/'wândur`lust/

On the Fourth

2008-07-07T22:01:00.000-07:00

Scenes From San Antonio

2008-06-27T19:10:00.000-07:00

Bored and broke, I took the new camera out for a night test run. A couple of pictures came out, but most still need some work on the lighting exposure and/or night focusing from a distance.

Click For the Full Slide show

At any point in the slide show you can click on the image and it should give you a caption for the picture.

Detroit Iron

2008-05-11T22:37:00.000-07:00

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This Chevrolet Special Deluxe is for sale near my office. I believe it's a World War II era machine, which would make it pretty rare. I'm unsure as to the exact year though, so if anyone has an idea I would appreciate it.

VIEW SLIDE SHOW

One Day In New Orleans

2008-04-23T23:37:00.000-07:00

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Writing for me is a frustrating process, as I’m busy doing other things such as driving or running I can come up with the perfect wording for my thoughts. The second I sit down to write it out, a thick dark cloud comes over me a muddles everything. Argh. Anyway, I’m still trying to plug along so I can get to my photos.

New Orleans is a strange place, at once so sure of itself and at the same time rudderless and in decline. It’s as if it’s lost its reason for being and exists only because it always has. Today New Orleans raison d'être is enjoyment; work is merely a means of paying for the party. I’ve never met an American city so opposed to doing a job as the Big Easy. Every encounter seems to put someone off, an intrusion into their world. Perhaps it’s the nature of most of my trips, Mardi Gras and all, but it happens outside of Bourbon Street and apparently sans drunk crowds too. It’s foreign to me for sure, but it’s hard to deny the infectious nature of their revelry.

Perhaps it’s part of living so close to the edge that creates the need for constant celebration and a free spirited laissez-faire attitude, but what ever it is, New Orleans is a fun town. The city alone is worth a trip. What hasn’t been left to rot unused has lovingly and lavishly been taken care of. And in an age when every other city in America is becoming more homogenous in design, New Orleans lives on in its Architecture and attitude… even if at times it’s unsightly. Perhaps this is not a fair assessment? I don’t know. But, this was the most difficult trip to the city to return home from. I even took a quick glance at Grad schools there. Go figure.

What follows in the link is fifty or so photos from one day of touring around the city. Grabbing a drive through Daiquiri, The Garden District, the Katrina devastated 9th Ward, Chalmette National Battlefield – site of the famous Battle of New Orleans, stumbling upon "Super Sunday", a St. Patty’s parade in the French Quarter and an evening wandering around way late into the night.

I hope y’all enjoy the show as much as I enjoyed my trip. I know I can’t wait to go back.

New Orleans Slideshow Link.

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On the Road Again

2008-03-01T19:01:00.000-08:00

Goofing around with the new camera.

Bryan, Texas

2008-03-01T18:54:00.000-08:00

Click here for a full slide show.

The Best Four Days I Don't Remember

2007-03-23T20:42:00.000-07:00

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Cold. Damn cold.

Every time I get the crazy notion of moving north of the Mason-Dixon Line reality usually slaps me in the face. I suck at coping with the cold.

Our arrival in New York was uneventful, no ticker-tape parade, no good afternoons, no nothing. Get in the cab and lets get moving thank you very much you're wasting my time with your stupid questions... ah, I love New York. It was St. Patrick's Day weekend which coincidently also happens to be one of my best friend's birthday. The decision was handed down upon high to venture forth unto the frozen city formally known as New Amsterdam and celebrate all unto him. So spaketh those in charge of such frivolity. Baccus, I believe. Or maybe it was that little voice in my head that tells me to burn things... no matter, flight booked and plans made.

It's dirty, rough and unbelievably noisy. You're never by yourself, but you're always alone. It's cynical, unforgiving and rude. It's the greatest city on the planet, America's front door, it's best foot forward, energetic, dynamic and a constantly changing backdrop for frenetic chaotic capitalism. I love New York. I couldn't stand to live there.

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I was no stranger to the city, having been there on three separate occasions since in '98 - twice by car from San Antonio. I still have a couple of friends that live in the metropolis and I was bringing five others with me. It's a trip that will be celebrated in story and song generations from now. The details of which are not easily recollected at this point, but I haven't laughed that hard, had that much fun and so thoroughly embarrassed myself like that in years. It was good to be among friends again, in a city so vibrant, energetic and forgiving. In a way NYC was the perfect backdrop for this reunion, much like the city this group is brash, bold and loud. We hadn't been around each other in a single group in quite some time. And to be perfectly honest, none of us are usually the quiet one in the corner at any gathering so combined we tend to feed off each other and get pretty animated as the drinks add up and the wallets are drained. It's all very harmless and we leave most places with more friends than we came in with and this trip was no different.

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Other Images:
St. Paul's Chapel
Making Due With What Little Space You Have
Leaving For Home

Merry Christmas from the Family

2006-12-24T18:12:00.000-08:00

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Big Bend Country

2006-10-16T08:57:00.000-07:00

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Thwack!
Another large bug just committed suicide on the windshield, right at eye level and sufficiently loud enough to shake me from my road daze. It was late, nearing midnight and both of us were growing tired after being on the road for five hours. The much earlier conservation about "just driving out to Los Angeles while we were this far out" now seemed ridiculous, even more so considering it took us twenty minutes to talk ourselves out of it. We were going to need to stay in Fort Stockton for the night and make the final three hour trip south to Big Bend National Park in the morning. It was apparent that fortune once again smiled upon us when we read the large poster in the hotel lobby that night... but I'll get to that later.

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Big Bend Country is a mountainous desert. The northern most stretch of the Chihuahan Desert meets the southern Rocky Mountains, is split by the Rio Grande and altered by violent volcanic activity. It's a land of dramatic contrasts in color, temperature, flora, fauna and geography, rich in history and immense in size. At 1300 square miles it's nearly the size of Rhode Island and sees less than 300,000 visitors a year. It's beautiful isolation. Inspiring vistas and magic encounters around each bend mask the humbling history of human settlement which were often met with violence and heartbreak.

It's a fascinating place to explore.

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We had a change of plans and spent only one full day and night in the park, but what a day it was, though we saw only a small fraction of what is out there. You can see for yourself in this little slide show I put together, be warned though, it does include a picture of a tarantula. Remember, it's only a picture and can't hurt you. Unless, you fall out of your chair or something. At any point in the slide show you can click on the image and it will give you the background information on what you're looking at. I realize that this is not the normal way I do things, but I'm out of server space right now and can only continue publishing if I use free hosting sites. But before you leave, let me tell you about our Saturday and our little bit of luck.

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There's this race that I've known about for a couple of years, but have never made the effort to attend. It takes place on a temporarily closed section of highway from Ft. Stockton to Marathon, and is about sixty miles in all. The Road Runners Open Road Race (RRORR) has no speed limits, no cops and no traffic. No real exclusions on who can enter either, it's a "run what you brung" race that's refreshing in today's litigious society. We saw everything from race prepped Vipers to a stock Toyota Camry. That Camry did pretty well, surprisingly finishing in the top two-thirds of the entrants beating out some Corvettes, Mustangs and other powerful sports cars. Amazing. Speeds of 150 mph were easily reached by some racers, and it was said that the Viper had once hit 215 mph on one of the straight stretches during last years spring event. Awesome. No entrance fees or rules for the spectators either, just find a spot to park and have at it. Just don't get yourself in the way of the racers.

Now, my digital camera also apprently doubles as a video camera and the quality is quite good, YouTube just managed to degrade the resolution. But it's free and you get what you pay for.
More videos here:
#16 Chevy Corvette Z06
#206 Chevy Corvette
#167 Ford Lightning (Truck)
#61 Pontiac GTO
Well, that was our weekend. After a full day of racing it was getting close to being dark so instead of driving the two hours back to park and searching for a new campsite we decided to head home back to San Antonio. Now not to cut this post off really short and end it on such weak note but I'm out of things to write. So find something else to occupy your time with... Oh, but don't forget the slide show link, as well as my other YouTube links for some of the other racers, it should be worth the effort. Slide Show Link Again

Jennifer DeJesus

2006-09-10T20:27:00.000-07:00

I've tried writing this post for days, but the right words just aren't there. Often, numbers isolate ourselves from the true devastating individual loss. 2,996 people lost their lives on September 11^th and as a means of marking the occasion I'm focusing on one person. A mother, aunt, friend and co-worker. Someone I never knew, but will now always remember.

