tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40546874407620943402024-03-05T08:06:44.024-08:00wanderlust“Not all those who wander are lost.”kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-38459536974735968022012-05-25T01:05:00.002-07:002012-05-25T01:05:50.840-07:00Big Sur<br />
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<b> Holy Amazing</b><br />
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I have been lucky to see a lot of incredible sights, but Big
Sur had a very last impression on me.
Rarely, do you see that much beauty stretched across that great of a
distance. From the morning fog, over the
deep cliffs of San Simeon to the open panoramas of the coastline south of
Carmel, Big Sur is simply breathtaking. The water is bluer than I ever imagined
it to be. There are many microclimates
as the shoreline undulates out into peninsulas and recedes into coves. One bay is snow covered in midmorning, and a
cove is tropical turquoise water and waterfalls in mid afternoon.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lDtQUICZspc/T73dEJ5MUUI/AAAAAAAADLY/9cGJKdyHMAc/s1600/IMG_1014%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lDtQUICZspc/T73dEJ5MUUI/AAAAAAAADLY/9cGJKdyHMAc/s400/IMG_1014%255B1%255D.jpg" width="298" /></a>For me the highlights were Salmon Trail, Jade Trail,
Pfeiffer Beach, and driving up above into the hilltop road and overlooking
Highway 1 from the clouds with small holes of ocean peeking through. If I didn’t have a lot of great things left
to see, this easily could have been the summer I lived in Big Sur instead of
the Summer of the Road Trip. I would
like to go back and just explore the hiking trails for a week sometime. I guess I didn’t realize how accessible but
still remote all the hiking in this area is.
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If you have not visited Big Sur, please consider adding it
to your bucket list. In general, I would
say I am underwhelmed by a lot of destinations, but this place was absolutely
incredible. It was one of the few places
I really wish I had someone to share in my excitement. I felt like I kept pinching myself to affirm
this is real, it’s really that beautiful.</div>
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<br /></div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-12887782204499237402012-05-25T00:57:00.005-07:002012-05-25T00:57:51.419-07:00San Simeon to Monterey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><u>A must visit</u><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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At the bottom of Big Sur is a nothing of a town that
deserves at least a passing visit. Sea elephants, rocky beaches, mission architecture,
and kite surfing make San Simeon the perfect place to spend an afternoon. With rolling hills and contrasting deep blue
and turquoise beach water, this place feels like a movie. </div>
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Conversely, at the top of Big Sur, Monterey feels like
everyone’s hometown. The Canary Row, the
Aquarium, and inviting bay with blooming purple flowers make this an engaging
town. I think a perfect week would be to
spend a day or two in Monterey, a day or two in Carmel, a day or two in Big
Sur, and a day or two in San Simeon. I
slept at a motel in San Simeon on the super cheap. I spent an affordable night in Monterey at
the HI Hostel, and I had a lovely dinner at the Mediterranean café Koko’s which
I would recommend for a casual dining experience in Monterey.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RJViurRw4z4/T73TgmsBAoI/AAAAAAAACso/uAuFVGtUFgw/s1600/DSC_0190.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RJViurRw4z4/T73TgmsBAoI/AAAAAAAACso/uAuFVGtUFgw/s400/DSC_0190.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-68685600367130973832012-05-25T00:50:00.002-07:002012-05-25T00:50:30.896-07:00Somewhere USA<br />
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somewhat tasteful to the crassly garish<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Today I explored the kitsch side of road trips. I explored Central California’s Hearst Castle
and San Luis Obispo’s Madonna Inn. </div>
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Hearst Castle was set
on a remarkable plot of land overlooking San Simeon, a rough coastline with
deep navy water. There is no wonder why
William Hearst picked this hilltop for his Spanish Revival Castle. The
structure itself is somewhat unremarkable.
It’s a concrete earthquake proof structure clad to look like a Spanish
castle. The interiors are a bit gaudy
for my taste, but kind of remarkably encompass Hearst’s unique collection of
religious Renaissance and Gothic art. He
had a specific taste for hearths and ceilings; the ceilings of each room are
elaborate tablets brought from Europe with the room designed around their
dimensions. It‘s a really interest
showcasing of art through the medium of architecture. </div>
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While I did not really enjoy the castle itself, the grounds
are absolutely amazing. From an
elaborate Esplanade to a fruit tree covered horse trails to grazing wild
animals, the guest of Hearst Castle must have felt like Mediterranean royalty. From the Neptune pool to the Roman baths,
Hearst spared no expense on this lavish estate, which he lovingly called “La
Cuesta Encantada” (Enchanted Hill).</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2RkvbaoSXi4/T73RdskE9cI/AAAAAAAACqM/pVWVJX9pyLM/s1600/DSC_0023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2RkvbaoSXi4/T73RdskE9cI/AAAAAAAACqM/pVWVJX9pyLM/s400/DSC_0023.jpg" width="400" /></a>The other marvel of kitsch was the Madonna Inn. Each room is themed from Western to Under the
Sea, to Love Suites; this motel encompasses a plethora of garishly odd décor. I was only able to go to the main lobby and
gift shop, but see attached photos for the gist. I guess taste is subjective and quirky is
more memorable than tasteful. I don’t exactly
understand the appeal to kitsch. The
largest bottle of ketchup or the biggest rubber band ball, some things just don’t
need to be celebrated. Maybe, I am
missing something, but I just don’t get it. </div>
<br />kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-20434199181479825822012-05-25T00:43:00.000-07:002012-05-25T00:44:17.084-07:00Santa Barbara<br />
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<b><u>One Love</u></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Alongside sail boats, flowering trees, and a backdrop of undulating mountains, I feel at home on the Santa Barbara Bay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The beach is shared by handsome volleyball players, nerdy college techies, hippies, and yacht sailors. The atmosphere is decidedly more laid back than the so cal beaches.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I walk the pier with a mint chocolate chip ice cream exploring local pottery, street performances, and observing budding romance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As the afternoon progresses, love is in the air.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A couple asks me to take their picture giddily expressing that it's their 40th wedding anniversary. That's old love.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWqxTrmjsQh0ezVdvG0cfVyanqGYcTtDrdcyEgyn3pe-sXSbF55MbTtx8SCPxWva6Gty3aWZ6P02Qp9dg5RRiBl4nswG-bZ3JiXleqRcIhyGTptE2KeOiPTlt4SSs6aRBrkKg8uKPkYKQ/s1600/DSC_0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWqxTrmjsQh0ezVdvG0cfVyanqGYcTtDrdcyEgyn3pe-sXSbF55MbTtx8SCPxWva6Gty3aWZ6P02Qp9dg5RRiBl4nswG-bZ3JiXleqRcIhyGTptE2KeOiPTlt4SSs6aRBrkKg8uKPkYKQ/s400/DSC_0004.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Two moms dressed to the nines look on joyously as their two daughters get married in a private beach ceremony. Not that homosexual love is any different than heterosexual love but to love so strongly that you want to express your commitment in a country where a large segment of the population does not value your right to do so; that's brave love.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As I walk further down the pier, I see an Asian family and a Jewish family embracing sharing toasts. Two dissimilar cultures bound together by love, by marriage. To embrace the unfamiliar as your own, that's family love.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I take a seat in the sand and overhear two college girls contemplating why he didn't call, why was he flirting with that other girl. I know that conversation well, the "he's just not that into you" conversation. In my own life, I call it the mr.greene phenomena. There will always be a handsome guy with an easy confidence that will at some point cause a girl to undervalue her own awesomeness and torment herself with question of why he doesn't want to be with me. She'll justify away his behavior as bad timing or he's shy or he would like me more if I would just...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The reality is that guy probably just doesn't like you that much. Not because your ugly or boring but just because "he's not that into you." It's a simple lesson, one I felt like expressing to those girls, but realized at 27, I haven't quite learned that lesson completely. Some things in life have to be experienced and not taught. I laughed a little as I thought about how I had justified away why the shy guy in my life hadn't asked me out. He could be the exception and it could be bad timing, but more than likely he's just not that into me. Allowing yourself to be enough without someone else's affirmation, well that's self love (Self love takes a little time to work out the kinks).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As late afternoon set in, I became melancholy. I want that type of love: lasting, brave, all encompassing. I thought about my failed relationships, the most recent one in which I chased away a boyfriend because I couldn’t make a commitment. I thought about how much time I had wasted in life waiting for the right guy to ask me out instead of enjoying the nice, handsome, available guys of my present. I began to get tears of self pity, tears of loneliness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then, a circle of drum playing hippies began to chant “One Love”. I looked at my holey t-shirt, the dirt ring around my ankles, and the week old entrance bracelet on my wrist, and I thought if ever a time those hippies would be my kind of love, well tonight was it. I quit my job, I’m living out of my car, I have a blank future, and a roadmap to nowhere in particular, might as well enjoy the present. I sat on the fringe of their circle, and I listened to them bang their drums; I let those small tears run down my smiling face. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I can’t wallow in the pity of the past or the uncertainty of the future, the only option for happiness is to live each moment in the present. This is a great moment. I know the joy of the open road, the possibility of each new day, and the freedom to do whatever I please.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I imagine a decade from tonight, somewhere with a baby on my hip, maybe in a PTA meeting, I will look fondly on the memory of tonight, of these hippies, and their drums, and my freedom. </span>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-70712109010171712712012-05-25T00:14:00.003-07:002012-05-25T00:33:50.198-07:00PCH<br />
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<b><u>Cool Breeze,
Pretty People, Fruity Drinks</u><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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I don’t know why people rag on Southern Californians as
being aloof or in a bubble; that’s a bubble I would gladly join. The water is clear, the air is crisp, the
people are beautiful, and the drinks are plentiful. I have a great friend Kelly
Nicholas, who is yes, tan, and yes, gorgeous, who grew up in Laguna Beach. She always has a relax way about her in even
the most stressful of situations.
