The Mogollon Rim

Travel mugs brimming with coffee and having buckled Jackson into his seat-belt we departed the hot and muggy valley for cooler temps and greener scenery.  Our trip this past Sunday would make our second and slightly more successful attempt to reach the Mogollon rim.  Our previous attempt, several months back, resulted in a snow driven whiteout preventing us from driving more than a few feet off road and giving Jackson an unexpected first taste of snow.

 Like a few other areas in Arizona, the pronunciation of "Mogollon" requires a little clarification.  Although Mogollon looks like a distant cousin of the word Mogul, as in the bumpy ski course, its actually pronounced with more of a "mow" sound,  "Mowg-eee-on".  Sure Websters might disagree with my display of pronunciation, but I'm assuming it gets the general point across point.

The thickening pine forest and overcast sky kept the temperature in decline as we approached the off road entrance to the rim. Just after we passed the gates we were a bit surprised to see a large steer grazing in a nearby meadow.  No fence, no cattle grate, just a lone, horned cow enjoying a snack.  Moving right along we bobble-headed up the rough road before making a quick stop at what looked like a nice vantage point.  Unfortunately the dodgy campers who had settled there manged to block nearly the entire area with their trailer.  We snapped a few pictures and continued on, and as luck would have it, not more than 100 feet down the road we came across an even better spot.







After parking we let Jackson run about, sniffing his little heart out while we enjoyed a simple tail gate picnic. We eventually trekked down to a little vista for an even better view and some quick pictures before Jackson lead us back up the hill, looking back as if to wonder why we were moving so darn slow.

 

Back in the truck we headed further up the road eventually coming across lingering devastation from the 1990 "Dude" fire.  Very few remaining burn marks could be seen thanks to robust new growth, however the landscape of felled trees and obvious signs of logging keep the Dude fire's lasting impact quite evident.  

 After a little more driving we stopped at one final, fantastic vista to enjoy views that can rarely, if ever, be captured behind the lens of a camera.  As we sat and enjoyed our surroundings I realized how I continue to be impressed by Arizona's unexpected ecological and geographical diversity.  Looking out at such a lush valley its hard to imagine that just 80 miles south is an unforgiving, 100+ degree desert awaiting our return.  Jackson enjoyed some quality dad time as well as some much expected, nose to the ground wandering before we started our trip back home. 

 
  Having reversed course back down the road we drove up, we witnessed quite a unique tree.  This tree looked like any from the opposite direction but on our current approach it looked more like a dragon, or a moose, or perhaps even a giraffe.  Oh perspective, you fickle beast.

 As we climbed out of the Verde Valley and crested the final peak before our decent toward Phoenix we witnessed the ominous rain cloud in the foreground. The storms in the valley can be fascinating, some will flood an area in a matter of minutes yet leave entire sections of nearby areas bone dry.  The closer we got to the cloud, the better you could see the bands of rain pouring down, yet once we hit the rain it was quite a bit lighter and less sever than expected.  Traffic did slow and visibility decreased for a short time, but it wasn't long before we were driving under clear skies with the sun drying up every trace of rain on Tim. 

By the time we arrived home Jonathan and I had both soaked up a little more sun than expected but its fair to say Mr. Jackson was clearly the most exhausted from our adventure.

                                         

Ugly spuds

Even before I removed them from the bag I was aware that the sweet potatoes were likely past their prime.  Little did I know a monster was a brewin.


Out of curiosity I looked up whether or not potatoes of this nature were edible and found the responses pretty entertaining. Some described toxins that can kill, others described cutting off green parts and being good to go, and still others debated how soft was too soft.  For the love of potatoes, they shouldn't be able to stand up on their own with the help of their leafy arms, nor should they feel like they're already baked before you bake them!


Needless to say we opted not to eat these ugly little spuds. 

Furry Family Updates

This past June marked another round of birthdays for our furry critters, who are certainly due their very own update.

 Ms. Sydney, turned 8 this year, which is always hard to believe. Its really amazing how fast time goes by. December 30th, 2004 I adopted Sydney who was a year and a half at the time and who went a little berzerk in the meet-and-greet kitty room.

The shelter personnel seemed darn confident I wasn't going to adopt this rather spastic cat, and I can't say quite why her behavior didn't phase me, but she just seemed like a good kitty and I wasn't about to put her back in her shelter cage. She has called many an apartment and state home and has been with me through countless life experiences and transitions. She may not always be the brightest bulb, but is as sweet as can be.



