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The Hollywood Story

Hollywood is a place of show. Everyone is trying hard to be who they think others want them to be. Walking down the streets lined with celebrity look-alikes and rising artists “giving away” sample cds for a small donation it’s easy to get swept up in the whirlwind. All of us are guilty of this to some degree: we work on certain tasks to impress a supervisor for a promotion  (despite what you know to be more pressing) and  we pretend to share our significant other’s taste in music or movies.. It is human nature to try to impress our peers, and Hollywood is quite the epitome of trying hard to be what others want us to be, in the ironic hope that it will allow us to, eventually, be who we want to be.


I woke up today to look out the window and see the sun shining brilliantly into the courtyard of my brother’s apartment complex. I got ready, taking my time to curl my hair so I wouldn’t have to do anything to it for tonight. Today, I was going to Hollywood. And tonight, my brother, his roommates, and I would be ringing in the new decade in Hollywood.

After I was all ready I woke my brother up, knowing he had to drive his roommate to work today, and went outside while he got ready. I found the perfect spot in the courtyard where the sun was directly shining and laid on the concrete to soak up as much of the warmth as I could. In many ways I feel like a reptile when I do this, the warm sun making me feel warm and fuzzy- literally. You can’t help but smile, even if it is caused by the sun’s rays.

Finally my brother and his roommate walk past me on their way out and I join them mid step, to them I had appeared out of no where. We walk the couple blocks to my brother’s mustang and he has to pull out so we can get in the car- his door sits too low and hit’s the curb.

I would like to now proudly point out that I am not the only one that has problems with their vehicles, and that most of my problems don’t affect the performance of my vehicle’s engine at all. That said, let’s head up the entrance ramp in my brother’s shiny black mustang:

Chug., chug…studder.

My brother’s roommate and I look at him.

“Um…what was that?” I ask

He says it happens from time to time. A side effect of him tinkering with his engine (for example, putting in new headers, etc) and not having a tune up afterward. Now, he has no money to get a tune up. I laugh, and try to keep my hair from being completely destroyed as we manage to reach speed with the windows open.

After we spend a little time milling around the roommate’s place of employment my brother and I head out to explore Hollywood. He drives for a while so I can get a good picture of the Hollywood sign, then we head to a Del Taco so he can eat lunch. I’m not terribly hungry because I had a bagel at his roommates’ workplace, but Del Taco does have something I need: CHURROS! I get two.

We get to Hollywood and find a spot in a parking structure that is only $2 if you get validation. Wandering out of the mall/parking structure we get to the sidewalk, covered in stars with the names of the famous. Actors, Singers, Writers…just anyone you could think of seeing their name on a billboard. Even Godzilla has a star. I laugh, as does my brother.


Covering this sidewalk are tons of tourists, many wearing Ohio gear for the Rose Bowl game tomorrow, and of course the entertainers. The entertainers are dressed up in various costume ranging from John Travolta, to Spiderman, to Jack Sparrow to Bumble Bee. Also covering the sidewalk are musicians who are trying to peddle their Cds to get their name out on the streets. Surprisingly, even with all of this hustle and bustle, I still manage to get some really good pictures of the stars in the sidewalk.

The Chinese Theater Hollywood, CA

One of the more popular stars along the walk is Michael Jackson’s. There isn’t a minute where someone isn’t posing beside his star for a picture. The Chinese theater is amazing, standing there picturesque behind the hand and footprints of big-time celebrities. Many of the handprints are fairly recent, even as of this month. There is one black-colored containing the handprints of the stars of Harry Potter, and Clint Eastwood proclaims “You Made My Day”.


After milling around Hollywood, exploring all the tourist traps, we decide to head back. We get to the parking structure, and we realize that for you to get parking validated you actually had to ask for it….a receipt from the shops doesn’t work. Shame.

As we head up the mountain to head back down to the valley where my brother lives his gas light comes on and his car begins again to chug.

“I hope we make it over this hill” My brother says.

I laugh. Maybe I’m not such a strange member of the family after all. It’s just in the genes to live a precarious life.

We make it over the hill and get back to his apartment safely. After we run to the grocery store to stock up on soda, and find myself a bottle of champagne, I decide that it’s time to dress up. I had purchased a dress almost 8 months ago that I had not had the opportunity to wear even once. Despite the fact I knew that no one else would be dressing up, I decided I needed to do so.

It was something amazing, ringing in the new year in Hollywood. One of those surreal events that many people talk about but most don’t get to experience. I, of course, drank a little too much, but I had lots of fun and had a driver.

As I sit in the bar in downtown Hollywood enjoying all the merriment that swirled in the air I felt complete. Here I was celebrating the new year on the pacific coast. I wasn’t here to impress anyone, or to even prove my worth. I was here because these types of places make me happy.

In the city where people make a living off of being someone else, I was happy to be exactly who I am.

This new year, new decade…is going to be great.

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The La Brea “Tar Pits”-Where History and Modern Science Meet

A person can put themselves back in the same place, with the same people and even the same time of year but you can not recreate a memory. You can find small things that bring back those memories but the world is an ever-changing place, constantly in motion. Times like these, where you try to immerse yourself back into your past, are when you realize that not only have you changed as you grew older, but so has the rest of the world.

Have you ever had a favorite movie as a young child that you went to re-watch as an adult only to find out it was much better in memory than in reality? If so, you will know what my day at the La Brea Tar Pits was like. Don’t get me wrong, it was still a great place to visit. It was just incredibly different than I remember as a child.

