Pictures-UNM, Train Stations, Lunch, Portland, and Through the Train Windows: Mt. Shasta, Cascades

Some Explanations:

1. My feet hanging over the ledge of the hostel porch, composing this post.

2. My favorite district in Portland: the ethnic food trailers. Killer Carne Asada and Pollo tacos for only 1.50. Also includes Thai, Indian, Venezuelan, Czech, Mexican, American, etc



3. This sign was ridiculous. Viriginia Woolf must be spinning in her River Grave.

4. The Entrance to Chinatown.

5. Not sure what this sign was referring to, the building?

6. The bridge lifted to allow a boat to pass.

7. Willamette River from Hawthorne Bridge. River divides Portland.

8-12. Train Stations of Portland, OR; San Luis Obispo, CA; L.A., CA; Albuquerque, NM; and Raton, NM. (Many, many, many more to come.)

13-24. Pictures from the train. The white-capped mountain is Mt. Shasta, I believe. The mountain range is the contains - Northern CA and Southern OR. The sandwich is Ham and Provolone on a croissant with mayo and Dijon mustard.

25. A sculpture from the UNM campus called "Modern Art." I loved this piece. Essentially, it is an odd-looking metal tower of sorts, surrounded by statues of various folk discussing it, disregarding it, justifying it, explaining it, analyzing it, dismissing it, and putting their head in their hands. Awesome example of some meta-sculpture, calling into the question the very process of determining what art is.

26-27. A couple shots of some of the awesome architecture on the UNM campus. By far, the coolest campus I've been on. I do happen to make a rare appearance in one of these photos. (Where's Waldo?)

FFA, R&R, MBC, and Laundry

I woke this morning at 9am, brushed my teeth, splashed some cold water on my face, and left the hostel to find a bus. I did a little searching yesterday, and managed to find a route that took me in the remote vicinity of a farm that I had contacted about volunteering for this week. I only had about a 1/2 mile walk to get to the stop, and then another mile after the bus dropped me off. The weather wasn't too bad: hot, but a little overcast.




As I approached the farm, I followed a roadrunner (New Mexico's state bird) to the area where they were working. But, like the cartoon, he was to fast to capture on my camera.

Deb, one of only two full-time farmers on staff, told me that a good deal of the veggies from the farm go to the public schools. She explained that the city is very supportive of the local farmers. After a brief introduction to the farm, she put me to work shoveling ditches for the ditch irrigation system, so the newly planted rows of tomatoes didn't flood. The work wasn't too bad, but the heat was oppressive. My shirt was soaked through within several minutes.

Afterward, me and an intern were put to work building rows of trellises for the tall bean and tomato plants. This was done by hand-sinking old pieces of re-bar into the hard soil, one after another, after another. Then, we had to line them all with a sort of chicken wire. The task took up most of the rest of the day, and I was pretty dog-tired at the day's end. I topped the experience off with a wonderful interview with Deb, and a walking tour through the gorgeous surrounding farmland (150 acres in all, right in the middle of the city), overlooked by the Sandia Mountains, and this thing: It really creeped me out as I approached it, until I realized that it was not alive. This walk, of course, was about a mile in the opposite direction of my bus stop, but I didn't want to pass it up.










By the time I did actually make it to bus stop, I was feeling a bit dehydrated, not to mention that my muscles were achy from lugging the re-bar down the rows, and forcing them all a couple feet into the soil: a task that took with it several chunks of skin from my hands.











When I finally arrived back at the hostel, this was about all I had the energy to do.

Finally, after I lost my wireless signal mid-game, I managed to take a shower and gather up my dirty laundry. My t-shirts were smelling a bit ripe. I walked across the street and read as I did my laundry. I love doing laundry. Seriously. I think it is one of the best places to people watch, besides a mall, that is, with a cup of black coffee and some chocolate. But, on behalf of the laundromat, a mall never smells like dryer sheets.

