Graceland

Friday, I went to Graceland in Memphis, Tennessee. I've never been a big Elvis fan. He died when I was only eight years old and my dad was more into classical and folk music. The hype and furor around Elvis to me always seemed pretty crazy, something I couldn't grasp.


Graceland

I still don't grasp the lunatic fringe element, even after a visit to Graceland, so don't expect me to show up with big sideburns and a rhinestone-encrusted jumpsuit. But I do understand better why Elvis was loved by so many. This was a down-to-earth everyman who also happened to have a cutting-edge (for the time) musical talent and awesome stage presence. He was also clearly a dedicated family man and incredibly generous with the fruits of his success.

I went to Graceland curious and expecting kitsch. That was there, but then, it was the '70s after all. I came away with more insight and a new-found respect. Graceland is a must-see on any tour of Americana. You needn't go now, but do go.

St. Louis

It took me two days to get from Roswell, New Mexico to St. Louis, Missouri. It's a long drive with nothing much I wanted to stop and see along the way, at least that I knew about. I pushed through to Joplin, Missouri the first day of driving, which is almost 700 miles. That gave me an easy day to St. Louis as a follow-up.

That evening, with some time to kill, I ended up first talking to, then wandering around downtown drinking with a fellow named Dan. Here he is:


Dan

He'd come to St. Louis to see the Rolling Stones play. Apparently, he and a friend go to see the Stones whenever they tour, although this time his friend was unable to get a ticket to the show, so didn't show up. Looking at him and hearing him talk, my first guess was that Dan was a musician himself (or perhaps a pirate?), but it turns out he's a retired social worker with an MBA. I love it when people don't look like what you'd expect from their careers. We did quite a bit of drinking and generally had a good time talking about music, the differences between St. Louis and other cities, and career stuff. I guess it pays to be naturally gregarious!

I'd gone to St. Louis because I'd always wanted to see the St. Louis Arch. St. Louis is also where the Lewis & Clark expedition set out from. Talk about an adventure! I would someday like to follow their trek on horseback if I could.

The Arch is an incredible structure and did not disappoint despite my high expectations. I took a lot of pictures, and I'll share below some of the ones I think are particularly interesting, leaving out the obligatory full view, as you can find many pictures of that on the Internet that are likely much better. I think the Arch is more interesting to photograph from odd angles and in parts. The first is the view from the one window in my hotel room where I can see any of it, the rest are from walking around near it, plus one shot of the Old Courthouse across the street from it.


Hotel Arch View


North Base


A More Interesting View


The Old Courthouse

Roswell

I didn't feel I could very well pass through New Mexico without going to Roswell. I've been a big fan of the X-Files, and before that I used to watch this old show with a name I can't remember where an Air Force officer went around investigating UFO sightings. The subject is fascinating to me, just like the subject of ghosts. These are things I want to know are true but have never seen a shred of evidence proving them to my satisfaction. Like going on the Ghost Tour of Winchester in Virginia last year, I had to go see the UFO Museum and Research Center in Roswell.

If you aren't familiar with the Roswell Incident, a purported crash of an extraterrestrial spacecraft subsequently covered up by our government, there's a comprehensive Wikipedia article on the subject.

Regardless of the truth behind what happened, the residents of Roswell seem to both take the international fame of their town with a cheerful attitude and certainly don't mind the extra tourist income it brings in. Note the streetlight in front of the museum in this picture - it wasn't just because it was in front of the museum; a lot of the streetlights had the alien head look.


UFO Museum and Research Center

There were also a lot of alien references in business names, like "Alien Records" that sells used vinyl albums, CDs, and DVDs. Several businesses with signs out in front, including McDonald's, included the words, "Aliens welcome!"