I was probably about 5 years old when my Aunt took me to the La Brea Tar Pits (Official Site) for the first time. The memories I have of the visit are a bit patchy, but here is what I do remember: Walking past the gated tar pits into the museum, looking at dinosaur statues, feeling the sample piece of “dinosaur skin” to see what scientists thought their skin felt like, and at the end she bought me a triceratops figurine and a photo slide.

Today the only thing that was familiar were the gated tar pits themselves. Political correctness and the evolution of scientific theory have changed the landscape of the museum in an entirety. There are no dinosaur statues in the museum, and with that the plaque of “dino skin” I wanted to touch again out of nostalgia was no longer in existence.

Here’s where the lesson in science comes in for all of you folks. No dinosaurs were EVER found at the La Brea Tar Pits. Considering the tar pits were formed well after the extinction of dinosaurs it would be impossible for this to occur unless someone decided to dig up some remains and dump them in the pits thousands of years later.

Most of the skeletons found in the tar pits are from the ice age, but the tar pits continue to ensnare small animals and bugs today. What you have pictured in your mind of the tar pits is probably inaccurate. It actually looks much like a big pond of water with some surface oil, much like a puddle in an urban street. Methane bubbles periodically work their way to the surface, making it look like a dying Jacuzzi tub.

Inside Page Museum at La Brea (yes, La Brea Tar Pits is actually quite redundant, seeing as “Brea” means Tar you are saying “The Tar Tar Pits”), there are numerous skeletons from thousands of years. One of the more numerous skeletons found in the pits is the Dire Wolf. They have a wall covered in their skulls, and these are only a portion of what they have found.


Some of the scientists here work in a literal fish bowl, just like you see in the first Jurassic Park movie. Walking around the back side of the museum you will come to the Paleontology Laboratory, which juts out into the room with a full-glass semi-circular build. The scientists work quietly inside, able to see everyone that mills around watching them tediously separate microfossils from minerals and sediment. It must take a lot of nerve to work under those conditions and I imagine they take turns sitting in the “fish bowl”.

After my brother and I finished the tour of the museum we walked around the ‘pond’ out front that has the mammoth statues tragically stuck in the ‘tar’. Around the walk are some art pieces, one of which looks like spare parts of a construction site. They are simply four concrete boxes. One of those pieces that starts the argument, between my brother and I, over whether art is the product or the intention of the artist’s talents. As we step down to cross the street I notice that tar has bubbled up through the street. Makes roadwork easy I laugh with my brother.

We try to go to Trader Joe’s to get another piece of my childhood memories: Fruit Leather. When I was young my parents used to pick up the fruit leather from Trader Joes for us to snack on. Once again my memoirs were blocked by time and reality: the parking lots were small, crowded, and full. No parking and there were several cars sharking around for spots just as I was. I decided that the fruit leather would have to wait and we headed back to my brother’s home city.

The drive home was through the mist that had remained throughout the day, the sun hiding behind the clouds. The memories I have of living in California mostly involve sunshine, or very windy days where we wore what was called a “windbreaker”, or in Midwestern talk, a light jacket. I don’t clearly remember any rainy or misty days from my childhood, probably because they were spent doing things of no monumental value, like playing legos inside or watching “Oprah” with my Mom.

The mist isn’t unpleasant at all, in fact it’s warm enough that with a jacket the weather is really nice. Comparable to a spring rain in the temperate regions. My Dodge Stealth still looked clean, mismatched wheel and all.

Yet again that I am reminded that memories are not only selective, but they are exactly that: memories.

A person can put themselves back in the same place, with the same people and even the same time of year but you can not recreate a memory. You can find small things that bring back those memories but the world is an ever-changing place, constantly in motion. Times like these, where you try to immerse yourself back into your past, are when you realize that not only have you changed as you grew older, but so has the rest of the world.

And it is in times like these that you realize something important you may have overlooked. For you to continue succeeding in life it is ok to change paths. When you can’t see a dinosaur exhibit, enjoy the comedy of the “fish bowl” scientists and the fascinating numbers of the Dire Wolves that were found in this little piece of Los Angeles.

The Dinosaur exhibit will always be a part of you, and it’s the reason you stepped into the next phase of life. It inspired you to learn something new and continue moving forward.

There is a lot in this world to see, and I have planned to see as much as I can of it, but there is a small factor that I continue to forget: the factor of time. I can take a picture of the world and try to see all of it as it existed in that picture, but I will never truly see all of the world.

To be a well rounded person I truly believe you have to experience the most of the universe as possible, and that’s what I try to attempt in my life. I may only be able to see the “dino skin” exhibit when I’m 6 years old, and the Dire Wolf collection at the age of 25, but every piece that I add to my collection of memories is going to be there forever. In another 20 years, perhaps, I will return in search for the memories of this misty day in Los Angeles and the bubbly waters of La Brea only to discover something new.

Remember: The memories last forever, and the new ones should be cherished just as much as the old.

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SoCal: Back to the Pacific Coast

Deep down everyone has a special connection with a place. It may not be a specific place, but rather a certain environment, that makes a person feel completely at home. Relaxed, rejuvenated and in complete serenity.


For many this place is their home. Home is a place where they may have grown up or graduated high school. Wherever they may have happened to spend the majority of their life, or where the most influential time of a person’s life took place. The problem with this theory is when people ask me what my hometown is I hesitate. I certainly graduated in a specific city, I lived in many, but all in the midwest. I was born in California.  I spend a short time in Arizona. In theory, all these places could be considered my home, but my answer is never direct.