Jennifer DeJesus

Expressing such a loss is best left to those who knew her:

An Aunt and Confidante

Galo Perez says he practically grew up with his aunt, Jennifer De Jesus, at their grandmother's Brooklyn home. "I'm 20, she was 23," he said. "She was more like a sister, and she affected me a lot; I could go to her about things nobody else could understand."

A year and a half ago, Ms. De Jesus got a job as a data entry worker at Morgan Stanley, on the 59th floor of the World Trade Center. The home of her extended family in Brooklyn has become a place of memories. "She was always so sweet and thoughtful; always looking out for other people," said her sister, Wilma Perez. "She babysat for my kids all the time, and my kids loved her."

Ms. De Jesus leaves a 2-year-old daughter, Jacinda.
~
Jennifer there is not a day that goes by that I don't think about you. You were always a good friend to me since Park West High School. We Always kept in touch with one another. In Parkwest we had good times chilling in Mr.Daniel's office. It was always you, Sassie and me bothering Mr.Daniels. The first thing that came to my head when I heard about the WTC was you Jennifer. I wish I had the chance to talk to you but that never happened. Well, I want you to always remember that I will never forget you. You will always be in my heart.
Much love to you,

Your Friend, Arleen.
~
It took me a whole year to sign this book but today I feel like I can do this. I miss you very much and there is not a day that goes by that I don't think about our friendship and the times we spent together. I wanna say thank you for all the good times and for always sharing and caring. Every morning I looked forward to coming in to work and you greeting me with your smile it inspired me to smile back. For the whole year that I planned my wedding you were in every thought and the day of my wedding your spirit I felt. I always call your family and Jacinda they are doing okay but missing you like crazy. Your body is gone but your spirit will live on I will always keep you in my heart and treasure the moments from the start. JC, Joey, Aneleta and my Mom all miss you and think of you. I miss talking to you having lunch with you and all the shopping that we did. I miss your phone calls at night when you just wanted to say good night or the times that you missed me when I was out of sight. You are and will always be very special to me and you remain in my heart forever I love you girl!

Love your Friend Today and always
Maritza Baez Castro
~
Times aint the same anymore, I often wonder how you feel... Much to my surprise we are all fine but missing you!!! I've Wrote several papers about you and what you meant to me. I think that is the hardest part you know, putting what i feel on paper actually seeing my Pain in words. I understand everything happens for a reason. I hope you are seeing the steps you need to follow that lead to heaven. I know you will always be in my heart, mind, and prayers. I love you i will never forget you and i will always treasure the 20 years i spent getting to know you. You were specail to me MY BIG SISTER! I love you Jenny and i know we'll be together again one day.

Peace and LOVE your Nephew G
~

Coming Soon

2006-07-11T19:30:00.000-07:00

The Guadalupe

2006-05-15T14:20:00.000-07:00

It's the middle of May, and I have the Guadalupe River on the brain.

The first week long stretch of above 90° heralds the beginning of Texan(Hiccus Texicanous) migration to the Hill Country and it's many rivers. This year marks the 5^th annual toobing and camping trip to the cool waters of the Guadalupe for me and fifty of my closest friends. It's a time to dress down, way down, and pay homage to childish irresponsibility with good friends, great weather and lukewarm domestic beer. Can't wait!

So Long Old Friend

2006-04-24T12:16:00.000-07:00

It's just a car, an inanimate object, a chunk of metal. That's what I keep telling myself. Good grief, this is just pathetic. It wasn't as if I just put my dog down, right? Right? She's gone on to a new owner, the one I sold her to cheap, because she promised to get her running again and understood what a car can actually mean. Maybe some day, I'll see her out on the road again.

Those of you the know me personally are well aware that I rarely hold on to something for long periods of time and I'm all too willing to move on. That's what makes what I just did all that more difficult. The only possession that I still had from my youth is now gone, my first car. No matter where I've been, or what I was doing I always had my Z and almost all of you have stories about it. It was more than transportation, it was my freedom, the connection to my past, and my planned future. Thirteen years I've owned that car. She's outlasted many newer, flashier and less abused vehicles in my parents stable. Though flawed and sometimes unpredictable, it was these characteristics that most gave her personality and she rarely let me down even with the odometer reading 325,000 miles.

It was with her that I learned how to enjoy driving. To just be in the moment with no regard to problems and plans and that the trip by itself could very well be more important than the destination. It was my freedom, my relaxation and enjoyment, and the embodiment of my frivolity. It just was and always will be remembered as the temporary escape that I sought from responsibility. It was a royal pain in the ass sometimes, always hot with no AC and she leaked like a sieve when it rained. But even still, those memories bring a grin to my face. Because it was flawed and not perfect, it had a human like personality all it's own.

Thanks for the memories

Sam Houston National Forest

2006-04-18T07:46:00.000-07:00

I found myself back in College Station for a personal reunion, a long time friend was back in town from New York visiting her folks, and of course, I had to make the trip up. Hey, if there's a better place to find good company and cheap drinks other than a college town, I haven't found it? After a night of catching back up on the latest I had to find my way south to Houston, normally a brief one and half hour drive southeast. Since I never like to do the easy thing and I had an extra six hours anyway, I decided to take a trip through the Sam Houston National Forest, a region of the state I've never really explored. The forest is north of Houston and contains such interesting towns as Cut and Shoot and Point Blank, it's western entrance is the penal town of Huntsville.

I came across a controlled fire immediately upon entering the area. A controlled fire, or prescribed burn depending on who you're talking to, is heavily used in forest management as a means of keeping the forest undergrowth in check as well as a means of propagation for certain plants. Well, what ever it is, I had to drive through it.
{cough} {cough}

East Texas is a foreign place to me. Southern in it's look and feel, it's an unfamiliar region, completely unlike the semi-arid hard scrabble Central Texas of my youth. The trees are tall, and the forest is dark. Everything is green and water is in no short supply. Hell, even the soil is different, East Texas has it, Central Texas doesn't.
It was what I call a good trip, something new that I haven't done before and even though I regularly got lost I didn't run into any real problems. I even managed to snap a picture or two of the Sam Houston statue near Huntsville. Warning: He's not quiet life size.

So, some six hours later I found my way merry way out of the 160,000 acre reserve and plodded on down the road to Houston. Tired, with a trucker tan and ready for a nap.

Bexar County Courthouse

2006-04-05T09:17:00.000-07:00

More scenes from home:

This Red Sandstone structure was built in 1892 by architect J. Riely Gordon.

Texas arguably has the best collection of county courthouses in the nation, both in terms of numbers and architectural diversity. There are more than 200 of these structures built before 1940 still standing. Here's a link to other county courthouses across the state.

Earl Abels

2006-03-24T13:27:00.000-08:00

More scenes from home:

Earl Abels, breakfest refuge for older folk, is going under the wrecking ball to make way for some high end condos.

Back to Galveston

2006-03-07T08:38:00.000-08:00

I get a phone call on Thursday, could I make it down to Galveston on Saturday for a going away party? Hmm, nice weather, crawfish boil and beer... yeah, I'll make the four hour trip. A good friend of mine was getting ready to leave for Lafayette, Louisiana on a nine month stint aboard a oil rig and he was throwing a party at his beach house and of course I just had to be there.

Mmmm... boiled mud bugs.

San Fernando Cathedral

2006-02-27T13:02:00.000-08:00

Standing at the direct center of the city, the San Fernando Cathedral is the oldest continuously used cathedral in America. Originally constructed by the first Spanish immigrants to San Antonio, a group from the Canary Islands off the African coast, in 1749 it was renovated in 1898 and again in 2004.