Running the beaches of Laguna, I can imagine that if the ocean air
flowed through your veins as a child, that any stress could be calmed by the sound
of gently crashing waves. I also have
never understood why people get irritated by pretty people. There are gorgeous people all around me; it
makes me want to run harder, take better care of my appearance, and generally be
better to my body. I would gladly be the
ugly duckling in the land of the beautiful, versus a swan in the land of the ugly.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72CkFo91LF18BicV19Sh8vFZuwQdj9ZgQSyK9dAnbTh_YGXyh0FX98BwbWP8MMGa-KpYqpAfJ-o_-EEEMDrsC3imIIBTZ0y49JLsrBF_m5aXQw4ry_fle1hZrV-OgX_bjZoxmSPj7Hic/s1600/File0023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72CkFo91LF18BicV19Sh8vFZuwQdj9ZgQSyK9dAnbTh_YGXyh0FX98BwbWP8MMGa-KpYqpAfJ-o_-EEEMDrsC3imIIBTZ0y49JLsrBF_m5aXQw4ry_fle1hZrV-OgX_bjZoxmSPj7Hic/s400/File0023.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I spent the first part of the day on a run in Laguna
Beach. As I made my way to Newport, I hazily
remember a very drunken fourth of July with Kelly, Jeremy, and Marcus where we
spent the entirety of the day drinking along the streets of Newport. I discovered Newport in a sober way today,
and I gladly enjoyed a delightful spinach salad and green juice, two doors down
from the marathon drinking bars of my past. I spent sunset at my new favorite beach, El
Matador, north of Malibu proper. I
unfortunately lost most my pictures from El Matador, so if you want to
experience it, you will have to visit yourself; it’s one of the best cliff
beaches I have been to in So Cal. I had
a great fish taco dinner at affordable Malibu Seafood. I backtracked to spend the night and morning
in Santa Monica; I walked along the boardwalk and got a much needed eyebrow wax
by a salon picked at random off the internet.
To my delightful surprise, the esthetician was an Aspen native and we
gossiped about locals.</div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnWriGO4Lh8iPnv0jve2mx6yAtbSqp5xRe2gwiQZSH8tpswWwQV53Z0zdN1xKfNCHfsl2U-WrfEFPhJujav6ZwVJ0CfN9_LKGGhCpciWMlXTD0E5xd_lOIcm9fnmEiO6Tt3JLiGKDCjKw/s1600/DSC_0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnWriGO4Lh8iPnv0jve2mx6yAtbSqp5xRe2gwiQZSH8tpswWwQV53Z0zdN1xKfNCHfsl2U-WrfEFPhJujav6ZwVJ0CfN9_LKGGhCpciWMlXTD0E5xd_lOIcm9fnmEiO6Tt3JLiGKDCjKw/s400/DSC_0003.jpg" width="400" /></a> I spent the night in
the Santa Monica HI Hostel, which provided a hot shower and warm bed. When I was brushing my teeth, an early twenty
something asked me if she should be beach chic or rocker chick for the luau
party, and then asked me what I was wearing to the luau. Not that I would have attended a hostel
sponsored party in my college years, but tonight I felt truly content being the old lady who
went to bed early. When I woke at 7 am,
only two beds had bodies in them. Turns
out the luau must of have been a rager if no one made it back to their bed. Sometimes in the phase of emerging adulthood,
you have to choose your adventures and give a smirk and a memory to those
things you’ve done in past chapters of your life, which you gladly left in your
past thankful not to relive in your present. </div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-88846870410688133252012-05-25T00:06:00.004-07:002012-05-25T00:06:49.175-07:00San Diego<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JhT_txDJnjk/T7yH8RVonkI/AAAAAAAACkk/-t2cSQ1o_EQ/s1600/DSC_0135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JhT_txDJnjk/T7yH8RVonkI/AAAAAAAACkk/-t2cSQ1o_EQ/s400/DSC_0135.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>Simply
Lovely</u><o:p></o:p></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
San Diego is one of my favorite places; not to mention a
welcome ocean when you’ve spent weeks in the desert. It’s easy to navigate, it has lovely beaches
contrasted by lush parks, and an interesting makeup of beach bums, military personnel,
tourists, and corporate types. Since my
mom lived in San Diego for most of my time in college, I have visited at least
a handful of times. She always came up
with fun weekends filled with a mix of touristy and local activity that made a
San Diego weekend a welcome distraction.
However, this time was my first trip without a home base, so I checked
into the RV Park at Campland at Mission Bay. Minus the flock of mallards that
attacked every morning when the sprinklers went off, I would definitely recommend
this place to RVers and a safe option for tenter like myself.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYgluhiTHK42ouSxFolO-JH8o1iHsasfRdN3DtkoAaYY8hYWQEYpjTSqjbk08TtsuHtKuuOulHjeRwSpgdK-3EvoO9amEubW1vWeimb8Lzuo59HvwEOsmkr2fDJuQ91tS-qTmTMQ0vhk/s1600/DSC_0113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYgluhiTHK42ouSxFolO-JH8o1iHsasfRdN3DtkoAaYY8hYWQEYpjTSqjbk08TtsuHtKuuOulHjeRwSpgdK-3EvoO9amEubW1vWeimb8Lzuo59HvwEOsmkr2fDJuQ91tS-qTmTMQ0vhk/s320/DSC_0113.jpg" width="214" /></a><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
On day one, I went for a run along Mission Bay, a nice town
beach with bay and ocean access. It’s
the perfect place to ride your bike or go for a run without feeling like you
are at a meat market or on a runway. I
spent one lovely day in the past with Jeremy Voegel going jet skiing around the
bay. If San Diego weather does not make
you want to be a runner, I don’t know what will. I easily ran for an hour with clean air and
zero elevation. Next, I drove over the
Coronado bridge to spend the afternoon in my second favorite place in San
Diego. Coronado Island, albeit touristy,
has some really great bike paths that can take you straight to Mexico if you
stay on them too long. Knowing my
navigational prowess, I found myself all the way in the Tijuana Estuarine
Reserve. Realizing I was a little close
to the border with no ID, I decided it was time to peddle north. I had deliciously delicate mahi tacos at
Pehoe, a touristy but delicious bay view restaurant where I have had three
meals, all of which have been delightful.
I finished the day by driving up to the Point Loma military base in
hopes of being at the lighthouse at sunset, which I vaguely remember being able
to do in years past. Anyway, the park
was closed so I settled for a sunset at lower elevation in East Mission.</div>
</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M6jYHIou22E/T7yIhdJSb-I/AAAAAAAACls/OC_pF5eH23o/s1600/DSC_0170.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M6jYHIou22E/T7yIhdJSb-I/AAAAAAAACls/OC_pF5eH23o/s320/DSC_0170.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
On day two, I returned to my new favorite San Diego
restaurant, Café 21. My favorite and only
Ajerbaiijan restaurant serves the most delicious brunch imaginable. Last visit,
I had chicken curry cakes and a porter beer.
On this trip, I had the turkey kabobs and red chai tea. The cakes are out of this world, but the
kabobs were a great treat too. If you
find yourself in Downtown/ Gaslamp area, stop here to eat; I give it my highest
endorsement. After that, I went to my
favorite San Diego attraction, Balboa Park.
Bigger in area than Central Park, Balboa has a few of my favorite
things: great museums, Spanish architecture, blossoming fig trees, rolling
hills, a wonderful restaurant, quaint outdoor cafes, nestled sculpture gardens, and eclectic
sidewalk art. I have spent many a
delightful afternoons in this park, a memorable late lunch with Jonathan Bahr
in the modern sculpture garden, and today a trek through the free exhibits at
the Museum of Art. I went to La Jolla to
say hello to the friendly sea lions and then did a light hike at Torrey Pines
to see the storm roll in over Del Mar beach.
