#202 Four Stories

Sqiddy, Our Resident Squirrel, taken yesterday

This post is a mixed bag of stories—one suggested by a good friend and former debater, Dave Carlson, two stories from early travels to Scotland and Ireland, and one unbelievable story that just occurred [actually, I do believe it because it happened to us]. The accompanying photos will be a mixed bag of whatever I can find that might be appropriate to share—sorry, I’ve not been getting out much recently (weather, a cold, and a bout of Covid).

The Fiats in My Life

We bought our first Fiat sports car in 1969, a new red Fiat 124 Sports Spyder, when we were newly married and teaching in SoCal. It was a fun and comfortable car to drive, classy and sporty. We loved that car and the love affair lasted until we moved back to Oregon in 1970. Oregon and the SoCal Fiat did not get along. We soon learned that FIAT really did stand for “Fix It Again Tomorrow.” Bye-bye Fiat 124.

Fast forward to about 1990. We were living in Canby where I was a speech teacher and high school speech coach. A sexy yellow 1981 Fiat X1.9 came on the market for a good price and my Fiat memories had mellowed—golfers always forget the bad shots and dwell on the good ones. Anne said I could get the car if I was sure it was okay. I had the car thoroughly checked by a local foreign car mechanic—at least I thought he was thorough—and he said it would be a short list of repairs to get it into top shape. So, we bought it. Then came the short list of repairs which got longer the more we broke it down. To make it road worthy I had spend half again what I bought the car for. Finally, with the repairs done, the car was ready to drive.

I loved driving the car to school, it was the coolest of teachers’ cars. Exciting to drive on the twisty back roads, the car commonly called the Poor Man’s Ferrari was loud, fast, low to the ground and soon proved that it really was a Fiat, “Fix It Again Tony.”

The first problem came when the gear shifter came away in my hand as I shifted into 2nd gear on the way home from school. Soon after the engine overheated when at high speed, then at slow speed, then upon start up. The brakes went bad. The wheels wouldn’t align. The targa roof panels wouldn’t fit right. My beautiful little car was spending more time in the repair shop (the same foreign car mechanic) than on the road. All the Triple AAA tow drivers knew both Anne and I by first name. Anne refused to drive the car because she didn’t know what was going fall off next.

The car sold quickly and for practically nothing. It had been an expensive second chance for Fiat. All this came flooding back to me when Dave sent me an email with an ad for a modified ’81 Fiat X1.9 for sale. It was a pretty car. He sarcastically asked if I was interested. I thanked him kindly and immediately started writing this post.

Ardvreck Castle, Northern Scottish Highlands

Petrol Strike in Scotland

On our first trip to Scotland in September of 2000, we had plans to see a lot of the small country driving our rental Vauxhall Wagon on the Other Side. After our third day in the country our plans were put in jeopardy by a nationwide petrol strike—petrol delivery drivers were refusing to deliver fuel because of high government taxes on petrol. We tax gas mostly for money for roads and transportation while in the UK petrol taxes are much higher and cover things such as education and health care as well as roads. At first there were reports of limited outages, but then we started hearing that 80-90 percent of stations had only reserves left for emergency vehicle. Poor us: foreigners not knowing the country, on our first trip, in a rental car, driving on the other side.

A Gathering of Lotus Super 7s in Crieff, central Scotland

We started making plans with the remains of our first tank of gas in mind. Local stations were closed. For a couple of days we would only drive a few miles to see sights or play golf, always keeping enough reserve to get back to Glasgow and the car rental company. One afternoon in a local pub we were accosted by a drunk trucker who blamed the Americans and Tony Blair for the troubles and what were we doing in his pub! [BTW, that was the only time in 34 trips to Scotland that we had trouble with anyone over anything—a real One Off.] We considered turning our car in at Glasgow and turning the trip into a train trip. In a couple of days the claims were getting wilder: all stations everywhere were closed, they were rioting in the streets of even small villages, even the potato crop was rotting in the fields because farmers had no fuel.

One of our many Scottish rental cars.

It was decision time because we were scheduled to move on. Our B&B host arranged to get us a small amount of petrol to make us more comfortable and said he didn’t believe what we were hearing. He said, “I’m sure you’ll be alright once you get the motorway (freeway).” He was correct. The stations on the motorway were operating fully and there was plenty of petrol. We’d had our welcome to the UK by British Press.

Typical local pub near Dingle, Ireland.