Kansas

2006-02-13T17:19:00.000-08:00

I've put off writing this post for some four weeks now, 'cause I just don't know what to write. I've only driven through Kansas once or twice before, and the area has always sparked some wish to return. The sky is enormous and the unframed vistas are long, and while most consider it's situation with derision, the repetition of the unbound rolling lanscape is definitely not without beauty.

I hadn't planned on being in Kansas, but life seldom follows a plan. I was here for a funeral. One for my best friend's father, a man that I greatly respected and will miss. He was buried in the family plot along the Kansas River, and it was for this that I made the trip to the prairie along the old Oregon Trail.

A Little Bit of Home

2006-02-06T18:14:00.000-08:00

The weather beckoned me to do something, anything, outside. It was the kind of day that makes you feel guilty for being on the couch, not that I really pay attention those feelings most days... I did finally plop down some cash for a new digital camera, perhaps I should see how the damn thing works?

I realized that it had been a very long time since I really just wandered around a place aimlessly, with no real purpose or destination. Just being and seeing and wrapping myself up in the moment, the utlimate escape from reality. It’s a concept that I first came to understand while I was in Italy, when I had a lot of time on my hands and very little in the way of money, and it’s something I really should be doing more often. I would head downtown.

I must admit that I’m pretty jaded when it comes to San Antonio, but the city is definitely not without it’s charm. I’ve spent a great deal of time in and around the downtown area since first beginning highschool just a few blocks from the Riverwalk, and I consider myself pretty well aquanted with everyhthing it has to offer to both the tourist and the locals, and I must say, it’s a shame I don’t get down there more oftern. It can be a real interesting place to be, even if change is slow to come to the area and it can get overcrowded at times. It’s easily one of the most livable downtowns that I’ve run across in the Southern US, and that’s got to stand for something.

Oh well, I’m standing around and looking like a tourist among nothing but tourists and feeling at ease. It’s not very often I take a fresh new look on an old subject, but here I am, enjoying the weather and snapping away, with no regard as to how many shots I have left on the roll. Liberating, this digital world.

Partly do to a lack of economic boom that often levels and removes history in the name of progress and partly do the a very strong preservation effort by members of the city in the mid 20’s and again in the 60’s and 70’s, most of the downtown area has kept is older charm, parts of which can date back to the 1720’s. All of the images posted here, and there are quiet a few - I’m sorry for the slow loading time, are from a couple block radius with the epicenter being where Commerce Street intersects Alamo Street, just above the Riverwalk.

BUCKHORN SALOON. Albert Friedrich of San Antonio began his exotic horn collection in 1881, his father made horn furniture - of course, he began to display his collection at a saloon that he acquired on Dolorosa Street. He moved his business to what became the Buckhorn Saloon, at Soledad and West Houston streets, in 1896. There he maintained one of the most respectable saloons in San Antonio during one of the city's rowdiest eras and acquired the antler collection of a famed hunter, Capt. Ernest Dosch, most of which is dispalyed in the bar to this day.

← ST. JOSEPH’S CATHOLIC CHURCH. This church was built for San Antonio's German community in 1876. The house of worship is as notable with the locals for the stubborness of its congregation as it is for its beautiful stained-glass windows. The worshipers' refusal to move from the site when Joske's department store was rising up all around it earned the church the affectionate moniker "St. Joske's.

↑ALAMO. The San Antonio de Valero Mission, commonly referred to the Alamo for reason that are not clear today, was authorized by the viceroy of Mexico in 1716. The cornerstone of the chapel was laid on May 8, 1741,and while founded for the purpose of Christianizing and educating the Indians, the mission later became a fortress and was the scene of many conflicts prior to the siege of 1836 for which it gained international fame.

↑MENGER HOTEL. German immigrant William Menger built this hotel in 1859 on the site of Texas's first brewery, which he had opened with partner Charles Deegan in 1855. Legend has it that Menger wanted a place to lodge hard-drinking friends who used to spend the night sleeping on his long bar. Far more prestigious guests -- presidents, Civil War generals, writers, stage actors, you name it -- stayed here over the years, and the hotel turns up in several short stories by frequent guest William Sidney Porter (O. Henry) and was the site of recruitment of the Rough Riders from it’s bar by Teddy Roosevelt in 1889.

↑THE EMILY MORGAN HOTEL. This hotel was named for a freed black woman during the Texas Revolution that was often called “The Yellow Rose of Texas”, a legend that was fostered around camp fires and barrooms all around the state during it’s Republic years. Story has it that Emily had helped defeat the Mexican army by occupying Santa Anna’s “mind” and charmed the pants off him just before the Battle of San Jacinto, in which Texas won it’s independence. Although, this story may now be in doubt, sometimes myths can be far more interesting than the truth.

Not a bad way to spend your Saturday, and it involved only a short 10 minute drive south for me. That in it's self is a real change of pace for this website and an idea worth exploring more since my truck has really starting to rack up the miles lately. 25,000 miles in 8 months, that's got to be some sort of record for me.

And there will be much rejoicing...

2006-01-27T15:29:00.000-08:00

I've given up on posting more images till I get my digital Camera next week. Suggestions in the 5-8 megapixel range are appreciated.

This scanning business is for the birds, and I'm tired of my images coming out horribly.

Scenes From The Roadside

2006-01-03T14:51:00.000-08:00

I'm Still Here... Kinda

2005-11-01T07:28:00.000-08:00

Sorry about the long delay in posting lately, I've been a little too wrapped up in "the real world" lately.

Ten year reunions, moving folks, and I purchased my first piece of property. It's enough to keep you on your toes... I'll be moving into my new place on Friday and with a little luck, I'll be posting regularly shortly after that.

In the mean time, what you see above is a second trip out to the Devils River that I made with a friend on the Fourth of July. And once again, we were the only ones out there.

Images from New Orleans

2005-08-29T09:35:00.000-07:00

These images are from my last trip to New Orleans, February 2004 which never did find there way onto texanwanderlust. I hope that we find the city intact in a few hours.

Jackson Square

Paddle Wheeler on the Mississippi

Shotgun House in the French Quarter

On the Road Again

2005-08-24T13:26:00.000-07:00

Eleven pictures. How am I going to fit eleven pictures into one post? Yikes, I hope this page loads quickly enough my short attention span laden visitors.

As in previous posts, most pictures are designed to be clicked on for access to the larger and hopefully clearer images. The limitations of my scanner have severely hampered my effort to keep this blog moving on a regular basis, that, and well, my lazy must play some part in that too. So please, take pity on this soul and pray that next month all goes according to plan and the new digital camera finally comes home with me. Let’s begin the show, shall we?

Ain't nobody that don't get tired
Watch your troubles pile up big in your own backyard
Sometimes you've got to grab your world with your own two hands
Set it spinning off on a course all your own
Take yourself a big bag for your shoulder
Find yourself some good times
Bring them on back home

Yeah, everybody gotta get away sometime
Forget about yourself for a while
Lay your whole life upon a shelf
Got no one to blame but your own damn self
Ok, alright, just might try to get it right tonight
Ok, alright, Carry On

- Pat Green -

Most people consider me a curious sort. I’d rather drive then fly somewhere. Apparently, this is not normal. I’d much rather spend eight hours on the road then one in an airport terminal. I hate the antiseptic uncomfortable setting that only an airport and emergency room can provide. It’s as if they design the places to keep you on edge, which they probably do.

My cousin and I left Austin around 1:00 PM, a usual early start for me once again, and made our way through Texarkana and Little Rock. We reached Memphis in time to find a hotel and some local flavor on Beale Street. Gone are the days of driving through the night, I'm just getting too old for that nonsense. In hindsight, we should have just stayed in Poplar Bluff, Missouri. The effect would have been the same, and cost us less money. Memphis was a bore and Beale Street a disappointment, you live, you learn.

The next six days were somewhat of a blur, making writing this somewhat problematic. We were constantly moving, and never spending more then two days in one particular place. Busy road trips are like that, and they tend to be not-so-relaxing. Fortunately for me, my cousin was an excellent road trip companion and made the trip up pass by very, very, quickly. Thanks John.