As the sun set, I headed north to spend the night in San Clemente and
start the morning on the PCH.</div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-87672776135201438052012-05-24T23:55:00.000-07:002012-05-24T23:55:01.241-07:00Death Valley & Joshua Tree<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwezVoQQe0ZoiNWgxj7aTDM7hFpmseJ5nOy7XLKKp0RjHc6puq_sC7XGQlysk0zC4tjcxbPexeUS-pb62wyPI6wxm44CLulh1ic8oKbh2a_XyZg3Tceam1NJ7g31cN8_fFR0OkVUu0yA/s1600/DSC_0044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwezVoQQe0ZoiNWgxj7aTDM7hFpmseJ5nOy7XLKKp0RjHc6puq_sC7XGQlysk0zC4tjcxbPexeUS-pb62wyPI6wxm44CLulh1ic8oKbh2a_XyZg3Tceam1NJ7g31cN8_fFR0OkVUu0yA/s400/DSC_0044.jpg" width="400" /></a><b>Sometimes the story is better than the experience<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a night lost within Death Valley, I stumble upon a
campsite at 10:15. It’s too dark, too eerie,
and too hot to set up camp, so I am resolved to spend the night in the car. At about 2:30 a.m. two tall bearded men start
getting closer and closer to my vehicle.
At first, it seems like they are lost, then it seems like they are
plotting an attack, and when one of them brushed up against my taillight, I decide
it’s time to turn on the car and drive away.
I freak out, try to start the car in a hurry, and disable the
starter. My car won’t start, won’t lock,
and I am in the middle of Death Valley with two tall strangers looming in the half
moon lit sky. I begin to freak out,
wonder if I should call the cops, hundreds of miles away from cops, wonder if I
should call AAA, not terribly appropriate to call AAA at 3 am. Last thought is to call home. I decided better not to scare my
parents. I finally get my car to lock,
and I count Mississippi’s until I pass out.
At 5 a.m., I wake up to dawn’s light, and at 7 a.m. am greeted by two
post college photographers with scrubby unshaven beards, head to toe decked in
camera gear apologizing if they startled me while they were taking pictures of
shooting stars ( the shooting stars I saw that night were phenomenal even amidst
my paranoia). I freaked out over
nothing, but that will forever be the night that my car broke down in the
middle of Death Valley with two ominous strangers hovering around me.</div>
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</div>
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</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fC7QDUdG_dY/T7p6SL2qF_I/AAAAAAAACg8/4Bn6AZ8GXBc/s1600/DSC_0027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fC7QDUdG_dY/T7p6SL2qF_I/AAAAAAAACg8/4Bn6AZ8GXBc/s400/DSC_0027.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OtLIzH5TXqA/T7p6r5w3X-I/AAAAAAAAChM/DQofP8QhTgc/s1600/DSC_0031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OtLIzH5TXqA/T7p6r5w3X-I/AAAAAAAAChM/DQofP8QhTgc/s400/DSC_0031.jpg" width="267" /></a>Flash forward to night two in Joshua Tree. I had always heard great tidbits from the few
visitors who made it all the way down to Joshua Tree. As I rolled into the park and found my
campground, I was just in time to set up for sunset shots, which are supposed
to be spectacular within the park. Three
men approached me, one I had recognized from the night before in Death
Valley. He spoke first and said he
remembered me from the night before; I was wearing this or that. I parted ways to get to the perfect spot to
take dusk pictures. They followed me,
but the other two disappeared and it was the one friendly stranger who asked me
why I was by myself, where was I staying for the night, told me I was pretty
tried to hug me and then when I shrugged the hug told me my shirt was nice and
began to pet it. In retrospect, he was
probably just on mushrooms trying to enjoy the intensity of Joshua Tree and get
a little high with a few friends. And if
I was with a few friends and a little less sober or in a familiar place, I may
not have freaked out. However, when you
are in butt fucking Egypt at dusk and you’re a petite young woman alone,
sometimes to error on the side of caution is best. Since there were only two open campgrounds in
the park, and he knew my car, I broke down and called home. An hour and a half later, I checked into a
Homewood Suites in Palm Desert. That
will forever be the night that I narrowly escaped a psychedelic predator.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think the reason people want to travel to places like
Death Valley and Joshua Tree is for the story.
Names like “Devil’s Golf Course” and “Inferno” strike up story worthy
imagery. Even the name “Death Valley”
with temperature in the 130s elicits a certain unworldly severity. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I visited Scotty’s
castle, a phantom castle in the middle of nowhere in the northern reaches of
Death Valley. A castle built on fables,
playful deceit, and an unlikely friendship between a Chicago millionaire and a
swindling cowboy who swore the castle was his own and a gold mine was buried below
its foundation. This castle enticed
travelers to visit the area, supposedly rich with gold and 180 degrees in the
shade, and to meet Scotty, the devious, embellishing cowboy with a lifetime
full of stories and adventures about this remote but mystifying place. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All these years later, people still venture through this area
for a chance to experience their own story.
Whether it’s a young woman escaping night villains or a young man
getting stoned in the mystifying desert of Joshua Tree or two photographers in
search of the perfect shooting star or perfect sunrise, there is something
spectacular that in the age of the internet there are still places where
mystery exist and adventures are uncharted.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAU_TdKYaVpuOVDJNLi98NL1vnAGR5w4Ki3Vno2I0VwQ2b0_SJTZ8Jd04dBtOktPsaN90-5I4D9ICViWeYnkSE_LyRL8VZJNf-4XVexnZlkbkecBfczBnxj_xyAEmelBKzohGKIQ2MioA/s1600/DSC_0021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAU_TdKYaVpuOVDJNLi98NL1vnAGR5w4Ki3Vno2I0VwQ2b0_SJTZ8Jd04dBtOktPsaN90-5I4D9ICViWeYnkSE_LyRL8VZJNf-4XVexnZlkbkecBfczBnxj_xyAEmelBKzohGKIQ2MioA/s400/DSC_0021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That said if you want the highlights and low lights without
the sweat and gas mileage; here is my take.
I would take the time to drive through Death Valley, preferably close to
sunset or sunrise. I would watch dawn or
dusk at Zabriski Point or Sand Dunes. I
would make sure to visit the Sand Dunes, Artist’s Drive, Badwater Basin, Devil’s
Golf Course (unless you have seen salt fields in spectacular places like
Chilean desert). I would probably skip
the rest. If you find yourself in the
park for longer period, the tour of Scotty’s Castle is entertaining and the
ranger does a great job bringing the story to life. I
would also drive through the Mojave Desert, just spectacular roadside
vistas. As for Joshua Tree, I was only
there a short afternoon and evening, but I just didn’t get it. Not to mention the creeper and the less than
remarkable sunset. I guess I would make
sure to plan visit around astrologically significant dates. That said, everyone’s adventure is different,
and if I was writing from the perspective of the mushroom creeper, I might
describe Joshua Tree as a life highlight.</div>
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<br />
As I spend a lot, a lot of time alone in the last few weeks,
I am increasingly aware of how each person has their own story, their own life
events, their own hardships and triumphs that make up their identity. I am also aware that is a spectacular moment
in my own story, a nine week chapter that is leaving a lifetime of impressions.<br />kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-83873592954056150922012-05-15T15:39:00.001-07:002012-05-15T15:39:34.897-07:00Las Vegas (or Henderson, NV)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1d6Uz9IVS5QCIx-MAtRqwRwQRILprCaMmmnuB49ah-6EGJ1t0ZCJFdUjNEu3iOfwPGlTJCyXGf8e2WqcbpprpvWo_nde0eyHfLttnMyfIYfiguxltYrlrHiNgNkvxUkqXCr0Erq7kCkA/s1600/Kelly+Drive.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1d6Uz9IVS5QCIx-MAtRqwRwQRILprCaMmmnuB49ah-6EGJ1t0ZCJFdUjNEu3iOfwPGlTJCyXGf8e2WqcbpprpvWo_nde0eyHfLttnMyfIYfiguxltYrlrHiNgNkvxUkqXCr0Erq7kCkA/s400/Kelly+Drive.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I’ll shave my legs
when I get to Vegas<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, as I have been traveling, people have been saying “you’re
living the dream, or “how cool, you quit your job and are on a 9 week road
trip.” And yes, I am spectacularly lucky
to be living the dream and doing bucket list adventures when I am young enough
to enjoy them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, living out of a car for 9 weeks has its draw backs,
and through the weeks in the desert, I have encounter a handful of items that I didn’t consider when making the idiotic
choice to plan an epic road trip. As the
list of items grew, I began the mantra “I’ll take care of that when I get to
Vegas.” From inability to shower and
shave to a lingering chest cold, to rotting eggs in a cooler, to a morning I woke
up with my ass split between the gear joist of my car, I have encounter the
woes of the road, not to mention loneliness.