After laundry, I walked to the Marble Brewing Co. for a microbrew and a late dinner. The walk was a little longer than I expected, but was made incredibly pleasant through the unexpected desert shower. If you haven't experienced this before, I hope you are able to soon. Rain at 80 degrees, the thick and dusty, pungent aroma, and the shifty night skies. It was fabulous. In fact, so was the IPA and Chama Chili at MBC. Though, I decided to go with the growler of red ale this evening. I sampled it and was floored: surprisingly light, with a sweet malty flavor, light hops and very-well carbonated. A great desert rain ale. Man, I need to pour myself another glass. Seriously, hold on.

Ok. So, after taking in my beer, dinner, and an Orlando victory over LA, I decided to walk back, though much, much slower than my walk to MBC. The giant chunks of tender sirloin in the Chama chili were slowing me down a bit.

Back at the hostel, I hung out a bit in the lounge with a few folks and talked. I met a guy that is staying here who is also being funded for a writing project, though his project seems to have much more of the vital elements to it, such as clarity, functionality, and reasonable goals. He was awarded a fellowship to write an article on changes in immigration laws and has been interviewing the Albuquerque suits for the article. It really sounded fascinating, and we may hang out tomorrow evening.

Other than that, I think I am going to try to do some hiking tomorrow. There are so many beautiful mountains around here, and I want to walk on them.

So, I think that is all for now. Sorry I didn't have any photos of a roadrunner. I will try harder tomorrow. Meep, meep.

University of New Mexico, Nob Hill, a better bookstore, and the Albuquerque Isotopes

I woke this morning at 4 am, and wrote the previous blog post. After that, I went back to sleep. When I woke again, around 9, I went downstairs, had a cup of coffee, spoke with the desk guy about hiking routes, and called the farm that I will be volunteering at tomorrow. Apparently there is a bus route that will take me there, but from what I've seen, I'm packing prepared to be stranded. Either way, I spoke with a farmer named Beth, and I will be showing up tomorrow to experience what she does each day. I may also return on Wednesday for a tour of several local farms. I'm excited about this.

After I made my phone calls, I decided to go explore Albuquerque in the daylight. I was pounding the pavement by 11am after three cups of coffee and two granola bars. I brought along my computer and journal and plenty of water. This photo should give you an idea of what I was walking towards.

I did find a couple bicycle shops that I stopped at to inquire about renting bicycles. Both told me of only one place in town that rents, and it is located way outside of town. Kinda pointless. Albuquerque, I began to discover, is a lot like Mid-Western cities: The people are very friendly, hot dog vendors are a staple, and the public transportation isn't worth a shit. I'm realizing one particular thing: those of us in the mid-west and in Albuquerque better learn to walk, because personal vehicle usage is very soon to become an unaffordable luxury. I think this is a good thing, too. We've become to disconnected from the land we live in and on, and the people we live with. I wonder if the CEOs of AIG or GM had ridden the bus with all of their employees every single day, through the slums and projects, if they still would've fucked them over in order to pad their own pockets. Walking is good. Foot in contact with earth. We desperately need to relearn the importance of contact with the earth that yeilds the objects of our sustenance.


I stopped at the Univer- sity of New Mexico during my walk. The campus is beautiful, all in stucco and desert fauna, waterfalls, statues, and monuments. I stopped at the Library for awhile and perused their Literature section. I found a carrel where I stopped to eat some pretzels, drink some water, journal, and listen to the Tigers beat the White Sox (unfortunately this was only the case for the first of the doubleheader.) Here are some pictures of the campus. By the way, every time I saw the University's initials engraved into the stucco - UNM - I thought it was a typo of Northern's initials: NMU.







As I continued to walk on, I stopped for lunch at Frontier Restaurant. A couple that I had met the previous night said this place was a must-go. It features cheap New-Mexican food, not to be confused with Mexican food. The difference: loads and loads of hot, chunky, green chile stew. They were right. This place was great. I ordered a Carne Adovada Buritto and a half order of Chicken Nachos loaded with Green Chile Stew. Mmmmm. I'll be going back to this place.