The truth is, I consider home a place that makes me feel like all is right in the world. This place for me is the pacific coast. Not necessarily my birthplace, or where I lived, or anywhere specific. Where I can sit on the beach without a care in the world, soaking up the seaside air, listening to the waves crash against the sand and rocks, and watching the sun the instant it disappears below the Ocean.

Today, I was home. Probably the best present I could ever give myself.

After sneaking Ellie out of the hotel, as I was trying to avoid the pet cleaning fee of $50. Either I was so tired I wasn’t hungry, or I was too excited to see the coast, I am not sure which. Perhaps a combination of both. Whatever the reason, I managed to inhale part of a waffle (my favorite hotel breakfast food),  jumped in my car, and without even bothering to wait for my borrowed, aged GPS to find signal, I began to drive west.

I didn’t care where it was, I needed to see the ocean.

I arrived at the Oceanside Pier & Beach, dropped some dimes and nickels into the parking meter, scooped up little Ellie the puppy, and went straight for the water.

The sun had just risen about half an hour ago and it still sat low in the sky behind me. The waves were pretty good and about a dozen surfers were already in the water taking advantage of it. The palm trees lined the strand, the smell of the salty air hit my face and at once everything was right with the world. I spent a few minutes there just soaking in the view, then walked towards the edge of the ocean so that little Ellie could experience the sea for the first time.

I got really close to where the waves were coming up when suddenly a big wave came up and caught us by surprise. Ellie took a dunk in the water up to her ears, I had shoes that were now full of sea water and sand, and the bottoms of my jeans weighed down. I laughed at myself, and even the cold water didn’t bother me: I was too excited to be on the ocean shores to care.

After changing into a dry pair of jeans I headed North in the direction of my brother’s place. It would be a couple hours drive, at least. I wanted to get up there as soon as I could so I could find a beach to relax at until my friend could meet me. It was there I would have to say my farewells to my little, fuzzy traveling companion.

I was cruising up the coastal highway when I decided to stop for gas. I noticed a station that offered car washing. If you purchased a wash you received a discount on the gas. Relieved at the thought of  my car finally being shiny and clean (and not having to endure the strange looks and questions I was getting about the salty grime that covered my car from my snowy trek back in the Midwest) I pulled up to the pump and a man came out to greet me.

“Would you like a car wash? I‘ll give you a good price”

I nodded and pointed to the sign that notated the different washing services they offered, ranging in price from $16 for a basic wash, wax, window clean and vacuum to a full out detail for $60.

“The $16 wash will be fine” I said.

“Ohh No…your car is much too dirty for basic wash” He stated, running his finger across the side of my car to show how much dirt, salt and grime had accumulated on my car. “We can wash your car for $25”.

I hesitated internally. $25 for a car wash was ridiculous. My logical side told me to decline and find a self-serve car wash where I could rinse off the grime for a couple bucks. My exhausted side told me I didn’t want to waste any more time searching for something with the GPS that took forever to work, and would loose the information if touched the wrong way. All I wanted to do was get to the beach and relax. No more detours, no more disasters.

My lazy, exhausted side won.

I felt a little cheated paying $25 for a car wash as I once again became the bag lady as I sat on the curb awaiting my car to be cleaned, waxed and shined.

When they were finished I felt a little better about the ridiculous amount I had paid for the service. My car was probably cleaner than I had ever seen it. They even cleaned the inside of my windows, which tend to get a film buildup on them rather quickly because of the inclination of the windshield and the hatchback window. The tires shined a glossy black, my Dodge Stealth’s paint shined a beautiful red with a deep, crystal-like shine.

I was no longer ashamed of my dirty car as I sped up the I-5. Traffic in L.A. was, as usual, slow and meticulous. It would take 15 minutes or more to travel a mile or two. I was ok with this for the moment, it allowed me time to take a few pictures of the signs and the buildings, and listen to the radio.

I arrived at my brother’s apartment where he helped me bring all my luggage up to his 3rd floor apartment, and we stood around and chatted. Ellie’s new owner had sent me a message that it would be a couple hours before she was near out meeting place: Santa Monica Pier & Beach. After some amusement at the puppy’s fascination with vertical blinds, I headed towards Santa Monica. A name that was familiar to my mind as a child, but I had lost any picturesque memories from that young age.

The drive was quite scenic, winding through the mountainous terrain that was green and beautiful from the winter rains they had received. Every now and then I could get a glimpse of the ocean through the vegetated, hilly terrain.

Arriving at Santa Monica Pier I parked and paid the $7 for all-day parking. I scooped up Ellie and carried her down the sidewalk to the ocean. Along the way she peed on my new Carlsbad t-shirt, a shirt I was now wearing for the second day straight because I was too tired last night to bring my luggage up to my room. I didn’t really care anymore. I wasn’t going for glamorous or anything, I was just here to relax, alone, and enjoy all six senses as they swirled in bliss at the environment.

I walked down the pier, watching the Pacific Ocean lap against the sandy beach, and the smell of food hit my nose reminding me how hungry I actually was. Then I saw them: CHURROS!

I have this small obsession with churros.

I bought myself a Churro and ate it in what seemed like record time. Oh, how I love those cinnamon-sugary coated pastry sticks of joy! You look for them in the Midwest and everyone looks at you with that confused expression and asks “What is a Chur-O?”.

Mmmm. Birthday Churro.  Somehow this is one of my best birthdays ever. Covered in puppy pee and all.