Here are the highlights from the entire trip as I can remember them:

We finally arrived in Chicago after many hours of “Land of Lincoln” flat farmland the next day. What can I say about Chicago that a thousand other, better, writers have said? Through all of my travels, Chicago still remains my favorite city and I was fortunate to have a full day of aimless wandering around the North Loop Area. It really doesn't’t get any better then this. Now, if they could just do something about those long winters I'd have to relocate. Our second evening in the area found us on a Riverboat partaking in a little gambling, Blackjack to be precise, and I managed to walk away from a Casino with a lot more money in my pocket then I walked in with. That’s never happened before. Probably never happen again too. No matter what, it was a great way to spend an evening. It’s funny how winning money can make a interesting evening, a great evening is it not? After a short two days I said goodbye to the Windy City and hit the road to Northern Wisconsin and the Wolf River with my cousin and his friends to catch a little rafting. I had a great time but found myself going to bed entirely too early, my body was finally cutting me off. I’m glad I did go to bed early though, since it apparently stills gets cold in Northern Wisconsin at night. At least it was cold enough to see my breath, and that was something I wasn't ready for. But, the days were brilliant and the water was as warm as the hospitality of my cousin’s friends. The river ride turned out to be a great experience of which I have absolutely no pictures. Not a bad thing, really. I’ll probably try and do it again next year.

I packed my camping gear on Sunday morning, said my goodbyes and headed through Green Bay and down to Milwaukee. I had an old friend there and this was going to be his last summer on Lake Michigan before moving back home to Texas and I wanted to stop by the city one last time.

My friend took a couple of days off work and wanted to see and do everything possible in the city right at that moment. I, on the other hand, wanted to relax and just do nothing for the next two days. I won. Well, kinda. We spent one day walking around the Lake Front taking pictures and the second day hanging out at a couple bars. I feel a good compromise had been reached and both parties were satisfied with the contractual arrangement.

The Quadracci Pavilion at the Milwaukee Art Museum (MAM) is the first Santiago Calatrava-designed building in the United States. The structure features a 90-foot high glass-walled reception hall enclosed by the Burke Brise Soleil, a sunscreen that can be raised or lowered creating a unique moving sculpture. It's a wonderful piece of Design by a man know for his bridges and worth a side trip to the Lake Front if you're in the area.

Now, how I spent my Tuesday is a prime example of what I love about “the road”. This day found me returning home from Milwaukee, by myself, with no set plan on where I would spend the first night of the two day drive home. Here’s a little synopsis of my day:

After six trips to the city, I finally found the Harley-Davidson plant in Milwaukee.

I showed the Chicago Commuters that this Hick can hang with the best of them dicing through traffic, and I got to bask in the magnificent architecture of Chicago one last time.

I was flirted with by a couple of Southern Illinois State Women at 80 mph.

I crossed the wide Mississippi at St. Louis and passed almost within the shadow of the famous Gateway Arch, and I learned that it does reach 100 degrees north of the Mason-Dixon line.

I drove down the first four lane divided highway in the country, and traced the final remnants of Route 66 through Illinois and Missouri. Not much remains of this once important road east of Arizona and most of it lies buried by the modern Interstate. Such a shame really.

I chased a beautiful sunset across the Ozark Mountains.

I learned that the empty Turnpikes in Oklahoma have been thoroughly repaved and are now a joy to drive, and drive fast.

I partook in a living simile around 10:00 PM. Somehow, “Like a deer in the headlights” has much more meaning at 85 mph.

I saw the Oklahoma City Bombing Memorial late at night and had the place to myself.

I got to listen to a CD changer full of great music and at any volume I liked. Windows down and air conditioner on, I blew two of my front speakers on the trip home. Oh well.

I ate more fast food then I care to mention, I learned that a body can have too much coffee and that a hotel room does not immediately equate to a good night’s sleep.
The subsequent drive from Oklahoma City to the Alamo City on the last day passed without incident but the nagging thought of that deer kept bothering me so I stopped off in Austin and ordered a brush guard and new tires for Guzzler as a reward for getting me up there and back in once piece and in great style. Hey, it’s only the Casino’s money…
All in all, I consider the trip a great success and topped it off with one extremely enjoyable drive home. Who could ask for more?

[3448 miles]

Down Corpus Christi Way

2005-07-29T10:32:00.000-07:00

Once the domain of the Cannibal Karankawa Indians, Confederate blockade runners and Cattle Barrons, Corpus Christi [ Map ] has ridden the tide perched above the shallow Nueces Bay. This now and again thriving port has served and survived the boom-busts, weathered Monster Hurricanes and shrugged off Yellow Fever over the centuries.

But just across the Bay is Padre Island and the small fishing port and "resort" village of Port Aransas and though the beaches in this state are not known for their "Wow" factor it is a prime destination for relaxation in Texas. This particular weekend was the annual group trip to the island for some sun, sand and adult beverages. I must say that the water on this particular weekend was the finest I've ever seen in Texas, clear with pretty decent waves. It was the first time since my viewing Jaws as a child that I spent a considerable time out in the deep water, trying to body surf the waves.

Devils River Dash

2005-06-20T12:47:00.000-07:00

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

Regretting an adventure well before one has even arrived at a destination is not generally a very good sign. But here I was, fifty miles still left before I was to reach Del Rio west of San Antonio and the sun was starting to make its presence known. The delayed hangover from the night before had finally kicked in, I was hungry and the coffee was not making any headway in clearing the cobwebs in my head. This was going to be fun day.

The two hour trip to the border at Del Rio took me an extra thirty minutes that I couldn’t account for. I must have been abducted by aliens or blacked out from the increasing heat. Either way, I was finally here at my first stopping point. I topped off the tank, got me some grub a and second cup of coffee. Sufficiently answering the requisite Border Patrol questions at the stop, I headed north, away from the Rio Grande and relatively populated Upper Valley into the dry Brasada. Fifty minutes later, I had found the dirt road I was looking for.

What if they built a State Park and nobody came?

I had only heard of this place within the last month, a State Park where none showed up on a map. A 20,000 acre snapshot of a hard scrabble ranch life in the middle of nowhere. No crowds, no noise and access to one of the most remote, inaccessible and pristine rivers in the Southwest. This is where the stereotypical West begins. Indians, Cattle and Ranchers, gruff Texas Rangers, US Calvary and Settler Trains bound for California Gold Rush, it’s a history stained landscape made famous by Hollywood on more picturesque locations in Arizona.

Devils River State Park lies a mere sixty minutes from the nearest paved road. Just past Dead Man’s Canyon and Big Satan Creek and what appeared to be an abandoned mining camp you’ll find the Ranger Station manned by one very unlucky or lucky, depending on your outlook, individual. Thoroughly not warned of what laid beyond the Ranger Station and with a cursory inquiry as to whether my Jeep was a four wheel drive, I paid my three dollar access fee and officially entered the park, literally the sole visitor on 20,000 acres. The “Jeep Trail” that led down to the river was a bumpy affair, but not overly difficult. I reached the first of the multiple Dolan Creek crossings after nearly fifteen minutes and after quickly sizing up the clear, slow moving water I proceeded to cross. The stream bed seemed to have no bottom and kept getting deeper the further in I went. The normal blend of engine and exhaust note dulled out as the undercarriage submerged and then water started seeping in through the bottom of the doors. This, was not good.

Visions of water filled pistons danced through my head. The brief moment of, ah crap what am I doing, passed as I gained needed elevation on the bottom and clawed my way across the rest of the creek. Now, that was fun! This is the way God intended a SUV to be used and I was lovin’ it. Then, realization that my isolation from the civilized world could have serious consequences if I were to have an accident, an unwelcomed meeting with a venomous reptilian or some sort of vehicle trouble finally sank in. I was, for all intents and purposes, alone out here and I couldn’t rely on someone else to fix the problem. Upon coming to the second crossing I took the time to walk through it first, and I’m glad I did. This time around, the creek was even more cunning and deceptive with a depth greater then the last. Nearly up to my waist, this creek had just beaten me and I could drive no further. I packed the water, the camera, left the cell phone that had been without any signal for almost two hours and checked the temperature. 99°… Toasty.

