On The Roof

I was out of breath by the time I reached the end of the corridor. As I ran its length I saw no one. I was alone. 

As with every door I had encountered in the white room, the door at the end of the corridor blended seamlessly into the wall. It took several seconds of running my hands over the smooth surface to locate a crease and sunken latch. Slowly opening the door - not knowing what was on the other side - the sun bore into my eyes. I stepped through the door and onto a rooftop. Heat from the tarred roof rose up and danced in distorted waves. Dazed, I suddenly understood that I was looking directly at the Las Vegas skyline. Struggling with the light, I walked to the edge of the roof. I was three stories from the ground, but the roof continued one floor beneath. Suddenly, there was a voice. "Mr. Porcello, please come back inside." I turned to see a man in a dark suit walking toward me with his hands behind his back. "Mr. Porcello, please. I am here to help you." I began to take a step forward, then turned and jumped to the roof below.

A man in a dark suit with a gun behind his back, saying he is here to help me. I'm not James Bond (or am I?) but this doesn't feel right.

I hit the roof hard and awkwardly rolled before gaining my feet and running to the edge. Gathering myself to jump to yet another roof one floor below, I hear the sharp sound of gunfire and the tar next to my feet explodes. "Mr. Porcello, stop! Let me help you!" I have no interest in being assisted by a man who just shot at me. I jump to the roof of the first floor, bounce up and sprint to the edge, where without thought or hesitation I make my final leap onto the pavement below. When I hit the ground, my head glanced against the side of the building and everything went dark for a moment. Then I began to run. Two shots kicked up the gravel as I zigzagged away from the building. Faintly the words "Mr. Porcello, we want to help you!", reached out to me before turning a corner and sliding up against a wall. I was free.

Back of the building where I was held. White room was on the third level. Who knows what was on the first two floors. Probably a Barnes & Noble and a Starbucks.

When I woke up, the man in the dark suit was sitting across from my bed. The man from the rooftop. "How are we feeling this evening, Mr. Porcello?" "I remember the white room." "I was sent to retrieve you from the people who were holding you. I was sent to bring you in. But you ran." "You shot at me." "I was trying to make you stop. My job was to bring you in." "Why?" "Try to remember what happened after you ran, Mr. Porcello. We need to know what happened after you left the white room." "You found me in a casino and brought me here." "That's correct. But something happened in between. What happened after you ran? Who did you meet?" He reached out and handed me a photograph of four men. "Do you recognize any of these men?" I did, but after a few moments I responded, "no." My memory was kicking into high gear.   

These fellas look innocent enough. But behind the cheery disposition, cheap suits and bad haircuts lurks a quartet of CIA operatives. The white socks gave them away.

Tamii with two i's

I spent the next seven days in the white room. Exquisite meals were promptly delivered each day at 6:00 AM, noon and 6:00 PM. When I requested a book or newspaper to read, it was brought to me within minutes (there were no electronics). A drink? Virtually instantaneous. When I needed to go to the bathroom I simply said "I need to use the men's room". A door opened and a young lady - never a man - appeared to escort me down the long corridor. During each walk she would always ask the same single question. "Are your accommodations comfortable Mr. Porcello?" And each time I would ask a series of questions. "Where am I? What is this place? Why am I here? Do you have a sister?" Her response was always the same. "If there is anything you need, just ask and we will do everything we can to meet your request." Always spoken with a smile. A big, gloriously white toothy smile. I imagined her name was Tamii - with two i's. Then there's this tidbit. As we walked down the long white corridor, there was always a gentle breeze blowing in our face, regardless of which direction we were walking. Her hair would move ever so slightly and she would gently move her head from side to side. I began to have the distinct impression that I had been kidnapped by a group of disturbed individuals who were secretly making shampoo commercials.  

How can the wind always be in your face? It's one of life's great mysteries. It's right up there with who shot JFK and the contents of Spam.

Some of you may be reading this and thinking...Gourmet meals three time a day, drinks on demand, long walks to the bathroom with shampoo models, unlimited reading material, more peace and quiet than you could possibly wish for...What's the problem? The problem numb-nuts, is that I don't know where I am (a large white room?), I don't recognize my own name (Mr. Porcello?), my memories are scattered and disjointed at best and I have no idea how I came to be here or why. Other than that, yeah, this place is great. 

One day when they delivered the books I had requested,  several old comic appeared. These two were my favorites. Just the thought of Superman crushing it and flying around the bases - literally - made me smile. But then something about baseball began to bring back memories. 

On day eight they stopped responding. "I need to use the men's room." The door didn't suddenly and soundlessly swing open. "Hello. I need to use the men's room." Silence. A small rush of panic toyed with my chest. "Hello. Hello?" Nothing. I walked to the place in the wall where the seamless door had always opened. There wasn't a handle on the inside, but slowly my fingers found the crease of the door frame and pulled. The door silently floated open. I stepped into the long empty corridor and hesitated. Then I began to run. 

The White Room

"Why are you in Las Vegas?" asked the man in the dark suit. "I honestly don't know" I said.

This is what I remember. I'm in a large warm room. My metal framed bed is pushed off to one side, but the rest of the room appears to be empty. There are no windows and the artificial white light hurts my eyes. The floor is white tile, which makes the light brighter and my head ache. I reach over to steady myself against the wall and my fingers feel a slight give. As I begin to get to my feet I hear a voice. "Welcome Mr. Porcello." The voice, tinged with glee, seemingly came from all parts of the room at once. "Did you sleep well Mr. Porcello?" Was I supposed to answer? "Where am I? Who is Mr. Porcello?" "We apologize for any inconvenience this arrangement may cause. We will have a meal delivered to you in minutes." "Where am I?" "Patience Mr. Porcello, patience."  

The white room.  I have to admit the room service was spectacular.

"We hope you enjoy your lunch Mr. Porcello. Please let us know if there is anything else we can provide." The gleeful voice came and went. I began to pace the room. As far as I could tell, the room was without a door. How is this possible? "I need to use a restroom." "Someone will be there to assist you in a moment." At which point a door seamlessly materialized from the wall and out stepped a meticulously dressed young woman. "Please follow me Mr. Porcello." "Where are we going?" "To the restroom." With that she opened the door and we stepped into the longest corridor I've ever seen.

My first meal in the white room.  How did they know I love salmon? How do they get lemon wedges to stand on their side like that?

The Man in the dark suit

The morphine drip made me feel warm and numb. I've been in the hospital for 48 hours and slowly, hazily, small bits and pieces of the last 71 days are beginning to emerge. The man in the dark suit visits me twice a day. He has yet to identify himself and at this point I am content not to ask. He brings me newspapers and gum. I tell him I can't chew gum (I'm afraid I'll choke because I'm so high) but that doesn't seem to matter. "Why are you bringing me newspapers?" I asked during his first visit. "Maybe something will jog your memory. Bring a piece of you back." "Why is this important to you?" "It's important to a lot of people."

Initially, the only memories that surfaced as a result of pouring over newspapers in a half-drugged state were random, disconnected points. For example, I like the Detroit Tigers and hate the Yankees. I remember reading and loving Thomas Wolfe (not the one with the natty suits). Snippets of driving cross country appear like blotches on a canvas. But then I remembered this. A hand reaching over my shoulder and placing a handkerchief over my mouth before everything turned black. 

My sketches of the man in the dark suit.  Claimed Wrigley Spearmint was the finest gum.   

A 1950's ad for Wrigley's Doublemint gum.  The man in the black suit cautioned me not to confuse Doublemint with Spearmint. "I've seen it happen.  It can get ugly fast," he said.

Vegas

It's 3 AM. I'm wandering aimlessly around the casino floor, trying to remember exactly where I am. My head is throbbing. My vision is slightly blurred. There is a slight metallic taste in my mouth and my wrists are raw. As I pass a mirror I'm shocked by my appearance. My clothes are tattered, my hair has been cut in jagged seams and I am wearing a pair of brown shoes I don't recognize as my own.