So my initial intention to win a little money on the strip and splurge
on a dinner from money coworkers gave me as a parting gift lost out to a good
rest and a hot shower. A day and half in
Vegas turned into 2 days in a Hampton Inn in Henderson. Life cannot exist as highlights alone; we need
the lulls in life to recover and distinguish extraordinary from everything
else.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, Vegas is my blood.
Most people think of Vegas as silicone strippers, excess, drinking,
drugs, strung out gamblers; I think of my dear grandmother, Gram, as she was
affectionately known. My most prominent
memories of Gram were learning to play cards in her parlor, while she drank Crème
de Menthe and tapped her fake red nails against the table not so patiently as I
learned Aces high and low in gin and when to split in blackjack. She was a beautiful woman, impeccably
groomed, big white curls and manicured fingers; she was also the biggest card fiend
I ever knew. She dragged my mom along to
Vegas twice a year to gamble before Vegas was hip. My mom recalls fried chicken buffets and
hours upon hours at the blackjack table, strictly blackjack, as any other
gambling was a bit trashy. Luckily, by
the time I came around and my mom wanted her daughter to go to Vegas and share in
her family history, there were 4 star restaurants and headliner shows. While I have never worn acrylic nails and I wouldn’t
touch Crème de Menthe with a ten foot poll, I think my love of cards is
something that will always connect me to my mom and to my Gram. So, tired and strung out, I at least had to
take the nostalgic drive down the strip as part of family tradition.</div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-23396161374990482402012-05-15T15:29:00.000-07:002012-05-15T15:29:15.958-07:00Grand Canyon Top to Bottom to Top<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnpKpvfvEe4C4zqtCZj1NPUWsh4eyahd7Ew73a4waTRoJvjEkjrlICZQ-BICSpqsyWFZayqjAvb2ZQO48uZju3l8yZigYaOO4C-WGpkudYhGKEFIHjYno1IW2byW2EmKEUEL1VuD64Tz8/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnpKpvfvEe4C4zqtCZj1NPUWsh4eyahd7Ew73a4waTRoJvjEkjrlICZQ-BICSpqsyWFZayqjAvb2ZQO48uZju3l8yZigYaOO4C-WGpkudYhGKEFIHjYno1IW2byW2EmKEUEL1VuD64Tz8/s400/2.jpg" width="400" /></a><b><u>Grand Canyon- Top to
Bottom & Back Up Again</u><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQH9Sebk821KFQ3E6slwfzkEceKZf21T8LpjH5AAUsvRygzERHd-NNjoralaAnGv1YNRukyXrSEe7xedU-WxvbP4FJvuRoqMRfEDaa0CdFNKlk7_XlfSEUZwwmUYMgSyJUUK1bqREctR4/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQH9Sebk821KFQ3E6slwfzkEceKZf21T8LpjH5AAUsvRygzERHd-NNjoralaAnGv1YNRukyXrSEe7xedU-WxvbP4FJvuRoqMRfEDaa0CdFNKlk7_XlfSEUZwwmUYMgSyJUUK1bqREctR4/s400/9.jpg" width="266" /></a>The National Park does not recommend hiking to the Colorado
River and back up to the top of the Grand Canyon in one day. The elevation change is 4800 ft from the
South Kaibob Trail to the foot of the Colorado River. That said, when you have your heart set on
going to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and you can’t get a permit to stay the
night, sometimes recommendation are just that, someone else’s opinion.</div>
My plan was to start from South Kaibob at 5 am, and get down
to the river, and a third of the way up the Bright Angel Trail at Indian Garden
before midday, so that I could get exposed, non-shaded hiking done during the
cooler hours. Plans are kind of like recommendations, sometimes you just got to
throw them out the window. I missed my
alarm, got lost on way to trail head and didn’t start my descent until 7:30
am. Paranoid by rangers insistence that I
be a good way up the canyon by midday, I
decided to do a slight jog down the canyon.
Don’t cringe; the trail is quite wide on the South Kaibob side (its
where they bring up visitors on mules).
So as I jogged down the canyon, the light was magnificent in the mid
morning. I stopped to take pictures as
this trip would probably be my only opportunity to relish the inner
canyon. I was feeling pretty strong, and
it's easy to feel like a running god when you are doing approximately a mile of
descending. However, at the bottom of my
trail, a hunk of a man, was beginning his shirtless run up the trail. Life has a way of grounding us in reality
when our head gets too big. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-zKwf5ZngtiSQr2r7eLYmBDxlv6GUU0lUxyqWSSLIi0MCcN4D-MI68DC9fnLJrkBlmVr2wF5oCgWRXqgX0t3aV5gC0k8iFhWUxmxuJfuWapO4ql5SDVbQCr8KBIaN0Cq9tlZjfJrjtl4/s1600/IMG_0854_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-zKwf5ZngtiSQr2r7eLYmBDxlv6GUU0lUxyqWSSLIi0MCcN4D-MI68DC9fnLJrkBlmVr2wF5oCgWRXqgX0t3aV5gC0k8iFhWUxmxuJfuWapO4ql5SDVbQCr8KBIaN0Cq9tlZjfJrjtl4/s320/IMG_0854_1.jpg" width="237" /></a>Nonetheless,
I made it to the canyon bottom in 1.5 hours.<br />
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I have never loved the Colorado River as much as I did on
this day. Blue and green clear water,
gentle rapids with the world’s largest canyon as its back drop, made this view truly
spectacular. I got a little lost at the
river, so I couldn’t linger too long as
I wasn’t sure how challenging the ascent up Bright Angel Trail would be. I hauled up the canyon like a mountain goat,
and I made it the Indian Garden at 11:30.
After refilling water, I began the challenging ascent up the remainder
of Bright Angel, 3000 ft of vertical gain left.
The views from this trail were night and day to the South Kaibob
Trail. The Kaibob Trail had sweeping
views, large, open panoramas. This side
of the canyon had tight, rocky views interspersed with spectacularly green
vegetation. I made it from bottom to top
in 3.5 hours, which I am pretty sure is hella fast. Nonetheless, I would strongly recommend doing
this trip as a two day venture. I was
exhausted and had to do a fair amount of hiking in the midday heat. It is definitely manageable as a one day
hike, but if you are not living at 8500 ft, it may be more enjoyable as a two
day hike.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Dr_MM3506aFdpp1Z063gfChB_talqQYiJ79l765ONnHnqhTvvlEfdM5MqqZleioALDFQYAIzBJ7ijmZ5rSAkLuQmrC6vn1-_xMuYmpaPUQWcNsl6aLfnE5CSWcmmoGSDHRczCC497R4/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Dr_MM3506aFdpp1Z063gfChB_talqQYiJ79l765ONnHnqhTvvlEfdM5MqqZleioALDFQYAIzBJ7ijmZ5rSAkLuQmrC6vn1-_xMuYmpaPUQWcNsl6aLfnE5CSWcmmoGSDHRczCC497R4/s400/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I would say if you are in decent shape this hike is a must
when visiting the Grand Canyon, and I would suggest doing it in the same order
I did, down South Kaibab and up Bright Angel.
Old folks and kiddos were doing the hike all the way to the bottom. If you are really apprehensive about your
physical limitations, consider at least hiking down the canyon a mile or two to
get a one of a kind glimpse of the inner canyon. </div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-39950997546781253612012-05-15T15:15:00.001-07:002012-05-15T15:16:16.991-07:00Grand Canyon<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSfAhDKUbg8wLszLssfmLO6hUZGnoPA6hTQUHsYK9AJddRbaVggp60ey5B-clmF0oQzoPyG-EDAgy1waLv6Chx4yZS5RSN_km7nz38TBuHp6rH6EhbChbCdGtpIKKNpzG41qdOFZ7C7g/s1600/DSC_0048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSfAhDKUbg8wLszLssfmLO6hUZGnoPA6hTQUHsYK9AJddRbaVggp60ey5B-clmF0oQzoPyG-EDAgy1waLv6Chx4yZS5RSN_km7nz38TBuHp6rH6EhbChbCdGtpIKKNpzG41qdOFZ7C7g/s400/DSC_0048.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Really Big Hole</u></b>-</div>
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Many eloquent verses have been said about the Grand Canyon; I guess my first impression of the Canyon was
more like the kid from the 1980s classic <i>American
Vacation</i>: “it’s only the biggest God-damn hole in the world” Excuse the language, but it is sort of a holy
shit sort of moment. You prepare
yourself for it being huge and encompassing, but I think that part of the
splendor of the Canyon is that there is no way to prepare yourself for how
small you feel out on the canyon’s edge.