It was one and a half miles down to the Devils River, and I was to cross the Dolan Creek three more times. The last being a postcard perfect waterfall into a deep Caribbean blue pool complete with a large school of fish. I couldn’t take the time to take a dip, I had a river to find and my trusty map said it was only… back in the truck. Whoops. I plodded on and arrived at the river twenty minutes later.

A warm breeze was coming from the south, up through the wide green valley. The only sound out there was the rustling Sycamore leaves in the wind. No sounds of anything remotely human related were present to spoil this moment. And the water, well, I’ve never experienced water such as this. So pure that it smelled of a fresh summer rain. A hokey description to be sure, but that’s what it smelled like and I think most people can relate. Somewhere along the way, the hangover, much like my misgivings about this adventure, was forgotten. I immersed myself completely in the moment. I spent the better part of an hour there doing nothing but swimming and relaxing… and it was everything doing nothing should be.

I’m still temporarily unable to control the movement of time so I grudgingly decided to head back before it got too late. I wanted to make the four hour trip in the daylight to avoid driving the suicidal “deer in the headlight” country at night without first purchasing a deer catcher for the truck. Besides, I was developing a nice burn from the sun and I had already gone through three liters of water. It was time to go.

I bounded back over the dirt road past the numerous roadrunners, deer, cattle guards and shotgun riddled signs. I was northbound for I-10, an alternate and hopefully quicker way home. It had been a long pleasant day, but I wanted to get back to civilization. I found my way to Mountain Home just past the YO Ranch and hooked up with a delightfully empty Interstate devoid of its usual cross-country traffic. The sun was setting and I was on one of my favorite stretches of twisty high speed blacktop. Looky there, it’s even been freshly repaved.

Cranking the radio, I grinned and dropped the hammer.

[450 miles round trip]

La Bahia

2005-05-25T09:53:00.000-07:00

Corridor

2005-05-25T09:52:00.000-07:00

San Antonio Public Library

2005-05-19T13:08:00.000-07:00

The San Antonio Public Library, or as the locals call it the Red Enchilada, was designed by noted Mexican Architect Ricardo Legorreta. In a city that consists of mostly drab and lifeless brown buildings, the Enchilada is a delight.

[Click here to view color images of the building]

The Pond

2005-05-19T10:00:00.000-07:00

This Pond was found out on the Old La Bahia Road. Once one of the main routes of commerce for Austin's original Texas Colony.

From the Beach to the Brasada

2005-05-03T13:53:00.000-07:00

Or, how to make a long trip even longer.

The beach was a bust. The weather on South Padre Island was marginal at best. No sun, no real heat and plenty of wind blown sand. Call me demanding, but that’s not exactly what I was looking for in a beach weekend. South Padre is a long barrier island in a series up the Gulf coast that protects Texas from Hurricanes, oil tankers and drunk fishermen. You can drive on the beach here, and that’s what I did, to a point. Then the wind blown surf from a storm offshore washed out the hard pack single lane and forced me to turn around. Seems the tide had somehow come in while I was out there and at one point found myself having to push through the surf to get back to civilization. I think there’s still some seaweed stuck to the underpinnings of the Jeep, but who cares really, I was just glad to make it back to the pavement without getting stuck. To make this trip break-even, I was going to need a more pleasurable drive home then normal and the Rio Grande Valley was hopefully just what I needed.

I found my way to Port Isabel, just across the Queen Isabella Causeway and back on the mainland. Now a home to a small shrimping fleet, the area was the site of the last battle of the Civil War. The Battle of Palmito Ranch was fought after the South’s surrender at Appomatix. Whoops, sorry about that. The Yanks wound up getting the last word, though, and it was called Reconstruction. Guess they showed us.

I picked up a small blacktop “road” that led to Brownsville, the last city on the Rio Grande before it meets its end in the sea. The city’s glory days rode off with the last of the cattle herds at the end of the 19th century. Too isolated from the rest of the state, Brownsville was left neglected, and its French influenced architecture was swallowed up. The city of 140,000 varies little from its Mexican brother across the diminuative Rio Grande and even I was shocked by how much it resembled Matamoros these days. The amount of cross border traffic is significant and nearly half of the vehicles I saw in the Valley had Mexican license plates. The cities in the Valley are too far isolated from the rest of the state and rely heavily on this trade with its Mexican neighbors and family across the river.

I found my way to US 281 in Downtown Brownsville, just across from the crowded International Bridge. I was headed westbound for Hildalgo, Progreso, Rio Grande City and Roma and this two lane rural highway follows the meandering Rio Grande and remains south of the booming NAFTA trade centers of McAllen and Harlingen. These small towns have been left untouched by the generic growth of their northern neighbors. They lay alongside the river, neglected and unused, a time capsule of a long gone era.

All along US 281 you see relatively ancient land holdings that date back to the time of the Spanish Empire and the King’s Merced. Vast narrow tracts, connected by irrigation canals, that run perpendicular to the river for miles. The agriculture fields are dotted with little villages and colorful cemeteries, the river is never more then a few feet from the highway. This land has seen more then it’s share of misery; from the various problems with marauding Comanche, the subsequent split with Mexico and the resulting Mexican-American War, followed by the Civil War and Reconstruction. This tumultuous past lies scattered across the landscape, untouched by modern growth.

We went our separate ways, US 281 and I, at Hidalgo. She was moving on towards San Antonio 250 miles to the north, past the million acre King Ranch and I still wanted to head west further up the river. I found my new traveling companion, one remarkably understated two lane US 83. As soon as we had gotten officially acquainted, I left her for a small unmarked single lane blacktop headed south for the Los Ebanos Ferry. A place much talked about amongst the wandering nomads of South Texas, but seldom visited. For good reason apparently, it’s damn hard to find and rarely on most maps. But there it was, on my Atlas after all.
Upon finding Los Ebanos amidst a Cotton Wood grove, I proceeded to get lost is this rather spooky and foreign village. I was trying to find the old ferry to Mexico, a frightful task in an unmarked and little traveled area of the Valley. When I finally did locate the last remaining hand-drawn-ferry in the country, it was of course, closed for the day. I cursed my bad luck and returned to task of very slowly finding my way home. .

Further on up the road, I met up with Rio Grande City. A rather clever name of a town with an interesting past, it was occupied early in Civil War by Texas Confederates under Col. John “RIP” Ford. Vital in chain of posts used to defend the 2,000 mile Texas frontier, coastline and border always threatened by attacks from Indians, bandits and Federal troops it also served as an official Confederate port of entry, customhouse and major terminus of the cotton road to Mexico. Cotton was the one great money crop of the South that could be sold to hungry European mills for cash for necessary arms, munitions and drugs that could only come from Europe. International ports on the Rio Grande were the South's frail lifelines, its last resource in a war with an industrialized North that manufactured for its self what the South had to import. Cotton arrived at this booming border town on wagons and oxcarts after a hot and dusty trip across the brasada. It was then ferried across the river and delivered to the neutral ships anchored in the Gulf at Matamoros.

Roma is the oldest city on the US side of the river. Founded in 1765, this once riverboat town sits on a bluff fifty feet over the now un-navigable river. From here, paddlewheel ships, owned by such famous Texans as Mifflin Kenedy, plied the Rio Grande, delivering goods from Mexico's interior to the Port of Brownsville. The Reconstruction Years, brought growth and prosperity to the town. The smuggling of contraband became a highly organized, and if not completely respected, flourishing business that amounted to hundreds of thousands of dollars.

I was headed home, finally. Ah, ok, one more historical marker in the middle of nowhere. I pull over at the long abandoned site of a mission that has since returned to dirt, its name lost to the internet. Speaking of dirt, look at that nice graded dirt road, it heads north. I’m headed north. Coincidence? I think not. I pull out the map, disregard the little bar scale and head north. Into the vast emptiness of the Texas Brasada, where, they say, everything sticks, stings and/or bites. An hour was spent on this dirt “road”, mile upon mile of barbed wire fences, cattle guards, arroyo crossings and nary a human in site. My kind of place.

