Moab on my mind

That's John on the Slickrock Trail. Pretty much, when we're in Moab, he lives and breaths Slickrock.

That's Double Arch at Arches National Park. See the previous blog entry for my memorable experience, which I lived to tell about.

Canyoneering in Arches was an exhilarating experience. After scrambling and climbing upward, we reached the top of a mesa that looked like a sea of slickrock. Peering over the edges, soon our sight wouldn't be limited.

We put on our gear and rappelled down to the next tier. The rappels grew increasing longer, culminating in a 100 foot drop. Wow.

The heart-pumping experience was accentuated by the natural beauty of the red sandstone, the rock structures of Arches and the La Sal Mountains in the distance.

This adventure was like having a back-stage pass to Arches National Park.

Those off-highway vehicles are called "Tom-cars." We went on guided trips in the fun little rigs on a few occasions. Then several years ago, for some reason, the outfitter we went through was unable to do the trips anymore.

They definitely got me hooked on off-road exploration in Moab.

Last summer we bought an ATV before our trek to Moab. Once in town, we checked in (I looked through some booklets that were in the hotel lobby - in search of coupons). We then headed to the visitor's center and found a great ATV trail guide (and I got a discount!)

The book is AWESOME and will definitely get lots of use by us. It gives great descriptions, including how to get there, mileage checkpoints, photos and rates the trail on level of difficulty. We had a great time riding in about 9 miles to Gemini Bridge. The ride included a sky-high view of the highway below as we winded out way back into the red rock.

Another ride I particularly enjoyed, we ended up only going part way. Initially, we planned to ride out to an arch, but when we came upon the red sand dunes (and the sky looked a little ominous), we played around in the dunes. It was a blast. Maybe next time we'll make it out to the arch.

Buying an ATV was one of the best purchases John and I have made. The owner's manual says it's not a toy, but whatever, it's our toy. Oh, I definitely respect it's power, but face it, anything that brings a giant smile to my face like that falls into the toy category.

Arches here we come

That's Delicate Arch - the most recognizable of the arches at Arches National Park. And in the expanse of the arch is my husband, John. More on that later.

The first time we ventured through southeastern Utah, we were on our way to Colorado. We spent several hours at the park before retreating to the air conditioning of our motel room. The next day we moseyed down the road (we had a schedule to keep. Now that we are older and wiser, we basically move in when we go on vacation).

During another trip, John announced he wanted to hike to Delicate Arch again, but this time with the express purpose of having his photo taken within its expanse. This may seem like a normal tourist thing to do for most people, but John is unlike most people. I practically have to twist his arm to let me take a picture. If I want to ask someone else to take our photo together - well that just about tips him over the edge. I'm surprised out wedding vows didn't include a provision that outlined the specific parameters of when photographs are to be taken of John.

Anyway, since he actually wanted his photo taken, I was game for it. Even though I had been to Delicate Arch before, after we'd been hiking in the sweltering heat for way too long, my head starts thinking, "Are we there yet." Honestly, I didn't recall the terrain being like this and certainly it wasn't this long. But then again, I often don't recall details about the season finale of one of my favorite shows by the time the next season's premiere arrives.

When we made a turn and the arch came into view, I suddenly realized the last time I had seen the arch, it was from a lookout viewpoint. I had not been up close and personal with the arch before. I realized the shower I took before we left was a waste of time and natural resources. That's fine - I got the photo. Because John is so minuscule, you'll just have to trust me that it really is him.

Another hiking story in Arches bears telling. This was a solo hike. Often when we go to Moab, John goes mountain biking at Slickrock first thing in the morning. The routine is, he gets up, melts into the morning and then about 30 minutes before he wants to leave he wakes me up so I can drive him to the drop-off point.

I am not a morning person and detest this, but what do you do? Anyway, one morning I told John I was going to head to Arches and take some photos. Now, he knows me way too well. You know the saying, "What goes up, must come down?" Well, that may very well be true, but in my case - when climbing, going up is much, much easier. He told me not to get myself into a situation that he wouldn't' be there to coax me out of.