I woke up surrounded by three doctors and a man in a dark suit. The contrast between the white lab coats and the dark suit was sharp and made me uncomfortable. "Sir? Sir? How are you feeling?" asked the doctor to my left. "Where am I?" "Valley Hospital Medical Center in Las Vegas." "How did I get here?" "A policemen brought you in. You were lying on the floor at The Venetian, semi-conscious. Do you remember being brought in?" "No. The last thing I remember is looking in a mirror and barely recognizing myself. I must have passed out." "You didn't have any identification with you. Would you mind telling us your name?" "My name?" "Yes. Can you tell us your name and where you live please." A sliver of panic ran the length of my spine and I suddenly felt cold. "Can I get a glass of water?" I couldn't remember my name. "Take your time," said the man in the dark suit. "Take your time."

I arrived in Las Vegas 71 days ago. 70 of those days are blank.  

The only known photograph of The Bearded Man at Valley Hospital Medical Center in Las Vegas.  Photo was taken by an unidentified man in a dark suit and released to the press on April 3, 2017. 

Bearded Man rolls through haunted flagstaff on his way to vegas

Gallup, New Mexico to Flagstaff, Arizona is a three hour drive along I-40 and remnants of Route 66. At some points they become tangled and figuring out which road your on is anyone's guess. Along this stretch of Route 66 is Winslow, Arizona, a booming town before the I-40 bypass began construction in 1977. But, as anyone who has listened to a radio in the last 45 years can tell you, Winslow is omnipresent. 'Well, I'm a-standin' on a corner in Winslow, Arizona - Such a fine sight to see - It's a girl, my Lord, in a flat-bed Ford - Slowin' down to take a look at me.' (I know you were singing the song in your head.) Written  by Jackson Brown and the Eagles Glenn Frey in 1972, the corner in Winslow, Arizona became etched into the American psyche - symbolic of youthful freedom. I had to swing by and see the corner of Second and Kinsley. Adorned with a bronze statue of a man and his guitar and the words 'Standin on a Corner' on a sign above his head, the corner looks amazingly like a billion other corners in the USA. Behind the statue is a storefront mural depicting a red flatbed Ford. 'Come on, baby, don't say maybe - I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me.' (I wish.) After rubbing the guitar for good luck and eating four perfect shrimp tacos at Mi Pueblo, I was off to Flagstaff. 'Well I'm a running down the road - tryin to loosen my load.'

Hotel Monte Vista is said to be haunted. I just wanted to put that out there so that my stay is not colored by anything resembling fear. The Bearded Man believes in ghosts, but it has been a while since I've run into one. However, as I was checking in I had the distinct feeling that my luck was about to change. This place has a vibe. Kind of like the vibe from 'The Shining'. Old hotel, photos of even older buildings on the wall and an elevator that I was expecting blood to pour out of at any second. Then I got to my room, where four black and white photos of a man long since departed, hung above my bed. (Does anyone else find that odd?) Upon closer inspection, I think they were photos of Walter Brennan, who's name means nothing unless you are at least 50 years old. Maybe 60. My dad loved Walter Brennan, if that helps. In any case, I ended up taking a nap under the watchful gaze of Walter and the smell of what I'm betting is embalming fluid.

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Hotel Monte Vista in Flagstaff, Arizona. If you are looking for a place to stay up all night, with one eye open, this is the place. The twin little girls walking down my hall at 3 AM will forever haunt my dreams.  Pretty sure they were mumbling redrum...redrum. 

The Monte Vista Cocktail Lounge is just off the lobby of the hotel, a floor below the Rendezvous bar, which I think exists solely for out of towners who don't know any better. The Lounge is a comfy little joint with a polished wood bar, pool tables and a dance floor in front of a karaoke stage that was in full swing. A young, fragile looking gal in a cowboy hat singing 'Britney Spears, 'Oops, I Did It Again' as if she were auditioning to be a backup singer for Adele. 'Oh, baby, baby - Oops!... You think I'm in love - That I'm sent from above - I'm not that innocent.' Oh waitress, a cocktail please. Britney was followed by what can only be described as confusing. Dressed in cowboy boots that appeared to be several sizes too small, she introduced herself to the crowd as Terii 'with one r and two i's' and sang James Blunt's 'You're Beautiful', more as a plea than a statement. Where is my waitress? 'Are you enjoying ladies karaoke night?' 'Excuse me?' 'It's ladies karaoke night, sir. We get great talent in here.' 'Seriously? What time do they show up?' I bet Rhonda spits in my drinks all night.

'Did you know that Humphrey Bogart stayed at this hotel?' Carlotta asked as she pulled out a chair and plopped down next to me. Trust me, plopped is the right word. 'Where you from good lookin?' 'I'm from Mississippi originally, but I've lived all over the country.' She smiled. She had the kind of smile that made you think her town didn't have access to fluoride until recently. 'I knew you wasn't from around here. I could tell by your shoes.' 'My shoes?' 'They ain't boots. They're shoes. Look around. You're they only man without boots in here.' I looked around. Not only was I the only man without boots, I was virtually the only man in the room. 'Hi, I'm Carlotta. Call me Carly, everyone does.' 'Hi Carly. Do you sing as well?' 'Oh yeah. That's why I'm here. Have a few beers, sing a few songs and head back to my trailer and my four boys.' 'What are you going to sing?' 'The theme from Titanic. I think of Leonardo when I'm singing.' 'That's funny, so do I.' 'You're a hoot. What's your name?' 'Scott Baio.' 'Hi Scott. I'm Carla, but you can call me Carly. Everyone does.' Alrighty then. 'I'm up Scott. Wish me luck.' And with that she planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek, stumbled to the stage and sang as if she had swallowed a bag of gerbils. Please dear merciful God, make it go away. To an untrained eye it may have appeared as though I ran out of the bar, but in fact I was only walking at a brisk pace. 

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Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in a scene from 'Casablanca.  Slim behind the front desk told me that a few scenes from the movie were actually filmed at the hotel. Maybe that was Bogart standing in the corner of my room all night. When I woke up there were cigarette butts all over the floor. 

After a restless night of odd noises and cigarette smoke from the poltergeist/specter standing in my room, I was up at 5:00 AM and ready to skip town. Hell, I was ready to leave Arizona. Hotel Monte Vista had lived up to its haunted billing. I'm a big fan of Bogey, but I'm not okay with him visiting me in the night. Before he died it might have been cool, but let's just say I won't be watching Casablanca for a while. Actually never. Ever. 

It was early and I didn't want to stop at Snow Cap Drive-In, but I couldn't help myself. After a mostly sleepless night and blowing out of Flagstaff like a guy with stolen tires, I needed a small dose of Route 66 kitsch. Jackpot. Built by Juan Delgadillo in 1953 with scrap lumber collected when he worked for the railroad, Snow Cap is a place you can't drive by without smiling. In my case, without eating. I wolfed down a great bacon cheeseburger, with stringy fries and a chocolate shake. But the best part of the stop was when I pulled off to the side of the parking lot and went to sleep for two hours. I woke up with ketchup on my shirt and a chocolate ring around my mouth. I'm ready for Vegas baby.

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Snow Cap Drive-In on Route 66. Home of one of the best milkshakes I've ever had. Author's Note: Ask for extra napkins and don't ever fall asleep with a straw in your mouth. I've had a lisp for three days.

I can't get enough of Route 66, so I stay on all the way to Kingman and Hackberry General Store - my last stop before Vegas baby. (Can you say Vegas without saying baby?) How can I describe this place? Old gas pumps and rusted out cars dot the front of the store and trail off across the property. Large Coca-Cola signs hang above decal covered windows and Mobil's Pegasus takes flight from the roof-line. If you didn't know any better, you might think you had driven through a black hole and arrived in 1955. Walking inside only heightens the impression of time travel. Elvis and Marilyn are here. A jukebox to spin some 45's and a dime store Indian stands guard, obviously protecting the countless dollar bills that line the walls. Then there's the men's room. Ceiling and walls are pasted with pinup beauties in various stages of disrobing. Now there's something you don't see every day. (I'm pretty sure one of the photos was my aunt Madge.) I grabbed a couple of Route 66 root beers and a Chick O'Stick, almost tripped on the dummy on the front porch - It's an actual dummy - and made my way to the Sprinter. Pulled onto Route 93 with visions of black jack and tourists dancing in my head. I felt excitement and dread in one fell swoop.