I also saw a bar I may have to visit in the next few days. I mean, I'd be ashamed to be a Greek if I didn't. I would not be able to look Yai Yai in the eyes without visiting this joint.

When I finally began my return trip, I stopped at a bookstore. When I walked in, an old woman stood up, blocked my entrance, and asked what she could do for me. I said, "well, I'd actually like to look at the books that you sell in this bookstore." She hesitated, looked me over, and told me my bag would be safe behind the counter so I should leave it there while I looked. I did, but it pissed me off. How do I have any guarantee that this woman isn't going to steal from my bag? What insurance do I have? I don't mean to say that she would, but I was offended that she, as the retailer, required insurance of me, her (only) customer. It bothered me that she considered herself more trustworthy than I am, and would only allow me into the store if I conceded my bag that contained a novel, a bible, 2 journals, a phone, a laptop, a dictaphone, an iPod, chargers for said electronics, and a half dozen granola bars. Truth be told, I was glad the books she sold were dusty, untouched, and looked to stay that way. Two other ancient employees in the store eyeballed me without a greeting, and I could not get out of there fast enough. All this to say that later, when I got closer to my hostel (a total walk today of close to 8 miles in the New Mexican sun), I found another bookstore. A young black man, smiling and seated in front of the screen door, saw me approach, moved his chair, opened the door, and greeted me. He was just there visiting. The (only) employee present was sitting at her desk talking to the young man. She stood up, looked me in the eyes, and sincerely said, "I am so glad that you are here." I perused her shelves and found so many great books that I had to have, though my tight budget would not allow it. I roamed and roamed as her and the young man laughed and told stories. I read first pages and eavesdropped on their conversation and lugged my loaded bag around satisfied. Her aged dog followed me around the room as I did so, offering the top of his head for a quick scratch. And furthermore, as I scanned titles and authors, I found the above pictured novel: Yes, that is Cold by John Smolens: guitarist virtuoso for the Whalin Teagues, novelist, NMU professor of fiction, and a surrogate Captain Ahab. If this bookstore is good enough to carry his work, then it was good enough for me.




I went on to my hostel and took a couple pictures of it as well. Here is one from the outside and one of my room (notice, the growler of IPA has finally been opened).

Finally, I got back to my room after the walk. The heat is very strange here. I mean, you know that it is intense, yet you don't notice it the same way you would the humid air. You notice it by the way your body requires water. You certainly get dehydrated much faster here. And I found that as I walked, I never really noticed much of a sweat. Though, if I felt the back of my neck or underneath my book bag strap, I could tell that I was sweating quite a bit. The only difference is that you do not feel it so much because it evaporates so quickly. Three times today, I spilled water on my shirt while trying to drink from the water bottle mid-stride. Each time, the water mark was gone within minutes.

I was not in my hostel room for long when the couple that I had spoken with the night before called me. They had decided to go to the ballgame and offered to give me a ride. After the long walk, and hesitant to truck another 6-8 miles (half of which would be in the dark), I took them up on their offer. We arrived at the game and soon stuffed ourselves with 50 cent hot dogs. We sat in the lawn for 6 dollars and had a blast. The couple's name was Tom and Rose. They are both photographers and show their art in galleries in Albuquerque and Sante Fe. They seemed to be fantastic people, and I really benefited from talking to them about photographs, the economy, baseball, the mid-west, and micro-breweries. I hope that I run into them once more before I leave. I've included some pictures of the game, including a fight between the Isotopes coach and the Ump after ejecting an Isotopes player. The Isotopes dominated the first 8 innings, giving up only 3 hits, one for a one-run tater. They also scratched 4 runs across the plate, including two long balls. In the ninth, however, the closer gave up 4 runs, which, unfortunately, ended up costing the Isotopes the game. It was a great game nonetheless: 80 degrees, breezy, and dry. The crowd was as enthusiastic as I've ever seen, and the hot dogs were worth all fifty cents (though not a penny more.)


