Posted on

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.

Posted on

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

Posted on

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!

Posted on

Life is Not An Adventure Without Risk: Ravenswood and the Abandoned Warehouse

The things most worth living in life are things you have to work for. Those where you step past your own boundaries and discover worlds previously untouched, unseen. It doesn’t matter the risk….you have to take a chance. These trials and errors are what will make sure you experience life to the fullest, and allow you to feel complete in knowing that at the very least, you tried.

October 28, 2009

It was a beautiful day for one of my adventures. Sunny, in the mid sixties and a breeze that blew the fall leaves around in little spirals. I packed up my adventure bag and wrote the directions that I had researched on Google Maps on the top of my hand. Today I was going to visit Ravenswood.

The location the map had given me seemed a bit strange. I was sure that Ravenswood was located in Boonville, yet the map indicated it was just outside of Sedalia. Not knowing exactly where Boonville was located, and deciding it was unimportant to find out, I followed the peculiar directions anyways. I always reach my destination one way or the other.

Onward I went, taking 50 hwy to Sedalia. There is a lot of repaving going on along this highway, and this made it a single lane heading east. Following the cars in front of you is tiring, always trying to guess if they are going to slow down or speed up, having to be on edge. I will have to say that this type of driving has one benefit: I know I’m not going to get pulled over for speeding. When you reach the end of a construction zone and it opens back up to two lanes I compare the reaction of the drivers to the likeness of NASCAR after the pace car leaves the track. Suddenly everyone sorts themselves out and speeds up to get in the front. Of course after a few minutes everyone realizes how fast they are actually going and about half of the cars end up slowing down again, but something instinctive tells us we need to be in front. It’s actually quite fun to watch, and even observe yourself react in the same way. The competitive side in everyone comes out after the end of a construction zone. We must win.

After the short-lived race on 50 highway, and driving past Smith-Cotton High School, I finally started heading out of Sedalia. In that transition area between city and country living was the road I was to turn left on, according to Google. I turned left and saw this AMAZING abandoned warehouse. At least 3 blocks long, covered in rolling doors and windows- Beautifully decaying in a field of wire spindles and rusting power equipment. I decided that after visiting Ravenswood I would stop by here and take some pictures.

It wasn’t long after taking the next left that I realized Google was incredibly wrong. I was driving along residential streets heading into Sedalia. Huh. I don’t have a map in my car, and I’m unsure of where else to go so I head back to that fabulous abandoned warehouse and pull into the parking lot of a manufacturing company next door. I grab my adventure bag and lock up the Stealth, and walk up to the door labeled with a small sign, “office”.

The yard of this company is covered in steel beams and other large pieces of rusting metal. A large track runs around the entire yard about 20 feet high. I wonder what exactly this track is for as I don’t see anything around that could run along it. Inside you can hear some loud banging and the smell of welding hits your nose. This might be an interesting conversation…

Inside the office is a man of about 50, a man maybe a little older than me, and an older lady sitting behind a desk. I walk up to her, as she is obviously the secretary, and ask her if she would mind if I took some pictures of the empty warehouse building next to them. She explains that the building is owned by some man that lives in Florida, and then the older man chimes in that there would be no problem with me taking pictures as long as I was careful not to get hurt (liability reasons, of course). I smile and thank them and they ask what I am taking pictures for. I say it’s for a project and they assume it is for school. I don’t correct them. I then ask them if they happen to know where Ravenswood is. The older man gives me directions and asks the younger gentleman about the place, stating that he knew he had been there. He tells me that it’s a pretty neat place to visit, and that supposedly (although he had not been allowed into the basement in his visit) there are still chains that hang from the walls in the basement. Remnants of slavery.

The lady looks at me and the other two men and says “I would never go there. It’s just too creepy!”. I smile and explain that I really enjoy historical architecture. She nods and says she still wouldn’t want to go into such a strange place. I thank them for all their information and head out to explore my new play land.

The warehouse is huge, and as I cross the field, winding my way between the spools of wire that are taller than I am and the old, rusty equipment I see that there are lots of railroad tracks crossing the field, mostly hidden by the overgrown grass and brush that has accumulated. Every roll-up door has a railway leading up into it and each bay door is labeled. As you get closer to the large building you start noticing pieces of plastic building panels all over the place, and I look up to see that they had fallen off the windows. The original windows had been covered with these panels in an effort to keep the building sealed off from the elements but had apparently weathered beyond use by this time. I casually wonder what this man in Florida even wants with this land, and consider looking him up to see if he’d sell it for a cheap price…

As I come between a small out building and the large warehouse I notice a sign that amuses me. “Fire Here Today Could Mean No Job Tomorrow! Be Extra Careful”. I bet this made employees nervous as they approached this door.

I finally figure out what this building was when I round the southern corner of the building. A big Union Pacific emblem is hanging high up on the brick façade. Something that explains all the railways that intertwine through the yard. This place is getting more interesting by the moment.


Although I had gotten the hint from the warehouse’s neighbors that I shouldn’t go into the building I still casually tried a few doors here and there. Several places I could have gotten into, but it would have been painstakingly obvious that I was entering the premises and I was trying to keep the low profile of a college student taking photos. There were a lot of really neat things still on the building, such as one of the bells that if you had turned the metal handle inside it would have hit the bell outside. Although rusty, it still works. Around back, on the west side, there was also a huge wing of the warehouse that was mostly windows. You couldn’t see through them very clearly as they had etched with age, but as I rounded the other side I saw a sign labeling it as the battery shop.