Vegas, the town without eyes or ears and a misplaced conscience. The town where Mo Green was shot in the eye and Wayne Newton still plays 118 shows a day. The town where bachelors go to make memories they can never share with their wife. Where women go to use the name Sissy or Barbie for the night. Then of course it's a town the whole family can love. Provided you don't might your 12 year old being handed a hooker's business card every two blocks. It's a unique slice of America that should be required visiting. This is who we really are when no one is looking. If you survive Vegas with a clean conscience and a full wallet, you're a good person. Vegas - My home for the next two nights. I've sanded my fingertips, so I won't leave any clues.

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My room at Aria in Vegas. Not an understatement to say I splurged a bit. But it's okay.  The bottle of water in the fridge is only $27. Thanks again MountCo.

Bearded Man hits Route 66 on his way to Gallup New Mexico

To my avid followers who may have been wondering where I've been since New Year's Day (yes, both of you), I have a very simple explanation. I sat in Port O'Connor for a couple of extra days, laying in the sun, studying maps, reluctant to leave a hotel room with a marlin on the wall and Buckwheat Zydeco on the radio. But leave I must and leave I did. With maps splayed across the front seat, a Mexican Coke in the cup holder and a new pair of flip flops on my feet, I hit the road. Eighteen hours of northwest highways between here and Gallup, New Mexico. 

Around one o'clock, I pulled into Cripple Creek Restaurant in Del Rio, Texas, in search of armadillo eggs. I was told by the good people at Poco Loco Lodge that I had to try a few before leaving Texas. In hindsight - this is called foreshadowing - I wish to God and all things holy that I had just left Texas. To be fair, the armadillo eggs were delicious. Spicy breakfast sausage wrapped around a cream cheese filled pepper - All wrapped in bacon. A cardiologist's dream. Then there's the pepper. This is where I made the mistake that introduced me to every rest area bathroom between Del Rio and Fort Stockton. You see, armadillo eggs are made with various types of peppers and mine were made with jalapeno peppers. I believe the rest is self explanatory.

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Armadillo eggs. Although delicious, they should be served with a list of bathrooms on Highway 285. As a public service, here they are.  Pecos, Orla, Angeles, Loving, Carlsbad and Artesia.  If you make it to Roswell, you have a cast iron stomach and will be abducted by aliens for future studies.

Following an eventful night at The Fairfield Inn of Fort Stockton (I'm referring to my night as 'eventful' so I don't run the risk of losing either of my two readers) and a breakfast of yogurt and water, I was back on the road. Gallup, New Mexico was eight hours away and I was praying that my investment in a 32 ounce bottle of Pepto Bismol was a wise one.  But I digress. 

After three and a half hours across some of the most uneventful terrain America has to offer and only 18 ounces of Pepto, I arrived at the International UFO Museum in Roswell, New Mexico. As museums go, this one is on the thin side of artifacts. Unless you count replicas depicting the events of 1947, of which there are many. Replica spaceship, replica aliens, replica crash site and a replica horse, which I'm still trying to understand. And I should caution you, unless you have a spare hour and want to discuss why 'the incident' is real, do not engage Randy. Let's just say Randy makes me believe that people are in fact abducted and returned. I also believe they keep the good ones and Randy didn't make the cut. 

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UFO Museum tour guide Randy. Nice enough fellow, but he had a wandering eye that made me think he could see around corners.  Probably could have used a breath mint as well. 

After promising Randy I would write, I drove over to Big D's Downtown Dive on Main Street for a lunch of anything that didn't include the word armadillo. My stomach had settled enough to sample their famous garlic fries, paired with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and some cottage cheese. Cherie, my bubbly, slightly cock-eyed waitress, asked if I had been to the UFO Museum. I said that I had just visited and found it interesting. And then this happened. "Awesome. So maybe you met my dad Randy! He's a tour guide at the museum!" Check please. "Yes I met your dad. Wonderful man. Very knowledgeable." "He knows Huck Finn and Mickey Rooney." Check please. "That's wonderful. Well Cherie, I have to run now. I'm due back on planet earth any minute now." I walked out of Big D's feeling like I had just been cast in a Fellini movie. You just can't make this stuff up.

When I left Fort Stockton, my plan had been to make it all the way to Gallup and have a few drinks at the 49er Lounge, before calling it a night and sliding into a coma at The El Rancho Hotel and Motel. (As an aside - How are you allowed to be a hotel and a motel? I thought you had to declare yourself to be one or the other. Just seems a bit pompous.) Alas, fate intervened and I ended up spending the night at Los Poblanos Historic Inn & Organic Farm in Albuquerque. What type of role did fate play you ask? The role of a flat tire while exiting to fill up my tank. Not the most romantic of fates, but enough to make me want to drive a mile down Rio Grande Boulevard and book a room.

My initial reaction upon arriving at Los Poblanos was, "Huh?" A stylish inn at the end of a street a few blocks from the freeway seemed mildly incongruous. When I opened the door to my hacienda suite, my initial thought was, "I wonder if I can cancel the rest of my trip and just live here." A bouquet of fresh lavender was bedside. Hand carved wooden beams looked down on hardwood floors and hand plastered walls. Natural light was everywhere. A generous sofa and leather chairs sat across from a burning fireplace. (Here I must apologize for sounding like Martha Stewart. This review is not helping my image.) I threw my duffel in the corner, opened my book on Teddy Roosevelt by Douglas Brinkley and fell asleep in roughly three minutes. 

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Los Poblanos Inn. When I woke up from my nap I accidentally knocked a glass bowl off the table and it broke. That's right Martha I'm a bad ass at heart.

Every once in a while something happens that you weren't expecting. Finding this inn and farm is a perfect example. I didn't know this gem existed until about three hours prior. According to their web site. "The Los Poblanos land was originally inhabited by the Anasazi (ancient pueblo Indians) in the 14th century. Many of the original settlers in this area were thought to have come from Puebla, Mexico, a citizen of which is called a “Poblano.” In 1932, Ruth Hanna McCormick Simms commissioned architect John Gaw Meem and numerous WPA artists and craftsmen to renovate the ranch house and create the Cultural Center for political and community events and recreation with gardens designed by Rose Greeley." James Moore, Former Director, The Albuquerque Museum, says Meem, "is without question the quintessential New Mexico architect of the early and mid 20th century and…La Quinta is one of his most important, if not the most important, projects of his career in this state.” And I just took a nap in one of his rooms. Like I said, every once in a while even a blind squirrel finds a nut.

Dinner just gave me another reason to abandon my tour, get a job on the organic farm and never leave. My culinary stroll began with House Cold Smoked Salmon, with blue corn breaded green chile and feta.  Followed by Braised Lamb with roasted vegetables and charred potatoes. Completed the culinary journey with Homemade Peach Lavender Gelato, which I can't describe because I haven't seen heaven yet. My glass of Shafer Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon Hillside Select pushed me to the edge of delirium. All this as the result of a flat tire and being slowed by armadillo eggs. Maybe God is just messing with me.

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Part of the grounds at Los Pablonos.  In all my travels, this is one of the most exquisite properties I've encountered. The fact that they rented me a room without doing a background check is amazing.

It's fairly routine for me to wake up in the middle of the night and read a book, watch a movie or wander around like a zombie with really bad hair. So imagine my surprise when I woke up at 6 AM, after falling asleep at 11:00 PM. Seven hours of continuous sleep! This can't be. I checked my phone to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Opened the curtains to make sure I was still on earth. (I thought maybe this was the handiwork of Randy or his bubble-headed daughter.) It was such an odd and wonderful feeling and quite naturally gave me yet another reason to stay. Instead, I made a pot of coffee, took a 30 minute shower and strolled over to the farm store. Don't tell anyone, but I bought a few bars of lavender soap before jumping back in the Sprinter and heading west. 