Inside the museum, the curators have done a good job assembling a lot of material about the Roswell Incident, of course, since the founders of the museum were directly involved. The presentation of the materials, in many cases, though are rather cheesy and amateur, so you can tell this is not a museum with large funding grants behind it. I couldn't help but wonder if they couldn't get Paul Allen to help out if they simply asked. Allen funded the Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame in Seattle and it seemed like half the exhibits in the place were out of his own personal collection. They ought to at least ask if they haven't. Here's the display at the entrance when you first come in:


In the UFO Museum

This museum involves a lot of reading, and that's even if you don't go into the library archives that make up the "Research Center" half of the place. There was, however, one thing I found particularly interesting that tied into stuff I'd done a couple days before. This wood panel was on exhibit:


Wood Panel of Early Spaceship?

There was information with this panel that described why there are some that believe it is a carving showing a Native American pilot from hundreds of years ago guiding a spaceship off-planet.

Apparently, this piece was carved shortly before the disappearance of the Mogollon, the people that inhabited the Gila Cliff Dwellings, and other tribes. At least, the original of this carving was from then. There was an unfortunate lack of information about whether this panel was the original or not, but I tried comparing the photograph of it that was in a framed magazine article on the subject and the actual panel on display. There were small but clear differences, which when combined with the lack of any glass protection preventing visitors from touching the panel leads me to suspect this was an unlabeled reproduction.

There are other interpretations of the symbols, but I can't help but wonder if perhaps it's true that these tribal groups went off into space. There are quite a few unexplained things about them and their disappearance that are consistent with the concept. With some extraterrestrial help, it could be.

The museum left me with more questions rather than less, but I'm glad I went. Especially since I also got a couple of cool T-shirts and some guitar picks with alien eyes printed on them, you know, just to help out the museum.

Day of Rest

Sunday was a day of rest. I flew back to Phoenix to the Legacy Golf Resort, where I had a nearly free night's stay. After all the stuff John and I did over the days prior, this was absolutely necessary before continuing on.


Little Arizona Moon

After my stay, I returned to El Paso, got back to my Jeep and continued to, Roswell, New Mexico.

Truth or Consequences

Later Saturday, after the Gila Cliff Dwellings, we hiked out to a natural hot springs. It's a fairly short walk across flat ground, but there are a couple of creek crossings. One, you just get wet, the other you can cross on slick logs and big rocks. I was sure John was going to drop himself in, but he got grinning when he was safely on the rocks. Check out the ice on the logs - slick and an idea of how cold the water was:


John Crosses the Creek 

We did a little wading, but what you end up with is January cold mud between your toes, near frozen water around your ankles, a band of scorching hot water about four inches deep about mid-calf, and a bit of scummy algae lapping at your knees. Interesting, but not what you'd call appetizing. If you look closely at this picture where the hot water comes out, you can see the steam:


Gila Hot Springs 

Since we didn't really get the hot springs opportunity in the wild, we instead went to a nearby town called Truth or Consequences.


Truth or Consequences 

Originally called Hot Springs, this town was just one of many with that name. The city has a description of the name change, based on an expressed wish of Ralph Edwards of the radio show of the same name. There's probably a dozen or more hot springs setups in "T or C" (as the locals call it.) I didn't take any pictures of the one we visited except for the display out front, as it was too dark for good pictures.


Old West Display 

They had a series of pools with temperatures from 101 to 107. We spent a couple of hours there and got pretty relaxed. Not too relaxed to drive, though, as we rolled down to El Paso that night so we could catch Sunday morning flights from there.

It was so great to spend a couple of packed days with John, a friend I've had since college eighteen years ago. The years between have seen too few get-togethers as he's become a surgeon and I've pursued small business. Those things sure keep you busy, but we've resolved not to let years go by before we get together again.

Gila Cliff Dwellings

Saturday, as a much less intense experience, John and I travelled into New Mexico and visited the Gila Cliff Dwellings. We got there very early, so there was noone else around and the volunteer ranger on duty spent about an hour passing on every bit of knowledge he had about the place. Here's a shot from inside the large dwellings high on the cliffs.