Well, as I headed to Double Arch on the relatively flat and sandy trail I was marveling at the beauty of the erosion-created structures. As I got closer to the arch, it called to me. I visualized a photo taken from the opening of one arch looking up into the other.

As you might have guessed, the Law of Tammy held true. It was much easier going up than coming down. In my defense, I must say this was before I had my knee replacement and I just didn't feel confidant putting all my weight onto my left leg. As I scrambled from left to right - trying to traverse down by only putting all my weight on my right leg, I thought back to the big-horned sheep I watched perched on small outcroppings along I-70 between Denver and Vail. They moved with grace and ease.

Well, a bighorn sheep, I wasn't. However, I became a spectacle similar to those creatures as a family began watching me. Grandpa and granddaughter were hiking in my near vicinity, while grandma stood below video-taping them. Soon, I realize grandma is video-taping me. And she continued to video tape me as grandpa rescued me.

I'm sure grampa's version of the rescue included additional bravado, but whatever, at least I didn't have to have a park ranger come or worse fall. So, when I returned to the motel, I was none the worse for wear and refrained from telling John about my little misadventure. It wasn't until he read about it in our Christmas letter that he found out.

National parks, national treasures

Sometimes it's painfully hard to stay focused on work. Time just drags on from the moment I finalize vacation plans until it's time to begin packing.

So when I was conducting an interview ("Library collection features national parks," East Oregonian, June 2, 2009) about the upcoming opening reception of National Parks of the West, a new collection that opens at the Pendleton Public Library on Thursday, it was all I could do to stay in the moment.

"Most of them are truly national treasures," said Betty Klepper, who donated funding for the project. As I talked to her I thought about my own introduction to the National Park Service, but more important, my re-introduction.

Growing up in California, I'd gone to the Redwoods many times, Redwood National Park wasn't established until 1968, so more than likely my first official visit to a national park was Crater Lake. While I thought it was pretty, as a kid I was more interested in playing with my cousins.

As an adult, I remember flying back from Arizona and the pilot said something about looking out the right window and you could see the Grand Canyon. Well, I could have had I been seated on that side of the plane. So, when John and I went to Arizona the following year during Spring Training, we planned a day trip to the Grand Canyon.

When I walked to the retaining wall and looked over the vast expanse of spectacular rock formations and erosion I was nearly moved to tears. My first thought was, "Why didn't my parents ever bring me here?" However, in retrospect, I'm glad they didn't because I probably would have had the attitude of "been there done that" and missed the beauty that was there.

As much as I enjoyed the experience at the Grand Canyon as an adult, my favorite visit to a national park so far has been Arches National Park. Although, part of that could be because that's when John and I discovered Moab, Utah -- which is a whole different blog.



Anyway, back to the Grand Canyon. I'm almost hesitant to post any photos, because they don't do it justice. The last time we went to the Phoenix area, our friends, Mark and Teri Briley, met us there. We cruised up to the Grand Canyon and stayed overnight at accommodations in the park.

Mark and I even got up before the daybreak to watch sunrise over the Grand Canyon. That was pretty cool. No one really thought I'd get up that early. I actually set two alarms and had a wake-up call.

Another really cool experience was at Carlsbad Caverns - again another blog entry.

Oh yeah, and I've been back to Crater Lake as an adult. And other than getting stopped by the park ranger (I did not steal the pic-a-nic basket) for speeding, it was a very cool experience.

Days of The Last Hurrah lives

When Rindy Ross played the familiar opening strains of "Harden My Heart" Friday night at Pendleton Center for the Arts, I was frozen in time. For a brief moment I closed my eyes and remembered hearing Rindy and her husband, Marv, playing with Quarterflash in the subterranean Portland club - The Last Hurrah.

I turned 21 during my junior year in college in 1981 and remember entering the nearly obscured doorway to the club on numerous occasions, heading down the stairs and listening to some great music.

