[ Thursday, August 21, 2003 ]
Day 166 to Day 178
Santa Fe, NM.After the Roswell expedition, I drive up north again to spend a few more days in the Santa Fe area,
I have a really interesting guided tour of the Palace of the Governors in Santa Fe, which is the oldest continuously-used public building in America. The flags of 5 different sovereigns have flown over it, Spain, Mexico, Pueblan, US of A, and one other, can’t remember it now.
Grand Canyon NP, AZ. To the North Rim of the canyon. All the scenery with 1/10 the tourists. Do a hike down North Kaibab Trail, down into the canyon around 3 miles and back to the rim. Now I understand why the Park Service sign says “please do not attempt to hike from the rim to the river and back in one day.” It’s a 28 mile round-trip with a mile of elevation change, on sand and mule shit.
Camp at Jacob Lake, and then find free camping right on the north rim outside the park in the National Forest. It’s just me and some mountain bikers and a couple on vacation stuck out there with a flat tire on their rental.
My plans to ride the Rainbow Rim Trail are foiled the next day by mechanical problems of my own, on my front wheel, so I pack up and head out for Utah.
Zion NP, UT. I meet friend and temporary SF-ex-pat Agent D (aka Amy, aka Subcomandante Tita) in St. George, UT, and we drive over to Zion for a few days of hiking and sitting in the hot tub at fancy-by-homeland-drifter-standards Cliff Rose Lodge. The $150 a night room becomes $10 a night due to Agent D’s local connections and employment. And she’s not even a Mormon!
We hike Hidden Canyon in the park, and do a tour through Gooseberry Mesa via mountain bike. Agent D holds the trail like a pro – her first time on fat tires. I crash on some slick rock I could and should have cleaned, and develop an odd, minor, but persistent nerve injury, or hairline fracture, or both, or something, to my left elbow. All the major parts in and beneath the elbow still work, though. Agent D returns with genuine mountain biker slickrock road rash. We’re the only people on the mesa, and it is truly sublime, as always.
Depart Zion after viewing Michael Fatali’s duraflame photo gallery, eating some good Thai food, and getting my ass kicked – repeatedly – in cribbage. Damn. At least we get the state liquor store to re-open – with Tita’s sweet talking them - after we arrive ten minutes past closing time. Woohoo!
San Francisco, CA. Playa construction, pre-playa preparation, and doing the trial run of the new Deep Playa Chill Space with the rest of the camp. It feels good to be “home.” I was starting to miss SF and the people and the whole freak show. This started shortly after a friend e-mailed me several weeks ago to inform me that as she look out her office window in Berkeley, there was a naked man standing in the middle of Shattuck directing traffic.
Tested the new solar oven, as well, with a
The road to Croatan. “Welcome home, my son . . .” Can’t wait to see you all, all of you who will be out there – Toasters!, Burning Women, Learners, Desert rats, and all the rest of your ilk.
Over and out. Bad F*cker Playa Services, GONE TO CROATAN . . .
Soundtrack: 10,000 watts of loud, dirty, goa trance at sunrise
Reading List: Mother Jones
Website: www.cheesebikini.com [8/21/2003]
PAY ATTENTION BLACK ROCK CITY