Inside Gila Cliff Dwellings 

There are smaller dwellings, still in the cliffs, but lower in the valley, apparently intended for single families amongst the Mogollons, the tribe from this particular area. The Mogollon disappeared relatively suddenly and no one knows quite where they went. Of course, there are those that think they headed to outer space using technology brought by aliens. I think they all caught colds from a travelling salesman.

Caving

This past Friday I did one of the most exciting things I've done in a very long, perhaps ever. Thursday, my friend John flew down from Illinois where he lives and on Friday took me caving (also called spelunking) in Cave of the Bells in New Mexico. This was not the kind of caving where you walk down the paved road while a tour guide points out stalactites and they send out a golf cart to pick you up if you feel a little winded from the walking. This was full-blown serious caving where you are traveling as much vertically as horizontally in the pitch black and squeeze through tiny little openings that induce intense claustrophobia.

In short, there were about three times where I was sure I was going to die down there.

Despite my periodic certainty of death, there were also times of exhilaration and I took a bunch of pictures. Many didn't come out very well because of the darkness, but I think the best ones will give you the idea.

We started out very clean and took pictures of each other, looking intrepid. Here's John:

John Being Intrepid

Also before our journey into terror, here's me, blissfully ignorant adventurer decked out in my loaned gear:

Aaron Before Caving

John told me he really prefers caves that have a large drop at the entrance, ones that require ropes and such, because the barrier to entry is higher and it keeps the less serious cavers away. This one had no such drop, just a roughly six or seven foot climb down. This is where I had my first bit of trepidation. I'm not what you'd call thin and agile (no, no, really!) and I did kind of wonder how I'd get back out. But I stepped down the hole, bracing myself on the sides and took one last photo of the sunny sky:

Looking Out From the Entrance

Once in the hole, though, there is a gate that allows the park rangers to restrict access to only those that they know will be there. First thing in the morning, we had driven to Tuscon and retrieved what turned out to be the last available key, as other cavers had been pretty negligent about returning the others. John unlocked the gate so we could get in:

John Unlocks the Entrance Gate

Once past the gate, John relocked the gate behind us and we put the key and my no longer necessary sunglasses about ten feet into the cave. This was probably the only thing that made John nervous, knowing that the only key known to the rangers was now locked into the cave itself, out of reach.

That gate was not the original gate. The original was across a tiny opening that required the first constricted crawl. The gate part was gone, but the opening is still there and a first step. I guess you could consider this a good "weed-out" crawl. If you can't bring yourself to go through this, then you won't get to the more difficult constrictions later. After crawling through, I turned around and took a picture of that opening:

The Tiny Way In

Later, John told me the story of his first passage through a small, constricted space and the panic that he felt at the time. After that, we had this rather entertaining exchange:

Aaron: So, you understand how scary this part is for me, but you've gotten over it
after what, fifteen years of caving?
John: Not fifteen years, I've only been doing this since 1991.
Aaron: Um, that's fifteen years.
John: Son of a bitch!

Inside the cave, it was much warmer than outside. We signed the register that's in there in a white tube with reflective tape on it, and I shed my extra long-sleeved shirt. I guess it's not uncommon for cavers to slowly shed extra equipment as they go deeper. When we got back to my shirt later, I found out I must smell nice to cave crickets, as there were hordes of them on the shirt that I had to shake off.

As we delved into the real reaches of the cave, there were opportunities to see a lot of rock formations unique to the cave environment. For example, here's a shot John took of me next to a large section of flowstone. Don't be fooled by my happy expression - that was simply because this was fairly late in the expedition when I was finally confident I could get out. Also it had been at least ten minutes since one of John's less than helpful comments, such as, "It's best if you try not to think about the millions of tons of rock, pressing down at you, that will inevitably be drawn down by gravity to crush what little space is left."