Gallup, New Mexico is an easy two hour drive, due west from Albuquerque on I-40. But I had no interest in I-40, because a stretch of old Route 66 ran along the same path. A thread of cement that originally made its way west from Chicago to Los Angeles, Route 66 gave everyone with four wheels the ability to travel from the Midwest to the Pacific. It gave birth to countless businesses and a generation of roadside attractions that defined the word Americana in the 20th century. Neon sign makers thrived. Gas stations, restaurants and aspiring hoteliers sprang up all along the route. Giant paper-mâché dinosaurs, motels disguised as tee-pees and a blue whale you can walk through were must see attractions. "Honey, I'm in a whale!" Trinkets became commodities to be cherished. Route 66 was a microcosm of the American dream. Four wheels, freedom of movement and a cheap hotel. Paradise was there to be had in the form of a Chevy front seat the size of a sofa.     

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Much of Route 66 is littered with relics of a bygone era. Old rusted out cars are scattered across Texas, New Mexico and Arizona.  Original works of art, rusting in the sun. If backseats could talk much of my parents generation would be in trouble.

They bill the El Rancho Hotel in Gallup, New Mexico as 'The Hotel of the Movie Stars." They also say it has "The Charm of Yesterday - With the Convenience of Tomorrow." The first one I understand because the El Rancho Hotel was indeed home to movie stars in the 30's and 40's. Errol Flynn, Doris Day, James Cagney, Gregory Peck, Burt Lancaster, Betty Grable - The list goes on and on. I also get "The Charm of Yesterday", because El Rancho has that to spare. It's "The Convenience of Tomorrow" that I don't quite understand. I mean, how can we know what the conveniences of tomorrow are if they haven't arrived? (I may be over thinking this just a bit.) In any case, El Rancho exudes charm and old world class. It's what I want to be when I grow up.

The grand lobby of El Rancho can transport you back to the days of magnificent lodges built by railroad barons to attract people west. A towering beamed ceiling, held in place by large hand carved lodge poles, mounted with the antlered heads of deer from decades past. Walls filled with Native American art from the Navajo, Hopi and Zuni. Beautiful pieces that draw you in and give you a sense of their rich history. Comfortable sofas and hand woven rugs that invite you to sit and relax. Then there's Kenny, the man at the front desk, who asked me how long I would be staying. "It all depends on how good the drinks are." He almost smiled - it was more like a smirk - before handing me the key to my room. "Bogart stayed in this room", he said. "Seriously?" "Yes. As did Katherine Hepburn, hubba hubba." "Did you just say hubba hubba?" "I did. Enjoy your stay with us." Is it just me that attracts these characters or is this simply life? 

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El Rancho Hotel in Gallup, New Mexico. Home of movie stars, the 49er Lounge and Kenny. The only man under the age of 80 that has ever uttered the words hubba, hubba.  

The 49er Lounge is inside the El Rancho Hotel. They say John Wayne and Ronald Reagan had a few at the bar - back in the day. When Errol Flynn was filming a movie nearby, he would ride his horse into the bar to order a drink. These days they let guys like me in the place and unlike Mr. Flynn, I walked in and took a seat at the bar, surrounded by dollar bills and Christmas lights. I ordered a glass of Blanton's on the rocks and settled in for a while. It didn't take long. "Hi. What's your name cowboy?" "They call me The Bearded Man." (Not quite Mr. Tibbs.) "And why do they call you that?" "I'm thinking it's the beard." Did my parents tattoo 'talk to me' on my forehead as a child? "Where you from cowboy?" "I'm a man of the road." (I know - it's pathetic - but that's actually what I said.) It was at this point that a rather large man, wearing a purple workout suit, saunters over and gives the nameless woman next to me a rather long kiss. "This is Delray. Delray, this is The Bearded Man." "Hi Delray." "Why do they call you The Bearded Man?" "I'm thinking it's the beard Delray." Cue the theme song to The Twilight Zone. "Let's go Carol. Everyone's waiting." And off into the New Mexico night they went. Carol and Delray - Two star crossed lovers. Or a hooker and her manager. I couldn't decide.

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That's Delray in the purple track suit. That's my back, just to Delray's left. Carol is on my right. This was taken just before Delray kissed Carol and my journey into The Twilight Zone began. I was left pondering how Carol could break up with a guy who has the nerve to wear a purple track suit in New Mexico.

Compared to Carol and Delray, the rest of the evening was proving to be fairly uneventful and I was just fine with that. After a second glass of Blanton's I found the hotel restaurant and ordered a Ronald Reagan burger, which came with a side jelly beans. Now that's a first. Since it was only 11:00 when I finished Ronnie and I was one shy of my four drink minimum, I walked back over to the 49er and once again found a seat at the bar. Can you guess where this is going? "Bearded Man. Can I join you?" "Sure Delray - Grab a stool." Honestly, you didn't see that coming did you? "Bearded Man, can I ask you a question?" This has always struck me as an odd question, since it is already asking a question. "Sure Delray, what's up?", I asked over the sounds of a country western tune - My baby left me with nothing but a two dollar bill and a bale of hay. "Have you ever had one of those days where nothing goes right?"  "Yes, at least once a week. Why?" "I think Carol left me for another man." So much for my hooker and manager theory. "I'm sorry to hear that Delray. Can I buy you a drink?" "No, Bearded Man. But thanks. I just thought I'd ask." And with that he stands, shakes my hand and walks out of the 49er alone. I have got to get this tattoo on my forehead removed.

Ronald Reagan before there was a hamburger named for him. When he was still tossing back beers at the 49er and dreaming of one day amounting to something.  Handsome devil. Whatever happened to Ronnie?

Hot Damn - Bearded Man Does New Year's Eve in Texas

About 90 minutes south of Oklahoma City, just off US 35, is the tiny town of 'The Singing Cowboy', Gene Autry, Oklahoma, population 158. It is also home to the Gene Autry Oklahoma Museum, which honors B-western singing cowboys - Of which Gene was king. In 1939 Gene arrived in Berwyn, Oklahoma, purchased 1,200 acres and called it The Flying A Ranch. In 1941, all 227 residents signed a petition to rename the town after its illustrious film star resident. Aurthur Flem is said to have voted against the measure, but was ear punched by his wife Pearl. In any case, the museum is one of those little American gems scattered across the landscape, waiting patiently to engage a curious visitor. According to their web site, "It is now purported to be the Largest Collection of Gene Autry and Singing Cowboy memorabilia in the World." Not sure who else is purporting to have the largest collection, but the one in Gene Autry was pretty good. Four stars on The Bearded Man O'meter.

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Gene Autry, The Singing Cowboy, starred in 93 films and 91 episodes of The Gene Autry Show. Gene lived by the cowboy code, a set of rules that he felt all men should live by. I've always struggled with #8..."He must keep himself clean in thought, speech, action, and personal habits." 

Having rolled out of OKC early, it was right around lunchtime when I pulled into Hillsboro, Texas and found William's Drive In. I was hungry and this looked like a place to get a good burger. It also looked like it was straight out of a 1950's horror movie. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that whoever owns this place hasn't bought a can of paint since 1976, when they dressed it up for the bicentennial. Aesthetics aside, when Becky slapped that tray on my half rolled window and the smell of my bacon cheeseburger wafted up to greet me, I knew I had made the right choice. The involuntary throaty Mmmmmmm confirmed what the rest of my senses were telling me. After so many great meals, the simple joy of a big greasy burger with well done fries and an ice cold root beer was paradise. I found a local rockabilly station on the radio, hit the call button and told Becky to bring me another.  

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William's Drive In, Hillsboro, Texas.  I was told this photo was taken just before the death-eaters came to town looking for Harry Potter.  Not finding Harry, they decided to stay and have a burger before flying off to Dallas.