The road, which doesn’t even have a county designation, finally spits me out onto pavement after several wrong turns and I continued north through the brush country only occasionally greeted by a lone Crested Caracara on a cedar fence post. I would be home in two hours, tired and beat from the drive. Somehow, I managed to create a nine hour drive out of what took me four originally. I’ve always been the “slow one” I guess.

I have nothing profound or insightful to add to this play-by-play as I have found it too hard to define a place only seen through a windsheild that is at once both American and Mexican. Old world and booming suburban sprawl. Utterly provincial and highly International. Desperately poor and new job rich. 'Round here, we simply call it the Valley.

View a Map of the Valley and my route along the border.

Seven Easy Steps in making a trip twice as long as it should be:

1

Avoid the swift moving interstate, that’s just too easy and too dull. Life lies beyond the vast expanse of concrete, dividers and properly marked lanes and you might as well enjoy it. What’s the rush anyway? It’s not like you’ve got anything worthwhile going on back home.

2

Take along a camera, preferably one that works most of the time. Oh, and, you might want to bring some film along too. That would also be beneficial.

3

Throw that trusty map in the back seat and try and “feel” your way through the back roads. Only pull the map out in dire situations where you are hopelessly lost and completely out of gas.

4

The rougher and less traveled a road the better. Smooth roads offer little charm and don’t do anything but put you to sleep anyway.

5

Develop a hankering for useless roadside history and stop at every Historical Marker along the way. You know, every two or three miles. It helps make “great time” getting home.

6

Roll the windows down and slow down. Smell the wind and be a part of the local scenery. No need to fuss over your hair, it’s not like you’re going to meet anyone out here anyway. And if you do, you don’t want to look the part of the “outsider” that’s all gussied-up.

7

Stop once every two hours or so to “top off the tank”. Err, I mean, use the restroom. You drink too much coffee.

Gruene Hall

2005-04-20T10:29:00.000-07:00

Purported to be Texas' Oldest Dancehall, this gem has been host to countless up and coming country artists, such as Willie Nelson, George Strait, Jerry Jeff Walker and Lyle Lovett. Located just outside of New Braunfels, Texas, the city of Gruene has become an antiquers heaven, toobers delight and biker rest stop.

As you can imagine, the weekend crowds are interesting.

Let your hair down

Wear something pretty
Don't you know
How you make us both look good
Call your momma
Tell her were going out tonight
Were gonna be late
Hell we might not make it back at all

I said forget about tomorrow
I don't care if it comes at all
And if we get a lilttle crazy
We'll blame it on the alcohol

- Pat Green -

Lucky Day

2005-04-20T10:13:00.000-07:00

We stopped by the Ferrari Track Day out at Texas World Speedway, just outside of College Station, Texas, to check out the amazing vehicles in thier natural habitat. While waiting to park my friends BMW, a track worker asked us if we would like to drive the track. Well, uh, hell yes!

No passing he warned, not that I would be able to anyway, I swollowed my pride, grinned like a retard and headed for the track entrance.

Texas State Capital

2005-04-01T09:12:00.001-08:00

Everything is bigger in Texas, and the state capital is no exception. Constructed in 1888 and a whopping seven feet taller then the National Capital in Washington DC, this imposing structure was definitely made to impress.

Mornin' on the Brazos

2005-04-01T08:28:00.000-08:00

For an urbanite such as me, any opportunity to leave the city behind for awhile is welcomed enthusiastically. My friend’s spread on the Upper Brazos River near Waco provides a quiet setting for many weekends free of electricity, running water, air-conditioning and heaters. “Working the ranch” is often grueling work, but it gives this city schmuck an appreciation of those that came before and all the difficulties that they faced on a daily basis.

Waco Suspension Bridge

2005-04-01T08:05:00.000-08:00

The first bridge across the Brazos River, the Waco Suspension Bridge was contrstucted by the firm John A. Roebling and Son, of New York. Completed in 1869, the year of Roebling's death, the Bridge served the booming cotton trade center for over a hundred years.

Click here for more images.

Enron

2005-03-17T12:30:00.001-08:00

On a surprisingly beautiful "winter" day, I managed to shrug off the hangover from the festivities the night before and headed to Downtown Houston for some long overdue photography. While at once both brash and cultured, the city of Houston is a relatively new city. It owes most of it's exponential growth, four million in seventy years, to the once thriving east Texas oil fields.

The headquarters of the once powerful Enron Corporation consists of four buildings that occupy the four corners of an intersection in Downtown Houston. Joining the the structures is a circular walkway three stories off the ground. The buildings were auctioned off to Chevron Texaco to be utilized as their new headquarters in 2004.

River Road

2005-03-17T12:30:00.000-08:00

The stereotypically dry South Texas landscape is dotted with small spring fed rivers that have their headwaters deep in the Texas Hill Country. The constant sixty-eight degree temperature of the water provides a welcome relief during the hot summer for thousands of weekend vacationers. The Guadalupe River is the most popular of the spots for tubers, toobing as the locals call it, and the area is swarming with locals enjoying the sun and water.

River Road follows the meandering Guadalupe from German New Braunfels to Canyon Lake.

Field Sprinkler

2005-03-17T12:29:00.000-08:00

Center Pivot Irrigation along the Brazos River Valley. Once the center of King Cotton in Texas, the region has made the switch to other crops since the introduction of cheaper and better quality cotton from abroad.

Off the Interstate

2005-03-17T12:26:00.000-08:00

Life lies beyond the interstate, and whenever possible I make great efforts to avoid it like the plague it is. With my trusty map, a good CD in the player and a warm cup of coffee I explore the back roads of Texas.

Just beyond the mess of I-35 and a little north of where I grew up lies the old north-south thoroughfare whose existence can be traced back to the Spanish Colonial period. The old Camino Real is dotted with towns that no longer show up on maps, their names long since forgotten, as they are slowly reclaimed by the land.

Mist Covered Fields

2005-03-15T12:33:00.000-08:00

February is usually damp and chilly 'round these parts.

These fields are slowly being swallowed up by property development between Austin and San Antonio. The cattle are moved further west to larger and less expensive land holdings, fortunes are made and lost with speculation and little bit of history is paved over.

Piazza San Marco

2005-01-26T09:22:00.000-08:00

I spent the fall of 1998 in the small Tuscan town of Castiglion Fiorentino, Italy. It was ideally located about an hour south of Florence and two hours north of the Eternal City of Rome. When I wasn't riding the rails, being asked for cash or waiting for a late Italian train, I lived and worked out of the 16^th century convent of Santa Chiara.

We spent a few nights drinking and eating in the Piazza San Marco, and since it was October, the square was wonderfully crowd free. That's a real rarity in Venice. Several Orchestras had set up around the Piazza and they took turns playing for their café patrons. If you were so bold as to want a seat, you had to pay a fee and order something. The three of us had two cappuccinos and a chocolate mousse apiece and the total came out to ninety dollars. Ack! That can kill a college student's budget quick, but it was by far the best money I spent in Italy.

Notre Dame, Montreal

2005-01-26T09:21:00.000-08:00

McLaren F1

2005-01-26T09:20:00.001-08:00

Dodge Viper

2005-01-26T09:20:00.000-08:00

The El Montan

2005-01-20T15:37:00.000-08:00

Forgotten in Bee County

2005-01-20T15:35:00.000-08:00

Rollin'

2005-01-11T14:32:00.000-08:00

And me I stand here
At the last filling station
While the wind moans a dirge
To a coyote's cry
And I'm back in my car
And I'm out on the highway
Goin' hard
Goin' fast
Goin' wild

- Robert Earl Keen -

Pondering

2005-01-02T18:35:00.000-08:00

The group contemplates love, life and where the next beer will come from atop the apartment of a long time friend in Manhattan. The World Trade Center and Empire State Building provide the inspiration.