Well, I hope these last two long posts have not set the bar too high. I do not intend to write this much every night, as it takes away from my real writing and research. So, don't be too disappointed if I've set you up for a sundae, and only deliver a dairy-soaked peanut shell.

Also, for anyone that is interested in what I have been listening to while on this trip, you can find the artists listed in the last.fm box to the right.

Train and Albuquerque

So, I arrived in Albuquer-
que around 4pm this evening and made my way to my hostel. This first picture is of one of the first train stops in New Mexico. I got out to check out the weather. Absolutely beautiful. It's around 75 with a cool breeze. The train ride in general was great. I don't know why I haven't traveled by train more often. There is ample leg room and comfortable seats, and the passengers are free to roam the cars. I spent the majority of my time in the lounge car where I could sip on coffee, meet and speak with strangers (people on trains seem to love to talk), read and write. Plus, you can watch the landscape float by as you do these things.

The landscape from Chicago to Albuquerque was captivating; the way it transitioned from North to South, East to West, urban to rural seemed crucial to the sort of research I am trying to conduct on this trip, as I have set out to try to learn something about the effects of our modern day economy throughout the country. After leaving massive and congested Chicago, within five minutes, the city had faded and was replaced by sprawling plains and neatly plotted rows of young bean and corn plants. The only other places of mass population in the 1,300+ miles I traveled were Kansas City and Topeka, both experienced in the early AM hours underneath thunderstorms. Its amazing how these major hubs - Chicago, LA, NYC, etc - are such obtrusive anomalies amidst a vast, seldom populated landscape, yet the decisions made in these cities, and the strategies they use to produce our world's goods, dictate the prosperity and mindset of all of us. I talked with some people on the train about this, and occasionally recorded the conversations through a carefully hidden dictaphone. (Hidden, only because I am looking for honesty, and didn't want the added pressure of knowing one is being recorded. Regardless of the person, everybody had strong opinions about why the country is the way it is, and how their region has dominantly been transformed, and they loved to talk about it.

Once I got into Albuquer-
que, I checked into my hostel and spoke with the owner for a bit. He recommended a local brewery called the Chama River Brewing Co (I know, the picture is awful). I walked the ten blocks to get there, ordered an awesome IPA, and proceeded to flip through the local events magazine. Before long, I was engaged in a great conversation with a couple of locals that clued me into some of the better locations and things to do in Albuquerque. I mentioned that I had planned to go see the Albuquerque Isotopes the following evening (a minor league ball club for the Dodgers organization), and they were planning on going too, if they could get out of work. If so, they're going to give me a call and a ride to the game for cheap brews, 50 cent hot dogs, and minor league baseball. After an informative, and rather passionate, conversation about the town and how it is surviving the current economic landslide (they claimed that New Mexico was among the five best economies of the country) we drank our micro-brews and they recommended the following pizza place for a couple thin slices.

So, I ate my slices and wandered back to my hostel. The main road, Central (actually a popular section of the well-known Route 66) was congested with cars. I couldn't help but laugh as people paraded their insane, custom vehicles up and down the strip. Music was blasted, and the cars all danced. Literally. About 60 percent of the vehicles had outrageous hydraulic kits and rocked and bumped all over the road. Some of the vehicles jumped completely of the road. My favorite, however, was when some re-worked pick-up truck - an S-10 or Ranger - pulled next to me, and the entire box of the truck lifted up into the air, flipped horizontal, rotated 70 degrees, and then slid back into place and sped off. Unfortunately, I couldn't get a picture.

Oh yeah, and almost all the vehicles had chain-link steering wheels. In addition, about a third of the vehicles were custom motorcycles that screamed and whined through the bouncing and hopping Ford Focuses and Chevelles. It was pretty wild.

Finally, after making my way back to my hostel, I spoke with Stacey for a long while on the phone, and brought this half-gallon growler of IPA up to my room with the intentions of a long night of writing, transcribing, and researching (wireless internet at the hostel). As soon as I took my shoes off and sat on the bed, however, I was finished. I woke up about five hours later (4am) and decided to, at the least, post this blog and go back to bed. Needless to say, the growler still rests unopened on the chair. Well, tomorrow, I suppose.