From Hillsboro I had about two hours of uneventful driving before I reached the W Hotel in Austin. If you've never stayed at a W before, it's a treat. First class everything and an interior decorator that is in all likelihood color blind. My guess is every W has this conversation at some point before opening. Manager, "Ralph, the design looks fabulous!" Ralph the designer, "Fabulous!? Are you mad!? We need to push the boundaries! More blue!" Manager, "But Ralph, we have enough blue!" Ralph, "Then give me more orange! I need orange!" At this point they simply agree to disagree and settle on having more pillows than any hotel on the planet. 

After my double cheeseburger fest in Hillsboro, I wasn't in the mood for more food, so I settled into my room. Moving a few pillows from the window ledge, I had a perfect view of the Texas version of the Colorado River. Still not sure why they call it the Colorado River, since it never touches Colorado and there is a more famous version of the Colorado that actually runs through Colorado. Why not the Texas River? Or the Dallas Cowboys river, brought to you by AT&T. Hold massive music festivals each year, with acts coming in from all over the country. Attract millennials who drink craft beer and wear Chubbies. I'm going to bring this to the attention of the Austin city council. I can't believe they haven't thought of this. 

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The 'living room' at the W Hotel in downtown Austin, Texas.  They kicked me out of this room three times during the night.  I just wanted to sleep on the couch.  The third time they were upset because I had taken some pillows off the couch and fell asleep in front of the fireplace.   

Tom, the bellman, hailed me a cab for the short ride over to The Broken Spoke, the 'Last of the True Texas Dancehalls. My game plan was to take in a show during dinner and then mosey on over to the dancehall and watch everyone two-step in their shit kickers. The first thing you notice when you stand in front of The Broken Spoke is not the look and feel of an old trading post from a John Wayne movie - although you definitely could imagine The Duke walking out of the place. No, the first thing you register is the fact that this unimposing dancehall is sandwiched between two rather large condo developments. Imagine a country western saloon between the Jefferson's condo and Bob Newhart's apartment and you get the picture. Apparently the zoning commissioner suffered temporary blindness, or now has a shiny new summer home. Whatever the case, it's time for the show and I'm starved.

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James White and his wife Annetta, have been operating the Broken Spoke since 1964 and have hosted every great country western musician from Roy Acuff to Willie Nelson. On the right you can see the building where the Jefferson's moved on up - "to a deluxe apartment in the sky."

The entertainment during dinner tonight is Roy Heinrich. For those of you unfamiliar with Roy, here's his modest promo. "Want to experience music the way God and Hank intended it? Kick back at a Roy Heinrich show, and you'll hear the lonesome sounds of a man whose voice is too peppered with experience, lost love, and heartache to not be real." I say modest, because claiming to know what God likes is such a modest declaration. Then ole Roy starting strumming the sweetest honky tonk you've ever heard and as they served up my chicken fried steak I began to think that maybe God really is a fan of Roy's. Loretta, bring me another bottle of Lone Star. I'm settling in for a few.

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I don't want to imply that Lone Star Beer needs to step up their marketing efforts, but damn.

I mentioned they call this place the last of the true Texas dancehalls, right? Did I mention the low ceiling? The one that forces performers over six feet tall to abandon the stage and play from the dance floor so they don't bounce up and hit their heads. Or the fact that young and old hit the dancefloor like it's the last time they will ever hear a tune? How about the sound of boots scuffling the floor in unison, sounding like the hum of a million honey bees. And then there's this tiny fact - After three bottles of Lone Star, I took a trip to the men's room that reminded me of long gone Tiger Stadium. I mean you just don't run across urinal troughs any more - I thought they were all on lawns across Texas being used as flower planters. After four bottles of Lone Star, I thought I could two step. I joined a line. I held my partner and swung her around. I shuffled. I said yeeha at the appropriate moments. I moved up and back with ease. I was two stepping! Wrong. Everyone was polite and my partner even smiled as she excluded me from the next dance. In the end, I think being the only person who's footwear couldn't kill a cockroach in a tight corner gave me away. Damn you Sperry - Why do you refuse to make a pointed tennis shoe? 

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Two steppers Sherrie Wilson and Ferd Turgle. This particular move, perfected by Ferd during his time on the space shuttle, is known as the Turgle Tap. Just another reason to bring back NASA.

Arrived back at the W around 1:00 AM, crawled into bed and couldn't sleep. My ears were still ringing with honky tonk and I was wondering what I didn't like about myself that made me order chicken fried steak. Took out my map - I'm a maps guy - and reviewed my route to Port O'Connor, Texas. Looks like a three hour drive to the Gulf of Mexico and my home for the next few nights, The Poco Logo Lodge - The antithesis of every place I've stayed so far. I'm looking to ring in the new year as quietly as possible. Walking along a deserted beach, just me and a heaven full of stars.   

My leisurely drive from Austin to Port O'Connor included a single stop to visit the Gonzales Memorial Museum, which honors the "Immortal 32 who died in the Alamo." On display is the "Come and Take It Cannon which fired the first shot for Texas Independence on October 2, 1835." It's a beautiful structure described on their site as "an elegant Art Deco complex...constructed of shell limestone and trimmed in Cordova cream limestone." (Alas no Corinthian leather.) Inside the vaulted ceiling display room, various guns, letters, cannons and personal effects of soldiers are neatly arranged. For anyone interested in a piece of Texas history, I would recommend a visit. While there, don't forget to pay .50 cents to get a penny flattened. Never pass up a chance to turn .50 cents into a penny. It's why I am the financial success I am today.

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The Gonzales Memorial Museum in Gonzales, Texas. Home of the famous 'Come and Get It' cannon. Edgar Dunst uttered those famous words just minutes before a fatal heart attack. He had eaten a chicken fried steak earlier in the day.

The Poco Loco Lodge was everything I hoped for. Remote and clean, with a comfy bed, a marlin mounted on the wall and a two minute walk from the beach - Not a corporate logo in site. I threw my bag on the bed and immediately walked to the water. King Fisher Beach isn't much to look at. It's small, the sand is kind of grey and as the name implies, there are a few scattered fisherman. Tucked into a small dune I find two Adirondack chairs and a small fire pit. I know where I'll be at the stroke of midnight. 

It's a short walk from Poco Loco to Beacon Seafood Market, where I pick up some fresh shrimp and a banana pudding cup. From there a skip and a jump to Alvins Food Store for a bottle of champagne and then back to the lodge for some rest and relaxation. I can't tell you how comforting it is to have a marlin on the wall. I feel bad for the marlin, but I've wanted a marlin on my wall since I was a kid and my dad would bring home fresh perch. Have you ever seen a bag of perch? Great to eat, but not much to look at. And you wouldn't dream of putting a perch on your wall. 

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My bedroom at the Poco Loco Lodge. That's not a marlin on the wall - The marlin was in the other room. Those are pillows on the bed. Lots and lots of pillows. I bet the owner knows the decorator at the W.

11:30 PM. I've had a great shrimp dinner in my room, complete with banana pudding for desert. I walk outside and make my way to the water. As I had hoped, it was just me and the lapping tide. Not another soul in sight as I light a fire in the small cast iron pit. I pop my bottle of champagne, pour a little into my plastic cup and take a seat. Overhead I hear the squawks of seagulls, while off in the distance the faint sounds of revelers, preparing to welcome 2017. Out in the bay, lights from fishing boats dance on the horizon. The only close sound is the rustling of sea grass in the wind. As 2016 slips away, I take a sip of champagne and toast those I love. Here's looking up your old address. Happy New Year everyone.   

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Not a bad way to end 2016 - Or begin 2017.  Thank you to who ever left the plaid blankets on the chairs. I left them as I found them.  One might have a little champagne spill on it from when I fell asleep. 

Oklahoma City welcomes Bearded Man

When I travel across the country I try my best to avoid freeways. Instead sticking to what author William Least Heat Moon dubbed 'blue highways'. These are the back roads - Roads with character. Original arteries that pumped people and businesses into a growing nation. But every once in a while, getting from point A to B is nearly impossible on back roads. So the morning finds me heading west from Little Rock to Oklahoma City on US 40, because the spiderweb of back roads that lead to OKC would turn a five hour drive into an eight hour drive. Albeit a more interesting one, but being on somewhat of a schedule, I have to cut a few hours of travel time here and there. Sorry Poteau, Boonville, Ola and Atoka - I promise to visit on my next journey.

