impression. So I washed it for the third time on my trip. This time, it was the dirtiest it had been so far. The bug situation in Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming is bad and the front of the car was pretty much plastered with dead bugs of all shapes, sizes, and colors. It took six minutes worth of car wash time to get it all off. I dried it with my rags and dusted off the dashboard. Much better.

I crossed into Idaho at Geneva Summit, which was 6,938 feet. That put me into a long valley with a succession of towns: Montpelier, Ovid, Paris, St. Charles, Fish Haven, and Garden City. Every town I drove through was remarkably quiet — nothing seemed to be open. Except the church, of course. All the church parking lots were full and I saw more than a few well-dressed people out on the streets, walking to or from church. Things changed a bit when I got near Bear Lake. Lots of people were out and about at the lake, in boats and in public access areas. There was a lot of housing on the lake side of the road with plenty of Private and No Beach Access signs to keep people out.

Bear Lake

Somewhere between Fish Haven and Garden City, I passed into Utah, the ninth state I’d visited on my trip. At Garden City, I got on route 30 and followed that around the south end of the lake. I climbed a hill and immediately realized that I had slipped into high desert terrain. The vegetation on both sides of the road consisted of tall grass, sage, and a variety of other desert plants. I was getting closer to home, leaving the water wonderland I’d enjoyed since entering Oregon more than a week before. I felt disappointed and did not look forward to what I’d drive through ahead: dry desert, hot sun, empty riverbeds. I realized that I’d fallen out of love with the desert.

I turned right on route 16 with a bunch of other cars, heading southbound. More farmland, but not much more. I passed the bunch of cars, tired of breathing their exhaust. Later, I turned right again onto route 39, heading west. The road climbed and climbed and climbed. I kept checking my GPS for elevation information and the number kept going up. I was certain that when I reached the top of the mountains, there would be a lookout where I could see Salt Lake. I crossed over the Monte Cristo Summit, at 9000 feet, and started down. There was no lookout. The road dropped into a canyon with a small stream on either side. It twisted and turned as it descended. I passed two pickup trucks and some kind of Volkswagen — a Jetta, maybe? — blew past me.

I spotted a restaurant on the left and made a harrowing turn into a parking space. I needed a bathroom and lunch, in that order. I asked for them in reverse order. It would be a 20 minute wait to eat outside on the patio, which looked like a good place to eat. I got directions to the ladies room and while I was doing my business, decided I didn’t feel like waiting. Instead, I’d find a shady spot in a park and eat some of the food in my cooler. So I left and continued on my way.

Trouble was, there was no shady spot in a park. All I passed were campgrounds, and since it was Sunday at midday, all of the campgrounds were full. So I kept driving.

The road dumped me down in Ogden. I got on a main avenue that was also labeled route 89 and headed south toward Salt Lake. I wasn’t in a hurry. I was supposed to meet Megg at around four and it was only 1:30. That meant I had time to kill.

I should have killed time up in Ogden, because when I got closer to North Salt Lake, all of the shops and businesses were closed again. It would not be a good place to kill time. I drove all the way down to the city, then came all the way back up to Bountiful, where I found a Barnes and Noble that was open. I killed over an hour in there, buying books for myself (as if I needed them) and for Megg’s son, Cooper. Then I hopped over to the Taco Bell for a bite to eat. Then I drove around some more. It was around four and I was in a Smith’s parking lot, after buying two pies for Megg and her family, when I finally connected with Megg. I was five minutes from her house. She gave me directions and I made my way over there.

Megg is one of my editors. She works with me on my Quicken Official Guide books, which I’ve been revising faithfully since the Quicken 99 edition back in 1998. Megg hasn’t been stuck with me that long. She inherited me from my first editor on that book, Joanne, about five years ago.

Megg has a lovely and very large house on a hill overlooking the North Salt Lake area. Excellent views, plenty of space. And a very comfy guest room. I met her son and her husband. I then proceeded to join her for a very relaxing afternoon and evening.