It is sort of a once in a lifetime experience, where you understand the
power of nature and history, and your own relative insignificance. The day I arrive there were scattered showers
that heightened the contrast of the sky and canyon, creating a more intense
depth of field. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjp7HXAKoEDjaqb6RZ3vFC1rX53NfkxwHOMbE2Kpn7MKSH1WMld6SfM6Kcs4gchVuN705FD9Jv_QHa1uaUsa0SRdqZvQz7S_F2hZ_x8JXM9ML_L8qLft04ewRswASyaZC_5vDVujQcky8/s1600/DSC_0060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjp7HXAKoEDjaqb6RZ3vFC1rX53NfkxwHOMbE2Kpn7MKSH1WMld6SfM6Kcs4gchVuN705FD9Jv_QHa1uaUsa0SRdqZvQz7S_F2hZ_x8JXM9ML_L8qLft04ewRswASyaZC_5vDVujQcky8/s400/DSC_0060.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyWG9LEug1xTaJyX53CLndEjj6y6zTtJEWa9K_5icP7vIF6ZXZRMurPAQpIkuWSpVwUHcgyrsNIeiKfsa9YfZzJbDhSgw_v6200SCMjCXzVsWJhDxHF9cqAyvr7zc3PvUAjLDGzkCHlPk/s1600/DSC_0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyWG9LEug1xTaJyX53CLndEjj6y6zTtJEWa9K_5icP7vIF6ZXZRMurPAQpIkuWSpVwUHcgyrsNIeiKfsa9YfZzJbDhSgw_v6200SCMjCXzVsWJhDxHF9cqAyvr7zc3PvUAjLDGzkCHlPk/s400/DSC_0004.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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On day one, I hiked the South Rim Trail. It’s a hike along the perimeter of the canyon at a flat grade. I went from the visitor center to the Hopi Point destinations; the trail in total is 13 miles, but you can hop on and off the shuttle about ever ½ mile. I thought this was a great introduction to the park. </div>
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On day 2, I did the
Dripping Springs Trail off the Hermit Trail Head. This hike took me into the inner canyon and
about halfway down the canyon where I got sweeping panoramic views. The coolest part was seeing wedges where the
canyon had split dues to erosion and geologic disturbance. This was a 7 mile hike, that the ranger said should
take about 5 hours. I did it quite a bit
faster, as I was worried about getting stuck out in the heat without enough water. The ascent back up the Hermit Trail Head was
quite difficult, a pretty steep grade.
If you want to hike the Inner Canyon without going to the river, I would
suggest doing the Bright Angel Trail or the South Kaibab Trail instead. In the Grand Canyon, it does not appear as
dry as other desert landscapes, but you need to respect the elements, bump up
electrolytes and stay out of the heat in the early afternoon.</div>
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I had planned to do the hike to the base of Canyon from the
South Kaibab Trail, and then ascend the Bright Angel Trail the 2<sup>nd</sup>
day. However, no backcountry permit was
available, so I had to condense the hike into one day.</div>
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<br /></div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-32175828156403492492012-05-15T14:53:00.002-07:002012-05-15T14:53:35.671-07:00More Zion<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMuwG8hLnc_TpzD3SWmTn8Cr0QTGsiS9E7600N-KkB85KajWjeLCauUBXRTANhUIKco0oSWyIuwGHo7HvEnAAuQK7kaj3YN7VsiBSnmoxjq7dHrSE29miW6i-F9-5pn4nnpiWsuKLY25o/s1600/Zion+307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMuwG8hLnc_TpzD3SWmTn8Cr0QTGsiS9E7600N-KkB85KajWjeLCauUBXRTANhUIKco0oSWyIuwGHo7HvEnAAuQK7kaj3YN7VsiBSnmoxjq7dHrSE29miW6i-F9-5pn4nnpiWsuKLY25o/s400/Zion+307.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>
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<b><u>I am my
father’s daughter</u><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Most days I don’t think about the fact that I was raised
primarily by a male; a goofy, sarcastic, but genuinely kind male. On day three of Zion, I realized that I may
be the spitting image of my mother, but I am undoubtedly my father’s daughter. The list of Tom Cooneyism that I have
mimicked this week:</div>
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<ol><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizwCToyt7cqKLrcBdgHbHJ_3iJ8ggvuAdGLioUIjq6aDvp4QUaOhIRFJiY7vDZXesTs9WXWTszTnGlhSSv24bEJI536pGMWXIreZsOpgSvkvIA1-0_GVuVrK2aMoPabSi2GM3oYr8YLy0/s1600/IMG_0084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizwCToyt7cqKLrcBdgHbHJ_3iJ8ggvuAdGLioUIjq6aDvp4QUaOhIRFJiY7vDZXesTs9WXWTszTnGlhSSv24bEJI536pGMWXIreZsOpgSvkvIA1-0_GVuVrK2aMoPabSi2GM3oYr8YLy0/s320/IMG_0084.JPG" width="240" /></a>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I
smell checked two clothing items out of my clothes bin, acknowledge they did
not match, shrugged the shoulders, and wore them anyway; they did after all
pass the smell check.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I
took all leftovers, including humus, carrots, spinach, beans, guacamole,
apples, and corn, and threw them into a tortilla, shrugged my shoulders and
said “not bad.”</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I
blew a snot rocket off a cliff with about 20 people in my near vicinity.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I
met a group of Los Angeles Mexican tourists on Cinco de Mayo who called me
their new friend. It reminded of me when
my dad tried to join the Chicano Student group in the sixties. My experience with Latin and Irish culture is
we really do have a lot in common, but as Latin as dad and I may feel, pink
just doesn't blend into the crowd.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">On
a similar note, I set up my new campsite to Gloria Estefan music on my
ipod. Like my father, I found myself
dancing along to the chorus in the whimsical way he does. I don’t like Gloria
Estefan music, never have, not sure how she landed on my ipod, but when it
starts, the feet just start moving.</span></li>
</ol>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYdihBxbNt9LY5oP4Fu4CRuNoALt0hw57X6ciyGe9Kk1HVvW5e3AfEK-SBsSyu0K99_YOqegtWBxFRnC92ohgvVPmy0nrhoJe10bRQB49OzpBD_2OIKMea-FnibnzHKAf7VjCOS2hKWk/s1600/Zion+310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYdihBxbNt9LY5oP4Fu4CRuNoALt0hw57X6ciyGe9Kk1HVvW5e3AfEK-SBsSyu0K99_YOqegtWBxFRnC92ohgvVPmy0nrhoJe10bRQB49OzpBD_2OIKMea-FnibnzHKAf7VjCOS2hKWk/s400/Zion+310.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
<span style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">A big part of this trip is a solo experience, a time of
self-reflection, but I have been surprised at how much I have been thinking
about all the great people in my life.
The goofy quirks of my father and the compassionate, patient generosity
of my mother have overwhelmed me at times.
I think in the selfish quest towards adulthood, I often forget how
blessed I am to have supportive, kind parents to help guide me, let me fail
softly, let me learn, and share my successes.
Thank you. </span><br />
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On day three, I explored Adrielle’s greatest suggestion, The
Narrows. I did not know this hike
existed but it soon became a bucket list item and my reason for each of you to
visit Zion. After getting outfitted in a
wet suit, I began the 5 mile hike up the Virgin River between the Narrow Slot
Canyons. You are hiking the whole
duration of the hike, calf to chest high in water. The water is translucent, and the canyons
shade the sun except for brief moments of brilliance when the sun penetrates
the narrow slot between canyon walls.
This hike was an eerie experience to do solo, but I experienced
transcendental moments that remind me that our creator has a way of reaffirming
faith in even his greatest cynics. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglcW_m6xpIfUeMmobhzwXu1ZibIjGOydR2g2ihjQzq5AO9zI4CuMW5b-TRg0HYLLkPpu6jCIMtLfbzsXkInP4vmqgcX4ENpxXc4j83ZzszcT8QlvX50p7IthvYYbef8RJuX_pIutFHVAg/s1600/Zion+330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglcW_m6xpIfUeMmobhzwXu1ZibIjGOydR2g2ihjQzq5AO9zI4CuMW5b-TRg0HYLLkPpu6jCIMtLfbzsXkInP4vmqgcX4ENpxXc4j83ZzszcT8QlvX50p7IthvYYbef8RJuX_pIutFHVAg/s400/Zion+330.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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On day four, with a chest cold set deep into my lungs, I did
the morning summit of Observation Point.