Finding Our Way in Ireland 

We found our way to Ireland on our first trip (May 2002) with no trouble—north from Portland, turn right at Vancouver, and head east for several hours. Finding our way to anything in Ireland was a different matter. First we discovered that highway signs didn’t contain important information, such as road numbers. In fact, when we were leaving our first B&B near Swords we asked our host how to get to highway R3200 and his reply was, “Our roads don’t have numbers. To get to where you want to end up just turn right at the third barn, go a mile and take the left fork with the big white house, and stay on that road for 2 miles.”

Merrick Round Tower, Ireland

We also found out that road signs would often name the furtherest large city or town on the route. So to use a map, the navigator had to find the destination and then look further to see what might be mentioned. For instance, you might want to go to Macroom from Cork to play golf, but there are no signs to Macroom. All the signs say Killarney, but don’t tell you Macroom is on the way to Killarney. It only takes a little work to figure it out, but it’s the Irish way. Another stumbling block is that some destinations have more than one name. We discovered this when looking for the route to Londonderry in Northern Ireland while we were in the Republic. We kept seeing signs for Derry, but no Londonderry. Duh! We were in Ireland where they wouldn’t say Londonderry. To the Irish it was Derry. When we crossed the border into Northern Ireland the speed limits changed from km/h to mph, road numbers changed from Ns and Rs to As and Bs, roads got wider, and signs said Londonderry.

Corcomroe Abbey near the Burren, Ireland

The last major problem with signs in Ireland is that often there aren’t any—or at least not enough. This is especially true when the destination is some tourist point. At one point we were looking for an abbey listed on our map. From the main highway we could actually see the ruin in distance and a sign told us where to turn off to head to the abbey. They forgot the four signs needed at four intersections to get to the abbey. We made our best guesses, looked for other clues on our map, backtracked several times, and finally found the abbey. There was a sign that said “Abbey” which was a ruin in a farmers cow field—even the road was so mucky I couldn’t get out of the car for a picture.

This Winkle seller was easy to find in the middle of Tuam, Ireland.

Don’t get me wrong, we loved our four, month-long Ireland trips. We love the country and the people. And though the craik and music is great in Ireland, the signage was not.  

Has this Happened to You

A little over a week ago Anne got a text on her phone that an Rx was ready at the local RiteAid pharmacy. The only thing unusual was that we quit going to RiteAid about two years ago and now use Fred Meyer pharmacy. Anne thought the prescription might be for an inhaler from her allergy doctor, a prescription that comes only every couple of years. Since I was going out I said I’d stop at RiteAid and check on the prescription. It was an inhaler so I pickled it up and brought it home.

Now it gets stranger. When I got the Rx home Anne said she’d never used that medicine before and couldn’t have because it contains sulphur which she is allergic to. Reading the label closely we discovered that although Anne’s name, address, and DOB were correct, the Rx was from a doctor she’d never heard of in Oakland, CA. How does a doctor she’s never seen or heard of prescribe her a medicine she didn’t order and can’t take?

We called RiteAid and they don’t know why or how it happened, but we can’t take it back and have already paid the $15 co-pay which we can’t get back. Our insurance company says medicine which can’t be returned will still be charged against our account. They did say they’d check into how it happened and get back to us in a day or two (that was 10 days ago). We’ve paid for medicine we didn’t order and can’t use or return. Thoughts anyone? 

 

#201 A Long Time Coming

It’s been a struggle getting this post ready for publication. More than a month has passed since the last post. The fight is part of my battle with Parkinson’s Disease. Besides the more visible motor symptoms—tremors, slowness, shuffling, stooped posture—one of the numerous non-motor symptoms of the disease is apathy, a lack of interest in what were normal activities. It’s been hard to convince myself to get going and do things. The Blog has been one of the victims of my apathy, but I’m working my way through it.

I haven’t been traveling or doing much photography. I have, though, recently done a little more writing on my life stories. This post contains three of my stories from earlier years; one from high school, one from college, and one from hillclimbing days.

1978 solar eclipse visible from central Oregon. A photo of mine similar to this one was published in Sky and Telescope Magazine.

One of the Reasons I Became a Teacher

As a freshman at Montclair HS in SoCal I was very active in the science club and even wanted to be an astronomer as an adult. Two field trips I vividly remember were a lunar eclipse and a visit to Griffith Park Observatory opened to the public in 1935. 

Not Griffith Park Observatory, but the Keck Observatory on Kitt Peak near Tucson.