One thing freeways do offer are casinos. And in Oklahoma they are popping up like dandelions on a warm April morning. Fortunately for me, one sprung up last year about halfway into my drive to OKC, so I pulled in for a quick bite and maybe a game or two of blackjack. The Cherokee Casino in Rowland, bills itself as "full of thrills and excitement" and invites the weary traveler to "come in and get in on all the winning action!" Be honest, could you resist the pull of such promise? Neither could I, so I sauntered over to the buffet, piled a plate of what I believe are scrambled eggs, onto a few slices of bacon and hash browns. I found an empty table and ordered a large glass of orange juice from the bubbly waitress Terri. "Where y'all from?" she asked. "Mississippi. And you?" "Clementine Street, about a mile from here." So you're from Roland?" "No, Clementine Street about a mile from here." Really not much you can say to that, so I smiled, nodded and began to eat. Terri turned and walked away with the same expression she had when she arrived. After my meal and quickly losing 17 straight hands of $5 blackjack, I walked back to the Sprinter, cursing myself for stopping. But at least I had met Terri, who was clearly destined for great things.

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Cherokee Nation Tribal Councilor David Thornton and his granddaughter Alexus Thornton at the new Cherokee Casino ribbon cutting ceremony.  The gentleman on the left refused to hold the ribbon. Said Elmer Jenkins, "I wanted to hold the ribbon. But every time I grabbed it that dickweed Running With Yellow Shirt pulled it back into his pocket."

What began life as a Ford Motor Company Assembly Plant is now the unconventional 21c Museum Hotel. Marketing materials state that "the update of this iconic industrial building includes 135 guest rooms and suites, a contemporary art museum and Mary Eddy's Kitchen x Lounge, inspired by regional culinary traditions." The hotel also has this..."an installation of six, nine, and twelve foot red arrows, pointing in every direction, and pulsating with a dynamic lighting sequence." Excuse me?  “We have co-opted the stripped down language of commercial signs, incorporating casino style way-finders that tear through the floors of the museum with skyward trajectory,” explain SuttonBeresCuller, the trio of artists who conceived and created the artwork for the guest room floors. Come again? "You Always Leave Me Wanting More is intended to address the sustainability of growth as it pertains to aspects of our social, economic, and natural environments." Brilliant I say. But please tell me there are no pulsating arrows in my room. $50 says I have nightmares.

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Installation entitled, You Always Leave Me Wanting More at the 21c Hotel in Oklahoma City. Freud would have had a field day with this one. 

My room had what they called a 'wet room''. A new term for me, but it consisted of a 'standing shower' (Did they feel the need to clarify how to shower? Do people shower sitting down these days?) and a 'soaking tub', not a bath tub. Apparently clientele at the 21c only soak, they don't actually bathe. So after standing in the shower for about 15 minutes (God forbid I sit) I soaked in the tub, all the while being careful not to bathe. As I stepped from the 'soaking tub' I reached for the 'plush robe', grabbed a 'complimentary bottled water', marveled at the 'original art', made myself a cup of 'Nespresso' and collapsed on to my 'luxurious bedding', where I fell asleep thinking about the pulsating arrows one floor below. Author's Note: Hotel 21c did not pay me to point out several of their upscale amenities. However, at the end of my trip I will be sending them an invoice and a request for the 'wet room' blueprints. 

Fresh from an arrow-free nap I went down to Mary Eddy's Kitchen X Lounge for a good meal before heading over to the Wsky Lounge for the evening. I was greeted by Ezekiel McMurtry, a fine looking young man, who reeled off a few specials of the day. He had me at octopus. Grilled Spanish octopus with green papaya, thai basil, fresno, peanuts and pho broth, to be exact. Followed by an entree of seared scallops, wheat berry risotto, swiss chard and pomegranate. To end this memorable meal, served attentively, I had a bowl of ginger sorbet with a shortbread cookie and a cup of robust coffee. My evening was off to a marvelous beginning. Immediately I wanted to take a nap. 

The Uber driver's name was Kalil Jamil and it rolled off the tongue. I kept asking him questions just to say his name. He didn't seem all that annoyed until he asked me "why do you keep using both my first and last name." I told him that it was the most lyrical name I had heard in a while and he thanked me. "No one has ever said that to me before. I always found my name odd sounding." "Kalil Jamil, your name is unique. You are fortunate." "If you say so. What is your name?" "The Bearded Man." "What?" "The Bearded Man. It's a long story." "I bet it is," said Kalil Jamil as we pulled up to Wsky Lounge. "I bet it is."

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My Uber driver, Kalil Jamil, who made me promise to hide his face.  Something about alimony, loan sharks and immigration issues.  I told him not to worry because he doesn't have a memorable name.

Wsky Lounge is "billed as "Oklahoma City’s premier whisky club" and with over 350 bottles of whiskey its name seems fitting. On the other hand, they are also home to what they call 'Wsky Wheels'. Concoctions with some rather bizarre ingredients. Take 'The Red Layer' Wheel for example. Old Overholt Rye, Licor 43, dill, celery bitters and toasted wood chips. Toasted wood chips? Did you say toasted wood chips? Or the 'Tequila Maipoa' Wheel. Espolone Blanco Tequila, cucumber ribbons, lime wheels, sliced jalapeno, basil chiffonade and agave syrup. Did you say sliced jalapeno? I know I promised my sponsors I would have four drinks at each bar on the tour, but I never said I would drink basil chiffonade. I asked my waitress Penny Cole to bring me a wheel of whiskey and ice - "hold the wood chips." 

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Wsky Lounge Wheels.  Not to be rude, because people were putting these away like Red Bull at the X Games, but I would love to meet the person that invented these and ask them just how far down the rabbit hole they were when they had this dream.   

Comfortably settled into my beehive patterned both, I finished my Wsky Wheel and decided that a glass of Bailey's on the rocks sounded refreshing. Omnipresent Penny kept my glass full and the elegant, laid back atmosphere made me wonder what this place was like before they made it smoke free. It just had the feel of a cigar bar and I probably would have lit up if they hadn't changed. A big fat Partagás. Nurse that puppy for about an hour. But it wasn't to be and instead I found myself asking Penny how she got her name. "My mom found a nickle on the way to the hospital and thought it was an omen. A sign of good luck. But she couldn't name me Nickle, so she called me Penny." "Why couldn't she name you Nickel?" "I asked my mom that question when I finally heard the story - I was about 15 or so. She said nickels were silver and pennies are copper. And she would never name her black daughter after a piece of silver. Apparently she thought copper was okay. Hey, there are worse names than Penny Nat King Cole." I didn't stick around to argue the point. After all I'm The Bearded Man. I wonder what the hell my mother saw on the way to the hospital.

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Penny's superstitious mother, Emma Lee Cole.  When Penny Nat King Cole was born, Emma Lee owned two Cocker Spaniels. Sidney Poitier (Sid) and Sammy Davis (Sam).  Penny's younger brother, born in 1967, was named after Jimi Hendrix and plays lead guitar in a Rush tribute band.   

The Uber ride back to my plush digs at the 21c was uneventful. No Kalil Jalil, but rather Dan Smeer who I'm fairly certain had his vocal chords removed as a child. As a result the drive was conversation free. Although as he dropped me off I think he muttered something about acorns or Altoids - Who knows. He motored away in his Subaru Outback, probably still muttering, while I took the elevator up to my soak tub, where I would be careful not to bathe. 