Marv and Rindy performed a medley of old Quarterflash tunes - that was great too. But, they also played some new songs - songs not even on an album yet. "Kites," I think was the name of one. Wow, it really showcased Rindy's strong voice and vocal range.

And then there was the last song. Marv had this box thing that looked like a jack-in-the-box, but instead of some puppet popping its head out when he turned the crank, it played several accordion notes. I don't recall the name of the song, but the Portland natives sang about Tonya Harding. It was quite amusing.

I'm amazed. My husband and I paid 12 bucks each for tickets to the show and there's not a bad seat in the house. How cool is that?

By the way, the couple will return for the upcoming Hermiston Desert Arts Council season with The Trail Band. Definitely worth going to.

Hit the trail

That's my husband, John. We hit the highway to find a place to ride our ATV last weekend.

We got a map from the visitor's center and attempted to follow it, but in small print it said, "This map was designed to show general locations of OHV recreation sites in Oregon."

So, when we get stopped for riding illegally, my defense is, "I'm riding in the general location."

We had a great time, but I can't help but become irritated as we drove for miles and miles through public lands that we have to drive so far to ride.

We were the only people riding where we were - although we did see some people on our way out in a meadow. It was peaceful. I deal with people and traffic (yeah we have traffic in Hermiston) all week long, I don't want to deal with a bottleneck of ATVs at some destination riding area.

Recycling rant

In the wake of legislators looking to revamp Oregon's bottle bill, ("Two sides of the nickel," May 3 East Oregonian) some people don't really understand what recycling is. Taking empty cans and bottles back to the store isn't about the environment - it's purely driven by economics and getting a nickel back.

Recycling is smashing the soup or refried bean cans, throwing them into a bucket in the corner of our kitchen; flattening cardboard boxes and tossing them to one side of the garage; putting newspapers in grocery bags stacked on the dog's crate; and putting glass jars in a bag in our shed. Then when the bucket is full of cans or the cardboard starts getting in the way or the stack of newspapers builds, John or I fill the Bronco or truck and drive to the recycling trailers a half mile from our house and put the items in the corresponding bin.

To me, this type of recycling is an inconvenience. I don't get paid for it, I don't get a pat on the back for it, I just get the satisfaction in knowing it's the right thing to do.

And about my pop cans and bottles, I can't remember the last time I fed machines to get my nickels back. Instead, they collect in the garage (the opposite side from the cardboard) and when they start to overflow, I donate them to can and bottle drives held by Special Olympics or other worthy organizations.

Then there's the cans I collect at work. I have a box under my desk ... which quickly began overflowing with cans and bottles, so I poured them into a bit plastic bag. It seems, though, it never went from under my desk to anywhere else.

Then when I was working on the bottle bill story I met a woman who was taking cans and bottles back to the store so she could get enough money to purchase her medication. I told her she could come to the newsroom and I'd give her the bag. It wasn't a big act of charity on my part - I don't know how many nickles it represented, but she was very appreciative. However, I was just as appreciative to get the bag out from under my desk.

Chchch changes

I thought this whole blog thing was my random thoughts, but Daniel Wattenburger, news editor for the East Oregonian, wanted us to write about things we'd like to get rid of most in the world (evidently someone is writing an editorial about spring cleaning).

Anyway, Yoko Ono would be at the top of my list. Her primal wailing IS NOT music. While my husband has some very eclectic taste in music - some of it I enjoy, some of it I tolerate and then there's Yoko. We have an agreement, I don't play Amy Grant when he's home and he doesn't play Yoko Ono when I'm home.

Please note, the name of the album is, "Yes I'm a Witch." No kidding.

Another thing I detest is when I get e-mails and someone thinks it's fun to use a rainbow of colors to write their message. USE BLACK FOR BUSINESS PURPOSES!!! It's easier to read.

I don't want this to turn into a big rant, so the last thing I'll mention is, I wish people would include the address of places when they send public service announcements for events, rather than just the name of the place. If I ever get to negotiate a contract for my work as the community editor of the East Oregonian, I would have it include an additional clause for me to get paid for how many addresses I have to look up.