The first trip was to Griffith Park in Los Angeles (famously used in the 1955 movie “Rebel Without a Cause” staring James Dean, Natalie Wood, and Sal Mineo). It was a fantastic place to visit with all kinds of firsts for me. I saw my first large telescope (a 12" Zeiss refractor), first Foucault pendulum (used to demonstrate the earth’s rotation), and saw my first planetarium show. I can vividly remember the sights and sounds of the whole complex. That experience certainly increased my desire to become a professional astronomer.

Lunar Eclipse in April of 2014

The lunar eclipse trip did also. I believe it was a Friday night when I was picked up by Mr. E.P. Gossweiller (my general science teacher) and Mr. Orville Peterson (head of the school’s science department) at about 9:00 pm. We drove into the mountains for about an hour to a spot where we’d have a good view of the moon as it gets covered by the earth’s shadow. We watched with a small telescope and binoculars while we drank hot chocolate. It was a great and memorable experience—the kind I later wanted to give to students. [Oh, BTW, the dream of becoming a professional astronomer died in advanced maths class.]

Solar Eclipse of August 2017 Photographed from Salem, Oregon.

Defeating the Undefeated

At one of the speech tournaments that the Linfield College Speech Team attended when my partner, Mike Harrell, and I were seniors was the New York City College tournament. Early in the tournament we were matched against a superior team from Harvard who had an unbeaten record on their affirmative case about reducing US foreign policy commitments. We knew their reputation and their record, after all, it’s hard to hide when you haven’t lost an affirmative case all season (they weren’t as good on the negative, though). As we started the debate and listened to the affirmative case Mike panicked. He was supposed to be first negative speaker, but he whispered to me, “I don’t know what to say—I’ve got no arguments against their case.”

Sam Donaldson one of my top Canby HS debaters, 1986.

Stacy Shiver, one of my top debaters at Brookings Harbor HS, 1984.

I didn’t know what to say either, but I told him I’d take his speech and he could be second negative speaker. Just before I got up for my ten minute speech I told Mike, “You’re job is to figure out how to beat them!” I got up and babbled on for eight minutes without saying anything significant or coherent. The second affirmative speaker pointed out to the judge how weak my arguments were and the judge agreed—I got the lowest speaker points I’d ever received.

As he got up to give the second negative speech, the one that should have been mine, Mike said he had an idea. In his speech he brought up one small logical flaw in the affirmative case that undermined all their assumptions. It was a small point, but the affirmative case completely fell apart. We won that debate and ended up in the top two in the tournament. The team we beat never used that affirmative case again.

The End of My Car Racing Career

VW Golf GTI 1988

It was probably 1989 or '90, a few of years after we moved to Canby, that the Big Crash happened. We were racing our red VW GTI in the Larison Rock Hillclimb (off Hwy 58 east of Oakridge) and making a good show of it. Each day of the hillclimb each car got two runs on the closed two mile mountain road with lots of turns and several hundred feet of elevation gain. I was entered in the Stock Class (unmodified) for my size vehicle. Anne didn’t drive in this race, she was the head timer for the races which had several check points with observers. On the third run I had set the course record for my class car—it was a good racing year and I had set several class records on other courses.

As I got ready for my fourth run I planned where I could pick up a few seconds on my own record. About half way though my run I knew I had picked up time and pushed harder at one of the fastest turns on the course. I made my error as I exited the left-hand corner—I lifted my foot off the gas as the car started to skid toward the right edge of the road and the forest below. What I needed to do was keep my foot in it (stay on the gas) and power through the skid. Instead, I tried to steer through the skid and pulled the car off the left side of the road into a ditch and dirt bank. It was better than hitting the trees sideways at 60+ miles an hour, but I still ended up on my nose (the car’s front) after plowing up about 40 feet of ditch.

I was shaken but not hurt—the car had racing seatbelts (harness) and I wore a helmet. The car was another matter. The front wheels dangled from the suspension barely attached to the car and there was little left of the front end. The engine wasn’t too damaged, but was pretty useless with no front wheels.

My first thought, after checking that I had all my parts, was to let Anne know I was okay. Her story was that as timer of the race she would get reports of a car’s progress through the course—“Car 20 though turn 4,” and so on. On my run she heard, “Car five though turn 6,” then nothing else. At this point she knew I had f**ked up and something was wrong with the family car. I told the first of the rescue crew, “Tell Anne I’m okay!” And that we’d be walking home.