Not so patiently waiting



The feistiest of our little gang, Toby, turned 5 this year.  Toby was said to be the runt of his barn-cat litter, which traditionally consisted of  7 pound cats at their maturity. Goodnes, if this solid 15 pounds of intelligent punk with attitude was truly the runt, I can't fathom the size of his siblings. You may think 15 pounds means he is a fat cat, but just recently the vet agreed he isn't fat, rather he is just a large, solid cat.

What you wanted to sit?



 

As of this past year Toby has proven himself quitge the hunter, much to the bird population's chagrin, a bit of a annoyance to the neighborhood cats who he approaches, then sits awkwardly close to and stares at, and quite the entertaining companion to Jackson.  He sure can be a turd at times, and continues to far out number the other animals in  yearly vet bill expsenses bill but when he is being sweet or when his purr motor starts, all reminders of misbehavior seem to fade.

Streeetchhhhh

Speaking of Jackson, according to his records, he turned 4 this year, so don't be fooled by what his little gray muzzle would have you think. Jackson is without a doubt a wonderful rescue and is the perfect doggy addition to our little clan.  He is a sweet boy who loves to play, is great with adults and children and enjoys the company of  both cats and dogs.  He is a considerate protector of Sydney when he intercepts Toby during moments of Toby thuggery and is always considerate of her hissing protest when she has come across him for the hundredth "first" time.  As mentioned before he'll play with Toby when Toby's in the mood but he also keeps Toby in check when he charges at the cat who has decided that the rug is a terrific place to sharpen his claws. 

Jackson even has a friend down the street, Yager, who has been featured on Huppdates before.  The two get along swimmingly, are always excited to see each oher on the street and play/hang out on occassion.  Just this past week Jackson spent the day at Yager's for a little mix up of the daily at-home routine and had the chance to meet Vivian, Yager's family's newest addition.  I had faith Jackson would be a good boy but wasn't sure how he would react to an infant.  Bekke said he was great with her and intersted, that is, until she started to cry.



Jackson met Vivian for the first time and
found her quite interesting!



Can I have some??

We are very fortunate to have such great animals with very unique personalities.  These past years they have warmed our hearts, kept us company through thick and thin and continue to enrich our lives.  Here's to many more years with our furry family!

 PS. This post wouldn't be complete without at least a nod to Frank.  Although he doesn't sport any fur, he is still a part of the family and has been with us for 6 years.  From the sunshine state all the way to the desert, Frank may not be the most exciting of companions, but is a good little turtle and we also wish him a happy birthday.

Last day in Telluride

On Sunday we decided to further enjoy our surroundings with a horseback ridding adventure.  About 45 minutes away from Mountain Village and a few mile markers past Rico we pulled into the Circle K Ranch.  After we parked, we both signed away our lives on some liability releases, and headed over to the corral to meet up with our horses and guides.  We would be riding with a family of three, and two guides and decided we would determine if we wanted to go for a 2 or 3 hour ride when we were out on the trail.

 

Jonathan was introduced to his horse first. His name is Jigsaw and he happened to be their largest stead.  The ranchers noted that he is a little stubborn and a bit feisty, so enjoy the ride. I was paired up with Roany, a lovely horse with a calm demeanor whose name derives from the fact that he is a Red Roan.  We were told our trail would include some inclines to which we were supposed to lean forward, and descending portions to which we were to lean back. Can you tell Jonathan was excited for our ride?! 

Acknowledging that Roany does this on a daily basis I let the reigns go slack and enjoyed the ride as we ambled along. I full faith that Roany knew far better than I did about what he was doing and where we were going, so I wasn't about to try and lead. On the other hand, concerned by Mr. Jigsaw's propensity to nudge the horse in front of him with his nose Jonathan kept having to slow his horse down with gentle reign pressure much to Jigsaw's annoyance. 

                                    
I don't think we could have chosen a better day to ride.  The bold blue sky was marbled with a pleasant mix of puffy white clouds that provided a nice reprieve from the sun's intensity. We traversed fields, hills, small creeks and paused for a little photo shoot.  We opted for the 3 hour trip and enjoyed nearly every moment, with the exception being when Jigsaw either tripped or stumbled on the path giving the appearance that he was going down. Hearing the commotion I turned around to Jigsaw with his head down, almost touching the ground, creating a near perfect diagonal line from the tip of his nose to the top of Jonathan's backwards leaning body. Impressively and most importantly Jigsaw pulled it together, managing to re-gain his balance and recover with both horse and rider safe and sound. 

I can't imagine crossing the United States in such a manner, but can certainly imagine the joy of owning land and a horse of my own to ride about.  By the end of the ride I was fairly certain some part of my pelvic bone was about to chip off in the saddle, but again, a lovey experience indeed.        