The Six Bells

2005-01-02T18:34:00.000-08:00

The Six Bells Pub in Oxford England.
[October '98]

Merry Christmas

2004-12-31T17:28:00.000-08:00

Mom got drunk and Dad got drunk at our Christmas party
We were drinking champagne punch and homemade eggnog
Little sister brought her new boyfriend
He was a Mexican
We didn't know what to think of him until he sang
Felis Navidad, Felis Navidad

Carve the Turkey
Turn the ball game on
Mix margaritas when the eggnog's gone
Send somebody to the Quickpak Store
We need some ice and an extension chord
A can of bean dip and some Diet Rites
A box of tampons, Marlboro Lights
Haleluja everybody say Cheese
Merry Christmas from the family

- Robert Earl Keen -

The Polly Chapel

2004-12-27T12:26:00.000-08:00

The Forgotten Farmhouse

2004-12-27T12:25:00.001-08:00

Windmill

2004-12-27T12:25:00.000-08:00

The Texan Germans

2004-12-27T12:19:00.000-08:00

Trestle Bridge

2004-12-27T12:17:00.000-08:00

Grand Central Station

2004-12-15T09:31:00.000-08:00

Grand Central Station in New York. Rejuvenated after many years of neglect.

Sunset Over Parliament

2004-12-15T09:23:00.000-08:00

My first trip to London in '98 occured while studying in Italy. A good friend of mine was at Oxford for the semester and after seeing the sites in that fair town we moved further on down the Thames River to London.

What's This?

2004-12-01T21:09:00.000-08:00

What you have before you on your computer screen is the culmination of ten years of my life in photographs, and while sorting through the six boxes of developed photos I realized that these images that I so loved were serving no purpose hidden away in my closet or packed into my already stuffed office. I have since started scanning these photographs in preparation for their formal introduction to the world wide web. My humble photoblog will now take it's rightful place amongst all the glories of the internet age, namely the Paris Hilton Video and the Dan Rather Memo for all eternity.

As the months pass, more older images will haphazardly find their way here, in no particular order, and at intervals that are as close to clockwork as an Italian train. As I'm prone to hop in the car and bolt for places unknown, my weekend trips may also find a suitable place amongst the more stoic and stuffy images. That is, if they are suitable for a PG rating and pass the "mother is reading this too" test. Ah hell, might as well throw some of my sketches in here while I'm at it.

Please feel free to comment, cuss, have a smoke, and spill beer on the carpet. I know I will. And, if you feel the urge to right click and steal one of my images for your own personal use, have at it. Just let me know, so I can further stroke my ego. If your interested in obtaining a better quality image, just pop me an email and I'll happily try to oblige.

Grab a beer, put your feet up on the desk and have the secretary hold your calls...

Cheers.

Postcards from Hell

2004-12-01T12:22:00.000-08:00

This was my first opportunity to make use of my photoblog for it's intended purpose, and I eagerly anticipated a massive first post from my Thanksgiving weekend jaunt to the Southern New Mexico ski slopes. We left early Friday morning, westbound on a deserted I-10, achieving an average speed of 90 mph for first four hours of an 8.5 hour trip with nary a state trooper in sight. The "I just want to get there" mentality sidelined any effort to take some photos, but we noted their location for the return trip home. Surely, they could wait.

Thus began two days of snow boarding and wind burn. I, relearning the ropes, and Dennis starting out from scratch. By the end of our second day I was nearly back to form and Dennis had come around to actually enjoying the trips down the slopes upright rather then just eating snow the entire time down. Then I lost him on our last run down the mountain.

A small message on a chalk board asked me to see the First Aid Station.

It was literally all down hill from there. Dennis had either separated his shoulder or broken something in that general area. That's all they could ascertain from their meager post. I was going to have to drive him to the Emergency Room in town, some twelve miles down the mountain.

After a few excruciating hours of waiting we were told all we would need to know for the next few days. He had shattered his upper arm near the socket and would need to see an orthopedic surgeon, in San Antonio. They could do nothing for him there in town and could only offer some pain medication for the long trip home. (It's little relief for so nasty a break, I know, I've been there.) After some debate with a drugged up Dennis and a few others back home, we decided to head back to San Antonio the next morning rather then immediately departing to make the late night run through deer in the headlight country. I dropped D off at the hotel, made him as comfortable as possible and went to get dinner at the nearby McDonald's.

Mmmm...McFood Poisoning.
I promptly proceeded to get violently ill, the likes of which I have never had the misfortune of experiencing previously. I think I did manage to get in a little nap on the bathroom tile floor between stints reenacting the role of Linda Blair from The Exorcist. Though I can't recall if my head actually spun around, I'm pretty sore in my neck, so it's quiet possible.

Unable to sleep, eat or drink I couldn't get Dennis home and we spent another grueling day and night stuck in the hotel, with only six television channels. The horrors! On the third day of D's needing to get to the ER I managed to get us back to San Antonio in what was the most miserable ride that either of us had ever taken. It was a very long 750 miles and absolutely no will to stop to take pictures was left in my body.

It's now been four days since everything went down. I've managed to actually eat something in non-cracker form for the first time tonight and Dennis has had his CT scan and should find out what will be done tomorrow. But, I find myself longing to return to the area in the next few months to complete what I initially set out to do. The area was ripe with interesting images, from the desolate beauty of West Texas, the fascinating wind farms along I-10, the incredible kookiness of Roswell New Mexico, and all the miles in between.

Millennium Over the Thames

2004-11-09T14:19:00.000-08:00

The Millennium Bridge (AKA "The Wobbly") over the Thames River in Central London. Built in '99, the pedestrian bridge affords one of the more interesting backdrops for St. Paul's Cathedral.

Flipping through my photos from my time living there, a rather sad recurring "theme" becomes apparent, they're all night shots. Rather pathetically, I rarely had the opportunity to have a day off of work. Architectural sweat shops are kind of funny that way. For those of you I have not spoken to in a while, I gave up Architecture for Lent.

St. Paul's Cathedral

2004-11-09T14:14:00.000-08:00

When you’re down on your luck
And you ain’t got a buck
In london, you’re a goner
And london bridge
Has fallen down
And moved to arizona
Now I know why

I wanna go home with the armadillo
Country music from amarillo and abilene
The prettiest women and the friendliest people you ever seen.

- Gary P. Nunn -

A Hill Country Sunset

2004-11-09T13:59:00.000-08:00

On my initial drive home upon returning from London, I happened upon this special confluence of setting sun and lone oak near the tiny hamlet of Loyal Valley, Texas.

Prickly Pear Nightmares

2004-11-09T09:09:00.000-08:00

Prickly Pear, is there anything more sinister and evil then this god-forsaken plant? I mean, jeebus, if any part of the plant is left and not completely burned it sprouts entirely new plants. After hours of chopping away with hand tools, we gave up and had to use a bulldozer to cut the cacti out. We piled a stack about nine foot high of this devil's spawn to dry out for a later burn. Since that time, the top of the pile has kept growing and appears to be absolutely thriving. The field we cleared has what seems to be at least two new sprouts for every plant we had chopped down. Five acres down, six-hundred or so, more to go.

{shudders}

And don't even get me started on Cedar Trees.

Target Practice in Blanco County

2004-10-27T18:41:00.000-07:00

That there roadsign won't be causing problems no more.

Blanco County is a leisurely drive north of the Alamo City, in the heart of the Texas Hill Country. It's a great place to get lost, if one is so inclinded. Just make sure that you leave your county road sign Halloween costume at home. For an unbelievably complete local history of Blanco County, home of Lyndon Baines Johnson, follow this link.

Dead End

2004-10-27T18:39:00.001-07:00

County Road 315 in Llano County has to be the most ambitiously named cattle trail that I've ever had the fortune of running across. This County Maintained right of way was worse then some Mountain Bike trails I've paid money to ride on. To top it all off, I had to backtrack some thirty minutes when I ran across this ford on the aptly named Sandy Creek. The creek bottom was too lose and I too far from civilization to risk getting, "Cracker" my Honda, stuck.

Upon returning to home I did run across a bit of good luck in tracking down the source of my persistent oil leak of four months. It seems that the oil pan drain plug was a mere quarter turn away from falling out and here I was traversing rocks and sandstone outcroppings merrily unaware that I was one good jolt away from draining my engine oil and stranding myself hours from home.