I laid on the beach while Ellie discovered the wonders of digging in the sand, sending fountains of sand all over my jeans and shirt. It was actually quite amusing. I sat and watched the ocean and the sun as it was slowly getting to late afternoon. There were plenty of people there, but the beach was much less populated than what it is during the summer. Behind me children played on top of the “Walk on L.A.” sand mold, a round, tubular concrete stamp of an aerial of LA that was designed by Carl Cheng in 1988. Basically, the contraption is pulled behind a tractor and it leaves imprints in the sand so you can “Walk” on L.A.

It wasn’t long before my friend picked up Ellie, and after we visited for a while and they departed, I walked straight back to the pier. The sun was now prepar

ing to set and the wind was chilly. I should have had a sweater with me, but I decided that it was an opportunity to get myself a souvenir. I purchased a pretty, light blue hoodie that said “Santa Monica” across the front. It was warm, and incredibly soft on the inside. I think I have a new favorite sweatshirt.

I then purchased another Churro- Hey, don’t judge me, I only get them when I travel westward, I needed to enjoy them while I could-and headed straight to the beach to watch the sun set. I took over 100 pictures of the sun setting and paused to watch the sun disappear in those few, breath-taking seconds it took. The sun spends all day slowly moving it’s way across the sky, but watching the sun disappear is something that seems to happen in an instant. Like it sped up so that you could appreciate the beauty even more.

I can’t describe the beautiful colors of the sunset, or the serene calmness it seems to cause in everyone that still stands on the beach. I think you will have to see my pictures for that.

Another wonderful day in the life of Nicole.

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The “Treacherous” Drive Along the Border- Carlsbad, NM to San Diego, CA

The adventurous spirit in all of us lives. We can try to plan adventures, to organize a series of events that will complete your experience, but the truth is you can’t plan a true experience. Oh, you can make plans that allow you to be in a place and time, but it’s usually unexpected events that make your journey all that more memorable. Whether it be a pleasant surprise or a near disaster, a good story to tell doesn’t come from a schedule.

Today was one of those memorable days, and a story I will be able to tell for a lifetime.

I woke up half an hour earlier than I had set my alarm clock to Ellie starting to whimper. Luckily she slept much better last night, probably because I had tired her out on the trail and the runs we went on. It was 445am CST, as I had left my clocks in central standard time zone so that I wouldn’t have problems calculating time versus distance. I wanted to take the chance to get some free breakfast from the hotel before I left. They had said that breakfast starts at 530, so when I was all ready at 540 I headed to the lobby to check out and get breakfast.

I got to the lobby and the breakfast doors were closed and no one was in sight. I rang the bell on the desk once, no answer and complete silence. I waited a minute and tried again, no answer. I hit the bell again. Silence.

I decided the best way to get a hold of someone would be to call the hotel. Calling the hotel, the phone that sat a mere 5 feet in front of me began to ring. The phone rang 3 times and finally I heard some movement from the back office. A middle-aged Hispanic woman tumbled out of the office, disoriented from just waking up. As I was checking out it finally occurred to me they that while it was 530am in the midwest, it was only 430 am in where I was currently located. I laughed, but there was no way I could wait an hour for breakfast…I needed to get back on the road.

I guess it was a granola bar for breakfast today.


The sun began to rise as I wound through the Guadalupe Mountain range. The horizon slowly changed from a deep blue, to shades of purple, to pinkish reds. I stopped at an old abandoned café/general store and took some pictures. It was going to be yet another breath-taking day.

I had crossed back into Texas and was driving through a small town when I saw a car wash. My car was absolutely FILTHY with salt and most of the locals were not familiar with the treatment of roads after snowstorms and I was asked several times: “What is that all over your car?”.  I decided to pull over and give my car a quick hose down. It would be good for my paint, anyways.

I didn’t have any quarters so I took a couple dollar bills up to the machine on the front of the building. It wasn’t working. This SHOULD have been my first sign that at this point that cleanliness was a lost cause. Frustrated, I get back in my car that was sitting in the bay, sigh, and pull through the back and see that there is another machine on the back side. I stop my car and almost slip on a sheet of ice as I step out to get the quarters. This SHOULD have been my second sign. The machine works, and I get some quarters and back my car into the bay. I put in the quarters, the timer starts, and I get nothing. No water. The hose was frozen. $1.50 for a dirty car. I throw the sprayer back into it’s aluminum holster and get back into my car. I’d have to put up with the questions about my car’s “salt grime” for a while longer.

I am driving through the middle of El Paso, Texas next to a white GMC Jimmy with some unique, blue, geometric design on the sides. I top a hill and an urban scenery sprawls in front of me. I can literally see Mexico from my vantage point. Suddenly the big white and blue SUV swerves into my lane, so I scoot over to avoid bumping into him and *BANG*

I hit the curb. Hard.

I can immediately tell something terrible is wrong. I pull over into the nearest parking lot to see that my front passenger-side tire has a huge, gaping hole in the sidewall and the wheel is bent. The back passenger-side tire has a big bubble on the sidewall, and the rim is also slightly bent.

Not good. Not good at all.

I pull my jack and tools out from under my luggage and start to jack up my car manually, slowly twisting the jack around with the lug wrench that transforms into a lever for this exact purpose. I almost had my car jacked up when the jack started going sideways on me. Stupid, cheap piece of…

I had released the jack to try again when a black suv pulls up and out jumps a man who immediately goes to the back of his vehicle and pulls out a hydraulic jack and a lug wrench. He asks if he can help me as he starts going to work on my car, getting the tire changed. The spare, it turns out, is also extremely low on air. I thank him profusely, and he gives me directions to the nearest tire places that can give me a good price: Wal-Mart and Discount Tire.