It was a nice hike; I was mainly using it as a training session for
Rainier, which is coming up within the month. </div>
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If I had only a short time in Zion, I would do Angel’s
Landing, The Narrows, The Mt. Caramel Highway, and I would eat at <i>Oscars</i>, though <i>Pizza and Noodle </i>and <i>Bit
& Spur </i>were also solid choices.</div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-62972786389841128652012-05-15T14:36:00.002-07:002012-05-15T14:36:29.912-07:00Zion<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1PRyegB2McA/T69G6ieMUTI/AAAAAAAACU4/FvaHQoaO-fI/s1600/DSC_0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1PRyegB2McA/T69G6ieMUTI/AAAAAAAACU4/FvaHQoaO-fI/s320/DSC_0004.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
<b style="text-align: center;"><u>A splendid recommendation</u></b><br />
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My friend Adrielle suggested I visit Zion, her favorite national park. While I love my friend, we are birds of a different feather, so I was a little nervous that her glowing recommendation might render 4 nights of boredom in the South Utah desert. And when she suggested a restaurant and said she ate there all three nights of her stay, I was sharply reminded that Adrielle is a creature of habit. I am a bit of an adventure zealot and adrenaline junky, slightly unstable and neurotic. Adrielle, on the other hand, is how I would describe my concept of home; she is warm, kind, comforting, consistent, and reliable. </div>
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To my great surprise, I found Zion National Park to be the perfect blend of Adrielle and Kelly. The town of Springdale was accessible and inviting, a good home base to explore the multitude of canyons. The staple hikes of the park were controlled but challenging. The excursion hikes to glowing slot canyons and peaks were breathtaking.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent the first day exploring the main drag of the park via shuttle, the Emerald Pools Trails, The Weeping Rock, and Riverside walk along the Virgin River. It was a pleasant afternoon and I closed out the night with Adrielle’s recommendation, <i>Pizza & Noodles</i>, which proved to be a good staple, carb load for tomorrow’s day of hiking. I have to say, that like her taste in men and fashion, Ms.Fry’s taste in national parks is impeccable.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKcbqYetyPxuNlAMmdm-Hl2uPWI2KByGGAE1aPXmcxCdsqM0ShyKCLLEj6M2Ee4Cjq3K5V9U6I_b-WNy_QOtSjPD7pz_Q008nns335NllrY8mVg-Ej1NJXDXlrwgNS9_xnfHnpTMg4LA/s1600/DSC_0050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKcbqYetyPxuNlAMmdm-Hl2uPWI2KByGGAE1aPXmcxCdsqM0ShyKCLLEj6M2Ee4Cjq3K5V9U6I_b-WNy_QOtSjPD7pz_Q008nns335NllrY8mVg-Ej1NJXDXlrwgNS9_xnfHnpTMg4LA/s320/DSC_0050.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOXe1Q8kin3cOZSFjHWYa-dweNJ8q5U-5255pslcHtBzKAlgY2AfUULTJHApiC4UptZSsmz9TTy1yKULp0ggVELBKVyGzsrLpdvuVBmnT-jsJjDLq59O273_kXPD-cxu1UkM28A1vBpM/s1600/DSC_0032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOXe1Q8kin3cOZSFjHWYa-dweNJ8q5U-5255pslcHtBzKAlgY2AfUULTJHApiC4UptZSsmz9TTy1yKULp0ggVELBKVyGzsrLpdvuVBmnT-jsJjDLq59O273_kXPD-cxu1UkM28A1vBpM/s320/DSC_0032.jpg" width="320" /></a>On day two of the trip, I hiked to the top of Angel’s Landing, a lookout atop a sliver of a peak within the canyon. Acrophobic, beware. It was not as scary as summits of several Colorado Peaks, but it was surprisingly exposed and steep for it to be such a popular hike within the park. I would highly recommend this hike to visitors. In the afternoon, I took the West Rim Trail, towards the northwest part of park to some relatively tight slot canyons. It was a pretty long day of hiking, and not particularly impressive views; I think if I came back with some canyoneering or rock climbing skills, I would have really enjoyed this area.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a long second day, I ventured out to my second restaurant, and since it was Cinco de Mayo, I gave Oscars a try. I tried to order a Margarita and was offered a Winerita, those Utah Mormons and their alcohol.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UOTts8ggBtU/T69HmsYRQPI/AAAAAAAACVw/03gvntIby-s/s1600/DSC_0039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UOTts8ggBtU/T69HmsYRQPI/AAAAAAAACVw/03gvntIby-s/s400/DSC_0039.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><u><br /></u></b></div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-17437667876231535752012-05-04T00:22:00.002-07:002012-05-04T00:35:03.898-07:00Canyonland<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MtltWUy_i-U/T6NcNvzXi8I/AAAAAAAACAA/p7mJjSk_hFs/s1600/DSC_0005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MtltWUy_i-U/T6NcNvzXi8I/AAAAAAAACAA/p7mJjSk_hFs/s320/DSC_0005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above Island in the Sky</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0Jg0-M8pCIQ/T6NdWZjLHGI/AAAAAAAACBQ/ZAHwoNcmzEU/s1600/DSC_0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0Jg0-M8pCIQ/T6NdWZjLHGI/AAAAAAAACBQ/ZAHwoNcmzEU/s320/DSC_0034.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset Above the Green River</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis59K4cwWV6y9stKv8aPH4EKf5ji7SVLm1sPvuIkk_YaaSrmS1g7QGu6xs_cf8A3fA4BawL7pB3sGmXmGEduTLc_BpGxuDMEM979o9cRj7_ciB4blepV59TIWpFgeqw6_XoDv269UCDCM/s1600/DSC_0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis59K4cwWV6y9stKv8aPH4EKf5ji7SVLm1sPvuIkk_YaaSrmS1g7QGu6xs_cf8A3fA4BawL7pB3sGmXmGEduTLc_BpGxuDMEM979o9cRj7_ciB4blepV59TIWpFgeqw6_XoDv269UCDCM/s320/DSC_0004.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Island in the Sky</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JMu39SYNCVM/T6Ndt49LGVI/AAAAAAAACB4/DKfqL2u0ALw/s1600/DSC_0044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JMu39SYNCVM/T6Ndt49LGVI/AAAAAAAACB4/DKfqL2u0ALw/s320/DSC_0044.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spires of the Needle District</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZyDeWmwBwq56ARJg5cUSKq7DZ4RLHEKAWDWmT9NXb4h_OJZ9O7mfS3vm_UdfEhlAHZn-l71Pf_sfD1RbnRNxKG_U45Bpldfe5uVe66QgNiED8ZQB1v_9tjiSxmrtJeXUTfLCPGipT1EQ/s1600/IMG_0704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZyDeWmwBwq56ARJg5cUSKq7DZ4RLHEKAWDWmT9NXb4h_OJZ9O7mfS3vm_UdfEhlAHZn-l71Pf_sfD1RbnRNxKG_U45Bpldfe5uVe66QgNiED8ZQB1v_9tjiSxmrtJeXUTfLCPGipT1EQ/s320/IMG_0704.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, back country road, Canyonlands</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><u>These are a few of my favorite things</u></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I absolutely love Canyonlands. The landscape is wildly diverse between
regions, there is a magnitude of activities to enjoy, and every time you turn a
corner, or traverse a hill, you are met with something quite surprising. I also like that you can hike for hours and
completely lose yourself in thought through some of the most spectacular
temperate desert landscapes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wednesday afternoon and early evening I explored the Green
River Basin, an area I had not been to before.
The lush green of the water against the warm sandstone is just the most
spectacular contrast. I would suggest
this area for mountain biking or 4 wheeling.
I spent Wednesday night in my truck watching the sunset. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thursday morning I went to Island in the Sky, another area I
had not explored. It was a bit touristy
but had beautiful overlooks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thursday
afternoon, I went to my favorite part of the Park, the Needles District. I had a bit of a brain fart and forgot you
couldn’t get to the Needles from the main park, but the extra 1.5 hour drive
was worth it for some of my favorite hiking.
This trip I explored the Confluence Overlook trail. It was pretty mellow and relaxing, perfect
for a serene afternoon. My favorite part
about the Needles District is that the landscape looks like huge dinosaurs were
in the midst of a sandcastle competition, and then, poof a giant storm knocked
the dinosaurs to extinction and left the remains of the sandcastles. I have not taken a guided geological tour,
but I am sure this historic “poof” explains the spire and mushroom geography of
the area. Anyway, other awesome trails in this area are Elephant Hill and Druid
Arch, which I have done on past trips. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This evening, I found a Motel 6 in Green River, UT. I asked the receptionist if there was a town
or just a string of hotels, she told me that Green River has a lovely downtown;
it’s a low key alternative to the rowdy Moab.
Then, I discovered that Arby’s was the only restaurant in town and there
was a 15 person line to order. I guess
our perspectives on downtown differ. I
guess that’s part of taking a road trip.
Life is about perspective, if you are unhappy with an element of your
life, change your perspective. </div>
<br />kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-73427998446502141052012-05-04T00:13:00.001-07:002012-05-04T00:15:05.582-07:00Arches 2.0<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj502_vHf4azfoXTVJYfTArM83ncsFYOS1XSDEh8cY6HG6S0H8HttXtWpsTLmtOat9HTatQDHvEZTj0xKG9-RmsT39XVOYIGB7IBPp8r_IcpORRSh8cHyOU7SktfGmk9MsASiM5OnvOLnU/s1600/DSC_0032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj502_vHf4azfoXTVJYfTArM83ncsFYOS1XSDEh8cY6HG6S0H8HttXtWpsTLmtOat9HTatQDHvEZTj0xKG9-RmsT39XVOYIGB7IBPp8r_IcpORRSh8cHyOU7SktfGmk9MsASiM5OnvOLnU/s320/DSC_0032.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fiery Furnace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<u><b>Rewind, Repeat, Fast Forward</b></u><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wednesday I woke up and everything went wrong. First, I blew a fuse in my car. Then, I lost most my photos from the day
before. Lastly, my car broke down at an area called the “Fiery Furnace.” Luckily, life gives you lemons to make
lemonade, trite but true. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since I was suppose to go Canyonlands, but needed to stay in
Moab to get my fuse fixed, I decided I would retake pictures of the places I
really enjoyed from Arches. The guys at
Royce’s electronics in Moab are phenomenal and fixed my car and showed me how
to replace a fuse by myself next time.