The Bearded Man hits Little Rock

The plan was to rise early, say goodbye to Mississippi and hit Route 49 North for about a 3 hour drive to Little Rock, Arkansas. What happened was a bit different. Let's just say the last two nights had put a dent into my ability to celebrate a sunrise. Which meant noon found me on a stool in Abe's BBQ, ordering a Big Abe pulled pork BBQ sandwich with 'Come Back Sauce.' I was directed to Abe's by the receptionist at my hotel, who said "Ain't no barbecue like Abe's. Ain't got no sense if you go anywhere's else." Obviously she had mistaken me for someone with sense, but I didn't want to butt heads with Edna. Abe's was originally founded in 1924, by Abraham Davis who apparently also sold his soul for the perfect BBQ sauce recipe. Lot's of trading with the devil going on in Clarskdale. In any case, I think Abe got the better end of the trade and Edna Mae was probably right.

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Abe's BBQ, home of the famous 'Come Back Sauce.'  This is where I offered my soul for a lifetime supply of Abe's pulled pork and was told to get in line.  Seriously, I had to take a number - One of those little tabs that you pull down at the counter.  I'm number 1,187.  

The 3 hour drive to Little Rock, listening to Screaming Jay Hawkins, Chance The Rapper and Van Morrison, felt good and luckily no one was filming my singing (It's not pretty.) I pulled up to The Burgundy Hotel in West Little Rock around 4:30, checked in and found the pool, which naturally was closed. No problem - I corralled a young man by the name of Hester and ordered a Mexican Coke. The pool may be closed, but the sun was shining and the deck chair reclined. 

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I once saw Screaming Jay perform at a bowling alley/bar on Woodward Avenue in Detroit. The show began with Screaming Jay emerging from a coffin, clutching his skull adorned walking cane. You haven't lived until you've heard Screaming Jay's version of Springtime in Paris.

The Burgundy markets its property as "an elite retreat in the heart of West Little Rock." It should be added that this elite retreat allowed me to book a room, so the elite status would now be considered false advertising. The Burgundy also says they offer "Little Rock's most innovative dining experience." A claim I wanted to explore, so again I caught the attention of Hester and had him make a 7:00 reservation. Hester has an odd accent, being a mix of Arkansas twang and what he referred to as 'Mexico City slang'. I'm pretty sure he said 'yes sir', but he may have been giving me a weather forecast. I guess I'll find out at 7:00. 

Apparently Hester had said 'yes sir', or some approximation, since there was a reservation in my name when I arrived at 7:00. Pepe seated me and left me wondering how a gentleman with the name of Pepe got along in Little Rock. But I digress. The decor was certainly innovative. The junction of contemporary and Arkansas chic, with a dash of industrial trim. All in all it was certainly comfy and my dinner was a treat. Starting with creamy gulf shrimp wrapped in bacon and ending with a big slice of banana bread with cream cheese and pecan crunch ice cream. In between I managed to devour a rather large portion of blackened sea bass with chipotle bleu butter and chorizo corn. Hey, it wasn't Abe's, but damn it was good. So good I vaguely remember Pepe sliding the tab onto the table and then for some reason bowing, before turning and walking away.  

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Pepe comes from a long line of waiters. Seen here from left to right - father Javier, Uncle Miguel, Uncle Victor and Grandfather Jose. Javier settled in Arkansas, under the false illusion that it was advantageous to live halfway between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans.  

After a brief food induced nap, I showered, called Hester and had him bring up a cab. The White Water Tavern was too far to walk, which means I couldn't stumble home after the prerequisite four drinks. The cabbie, Hollis, said he had lived in Little Rock for 23 years and had never been to The Whitewater Tavern. When I asked him why, he said "Too much loud." And with that staggeringly precise review, we arrived.

The White Water Tavern is a Little Rock institution. The late owner, Larry 'Goose' Garrison saw to that. Three times lost to fire over a period of 25 years, Goose rebuilt and kept this great live music dive alive. Tonight's band, Mojo Depot, started kicking around 10:00 - One glass of Knob Creek Single Barrel Reserve into the night - opening with a great rendition of The Band's Cripple Creek. This was followed by a scorching version of Train Beat Blues with Brent Womac on lead. Cat can jam I thought as Wanda handed me glass number two. They were a few licks into Big House when Wanda brought over glasses three and four. The place was jumping and she was running around like a chicken with it's head cut off, so I figured why not bring two and save time.  Probably a mistake since three and four disappeared as quickly as number two. 

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I should mention the fact that people love to dance at The White Water Tavern. Maybe love isn't the right word. They feel compelled, drawn to the floor. In my case however, I was coerced. Apparently Wanda's shift ended at 1:00 AM and as all wait staff do after spending eight hours on their feet - They dance. Then again, what Wanda dragged me onto the floor to do wasn't really dancing in the traditional sense. I would call it flailing. Swinging ones arms in all directions, while the bottom half of your body, seemingly with a mind of its own, goes in a completely different direction. Rhythm be damned was Wanda's message to the world. I am woman hear me roar. I'm okay with the I am woman part, it was watching her roar that pushed me over the edge. So while Wanda twirled and flailed to a beat that was only in her head, I quietly slipped away and caught a cab back to the Burgundy. I had a five hour drive to Oklahoma City in the morning and I needed some sleep. Thanks for the dance Wanda. I am man, hear me snore.

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Dancing frenzy at The White Water Tavern. That's Wanda's arm on the left, about to smack another dancer in the head. My guess is she put a few people in the hospital before it was all said and done. If you get a magnifying glass and look closely, you can see the back of my head as I walk briskly toward the exit. 

The morning after the first night of the tour

Waking up with a man in yellow pants sleeping on your bar is not what I had envisioned when I came up with this brilliant idea. And just as that thought crossed my mind, Slim rolled off the bar, stood up straight and saluted as if this was an every day occurrence. "Next time. Stay righteous." And with that, he walked out the door and into the foggy bottom of Clarksdale, his yellow pants the last thing to be swallowed by the mist. Okay, that's not going to happen every morning for the next four months. But once is pretty cool. Where's the Advil and Listerine? I think a squirrel fell asleep in my mouth.   

I think I met these three people last night at Red's. I think I danced with the guy in the middle. I think I sang with the woman. I think I bought a drink for the guy on the left. I think.

After a breakfast of six eggs, scrambled with bacon, feta and mushrooms, The Bearded Man knocked back several large glasses of orange juice and decided to face the day. Actually it was just after 3 PM when he finished breakfast, so facing the late afternoon may be more accurate. In any case, his plan was to head over to Cat Head Delta Blues and Folk Art to explore the collection of records, books and art, before hitting Ground Zero Blues Club over on Delta Avenue. 

Cat Head is sort of like walking back in time to a record shop from the 50's or 60's. I say sort of because I'm not sure if this is a book store, record shop, art space or just somewhere to hang out and fall in love with the blues. You get the feeling that a quote from bluesman Lightin' Malcolm applies to this place, "“Some of it wasn't even in tune, but it was, like BETTER than in tune." This place is undoubtedly out of tune - And therein lies the beauty. As if following a divine calling, owner Roger Stolle left corporate America in 2002 and built this piece of blues paradise, "Blues as a genre isn’t dying. It’s the last of the true, honest-to-Muddy, Mississippi blues characters that I’m worried about." Trust me Roger, one of those characters slept on my bar last night.

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Ground Zero Blues Club is like a roomier Red's Lounge without the sticky floor. Co-owned by some fella by the name of Morgan Freeman, the blues is always smokin, the joint is always jumpin and the food is spectacular. Tonight it's Bill Abel, playing his Mississippi River driftwood-necked cigar box, rasping about catfish and cotton. Influenced by Paul 'Wine' Jones, Abel was born and raised in the delta, a pure product of gospel co-mingling with the blues. As the old joke goes, just change the word Lord to Baby and you've changed a gospel tune into a great blues number. I tried it and it works every time. If you want to learn more about Abel and his music, go here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKaUqIx82Ec 

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Mr. Bill Abel from Belzoni Mississippi, the undisputed king of the cigar box guitar. Plays the raw gut-bucket blues he learned from Paul Wine Jones, T Model Ford, Cadillac John and other bluesmen with unique names. 