The Porkies

Went hiking in the Porkies this weekend, but I have no photos. The group consisted of myself and Stacey, Ajani, Elizabeth, Kevin, and Sarah. It was an incredible time. Stacey and I had to leave a day early for her class, but it was great nonetheless. Rain started as our vehicles entered the porcupine mountain range, after a short night, hungover morning, several stops to UP gas stations, and typically fantastic conversations. We hiked in, breathed in the musty hemlocks and cedars that carpeted the emerald range. The cabin we had rented was warm from the previous visitors, rustic with no electricity or running water. Soon after our arrival, the guys bore axes and the girls, cutting-knives, as we worked on dinner and firewood. Jokes about gender roles ensued. Through the rain, we paddled out on Mirror Lake, and I caught my first ever Brook Trout. I let it go and regretted it. Was stricken by how beautiful the fish was, with its speckled red and green belly. But I also figured that it was better off swimming in this pristine lake than sizzling over our cabin's wood stove. We battled the low forty degree temps and drizzly rain to pull at old saws against fallen trees and hack at kindling with dull hatchets. Soon, euchre was established at the cabin table as Kevin and Sarah's delectable veggie stew simmered atop the wood stove; the aroma of carrots, radishes, rutabagas, parsnips, potatoes, squash, onions, curry, and one and a half chicken breasts pervaded the cabin as we played cards under headlamps and candles (originally, only one chicken breast was to go into the stew, but K and S had a leftover chicken breast from their dining out the previous night and, what the heck, throw it in the stew).

Though I brought my fishing pole, and broke the line, losing a bobber on the way in, I did not bring any bait. I thought for sure I would be able to find some crawlers in the soil throughout the rain-beaten forest, but the sandy and mulchy earth provided no worms. I caught the trout with a piece of curried chicken. After several more attempts, we realized the catch was a lucky one. We tried threading chicken, potatoes, carrots, corn, raisins, jelly beans, and finally beef jerky to our hooks, but could not catch anything else. I would've kept the trout, but was so anxious after catching it - i wondered where I'd put it on the boat, I cursed myself for neglecting to bring my stringer, I wasn't sure how to cook it, or whether we had any sort of butter or oil in the cabin, and I held it in my hands as it flopped within my tight grip, and thought that by the time I answer all those questions, it would have suffered a great deal out of the water. So, I threw it back in.

Later that night, out from the backpacks, came bottles of Evan Williams, Dewars Scotch, Jameson, Vodka, and Coconut rum. Some Keweenaw Red Jacket was there as well. We twisted at the bottletops as we took the chill off and more. Some phenomenal chocolate - dark chocolate with mint, and Dark chocolate with orange peel and almonds - was placed around the table for the taking. Afterward, as I lay in my bed the following morning, I thought about the people I was there with. It's so odd that only three years ago my cabin mates were in such places as New Hampshire, Indiana, New york, Alaska, and that at some point, in their own hectic place they decided to study Literature along the coasts of Lake Superior - by far the greatest of the Great Lakes - and we all met at a night at Vangos, or a graduate student union meeting, or a book-heavy pedagogy class. There seems to be so much history there, or rather, within this group. Kevin was my office mate, and Ajani my Stucko's mate, Elizabeth, the first person I spoke to as I began my first preparations for teaching English, and Sarah, the techie for the 504 class. Stacey, of course, my partner as all of it went down. As the light subsided, and the dishes done - another gender battle - we put a pot of water on the stove to serve as a washing basin, we played cards late into the night and planned to return again to this cabin the following year.