So I hurried back over to Arches.
Since I needed to run anyway, I decided to challenge myself and run the
trails I had hiked the day before. After
6+ miles of running, I felt pretty exhausted but content. I actually think Michelle Obama should
promote a jog the national parks as part of her fit for life campaign. Anyway, I decided to stop by the “Fiery
Furnace Overlook” to take a few picture of the red spires. Got back in the car, but it wouldn’t
start. AAA is a godsend. My mom got it for me years ago since I am
notorious for locking myself out of my car, but when you are stuck in the
midday sun at the “Fiery Furnace” AAA is the only way to go. </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHnrd3kj0KA-ZEWiE3YPAe1FTxTpruCX8DwhEy-TnfuoQjQdbOCmywfVz_BvPpNtG0OA4FBA4nMheOE9Q-rX4s4AKKNkssaXjH3c6f1kvWuGIRyxqm70yQVstcZ15wXLUQiK66mVbfEZ8/s1600/DSC_0025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHnrd3kj0KA-ZEWiE3YPAe1FTxTpruCX8DwhEy-TnfuoQjQdbOCmywfVz_BvPpNtG0OA4FBA4nMheOE9Q-rX4s4AKKNkssaXjH3c6f1kvWuGIRyxqm70yQVstcZ15wXLUQiK66mVbfEZ8/s320/DSC_0025.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me below the Delicate Arch after my morning run.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_ORCMRWecUgJvq5YmAAe0vWqmOCKbcgcHTouy0j11w5wXapZowpa-da2mT4O3TESq4Xt-tEHbVx3AgubXUSWqw8rf_M3BBsk4pCsjdmDnegtAFw_ebdiQMPkBI242PS4vKtGQLcVOi8/s1600/1000000673.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_ORCMRWecUgJvq5YmAAe0vWqmOCKbcgcHTouy0j11w5wXapZowpa-da2mT4O3TESq4Xt-tEHbVx3AgubXUSWqw8rf_M3BBsk4pCsjdmDnegtAFw_ebdiQMPkBI242PS4vKtGQLcVOi8/s320/1000000673.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little sunny on backside of Double O Arch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Early afternoon, and I was finally on my way to
Canyonlands. I often find myself
sweating the small stuff in life; this experience was an affirmation that
making the best of bad situation is far less exhausting than trying to control the
unforeseeable. </div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-7914128006817474322012-05-04T00:02:00.000-07:002012-05-04T00:06:43.391-07:00Arches National Park<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXijj7VtEvKHltH8jNxUnbwa-nX0L1Q8repia56TLGJH_9hgEyu-0xMUWNeqo_UPySMX5q0OavheCu4P954Sd27dA25R_xjKS7Cp444QBguOmlmoUvLLxt4zkQJy3rm46XADt0Ec85-Tw/s1600/DSC_0008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXijj7VtEvKHltH8jNxUnbwa-nX0L1Q8repia56TLGJH_9hgEyu-0xMUWNeqo_UPySMX5q0OavheCu4P954Sd27dA25R_xjKS7Cp444QBguOmlmoUvLLxt4zkQJy3rm46XADt0Ec85-Tw/s320/DSC_0008.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Double Arch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>Plethora
of Arches, Asians, and RV</u></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDCQX0EXql2lbAJgTkMDjp9mbc45mk9xtoOQ_nia_WAXpl_X1mfamWIkhhiviIvMt_hPnBwhCgWajObJgeYKmnbL0L1NcKOM6HzKMVY4xQ1aonDb0bFsuffh98aZI5CiZ1DLs6ADCVQrY/s1600/DSC_0016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDCQX0EXql2lbAJgTkMDjp9mbc45mk9xtoOQ_nia_WAXpl_X1mfamWIkhhiviIvMt_hPnBwhCgWajObJgeYKmnbL0L1NcKOM6HzKMVY4xQ1aonDb0bFsuffh98aZI5CiZ1DLs6ADCVQrY/s320/DSC_0016.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delicate Arch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a restful morning of snacking on quinoa and tea at
Moab’s Love Muffin Café, I drove into Arches National Park mid afternoon. The clouds in the desert in the afternoon
turn a vibrant blue which complements the orange sandstone. I have been to the eastern Utah desert many
times, but I had never stopped by Arches.
I was really impressed by the diversity of the landscape and sheer size
on the stone monuments.</div>
Realizing all the campsites were full, and I had nowhere to
sleep for the evening, I convinced a ranger to let me poach on a no show
campsite. I set up my tent and went for
a run in Devil’s Garden where I was surprised by the number of Asian tourists. At
each American landmark, I passed herds of foreigners. They were entertaining and
stylishly dressed for such a desert climate.
As I finish my run in the campground parking lot, I was reminded of the
“American” part of the American road trip:
large RVs, an abundance of obese and/or pregnant women, and generators
blasting above the simple sounds of nature.
I must have a weird sense of humor, but I kind of love the paradox of
the national parks and the people who frequent them.<br />
After settling into a windy night in my tent, I am met with
trip obstacle #2. I am severely afraid
of the dark. I had kind of ignored this
fact, because if I rationalized it, I probably would have talked myself out of
doing a 2 month solo road trip. No quick
solution to a lifetime of anxiety of what might happen when the sun goes down.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next morning I got an early start and explored the
Devil’s Garden area where I had run. I
saw the Landscape Arch which is almost 300 ft long and as thin as 6ft at its
narrowest bend. The sheer physics of
this arch is phenomenal not to mention the geological circumstances that
created it. Next, I did a really
pleasant hike to the Double O Arch, not be confused with the more accessible,
Double Arch. The Double O Arch is 2
arches stacked on top of one another.
