This past week a group of six motorcyclists attempted to drive through an area of Death Valley where the temperature reached a record 128 degrees. One of them died, another is in critical condition, the remaining four were treated and released.
It was an extraordinarily foolish endeavor on their part, somewhere in the territory way past tragic, actually.
If you have ever motorcycled in the summer in a dry climate you know that it is akin to riding through a convection oven. My son and I took such a trip in western Nebraska one summer when the temp was in the 90s. We had to stop about every hour to rehydrate. We did not develop visible sweat, as any molecule of water that made it to our skin surface immediately evaporated from our bodies.
One can challenge the elements and sometimes it is counted as an heroic deed and makes for a good story. To ride a bike into Death Valley on a day like this one was something other than bravery. It almost qualifies as a death wish. They did not respect the territory.
Robin and I have talked about this. About when we were younger and we never carried water with us, but then we weren’t doing long hikes, either. Nowadays if we are going to trek from our bedroom to the other side of the house, a distance of less than forty feet, we put on our Camelbaks and start sipping.
Over-cautious? Perhaps, but you won’t be finding our desiccated corpses straddling overturned e-bikes in Death Valley, either. Nossir.
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From The New Yorker
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My new computer is working swell. Marvy. Peachy, even. It is a MacBook Air with an M2 chip. In the old days when I thought I needed more power and flexibility (I didn’t) I would have purchased one with the newest chip, the M3, and added more memory than the one I have. I like to think I am more realistic now, but mostly I am more frugal.
My original Mac cost me $2400.00 back in 1984, which is equivalent to $7,400.00 now. My latest MacBook cost me $800.00. The difference in power and convenience between the first one and this latest computer is amazing. They are in different universes entirely. Beaucoup more bang for the buck today.
It’s been a long strange trip for both Apple and for me, these forty-odd years. Looking back I am glad I had those tools to work with, even though if you could compile everything I’ve ever created with all those computers and put it in the center of a room, you might wonder what the heck I’ve been doing, and did I really need them all?
My answer, of course, is that of course I did.
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Earlier this week I used a feature of Google that was new to me. You know when you start a Google search there is that little icon that says “search by image” when you hover over it? Well, I had a problem and this feature solved it. Out in the berm in front of our home there is a spectacular flower growing that the landscapers planted and whose name we have forgotten. When neighbors walk by it isn’t unusual for us to be asked what that beautiful thing is called? My erudite answer has always been Duh, dunno.
Not any longer. I went to the berm and took a photo of the plant and put in the Google search box. Presto! A monster number of photos came up from who knows how many sources with pictures of that exact flower. Its name is Crocosmia “Lucifer.”
Now that I know the name I would imagine that no one will ever ask again, but … whatever.
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Can’t help it. Promised myself to lay off posting videos of the Tedeschi-Trucks Band for awhile so as not to wear you out. And then daughter Kari mentioned the band had done “Layla.”
This was taken from a double LP where they cover the entire classic album Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs … sooo … let’s do them one more time.
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It is March of 1977, and our family’s Jeep Wagoneer is stuffed to the gills with camping equipment, food, and four children (ages 9, 8, 6, and 5 years) who are in the final stages of cabin fever. We are driving nonstop from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to Everglades National Park in Florida, about 1800 miles in 36 hours. My ex-wife and I are either driving or trying to sleep with our face jammed up against a sweaty child’s body or a sleeping bag. The radio is our lifesaver, where we wander from station to station as one after another appears and disappears.
One constant on this trip is the repetition of a song by a group which had recently gained favor in the U.S. and which was named after its four performers.The song is Dancing Queen and the group is ABBA.
God bless them, they kept pulling all six of us back from the edge of homicide. Each time the song came on the sharpened sticks and large rocks were quietly put away.
We arrived at the gates of Jellystone Park at 0300 hours, rolled up to our camping space, and set up the tent. The next step was ferrying four small and semi-conscious bodies into our tent. Then came the sleeping bags, and then the adults felt permitted to crash.
In the morning, sitting at the picnic table with my ex-wife, at the onset of an eight-day campout across south Florida, we were sipping coffees. The lady looked up from her cup and straight at me as she announced “I hate camping.”
I had no response ready for that one.
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Little Home In The Valley 