Wal-Mart was closer, and despite my dislike of Wal-Mart auto centers because of a previous mistake they had made with my tires I decided my situation warranted the need. Like the man who so graciously changed my tire for me and wished me a Merry Christmas had said: “at least they are everywhere, and if something else goes wrong they fix it for free with the $7 hazard warranty.”

I make my way to Wal-Mart cautiously, feeling the strain my car has on it’s passenger side with a damaged rear tire and a nearing-flat donut on the front. I get to Wal-Mart and he tell me how much the tires will cost.

I may have almost cried of happiness in Carlsbad Caverns just yesterday, but this time I was actually crying. Out of despair. I really didn’t want to spend that much money, it was FAR out of my budget for this trip, but I didn’t really have a choice so I agreed and handed him the key. Although the price was high, I knew they wouldn’t get much cheaper anywhere else. The size of my tires makes them a little pricey.

I sat in the waiting room with Ellie in the carrier, bags slung over my shoulders, feeling a little like a homeless bum. The tears were rolling down my face, my mascara running down my face to further my impression of the homeless. I’ve been through much worse, and it could have been worse, I told myself. Stop crying.

About 30 minutes later the technician comes back into the waiting room and explains he got the new tire on the back wheel, but the front wheel was too damaged to mount a tire on.

Of course, this caused a whole new string of tears. Feeling some compassion for me (or perhaps because I looked so pitiful) he drew me a map to get to a shop that sold used wheels. I thank him, go up to pay for the tire, crying, and the lady behind the counter asks if I have a radio in my car. I tell her yes and she writes down a radio station to listen to. She says it helps her out when she is having a bad day. I force a smile and thank her, and she reminds me that everything always gets better.

I get into the car, armed with a fresh, hand-drawn map and a radio station number. I tune my radio to the station and, of course, it is a Christian station. I laugh, but leave it on the station in respect for the good-natured advice that the lady had given me, and in respect to everyone else that had helped me on this journey thus far.

I manage to find Tops Wheel & Tire by use of the map and explain to them I need a new wheel, and another tire, but need them as cheap as possible. Unfortunately, my car’s wheels are unique in the way the lug nuts are long and require a deep-set in the wheel. After 30 minutes of searching his lot, he managed to find a used Mitsubishi wheel for $75 and put my car in line to get the new wheel and tire. The tires here were a full $40 cheaper than Wal-Mart. I should have come here first…

Hungry (my last meal was that granola bar) I ask the cashier where I could get some food. She says there is a Blimpies two blocks up if I turn right, and a Mexican restaurant two blocks if I turn left. I go for the Mexican restaurant since Taco Bell the day before had failed to fill that void. How about that for the bright side: I’m on the border of Mexico and I’m finally getting some authentic Mexican food.

This area of town wasn’t the classiest. As I walked the two blocks to the restaurant I saw bullet holes in empty store front’s windows. The buildings were mostly old and run down. I was right next to the Mexican border. Somehow, I managed to blend in with the buildings and everyone ignored me. I looked much like the bag lady, traveling down the street on foot, bags slung over my shoulder, carrying a dirty, old pet carrier with a puppy, wearing a white hoodie that had dirt and grease on the sleeves from trying to change my tire earlier. Yep, I looked much like that homeless person that lived under the overpass half a mile down the road.

I get to the restaurant and there is not a word of English anywhere, written or spoken. I ordered something easy, a quesadilla. There was a little confusion over whether I wanted bottled water, “agua”, or tap water, but my high school Spanish managed to get some food ordered. I was afraid to come into the restaurant because I had a dog with me, but they seemed interested in seeing the puppy. I struggled with answering questions about the puppy’s age and name, and understood nothing of what was said afterward.  All I knew is they thought she was adorable, they cooed and made faces in her direction like she was an infant.

I made my way back to Tops, the tire shop, with an additional bag in tow that was full of Mexican food, chips and salsa. I sat down and ate my food quietly by myself. The gentleman who worked on my car told me he was finished and I walked out with him to my car after paying. He told me that the rear wheel will hold, but I should get a new wheel sometime soon because it was definitely bent and could pose problems in the future. I had the new mismatched wheel on the front, and two new tires. He asked what the white, powdery residue was all over my car. I laughed inside at the car washing incident and explained about the snow through MO and OK. He told me to drive carefully, and I was back on the road over 3 hours after I first arrived in El Paso.

I traveled along the highway that follows the Mexican border, listening to the radio because my Mp3 player had lost it’s charge. Most of the music was in Spanish, but I managed to enjoy it. I finally made it to Tucson, AZ right around dinner time where I met up with my cousin at a coffee house. She bought me coffee, and sushi for dinner, as a birthday present. I thanked her, and enjoyed some conversation over the sushi. We went back to my car for a while and played with the puppy until it was time for me to get back on the road.

Off I went, on my way to San Diego, where my hotel waited for me.

Driving through southern California was interesting. I went thorough two border check points where they asked my citizenship. The drug dog would get excited about the puppy in the back seat and start barking, but once they realized I had a puppy in the backseat they would excuse me from a tenuous car search. Along one stretch of mountainous road I watched a border patrol helicopter descend upon some people in the desert.

By the time I got to my hotel in Oceanside, CA,  I was exhausted. It was after 2am CST. I was so tired I didn’t even bother to bring up my suitcases. I took up my adventure bad, basic toiletries, and Ellie the puppy in the carrier. I let Ellie get some energy out, then passed out for some much needed sleep.