After lunch, I went to the most photographed arch, the Delicate
Arch. I was pleasantly surprised by the
arch, but also the general landscape that created a platform for the arch with
the La Sal Mountains in the distance. I
finished the day with the popular Windows, Double Arch, and Fiery Furnace.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a day of hiking and dodging tour groups, I had a stout
at the Moab brewery, met some older travelers, and settled into the Lazy Lizard
Hostel.</div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0Arches National Park, Utah, USA38.733081 -109.592513938.6339895 -109.7504424 38.8321725 -109.4345854tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-50127756697645952632012-04-30T13:24:00.002-07:002012-04-30T13:33:11.354-07:00American Vacation & Goodbyes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVeijM8xjht2FpLLrNUV7NQcJxHpMaHzbQaHUJV4mjowWp9ntNb_aohEzz7I40_AYgC6kj7ww8vknpqZXOIcMPXskr6NzKwqoVO0hY7DjRszQSlSkbHEyXpdl12Lnsy0ScLZEeHZ1Gm0/s1600/DSC_0097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVeijM8xjht2FpLLrNUV7NQcJxHpMaHzbQaHUJV4mjowWp9ntNb_aohEzz7I40_AYgC6kj7ww8vknpqZXOIcMPXskr6NzKwqoVO0hY7DjRszQSlSkbHEyXpdl12Lnsy0ScLZEeHZ1Gm0/s320/DSC_0097.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b><u>American Vacations
& Goodbyes</u></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was a kid, I was very fortunate to go on grand
vacations. I had been to the South
Pacific before I was 13; I had swum in the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Gulf, and
The Caribbean before I was a teenager. I
began my love affair with the mountains in Aspen and Vail, a privileged
upbringing indeed. However, the grass
always seems greener, and the traditional family road trip had eluded me. I have always wanted to experience the
standard American family vacation, the economy travel, the national parks, the
license plate bingo.</div>
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Sunday, we experienced our own version of the American
vacation. We started the morning at Dennys
with super size breakfast, then we took advantage of the free national park
entry and drove the South Rim of the Black Canyon, taking pictures at each
overlook, running over cotton head tourists, and getting suspiciously close to
the edge of 2,000 ft cliffs. The highlights were the Painted wall, Sunset
Point, and Cross Fissures View We ended
the adventure with Sonic drive thru and stories of our families and
childhood. It was a simple, pleasant day, a wonderful
way to spend my last few hours with Braulio.</div>
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In a city market parking lot, I said goodbye to my best
friend and travel buddy. Prolonging the
goodbye, Braulio decides it was imperative to repack my entire truck, and after that,
the tears began, we hugged and kissed, and parted ways wondering when and how life will bring us together next. I turned on the country radio, I cried until I
hit Grand Junction, and then I become fully aware this is where the solo
adventure begins.</div>
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<br />kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-69767179055742562022012-04-30T13:17:00.004-07:002012-04-30T13:19:05.366-07:00Bear Crawl Black Canyon<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHiDmkQSdiV3sv4ksihHH26ls4CEDnwQo_Jn1-mamKBESEAMatSwDy5NScb_cetI71bk4xz5ITM456zHtAy-0rX-mtmMo99hiaFM0kFDI1ScArcF_Cxj-vy-AnBw219r2bWPEW2XDzd0/s1600/DSC_0074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHiDmkQSdiV3sv4ksihHH26ls4CEDnwQo_Jn1-mamKBESEAMatSwDy5NScb_cetI71bk4xz5ITM456zHtAy-0rX-mtmMo99hiaFM0kFDI1ScArcF_Cxj-vy-AnBw219r2bWPEW2XDzd0/s320/DSC_0074.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDkUdVMLwXEnTSPsnUTnt37vxE_o9Yj6RovQTIWSwjPPpoUyCwWSPLAaYHk-aMf170VMnNXaWKUhLfLXosEE5GnK_6INeglTNWklSKhB4Im6BN16mGvf_ZZE5D2w-YM2k2GxB_qMElfU/s1600/DSC_0056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDkUdVMLwXEnTSPsnUTnt37vxE_o9Yj6RovQTIWSwjPPpoUyCwWSPLAaYHk-aMf170VMnNXaWKUhLfLXosEE5GnK_6INeglTNWklSKhB4Im6BN16mGvf_ZZE5D2w-YM2k2GxB_qMElfU/s320/DSC_0056.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW8MdNuAnCPj3TUlFvBHYO1_0H4bfbqGF4R2pJjJRJGq4S3_bndMF_02H0JEhbZTteok9XkMo4i9JDPBQx9Vz2k0SKqsTSvD4GK98OYpLj9vzFw9qGty5sAuiBB9_l5rSbpJdkQmXgnis/s1600/DSC_0046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW8MdNuAnCPj3TUlFvBHYO1_0H4bfbqGF4R2pJjJRJGq4S3_bndMF_02H0JEhbZTteok9XkMo4i9JDPBQx9Vz2k0SKqsTSvD4GK98OYpLj9vzFw9qGty5sAuiBB9_l5rSbpJdkQmXgnis/s320/DSC_0046.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Base of Black Canyon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><u>Bear Crawl up Black Canyon</u></b><br />
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Saturday we drove to the Black Canyon and decided to descend the rim of the canyon to get an up close look at the river and canyon walls. After a pleasant picnic in mid afternoon, we began our ascent up the canyon walls. While we did the 2.5 hour ascent in an hour and six minutes, we looked liked a children’s gym class bear crawling the whole way up. To get some perspective on the pitch, there is a chain a third of the way down the canyon to aid your ascent. Braulio was geology major in college and gave me the skinny on the various rock formations as I tried helplessly to catch my breath. </div>
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The canyon is beautiful and drastically varied throughout the day as the sun plays hide and seek with the canyon’s deep walls. We did the Gunnison Route to the bottom. Saturday night we camped in the East Portal and made friends with a few bambi’s eager to make camper friends. After a hard hike, I went to bed early.</div>
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<br />kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4054687440762094340.post-23705626745867469882012-04-30T12:29:00.001-07:002012-04-30T12:30:50.416-07:00Carbondale to Ouray<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9sOYz_7wA6N47NGrqGY-_b1cMEOQBOkyAcE-_cFT2wKonMPqtGo6khxzOgPAoDc2IYvysoCLnEKva1UHN5A91p3Fy2f2VoxwkpBXWpngUvd0B85sPd0lP_rkxdmvH95G-YXU2wmsgiSo/s1600/marble.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9sOYz_7wA6N47NGrqGY-_b1cMEOQBOkyAcE-_cFT2wKonMPqtGo6khxzOgPAoDc2IYvysoCLnEKva1UHN5A91p3Fy2f2VoxwkpBXWpngUvd0B85sPd0lP_rkxdmvH95G-YXU2wmsgiSo/s320/marble.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out of Gas in Marble</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>6000+ mile road
trip beginning on EMPTY (typical)<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I quit my job this week to begin an epic road trip across
the western US. After quitting my job,
packing up my apartment, and registering for school all within a week, I was
ready for a little relaxation on the open road.
As I headed west from my parents place in Carbondale, I felt a sense of
peace as I rolled down the windows, turn on the ipod, and began the long drive.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
20 minutes later, I
notice my gas lights on. This is a
classic Kellyism. Kellyisms are basic,
pragmatic daily tasks that get lost when my head is in overdrive. Pretty sure gas is the number one item on the
checklist when undertaking a 6000 mile trip into the unknown. Somewhere near Redstone, I realized that I
didn’t have gas and it was over 50 miles to the next gas station, The country gas station in Redstone was
closed for the season and Paonia was a little too far to cross my fingers and
hope for the best. I pulled into Marble,
a rustic, isolated mountain town. Marble
is the type of place people move when they want to live remotely, like off the
grid remotely, away from the hustle and bustle of the metropolitan town of
Carbondale, Colorado.(pop.6400). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With Braulio, my travel companion by my side, we venture
into a coffee shop/consignment shop in Marble, where we are welcomed by a
lovely soccer mom who suggests that we call public works to siphon off some gas
for us. After several minutes, we get
Robert, public works/ snowmobile enthusiast on the land line. Oh by the way, we have no cash. Robert says we can’t have city gas because
its tax free, but offers us the gas in snowmobile as goodwill. Braulio and I drive up to meet Robert some ways
up a dirt road. Robert is classic
mountain man: gruff, unkempt, dry aged hands, greasy stringy hair, but a smile
and a tank of gas at hand. Braulio and I
are a sight for sore eyes; Braulio is a Dominican from Queens wearing tight
jeans and a graphic tee, and while most days I look a little more country,
today I am wearing a dress and preppy fedora and look more Houston wasp than
mountain hippie. Needless to say,
Robert, Braulio, and I were a motley crew exchanging a couple giggles and a
gallon of gas. A gallon of gas, a prayer
over McClure Pass, and then a slow role into Paonia; I survived my first
obstacle.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHiYw7xC5rlsfJiFbG2Gq4dsHn05kEsOxlaFVN2iJ5IGaEyOGBNVBG4wLyAqVj95B5rrWFIQjFhLwiK6rApmTDx4-dq1kZVMh_PDOxbT1520po9ySd3rDbbsYe8_XRnk4hAA_dXzwtbzM/s1600/GOPR0168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHiYw7xC5rlsfJiFbG2Gq4dsHn05kEsOxlaFVN2iJ5IGaEyOGBNVBG4wLyAqVj95B5rrWFIQjFhLwiK6rApmTDx4-dq1kZVMh_PDOxbT1520po9ySd3rDbbsYe8_XRnk4hAA_dXzwtbzM/s320/GOPR0168.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drive to Paonia</td></tr>
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After a lovely lunch in Paonia, Braulio and I spent the
evening naked at the Orvis Hot Springs and dinner in Ouray; pretty relaxing
Friday night.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaCxWGffuUopOAyXv8ABJmd-_oFRrrQ7cijCrTT-qU0_3OtRPQkjbeba7qhR5n4g3VF-5x6PI9QLF-pPhL0Jh9OkqZuR0RX7ZgruhTWF2A2cnbs4ozcJYe14z9aXqZTip7cOhdGdnspw4/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaCxWGffuUopOAyXv8ABJmd-_oFRrrQ7cijCrTT-qU0_3OtRPQkjbeba7qhR5n4g3VF-5x6PI9QLF-pPhL0Jh9OkqZuR0RX7ZgruhTWF2A2cnbs4ozcJYe14z9aXqZTip7cOhdGdnspw4/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch in Paonia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEvNm4Ioy7-l8jZ9TUz_jwbvSrQJB8wuSVcr1IhLioWxorpmxOUMOEnFXjuUEkI-SntcISXcycCDGCBWON7eEtR35Y48Q12GOW3XQODW8DkgAhs6HwnSMLm6hDwsvtVtnJl9O5gpKrqUQ/s1600/photo+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEvNm4Ioy7-l8jZ9TUz_jwbvSrQJB8wuSVcr1IhLioWxorpmxOUMOEnFXjuUEkI-SntcISXcycCDGCBWON7eEtR35Y48Q12GOW3XQODW8DkgAhs6HwnSMLm6hDwsvtVtnJl9O5gpKrqUQ/s320/photo+%25282%2529.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orvis Hot Springs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>kelly cooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05251968010006760150noreply@blogger.com1Ouray, CO, USA38.0227716 -107.671448738.010330599999996 -107.6911897 38.0352126 -107.6517077