There are several take aways from this story. It was the last hillclimb I ever entered. It wasn’t a good idea to risk the family car. It cost over $5000 to repair the damage to the GTI. I then took up golf seriously—much safer.

Our first VW Rabbit GTI in an autocross race, 1983.

NEXT: I'm looking forward to getting some good photos on a short trip to central Oregon.

 

Post 200 (corrected number) More from TAOS

    There were several highlights to our October visit to Taos, but these three standout stories with our Photo Tour with Geraint (see the last post).

     TAOS PUEBLO 

     We had tried to visit the Taos Pueblo on Tuesday, but it was closed for a special event not open to the public—the tribal members are very private about ritualistic or religious practices. We were glad to see the Pueblo was open to the public on Thursday when we tried again. We got there midmorning and paid our $14 admission.

      The Taos Pueblo is about a mile north of the city and sits at about 7200 feet elevation. The adobe pueblo (Spanish for “village” or ‘town,” but mostly referring to an adobe group of dwellings used by some Southwest native tribes) was built between 800 and 1200 years ago. The Pueblo is backed by the Taos mountains, 

part of the Sange de Cristo range. The tribe owns about 100,000 acres, but only about 20 families actually live in the pueblo and about 1000 tribe members live in the area. The Taos Pueblo is one of those rare places that is a UNESCO World Heritage Site as well as a National Heritage Landmark. One of the main buildings on the site is San Geronimo or St. Jerome Chapel, 

which was built in 1850 on the site of an earlier church destroyed in 1847.

 The Taos Pueblo is one of the oldest continually inhabited communities in the US. 

     We arrived just in time for a tour guided by a young (college age) native girl whose family owns one of the adobe dwellings. 

Our guide was very good: concise information and histories, good answers to questions, concern for the tourists (about 25 of us). The tour, lasting about an hour, was free, but most guests tipped $5 to $10. We then wandered around the compound looking for photos of the pueblo while trying to be careful not to include residents (or too many tourists). 

The rule is to always get permission before taking a photo of a native—although I accidentally got one in a couple of photos. 

 

    We thought our tour was great, the villagers were friendly, the buildings lovely, and the experience amazing. Not everyone felt the same way, though. One well-to-do lady kept asking questions that had already been answered. At one point she asked a quite inappropriate personal question of the guide who responded with an appropriate, if not quite so gentle, response. The lady “hurrumphed” and I noticed later didn’t leave a tip. That’s okay, we thought her response was brilliant and left a larger tip. Tourist O, Taos Guide 1. 

     ENCHANTED CIRCLE DRIVE 

     This high road starts in Taos, circles to the east, and comes back to Taos. We chose to drive the circle clockwise, though locals say either way is good depending upon weather. Starting out of town on Hwy 64 we soon turned onto State 512 through Arroyo Hondo. 

The scenery was lovely with mostly yellow fall tones—cottonwoods and aspens. At Questa (elevation 7481 feet) we turned onto Hwy 38 toward Red River at 8400 feet. 

Mountain goats by the roadside.

On this stretch we found not only fall colors, but rocky cliffs as well. Some of my photos reminded me of those taken by Ansel Adams in Yosemite, although on a much less grand scale and not of that quality. 

On second thought, mine don’t compare at all to Adams’ photos, I don’t know why I mentioned it. 

    At Red River we stopped to find lunch or a snack. The only restaurant near where we parked in the construction filled downtown had strange sandwiches, none very appealing—we walked out. We did visit a nice coffee shop and got lattes to go. 

We found a city park where we could park and eat food bars we had with us and drink our lattes. On the way out of town to continue the Enchanted Circle drive we saw some better restaurant choices, but we went on. Got to remember to look at all our options in a new place.                           

    The terrain changed between Red River and Eagle’s Nest. We drove though high mountain meadow or plateau. Views of snow clad mountains were great. 

Old ranch gate on the high plateau.

We pulled into Angel Fire (8460 feet) and half-heartedly tried to find the country club golf course where a friend used to play. Both Angel Fire and Red River are local ski areas. 

Red River ski lift.

 The final stretch—between Angel Fire and Taos—was very different. It was a windy road along the river. Beautiful, but difficult to photograph. The road went though one small village, Shady Brook. The whole trip was fun with great scenery and good photo ops. The entire circle took five hours and is a do again trip. 