After our ride we headed back to the resort, changed, then made our way into town for lunch.  On this Gondola ride we shared our cabin with a guy who just so happened to live about 4 blocks from our house back in Phoenix.  Talk about small world! We discussed Phoenix dinning, and the festival before disembarking and heading our separate ways. Not surprisingly we avoided Floradora and instead tried the BBQ at a restaurant we'd enjoyed some tasty nachos at a few days before.  The BBQ wasn't anything special, but overall we enjoyed our food, an adult beverage, and the always appreciated friendly customer service.  Since Sunday was the last day of the festival the crowds had noticeably thinned so we were able to find a spot for our chairs without any trouble.  We sat and enjoyed the group already performing on stage before making a trek to, and along the creek to cool off. 

Back in the festival grounds, sometime early evening the daily marshmallow fight ensued.  Today, unlike the day before monster sized marshmallows were included in the mix.  They're kind of hard to capture, but in a few pictures in the slide show you can see random little white dots in mid air.  The "thwap" of a direct hit was pretty entertaining but these good hearted food fighters seemed to toss with only the fun of flying marshmallows in mind.  The final band of the festival, and likely the band Jonathan was most looking forward to consisted of several masters of their art. Bela Fleck made playing the banjo at impossible speeds look easy, while Sam Bush displayed his mastery of the mandolin, Bryan Sutton rocked the guitar and a few others played and sang the festival to a close with a perfect show.  We stayed until the official end of the show but packed up to head back to our room before the jam-fest encore could ensue.  It was a relief to finally cut off our wrist bands and sleep a night without the sketchy night hippies causing havoc below. Oh, but don't you worry, our trusty feathered friends were sure to keep on schedule at 5 the next morning. 

We thoroughly enjoyed our trip and our time in Telluride but on Monday had to head back to the desert to return to reality. Our tip seemed shorter and less desolate on the way home, perhaps thanks to the fanciful scheming of our Telluride business idea and eventual downtown condo purchase. Hours later we made it to Scottsdale to pick up Mr. Jackson before getting home to be greeted by two kitties very happy to see their scheduled food service back in town.  In addition to happy animals we also returned to our newly tiled bathroom floors, to be discussed at a later time. 

Will we return to the Bluegrass festival next year? Perhaps yes, perhaps no, time and other trips will tell. Will we return to Telluride to enjoy the fresh mountain air, the dog friendly atmosphere and the overall beauty of what used to be a semi-abandon mining valley town, most certainly!!

Telluride day III

The white cresting the mountain is
smoke, not cloud.

Saturday was a pretty laid back day which is not to say was without a little drama.  We started like every other day by taking our chairs into the festival and securing our little strip of land.  The night before a woman remarked that she was impressed that we were able to stay within our little rectangle.  Its simple really when you dance to the beat in little shimmies opposed to the Wizard of Oz Scarecrow style which seemed the overall preferred dance style.  Also, unlike many, we were not sporting multicolored, wildly decorated, hula hoops for endless gyrating and arm rotations.  I never knew hula-hoops were all the hippie's cat's pajamas but it was almost a requisite for any large tarp group.

About mid morning we noticed that smoke from distant wild fires was steadily creeping over the tops of the surrounding mountains.  The fire raging 60 miles to the south had to be considerable seeing that as the day continued the smoke would provide a screen from the sun until about dusk when it finally blew out of the valley making for a pretty, yet ominous, sunset.

 With time between bands we did a little more wandering in town.  Spotted some choice bumper stickers, saw some very mountain-town wood work and signed up for our horse back ridding adventure on Sunday. Having asked for a simple lunch recommendation we followed some one's advice and went to the Floradora Salon, which I can guarantee, without a doubt, is a place we will NEVER again return.  After being seated our meek waitress eked out a request for our drink orders. Having surveyed the laminated Whisky sampler menu Jonathan indicated he wanted Series 3.  I emphasized this menu's lamination because to me it indicates that its a feature the restaurant is encouraging, which I would presume would be understood by the wait staff.  Its cleanly presented, organized, and EASY to understand, foolish me, I set my expectations way too high.

Far too long a time span later, the waitress dropped off  a whisky on the rocks before fluttering off to the unknown. Skeptical that the order is correct we gave up waiting on her return and asked an employee who we managed to make confused eye contact with whether or not the drink delivered was correct.  He guffawed a "no", encouraged us to not worry about it, drink the drink and he would retrieve our waitress to get the right order placed.  Jonathan again ordered the Series 3 to which she commented that during the previous order he stated he wanted a specific Whisky.  Not true honey, but place the order with the bar and we'll be good. 