Me and My Flowstone

We probably descended about 150 feet below ground. The cave is estimated to be about 240 feet deep if you descend to the pool at its base. If I'd been able to go everywhere John could go, we probably could have made it, but we reached a spot where I couldn't continue, although not for lack of trying. Here's a picture of the gap that finally defeated me:

I Couldn't Fit Through Here

You can see John on the other side. He was doing his best to encourage me, but there are some places you just can't fit. I slid my feet into this gap and got about halfway through. I had already taken off my pack. As I look at it, the picture is kind of deceptive and it looks like it should be plenty of room, but it's not. My back was on the rock at the bottom of the picture and my belly was getting caught on the projecting rock in the middle of the rock at the top. My legs were through, largely dangling in midair. The angle of the photo is also a bit deceptive, since there's nothing to really use as a horizon line. The picture was taken at a roughly 45 degree angle downward, so this opening is as much a drop as it is a hole going forward. John was eight to ten feet below me.

The problem was that it was going to be very hard to get through, although perhaps I could have made it, but I didn't feel at all confident I would be able to get back out. We hadn't done any upward climb yet, but it just seemed that if it was this hard getting in, getting out without purchase for my feet would be impossible. As it was, I had to lift myself back out of this gap pretty much just using my arms.

The return climb took twice the climb down and there were several times I had to stop and rest for several minutes because my arms and legs were shaking badly with the effort. It was also very intense because some of the dark holes that didn't look so bad on the way down I now knew were openings to fifty-plus foot shafts falling to some unknown bottom. When you are slowly pulling yourself up a rather slick piece of slanted rock and hunting for handfolds and footholds, that gives you incentive to be sure of what you grab, but doesn't make it any easier.

One shaft upward had me very worried in that John went up it first, pushing his pack in front of him, but ended up grunting and cursing most of the way up while I watched him getting his hips wedged between floor and ceiling. After he was through, I took off my pack and my camera dropped off it's strap, although still in its case. All you could hear was, "Thump! Thump! Thump!" as it bounced down into the darkness.

Aaron: Well, that didn't sound good.
John: No, it didn't. What was it?
Aaron: My camera. Too bad, I was liking the pictures I was getting.
John: You can't leave it behind without looking for it.
Aaron: Sure I can. It was hell getting this far back up and I don't really want to do it again. I loved that camera, but it's gone now.
John: It's not the camera, it's the memories.
Aaron: To hell with the memories. I'm not going back down.
John: Fine, look out. I'm coming back down.

Miraculously, he found it and it was unharmed, despite bouncing to some thirty feet below us. Once he came back up and I secured it in a pocket in my pack, John continued back up, but a different way this time. That way, though, was the crazy way, as it went along a ledge over one of those unfathomably deep pits.

I went up the original shaft he'd taken the first time. Since I'd seen how John didn't fit on his side, I went up on my belly. I learned I could brace myself with my feet, reach with my arms, pull myself up, then brace myself by pushing my back against the ceiling. That would free me up to find new footholds. I could even create a foothold by putting my heel on the ceiling and pushing my knee (with kneepad, very important!) against the floor of the shaft. That would wedge my lower leg so it could slip and I could push against it to lift myself further. As it turns out, this was a pretty good way to climb that part and restored some of my earlier confidence.

Eventually, we made it out. (No, Aaron, we thought you had been killed....) I had a great time, but John got a picture of the now filthy me describing how dark and "scawy" it was:

Aaron After Caving - It was Dark and Scawy!

We changed clothes, and drove away from my latest adventure, well satisfied with the experience. I have to say, though, that having lunch where we did gave a view that left me with far more appreciation that I would have had before caving:

Lunch was Blissfully Outside 

I don't know if I'll ever go caving again, but I'm glad I did it at least once.

Huge Windmills

I found one of the power plants from Power Grid! Check out the huge windmills you can see from the highway between San Diego and Phoenix.


Huge Windmills