After spending about 2 hours wandering the property I decided it was time to head towards Ravenswood. I didn’t want to miss the last tour, to which I assumed would be around 4 or 5 pm as with most museums are.

Google maps was entirely wrong. I had to drive another 30+ miles to reach Ravenswood, which lies just south of Boonville on Highway 5. I pulled up to the house and couldn’t find a clearly marked parking lot so I parked amongst some other vehicles parked on the south side of the house. When I got out of my car I couldn’t locate an entrance or visitors office either, so I started wandering along the sidewalk that was lined with a black iron railing.

I winded along the sidewalk that echoed the exterior of the plantation, squeezing between some overgrown pampas grass. I had been there about 15 minutes wandering aimlessly with not a person in sight when I reached the side yard and noticed a bird dog laying in the grass. As I walked past him to head towards the front of the house I looked at him and said “So, do you know when the tour starts?”. He looked at me as if he had known me forever and turned back to face towards the driveway. Suddenly he perked up and barked towards an SUV that had just turned into the driveway. He stood there, as if he was ready to go retrieve the bird his owner had just shot, until the SUV began driving up the hill. Then he shot quickly down the hill to meet the car coming towards us in a manner that suggested to me he was guarding the house. Apparently I was no threat?

The SUV pulls up to me driven by an older lady and what I assume to be her husband in the passenger seat. He says that unfortunately they close when the weather gets cold and there are no more tours until spring. He tries to fumble through the center console to find his business card but comes up empty handed. He is out. He says I should feel welcome to wander around myself and take as many pictures as I want. Actually, I believe his wording was “Take some pictures” as if he was ordering me to do so rather than requesting. Then he instructs me to return in April for a guided tour and they drive on past towards the back of the property, where the farm buildings are.

Ravenswood is actually very interesting. The front of the house is awe inspiring. The porch floor is tiled intricately, the door accented with handmade door knockers and delicately-crafted door handles and skeleton key locks. The double doors are topped with a beautiful half-circle window where the chandelier that hangs from the top of the porch reflects. The house has its own water tower around the back in a courtyard, and even a built-in swimming pool. In the back yard I find a peculiar dead woodchuck, but the body isn’t torn or cut in any way. In fact I almost though it was just sleeping belly-up it was in such perfect shape. On the south side of the house is what, at first glance, appears to be a beautiful garden room that once had glass panels all over, much like a greenhouse. When you walk in, however, you discover that it was an indoor pool! What a treat this must have been in the 19th century.

After I take what I consider to be enough photos until I make my return in the spring, I head back to my car and drive down to the edge of the driveway. I want one last picture from the front of the drive. I take the picture and return to my car, but as I pull the door closed something happens that I SHOULD be used to by now. I hear the sound of a board shifting inside my driver’s side door panel and the window slowly slides down into the door.

So right there, in the middle of Ravenswood driveway, I have to get out my multi-tool that I had purchased on clearance from Lowe’s, and undo my door panel. It is almost routine at this point. 9 screws out and the panel comes out, pull back the moisture barrier from the black tar that holds it on, pull the window up, hold it up with your right hand while jamming the 1×4 into place inside the door, holding the bottom of the window up by wedging against the door’s interior bracing. The only thing that made it so out of the norm was that I was doing it in front of a 130 year old home, and I was certain that it must be some sort of sight for the owners of the property.

On the way back I stopped by a small conservation area that sat along the banks of the Lamine river. It was pretty out there, all the fall leaves littering the ground. I rested there for a little while and then decided it was time to head home. I was exhausted.

It’s funny how the littlest things can turn out to be so amazing. Every day we pass by places like the old Union Pacific building and we wonder what is in there? What did it used to be? What does it look like up close? Who owns this place?

Once upon a time I was that person as well. If the information came easily, I soaked it up like a sponge. But if it meant I had to put myself into an awkward conversation with strangers I would have to continue letting the mystery of the place turn in my head. Let random stories play in my head and my imagination run wild, but never satisfying that explorative spirit that lives so prominently inside me.

Today I push myself forward in everything. In every aspect of life. I can’t remember the verbiage exactly, but the saying goes something like “Live like there is no tomorrow and Love like you’ve never been hurt”. If anyone knows how that saying goes, please let me know! The general idea is that you don’t hold out for anything. You are never going to get answers if you sit by and wait for the information to come to you. You have to go out and get it, even if it means putting yourself in a place that is incredibly uncomfortable, and even sometimes hurtful. You only get one chance at this life and there is no sense in avoiding the unknown in fear of getting lost or hurt.

The things most worth living in life are things you have to work for. Those that you have to step past your own boundaries and discover worlds that have been previously untouched, unseen. Whether it be that you pass that 100 mph mark for the first time, you stick it out for a relationship because you actually have feelings for that person, or you ask a random stranger if you can wander around their abandoned property….you have to take a chance. These trials and errors are what will make sure you experience life to the fullest, and allow you to feel complete in knowing you at least tried.

Life is boring without adventure, and without risks there is no adventure.

My life is, and always will be, an adventure.