Just another adventurous day in the life of Nicole.

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Carlsbad Caverns

I’m in love. Have I told you that? I could live there and still not be satisfied with my time spent. That’s right, I’m in love with Carlsbad Caverns.

After my last entry I went to eat breakfast at Denny’s since I had waken up too late for the free breakfast the hotel provides. I ate my food so fast I think the waitress, and a couple of the other diners, were astonished. I must have looked starved but I didn’t care- I was in a hurry to get to Carlsbad Caverns.

Carlsbad Caverns is about a 20 mile drive west from the city of Carlsbad. When you reach the sign proclaiming “Carlsbad Caverns” you still have another 6 miles to drive. I stopped to take a few pictures in front of the sign, a couple with my digital and one with my phone. When you are traveling alone it is always interesting to get pictures of yourself on your travels. For safety reasons I usually prefer to wit until I am alone, which doesn’t seem to be a problem in most areas, then find a safe spot to sit my camera and set it on a 10 sec delay to give me time to get into position. Most of the time in these situations I use the hood or roof of my car, and this time was no different. I took a few pictures with the digital. As another car approached the pull-off I finished my last picture and jumped back in the car.

A lady and her son get out to take a picture by the sign. On the way up to the sign she suddenly jumps in front of my car as I start to pull out.

“Wait! Wait!” she cries, waving her arms.

I stop and open the door (my Dodge Stealth’s drivers side window doesn’t work) and she picks my camera up off the hood of my car and hands it to me.

“You don’t want to lose this do you?” She laughs.

I thank her over and over. I ask if she wants me to take a picture of her son and herself but she says no thanks. This makes the second time I was saved by a complete stranger in the past few days. I think a trend is starting to develop.

I pull up to the visitor center in Carlsbad Caverns National Park, which sits perched on top of a small mountain, and took notice of a sign as I pulled up. “Absolutely NO pets left in vehicles or allowed in caverns. Must use available kennel”. I hope this isn’t going to be too expensive…

I see a lady leaving the visitor center and I ask her about the kennel. She says it looks like it is a good place, and that it costs $5 for the day. Not bad. This is going to make my day much easier!

After picking out a kennel for Ellie and providing her with a fresh bowl of water I wander into the visitor center to purchase my tickets. I had REALLY wanted to go on a wild caving tour, but when I went to purchase tickets two weeks ahead of time online they were already sold out for this day. I was hoping for a cancellation or two when I arrived but there was no such luck. The only tour available was of course the self-guided main tour that takes you through the natural entrance, descending over 750’ and the winding through 1.25 mi of pathways until you reach the Big Room pathways. The Big Room, which includes the Hall of Giants, is quite literally a BIG ROOM full to the brim with gorgeous speleothems of all sorts. Over 6 football fields could fit inside this cavern area. Now THAT is big. This tour only costs $6, and is full to the brim with exciting things to see of the underworld. I HIGHLY recommend going on this tour. It will certainly be the best $6 you’ve ever spent!

I paid for my ticket and headed down the pathway towards the gate where a park ranger gives you a drill down of what you can and cannot do. No food or drink allowed in the gave, this includes gum. Kids must stay within arm’s length of their guardian. Absolutely NO TOUCHING of the formations. (For those of you unfamiliar with a cave’s natural state, touching the formations can actually kill them. The oils from your hands stop the water/mineral mixture from adhering to the rocks surface and it stops growing.) Then, a handful of people at a time, the release you into the pathway that descends past the bat watching auditorium and into the great underground.
As I walk past the bleachers that are there for the bat fly-out I remind myself I must return in the spring to see this. Every night from about March thru October thousands of bat swirl out of the cave into the darkening sky to feed on mosquitoes and other annoying bugs. Every night they take the exact same path, and have been doing so for years and years.

The descent into the cave is a pretty nice walk. The pathways are very rough, like a chunkier sandpaper, so that you don’t slip walking down the steep grade. Each time you turn the path you can feel the air of the cave hit your face. It’s a familiar feeling for me and I absolutely love the scent that accompanies it. The air is slightly cool, but only because it is damp. The smell is a damp, earthy tone that reminds me of several things from my childhood that I enjoyed. For example, The “Fire in the Hole” underground rollercoaster that sprays water on you at Silver Dollar City (Branson, MO) has a similar scent. Anytime I am in a cave I breathe it in deeply and let it calm my senses.

The tour of the cave itself is hard to explain except in pictures, and I took plenty (over 230 of them). Every time I turned a corner I would think that certainly it would end soon. Nothing so wonderful could last that long. But turn after turn I was further amazed at the increasing prevalence of speleothems and the opening of the rooms into larger and larger ones. It was almost too much to take in.

In fact, I had to sit down on a bench after I passed the Hall of Giants. I was so happy, and the caves were so much to take in, I almost started crying. I fought with myself, sitting there in that beautiful underworld. I am NOT an emotional little girl, I told myself. I don’t cry when I am overly happy, it just doesn’t happen. I fidgeted with my camera, pretending to mess with the settings and furrowing my brow in frustration of my sudden emotional turn. An Indian man approached me and asked me if I needed someone to take my pictures. I smiled and used it as an excuse to shove away these emotions and handed him my camera. He took a picture, of which I am not sure I will post because I look a little out of it, and then I continued along my way.