The next morning we woke in intervals. Stacey woke to stoke the fire and put a spot of coffee in the percolator and on the wood stove to fill the cabin with its rich aroma. I set my hiking stove to boil another pot as the group, now one functioning body, woke to pee, brush teeth, grumble, and take care of business out in six inch holes in the woods. We had predetermined to use a group-meal method, where each two-person group was responsible for a 6-person meal. Kevin and Sarah provided the wonderful veggie stew the night before and Stacey and I had breakfast duties. The previous day we had stopped at the farmer's market and bought fresh baked baguettes and polaine bread, and went to the food co-op for some organic apples, oranges and mangoes, as well as some toxin-free raw Colby, Swiss, and smoked Gouda cheeses. We peeled fruit skins and tore chunks of bread off as Ajani personified his ridiculously large survival knife to cut cheese. During the feast of carbs and aged dairy, we sat around the table journaling and reading Willaim Gaddis, Richard Powers, and Annie Dillard.

Finally, after one more unsuccessful fishing attempt, we rowed back into shore and Stacey and I began packing our wares. We had a tremendous hike back to the car in the damp woods and emerald foliage, stopping once to pee and take pictures with various cameras. Our talk rippled through the crooks of Northern Michigan's only mountain range and reassured us of what engulfing comfort married life has the potential to provide. There has been a dry spot recently, between Stacey and I's relationship, that has festered through complicated endeavors and conflicting schedules, that seems to heal through time spent in the Northern woods. A week ago we took a trip to see a couple of waterfalls in Big Bay, and it was so relieving to be, if only for a moment, outside of our role's demands. This, I am certain, was the same thing we felt in the Porkies.

In five days I will be boarding a train to follow through with a grant-funded research trip that will lead me to Albuquerque, Portland, New York City, and Los Angeles. The trip will take approximately five weeks, at which end Stacey will meet me in LA after a long, solo, photography-filled road trip. We're both excited to go for various reasons: to see the landscape from a train, to camp alone in the brutally hot South Dakota badlands, to spend over 120 hours on a train, and ultimately, to feel untethered from the complacent feeling of doing things ordinarily. Just to breathe different airs, and to stalk different urges, and to get off track. To step out of one's hole and live as though, to remember, first experiences. It has been a long time since I've sat in a construction site, with a haze-covered moon dampening Beck's Sea Change album with my soon-to-be-wife, or smoked my first cigarette at a municipal airport in Indiana with my close friends, or, for that matter, had sex for the first time ever with my wife after our wedding, or slept through the day to awake to the curious liveliness of nighttime, or to read Carl Sandberg's poem "Happiness" in a strange and yearning motel room. During the waking hours of this cross-country trip, it is difficult not to feel lazy and complacent. It is easy to take for granted my warm office, the internet, my backwards sense of direction and time. It is easy to take for granted companionship, my best friends and the excited tone of my wife's expectant voice. This trip, however, this short hike through the porkies, the heavy thought of what is right now, this feeling of walking and existing from today until tomorrow is precisely, or rather, seems to be the perfect chapter break for the page number to which we've arrived. We live in an awesome place, probably the greatest place on the earth, and we have the best companions we could ever desire. It shouldn't, I suppose, be surprising that these two things are the remedy for complacency.

One would hope...

I hope the only reason I haven't heard more stories like this, as opposed to stories about what sort of bonuses are "owed" to people, what tax bracket is fair, and who does and doesn't deserve financial assistance, is because this story is not considered "newsworthy."

Check out the link here. It's really something.

I hope it is not because people have lost their compassion for each other. Because if this is the case, the only thing left for the currently 13.2 million unemployed citizens, is to act out of necessity, which frightens me much more than any tax bracket.

From John Steinbeck's novel In Dubious Battle (1936):

(Mac, with Jim's assistance, performs a birth for London's daughter-in-law at a migrant camp. He has all the men in the camp provide some form of white cloth, mainly shirts and handkerchiefs, to use for the procedure. When the child is born, though Mac does use most of the cloth, he instructs London to burn them all).

"Jim said, 'You didn't need all that cloth. Why did you tell London to burn it?'

'Look, Jim. Don't you see? Every man who gave part of his clothes felt that the work was his own. They all feel responsible for that baby. It's theirs, because something from them went to it. To give back the cloth would cut them out. There's no better way to make men part of a movement that to have them give something to it. I bet they all feel fine right now'" (67).