     VISITING FAMILY 

     On our last full day in Taos we had plans to visit our unofficial niece who lives in Truchas, NM, a village at about 8500 feet on the High Road between Santa Fe and Taos. We had planned to see them earlier in the trip but the whole family (Jas, Zach, Zea, and Mays) tested positive for Covid. Because of their lifestyle (you’ll understand in a few more lines) we decided to go ahead with the visit masked up and keeping social distance. 

Church in a small village on our way to Truchas.

    

    The drive up from Taos was difficult. It was the second day of bad weather and the 9500 foot summit we had to cross was shrouded in clouds. When we got to their property about a half mile out of the village of Truchas, it was grand to see everyone and to meet Mays (almsot 3)

—he’s sharp and cute. Zea (six) has turned shy and cute. 

The kids are great—happy and well-adjusted due to good parenting and a wonderful life-style. Zach and Jas are almost finished with the cob (adobe) house; windows are ready to go in and the roof is waiting for a spell of dry weather to be put up. 

The family is happy—they will be really happy not having to live in the yurt another winter—and healthy—except for the Covid probably picked up at the Hot Air Balloon Festival. It’s not a lifestyle that fits all, but it works well for them. We help them when and how we can.                     

 

   Jas is the daughter of the debate coaches from Taos HS (Bill and Cat) whom I worked with at Southwest debate camps for about 12 years. We became very good friends and Anne would help take care of Jas while we were teaching and listening to debates. She has become an adopted niece and she and her family part of our family.

NEXT: Final post from Taos and Santa Fe.

#198 Taos Photo Tour

You know we're in the SW, just look at the driver's hat.

During our trip to Santa Fe and Taos, New Mexico, we had planned to spend half a day on a guided photo tour with a local professional photographer. I had toured with Geraint Smith three years before and knew he was a good guide and instructor. Geraint was born in Wales and lived in the UK before coming to the US in 1978 as a young man. Moving to Taos in 1988 Geraint grew as a photographer and sculptural artist. With a huge and varied list of clients, 

Geraint's recent solo show at the Bareiss Gallery in Taos.

Geraint now shows his works at local galleries, produces photo prints of the beautiful Southwest, has a book on the market (Rio Grande del Norte: an Intimate Portrait), and guides photo tours and workshops year round. 

Our afternoon tour on Sunday, October 19, was to center around fall colors and composition skills. The tour started out by adapting to the only rain in several days; where we had planned to go wouldn’t be good for landscape photography. Geraint instead said, “How about we go to Colorado where the forecast is drier.” My response was, “You’re the guide.”

From Taos we headed north in Geraint’s 4-sheel drive small SUV. Our first stop was in Arroyo Hondo, a small village Anne and I had driven through a couple of days before. I hadn’t seen anything to make me stop and photograph, but he stopped on Hwy 522 and pointed out a spectacular cottonwood in full autumn color—a photographer’s dream. 

Using his iPhone camera Geraint showed me a possible composition and checked my shot with approval. The next stop was a little further up the road for a classic horse in the field photo. 

He reminded me to get the horse in focus while keeping the surrounding bushes softly out of focus. 

After a couple more stops along the highway, Geraint suggested we go to the Wild Rivers Recreation Area in the Rio Grande del Norte National Monument, 

Neither Anne nor I had ever been in this area and we were thrilled with the view of the river and canyon.

The weather was still drippy, but the further north we went the better it was for photography—dry with clouds and sun. Our photo subjects now included abandoned buildings, 

quaint churches in small villages, 

Church in Garcia, Colorado.

local wildlife (especially birds},

Magpie

Red Tail Hawk

general landscapes, all with a background of either the Sangre de Cristos mountains or the closer 10,000 foot Ute mountain. 

Geraint Smith checking a composition.

I shot dozens and dozens of images trying to follow Geraint’s composition hints as well as throw in a few ideas of my own. 

Anne was all this time a participating member of the tour—watching both Geraint and myself, taking a few pictures, as well as actively taking part in the discussions.

It was a long drive home to Taos from southern Colorado with only a couple of stops. Our last photo opportunity was back in Arroyo Hondo at the grand cottonwood along the highway. 

The light was different—sun and clouds rather than gray overcast. The tree and surroundings were even more dramatic than when we started the tour. It provided a fitting ending to a wonderful day’s adventure. Thanks, Geraint Smith.

For more information about Geraint Smith, his photos and tours, see his website: www.geraintsmith.com. 

NEXT: More of our trip to the Southwest.