I also came across a really nice park ranger along my travels in the caverns. She works at Carlsbad Caverns for 6 months, then travels up to a Colorado State Park and works there for another 6 months. We talked about caves for a while, and she told me about some friends she has that work at Mammoth Cave in Kentucky and the research they get to help out with. I told her about “The Longest Cave” and encouraged her to read it, and showed her some pictures I had on my phone of bats in Missouri caves. She gave me some information on how I could get a job working for one of the National Park caves. I stored it in my phone. This was certainly something to SERIOUSLY consider.

When I finally reached the end of the tour, where a large series of elevators take you up through the rock (with windows on all sides so you can watch the rock fly past you), I was again feeling that sweeping emotion. I walked into the bookstore, which uses all it’s profits for cave conservation, and concentrated on getting some souvenirs and post cards. While sitting in front of the post cards staring at them but not seeing them a man I had met earlier in the caves approached me and asked me if I had enjoyed the tour. I chatted with him a while, he said he could tell I was a caver by my gear. (I had brought in my adventure bag, which is stained from cave mud and had a small led flashlight attached to the zipper). He told me about some caves from where he lives back in Texas and told me it’d definitely be something worth seeing. He introduced himself as Victor and said it was nice meeting me, I shook his hand and gave him my first name as well and he left with his family.

I ended up purchasing a book and a t-shirt, and a few postcards. The t-shirt I am in love with. It is made out of bamboo, so it is environmentally friendly, and has Carlsbad Caverns in beautiful script down my left side. I picked up Ellie, who was soaking wet from being in her water bowl, and we left the top of the mountain.

On the way down the winding roads we stopped at one of the trails and walked to the end where there was a wonderful outlook over the canyons. Ellie got plenty of exercise, and we both enjoyed the warmth of the sun after spending the previous day in a winter wonderland. The sun was nearing it’s position for set and I decided to head back to the hotel which was about 20 minutes away.

I decided that since I was in New Mexico the dinner of choice should be some authentic Mexican. I headed into town and discovered that since it was Sunday the couple shacks I had seen along the main drive were closed. I decided to use my borrowed GPS to locate a Mexican restaurant.

Here’s the time to explain the characteristics of the GPS I borrowed for this trip. It is older, and when you plug it into your cigarette lighter outlet it takes several minutes, sometimes up to 10 or 15, to warm up and figure out where you are. It also has a very sensitive power cable that if you touch the wrong way restarts the unit, and you have to wait again for it to find where you are. It is also a little out of date with the information in it. After the GPS warmed up I followed it to a couple places that were closed, and the final attempt at finding a restaurant ended at an empty grass lot.

Much less to say, and a little amusing, I ended up getting Taco Bell.

It was a wonderful day and I will certainly treasure these experiences for a lifetime. Tomorrow I continue my journey to another land, I will be driving almost 1000 miles to the west, back to my birthplace.

GEOLOGIC NOTES:

In this blog I use speleothem and formation interchangeably. Formation is not necessarily an appropriate term for a speleothem, but it is used widely to describe stalactites, stalagmites, soda straws, cave pearls, cave popcorn and more. If you want to get technical, these definitions are:

SPELEOTHEM:

any of the crystalline deposits that form in a solution cave after the creation of the cave itself. These deposits are generally composed of calcium carbonate dissolved from the surrounding limestone by groundwater. Carbon dioxide carried in the water is released as the water encounters the cave air; this reduces the water’s capacity to hold calcite in solution and causes the calcite to be deposited. These deposits may accumulate to form stalactites, stalagmites, flowstone, helictites, cave pearls, and many other formations. Deposits formed along ceiling cracks may produce drip curtains or draperies that may then reach the floor to become walls. Speleothems may grow in pools to form the nodular encrustations of cave coral or the natural dams that continually elevate themselves through accretion of calcite. The pure white of the calcium carbonate is often tinted with hues of red, yellow, and gray and may even be translucent. The growth rate of speleothems is highly variable due to seasonal variations in the rate of flow, carbon dioxide content, and other factors. Caves owe most of their beauty and much of their interest to these secondary growths.

FORMATION:

5. geology
a.  the fundamental lithostratigraphic unit
b.  a series of rocks with certain characteristics in common.

I would also like to add some information about Carlsbad Caverns versus the caves I usually visit in the limestone beds of Missouri. You may notice that most caves are carved out of water, and tend to have a long, linear shape to them as the groundwater travels in a stream or certain direction. After the limestone, or other soluable rock formation, is dissolved, the deposit of speleothems can begin. As the groundwater continues to trickly through the bedrock and it reaches the cave the water is enriched in minerals that get redeposited on the walls, ceilings, floor, etc of the cave. This is how a speleothem is, generally, formed.

Carlsbad Caverns has a very large and open nature to each of their rooms, and while the speleothems in Carlsad Caverns are formed in the same manner as above, the cave itself formed in a different manner than many of the caves we visit in the midwest.

Somewhere between 4 and 6 million years ago, water that was rich in hydrogen-sulfide mixed with other rainwaters to form sulfuric acid. It is this acid that allowed the caverns to form in large, magnificent rooms rather than long, lineated passages like those we are so familiar with.

For more information about this, I highly recommend visiting the National Park Service’s website on Carlsbad Caverns, particularly this page:

http://www.nps.gov/cave/naturescience/cave.htm

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The Wintry Trek from Central Missouri to Carlsbad, NM

Wow, what a day!!! A drive that should have taken 15 hours took 20 hours due to snow and ice throughout much of the Midwest. The drive was certainly an adrenaline inducing affair, with a couple of mishaps that were almost of a vacation-canceling quality.