Time ticked by and I realized that I had nearly finished my lack luster lunch yet Jonathan's whisky sampler still had not arrived.  By now I've left vacation mode and am about to lose it Caetano style. Jonathan asked me to be calm, so I did my darnedest to put on a non-mocking smile before I headed to the bar to inquire about the sampler I could see awaiting delivery, bar side. 

Here is where ugly started. At the bar I waited patiently as the bar tender milled about, making a good effort to avoid my eye contact before leaving the bar with an empty jar and heading into the kitchen. My forced smile was starting to turn a little manic at this point. Just breath. Several minutes later, upon his return, he again avoided me.  When we finally made eye contact, to which I indicated "yes I would like some service/recognition" he turned back around.  This guy, this very funny man was treading a dangerous line. When I said excuse me to get his attention, he held up an index finger and told me "in a minute". Breath through clenched teeth is an art form, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. When I was finally able to speak to him and inquire nicely about my husband's order which I indicated was at the end of the bar, he snarked that a waitress was there and would get it, and started to turn away.  I was on the edge, and with an ever raising voice clarified that the woman by the drinks wasn't even our waitress. Again I found myself staring at this guy's back, so knowing Jonathan would appreciate I not create the epic scene I was born to unleash, I snarked with with a smile in my voice  and said "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you".  No doubt he heard me, but he continued on in his ignorance,  as my comment was chuckled at by patrons within earshot.

I returned to the table, whisky-less and borderline foaming at the mouth.  Another waitress brought over the drinks and apologized, claiming our waitress had left for an emergency. Then came the bill.  All I can say is my love for Jonathan is the only thing that kept me from losing it. Not only did they charge us for the wrong drink, but we fought, as calmly as possible, myself, trying to keep my mouth as shut as possible, with: the waitress who brought the bill, then our waitress who must have set aside her emergency to stiff us on an order that she screwed up, then the bartender, then the kitchen guy and eventually the owner of the restaurant.  After all of this we got the first drink begrudgingly removed from the check, as our meek waitress continued to point out that it was our fault.  Like I said, NEVER EVER EVER again will we set a foot in that wretched little place.

 

It took me a moment, or two or three, but after we returned to our chairs and joked about the absurdity of the entire situation we settled in for another evening of great music.  The first band we saw was Yonder Mountain String Band. They didn't perform quite the traditional music Jonathan was hoping for, but their Radiohead infused Bluegrass was interesting.  Can't say its my new favorite, but they did a great job of performing their unique musical mix. During the break is about the time we were gifted by the random reappearance of dear little Warren.  From out of nowhere this child, who seems to mock the limits of silly energy, ran over to us said hi, then ran back to his base tarp.  Again finding this an excellent chance to bemuse myself with random comments and over the top cackles, I found his running charge which came to a complete halt at our chairs before his run back home, pretty entertaining.  When K.D. Lang and the Siss Boom Bang started up I had had my fill of Mr. Warren and let him know we were done and it was time for him to stay on his tarp.  He obliged and we enjoyed the performance on the stage.  K.D. Lang sounded great, put on a good show and was very comical in her banter with the crowed.

Our headliner for the evening, and I say "our" because they were not the final band to play for the day, was the Sam Bush Band. While Jonathan appreciated their talent we were both a little disappointed in the rock rather than bluegrass emphasis of their performance.  We decided to call it a night a little earlier than usual since the following day we would be driving about 45 minutes away to saddle up for a horseback ride; however our intentions were a bit for not.  I now introduce to you the "sketchy night hippies".   Each night the night hippies, mainly consisting of any random group of partiers undoubtedly donning over priced Patagonia and organic north face apparel would get loaded to the verge of starting fights at the bar just below our third floor room.  It was as if the calm demeanor of the friendly day Trusafarian, having worn through their supply of pot, booze and suffering from far too much sun exposure transcended into sketchy night hippidom. The land of the sketchy night hippie is a dark, and likely stinky, "all natural" place.

Finally having fallen asleep it was only a mere 3 or 4 hours later that we would be awoken by a daily dose of a 5 o'clock bird frenzy. While the chirps of the occasional morning bird can serve as a lovely sign of life and a reminder of nature's bounty the birds convening on our roof were deafening. It was as if the loudest birds in town, all chirping, each fighting to be heard, descended upon our open skylight to convene their little birdy congress lasting about an hour.  Why not close the window you say, well the open window was our only form of minimal air flow. Apparently the good, wealthy people of Mountain village don't have air conditioners, which is understandable, but they also don't seem to believe in fans. But lets focus on the bright side, all was well, because we were still enjoying our vacation.