Flamingos and Pumpkins

2004-10-27T18:39:00.000-07:00

This was one of those occasions that I wish I didn't have black and white film already loaded into the camera. {cough, cough, cough Santa Claus } Pink Flamingos surrounding a field of pumpkins, only in Austin would this ever happen.

This was at the beginning of my seven hour 230 miles trek home from Austin, a trip that's should be no more then 60 miles and around an hour usually. It was one of those unbelievably rare days where every worked out well and conspired to keep me moving farther and farther west on the county lanes and small unexplored backroads.

Hay Bales

2004-10-27T18:38:00.000-07:00

Yes Virginia, there is grass in Texas.
Everything you'll ever need to know about round hay bales, in case you were wondering.

Melissa and Cyndee

2004-10-27T18:36:00.001-07:00

See ladies, I told you that this would be a great picture. Trust me, I'm an artisté. OK, it sounds a little sleazy unless you've got a French accent, which most of the time, I do not.

Happy Juice Makers

2004-10-27T18:36:00.000-07:00

The Saint Arnold Brewery in Houston. We spent a Saturday drinking freshly tapped kegs of Texas' Oldest Microbrew. What more needs to be said?

Spiders Web, Baytown Bridge

2004-10-27T18:34:00.000-07:00

Consider this one of those missed opportunites that could of been great. I missed the full shot by at least sixty feet. Why sixty feet you ask? Well, by the time I let go of the steering wheel with both hands, wedged my knees against it, and took the shot through the windhield, I had traveled approximitly sixty feet down the road deck. I'm happy with what I got and lucky to be alive. Seriously though, the bridge has no pedestrian walkway and stopping on the shoulder while trucks are zipping by at seventy-plus miles per hour is not for the faint of heart.

Fallen Grave Stones

2004-10-27T18:32:00.001-07:00

This Wall Street of the West was once one of the premier Ports of Entry and Trade on the Gulf of Mexico. The city of Galveston grips tenaciously to the northernmost barrier island just off the Texas coast. Once the site of the largest natural disaster in U.S. history, in which 6,000 to 8,000 people lost their lives, the city remains as a reminder of a bygone era.

Hurricane of 1900 in pictures

The Baytown Bridge

2004-10-27T18:32:00.000-07:00

Spanning the Houston Ship Channel the The Baytown Bridge is one of only two cable stay bridges in the state.

Texas A&M 12th Man

2004-10-27T18:31:00.000-07:00

One of the most well-known traditions at Texas A&M is the 12th Man. The story of this colorful tradition has been told and retold to generations of Aggie students, and is part of the cohesive substance that binds A&M students together forever. The memory of E. King Gill is the reason A&M students stand for each entire football game and provide one of the most enjoyable gameday atmospheres in college football. Gig 'Em '99

A Long Drive Home

2004-10-27T18:30:00.000-07:00

Dennis and Xav grab some beauty sleep on our way from Chicago to Indianapolis.

Urban Blight

2004-10-27T18:29:00.000-07:00

One of the troupe grabs a comfy seat for a late lunch.

Scoreboard at Wrigley Field

2004-10-27T18:28:00.000-07:00

Wrigley Field's human powered scoreboard still chugs along after almost 64 years. That's got to be one of the best seats in the house.

Takuma Sato's BAR Honda

2004-10-27T18:27:00.000-07:00

Five of us packed into an SUV for a Formula 1 race at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Sounds like fun, no? This was to be my fourth F1 race that I had attended. Monza in '98, Montreal in '99, Indianapolis in '01 and again for '04. In this race, Sato would come in third in his Honda behind the two dominant Ferraris.

Santa Elena Canyon

2004-10-27T18:08:00.000-07:00

Santa Elena Canyon rises some thousand feet above the now tame Rio Grande in Big Bend National Park. The largest and least visited of the National Parks, Big Bend is an excellent place to disappear for a week. Whether planned or not.

Broken Dreams in Big Bend

2004-10-27T18:05:00.001-07:00

Sunrise at the quicksilver ghost town of Terlingua, Texas. Located just outside of Big Bend National Park in far West Texas.

The sky was dark this morning
Not a bird in the trees
And silence hung suspicious and anxious
Like a blanket covered scream

And you were gone
You were not there for me
And i cursed the sky and begged the sun to
Fall all over me

- Fuel -

Big Bend Bluebonnet

2004-10-27T18:05:00.000-07:00

Anyone familiar with the Texas Bluebonnet will be dumbfounded by their shear size out west of the Pecos River. This prolific but normally diminutive state flower usually reaches a towering four to five inches in height, out in Big Bend Country they have reached as tall as three feet.

Bahai Temple, Chicago

2004-10-27T18:04:00.000-07:00

Construction began in Wilmette in 1912 for this House of Worship and wasn't completed until 1953. How would you have liked to be the construction contractor on that project? The structure is impressive in it's details and the surrounding gardens are another remarkable highlight.
Well worth the trip to the Chicago Suburbs.

McSorley's Old Ale House

2004-10-27T18:02:00.000-07:00

McSorely's , one of New York's oldest bars, is a welcome change of pace from most new and sterile drinkeries. Definitely a must see bar if you're ever in Manhattan.

The World Trade Center

2004-10-27T18:01:00.000-07:00

- 9/11 Tribute -

Statue of Liberty

2004-10-27T18:00:00.001-07:00

The New Colossus

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

- Emma Lazarus -

St. Patrick's Cathedral

2004-10-27T18:00:00.000-07:00

Dwarfed by it's neighboring cathedrals to commerce, St. Patrick's in New York has played witness to a rapidly changing city and nation.

Christmas at Rockefeller Center

2004-10-27T17:59:00.000-07:00

The Rockefeller Christmas Tree signals the beginning of the Christmas Season. Well, I guess if that's only if you've been living under a rock and haven't seen all the Holiday commercials starting immediately after Halloween. Merry Christmas

Light Speed in a Rental Car

2004-10-27T17:58:00.000-07:00

This image was taken from the back deck of the rental car on our way through Chicago. We were heading to Montreal for a Formula 1 race at the famous Circuit Gilles Villeneuve and were going to spend our first night in Milwaukee. Forty-something hours by car from San Antonio, sounds like fun, doesn't it?

Porsche 911

2004-10-27T17:57:00.000-07:00

A simple phone call from Alex is all it took. It sounded like a great idea, a quick weekend trip to Florida for an exiting weekend of motor racing. 2400 miles round trip in a car with over 150,000 miles on it's odometer. No problem, what could possibly go wrong? [Map]

Porsche GT-1 at Sebring

2004-10-27T17:55:00.000-07:00

Sebring Raceway Track Layout

The venue was excellent and the race was only lightly attended, which wound up working out for our benefit as there was so few spectators that the officials pretty much let those in attendance have the run of the place. You don't get photographic opportunities like these everyday, and I took full advantage of it.

The Sentinels, Amalfi Coast

2004-10-27T17:54:00.000-07:00

St.Mark's Basilica, Venice

2004-10-27T17:53:00.000-07:00

St. Mark's Basilica is one of the most impressive structures that I have ever had the joy of witnessing first hand. The church was constructed in the 12^th Century and is one of Venice's most historic landmarks.

I shot this picture as we left Piazza San Marco for our water taxi back to the island of Lido and our hotel. The lack of acceptable drinking establishments that catered to broke college students led us to a night cheap wine and free entertainment on a near empty piazza.

It was one of the best nights of my life.

It's not often one can say something like that and I'm fortunate to have this image as a reminder.

The Old Man

2004-10-27T17:52:00.001-07:00

I hope I look this good when I'm three hundred years old.

Lime Green in Italy

2004-10-27T17:52:00.000-07:00

This is what happens when you come back from school in Italy with over thirty rolls of film. If you take enough pictures, some are bound to come out well. That being said, the negative aspects of having so many prints is that you can easily forget the specifics of date and place. I don't know where exactly in Italy I took this, or when. Oh well, I still love this shot.

A Rose In Florence

2004-10-27T17:51:00.000-07:00