I left Missouri after 5am and the roads were pretty decent considering the amount of snow and ice the area had received. I had packed my car with my things, and my companion for the trip (a 7 week old puppy I was transporting for a friend) and took off with confidence and an adventurous spirit. Driving was easy, and the view of the snow covered farmland was nice to see.I watched as the sun rose above the snow-blanketed landscape, sending a pillar of light straight up into the sky.

Even though the roads seemed to be OK I decided to play it safe and head straight south on 13 hwy to Springfield and cut across from there on 44 hwy. The GPS I had borrowed from my father complained at every intersection until I was in Clinton, announcing it was “Recalculating” my route. It wanted me to drive through Kansas. Why on earth would I want to drive through Kansas? Aside from the blizzard they had rolled through the area a day prior, Kansas was boring. Oklahoma sounded like a better idea. They had toll roads, surely if you paid to drive on the road they took care to maintain it.

My theory proved to be wrong: I think there was an invisible barrier that runs along the MO-OK line, because as soon as I crossed it the roads were horrible. Snow and ice still covered the roadway, vehicles littered the ditches along the road, and cars slid along the highway in a cautious tone. Interesting that the “free” roads had been rightfully cleared by the highway department, and the instant I hit the state that seems to love their toll roads it looked as if the men in the plowing trade had gone on strike. Either they don’t have enough funding for their road maintenance or they just aren’t as efficient as Missouri. While some areas of Oklahoma might have been hit harder than MO, most of it was much the same as what I drove through in the show-me-state.

I was trekking across this frigid tundra, thankful I had chosen to take my car instead of my Jeep because of the warm air that poured out the vents and the defrost that kept the windshield from icing over when I decided to find a place to pull over and let Ellie run around and do her business. Unfortunately the big wall of snow prohibited me from entering the rest stops so, but seeing as how I was nearing a quarter of a tank I decided to get some gas. I pulled off the highway onto roads that were even worse and pulled up to the nearest gas station. After walking Ellie I went to pull the lever on my floorboard that opens my gas door. Nothing happened. Either it was frozen shut or the wire had been damaged. I had to get out my multi-tool and pry open my gas door while some hunters with a boat (yes, they were towing a boat in this weather!) chatted nearby about the weather.

After that affair I got back on the highway and continued my way across Oklahoma via the snowy interstate 44. I decided to stop for lunch at a “Whataburger” since we don’t have those locally, but after exiting where a sign said there would be one and not seeing it I stopped at a McDonalds. I ate my lunch while Ellie ate hers, and I let her wander their strip of grass-covered snow on the leash. After that we headed back to the interstate, and I made an almost crippling mistake: I turned on the wrong road. I tried to turn around and got stuck on the ice. I was trapped there for about 5 minutes, rocking back and forth, when luckily a few guys pulled over and got out to push . Oh wonderful, good Samaritans! They pushed and my car was going forward along the road once again. I gave them a thumbs up and waved a thank you and they smiled, waved and got back in their car heading the opposite direction.

The roads gradually got better as I headed west, but I credit this to the shining sun rather than the road crew laboring away. I think I may have seen a total of 4 ice trucks across the entire state. I had a new found appreciation for MO-DOT’s hard work and prompt clearing of the roads. I was relieved, for once, when I hit Texas just as the sun set. Funny that as I reach the “Lone Star” state, the only star that will sit in the sky alone, the sun, had just set.

The sunset was gorgeous, and much like the sunrise I had seen traveling through Missouri it sent up a pillar of light straight up into the sky from the sun. I casually wondered if there had been a volcanic eruption somewhere in the world that was creating these beautiful effects. I dismissed the thought, thinking I was just letting the book I had just read a month ago, Krakatoa, influence my imagination.
I stopped at one of Texas’ rest stops, which I have always known to be uniquely decorated and more and amenable. This one was no different. The outside was lit up in the night with red, white, and blue lights in the pattern of the Texan flag. Inside they had an interactive display about life in the plains and the development of barbed wire, outside amongst the snow were picnic shelters with Texas-shaped grills, and a beautiful view of a canyon that I could barely make out the silhouette of in the dark.


The roads through Texas were pretty clear, or so I thought. I was heading along a seemingly clear highway that was under construction around 10 pm. The traffic was light and I only had one or two vehicles accompanying me on the road at any given time. As I took the detour and was traveling along at what I thought was a safe speed I came across a narrowing of the one-lane road with concrete barriers on each side, each with snow packed along it and ice covering the whole roadway, rocky and bumpy. I slowed down as much as I could before I hit the ice, but jumped off the brake when I hit it knowing that would be detrimental. My car swung diagonal one way, and I corrected and then it flew diagonal the opposite direction. I was nervous, but kept my focus as I knew I just could NOT crash here. I saw the car in front of me slow down on a clear roadway and I breathed in as I hit the clear road. I discovered that the vehicle just ahead of me was a police car, and he drove at a slow, carefully speed. Knowing he probably knew the road conditions I used him as a pace car until he exited a few miles down.

I was nowhere near tired, the adrenaline fresh and running through me. I made the push for that last few hours and arrive in Carlsbad at 1:28 CST. I checked into the hotel and tried to get as much sleep as I could with a puppy that kept waking up every few hours and needing to go out and use the restroom. In the morning I turned on the news to see the weather and saw a short story on a volcano that was erupting in the Philippines.
LINK:(http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5i7EZq2rDaf4kQY0wO47q7pZBGt4A)
My imagination had proven to be an educated theory that was true!

It’s now time to continue to let my imagination act as a fortune teller as I wander deep into a place that I have wanted to explore for years: Carlsbad Caverns!