Please note: Listening to the blues makes you want to drink. You need to drink. And so my promise of four drinks at each bar was rather easy this night. My first glass of Wild Turkey Reserve was accompanied by a plate of fried pickles. My second glass was paired with 6 BBQ wings, with some extra sauce on the side for dippin. Dinner was a grilled catfish BLT, with turnip greens and baked beans, followed by a brief nap, which I am sure no one noticed. One more glass of Wild Turkey and it was time to hit the hay. As I stumbled out the front door and shuffled to my luxury suite, I glanced back to make sure nobody in yellow pants was following me.

Looking back at Ground Zero Blues Club as I stumble a few blocks to my bed. Pretty sure I left a good tip. Why does my face smell like BBQ sauce?

The Bearded Man Kicks Off Bar Tour

Remember how I said I would have four drinks at each bar I visited on the tour? If last Monday night at Red's Lounge - and each stop since then - is any indication, that could prove to be difficult. 

The two and a half hour drive from Jackson to Clarksdale, Mississippi along Route 49, is like sidestepping time. The Delta lays out in front of you like an old tick hound on a broad front porch. This part of the world is what the late southern author Willie Morris, referred to as "one of those sudden magic places in America." Shotgun shacks and roadside crawfish boils. Kudzu and the occasional slow walking Jones. You''re driving through genuine Mississippi heading for the devil's crossroads - Route 49 and U.S. 61, where legendary bluesman Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil and later wrote a song about it. Since then, virtually every bluesman and rock & roll band from Eric Clapton and Cream, to Muddy Waters, Son House and Ten Years After have covered it. Later that night I was treated to one of the best versions of Crossroads I've ever heard. 

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Legendary bluesman Robert Johnson, who traded his soul in exchange for the ability to play the guitar like no other.  The devil also threw in a pack of smokes.

To call Red's Lounge a dive is probably high praise. Truth is, it's a tiny broke down juke-joint that sits on the optimistically named Sunflower Avenue, in Clarksdale, Mississippi. But don't let the look of despair keep you outside. Grab a handful of ribs from the smoker out front and wander in. If you love the blues (pure blues) and don't mind getting a little beer on your shoes, you're in for a treat. Keep in mind that Red doesn't take credit, so bring a wad. And if you don't drink beer, bring your own liquor and for a small set-up fee you can make your own cocktails. Or in the case of The Bearded Man, you can get some ice and have your four glasses of Stanton's Kentucky bourbon while sitting about 10 feet from the man in the yellow pants playing slide guitar and singing so soulful it hurt

Red's Lounge owner Red Paden, "It just in us. We were born with the blues. We've lived the blues. So quite naturally we have the blues. Not enough money in it to make a livin out of it or anything. We make just enough to have a good time and most of the time that's all you need." Nuff said. Regulars at Red's treat it like home and it's easy to see why. This is the way the delta blues was meant to feel. Intimate and personal. Close. Love for the music drapes over you the minute you walk in. Watermelon Slim telling me how his woman done him wrong. Caught that other man sneaking out the back door. Tell it Watermelon...Tell it. 

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Watermelon Slim singing about how his baby mistreated him.  Watermelon and I ended up singing the great Muddy Water's tune, Got My MoJo Working and sharing a glass of "the best Got Damn whiskey I ever tasted."  I vaguely remember complimenting Watermelon on his choice of trousers.    

About ten minutes from Red's you'll find Shacksdale USA, my home for the next two nights. Trying to describe Shacksdale is not easy. I've never seen anything like it - Not even conceptually. The call it 'The Mississippi alternative to luxury lodging. ' Well, I can tell you my first impression...they got the alternative piece right. But then they opened the door to my shack, affectionately referred to as 'Redhouse Over Yonder', and I knew they did the luxury piece right as well. Not in the traditional sense of luxury, but certainly in the world of Clarksdale, the delta and the blues. So right in fact, that my final thought of the evening as they poured me into my bed was, 'this place has good mojo. Charlie remind me to buy some yellow pants.' 

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The sitting room/bar portion of my suite at Shakesdale.  I woke up in my bed so I know there was a bedroom.  Watermelon Slim slept on the bar.

The Bearded Man Unveils New 50 State Adventure

The following is a transcript of The Bearded Man's press conference which took place at noon CST, December 5, on the steps of the Mississippi state capital in Jackson, Mississippi.

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People awaiting The Bearded Man's announcement on the state capital steps in Jackson, Mississippi. Apparently someone thought the Blue Man Group was also speaking.

The Bearded Man (TBM): I would like to thank the members of the media for joining me here today. I will make a brief statement outlining the adventure I am about to undertake and then field questions. 

The journey I am about to begin is ambitious. Much like my recent travels to our 59 great National Parks, it will celebrate exploration. It will encourage curiosity. I promise you, it will not be mundane.  The "50 State Bearded Man Bar Tour", begins this evening at Red's Lounge in Clarksdale, Mississippi. Over the next 120 days, I will be traveling to the most iconic bar in all 50 states. Needless to say, staying on the road for 120 days is an undertaking of rather large proportion and I would like to thank everyone who has made this possible. In particular I would like to express my deepest thanks to the knuckleheads at TheMountCo, who are once again sponsoring my travels. In this vein, I have promised the four partners that I will have four drinks at each of the bars I visit. I understand that this is a sacrifice on my part, but it's the least I can do. So here's to Austin, Braden, Preston and the old guy in the garage - Thank you.

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Red's Lounge, 395 Sunflower Ave, Clarksdale, MS 38614. The best juke joint in the state of Mississippi. Bring cash - Red don't do no credit.

I will now take questions.

Anderson Cooper, CNN: Good to see you again. Will you be driving the same VW van as you did in your National Park tour? I was told that it was actually being auctioned for charity - Is that true?

TBM: Hi Coop, good to see you as well. I have retired the VW van and Christie's will be auctioning in the spring. I will be driving a modified Sprinter van, provided by Mercedes Benz in exchange for obvious shameless plugs such as this one. By the way, how's your mom?

AC: She's doing well and sends her best.

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Anderson Cooper, AKA Coop. Gets a hair cut every 8 hours. Only wears Vanderbilt jeans when not on set. 

Louis Threoux, BBC: Loved your National Park tour. Have you given thought to a project outside the United States?

TBM: I have Louis. As a matter of fact, this summer I will be traveling to the top 12 concert venues around the world. Spain, Ireland, China - It will be a remarkable time. Also, I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to announce that until May. 

Christiane Amanpour, ABC News: You still haven't called me.

TBM: Christiane, it was one night in 1984. You have to move on.

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Christiane Amanpour sends The Bearded Man an explicit photo on his birthday each year. It's sad really.

Hu Shuli, Caixin Media: Will your blogging be similar to what you've done in the past? By this I mean will you write about the in between as much as the destinations? 

TBM: The beauty of traveling across the country is the in between. The out of the way. The slightly hidden. Visiting iconic bars is a mechanism for seeing, interacting and writing about everything while getting from point A to point B. 

Shereen Bhan, India Business Hour: What drives you to undertake these travels? And as a follow up, will you be traveling alone?

TBM: Namaste (folds hands together and bows). I am driven by a restless curiosity. The United States is this vast land of cultural, philosophical and geographic diversity - It's what makes us unique in many regards. That and I get to have four drinks at 50 different bars in 120 days. Put those elements together and the answer lies somewhere in the middle. 

With respect to traveling alone, I always have someone with me. As I will be having a few cocktails now and again, it is important to have a driver at my disposal. I have asked my man servant, Charlie, to accompany me on this trip. Normally, Charlie stays behind to mind the estate, but he is an invaluable friend and an ex postal worker I have confidence in his driving skills.

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Shereen Bhan, seen here describing The Bearded Man's size 8 1/2 size head. Apparently large by Indian standards of the day.

Bob Woodward, Washington Post: You were recently quoted as saying that the finest National Park is Yellowstone, which has caused some ill feelings from the other parks. Do you stand by your comment?

TBM: Hi Bob, love your work. You strike me as one of America's great journalists. Digging, pursuing truth wherever it may lead. I admire your tenacity and breadth of reporting. Next.

Campbell Cleary, Bloomfield Hills High: Bro, are you drinking the Lions Kool-Aid? 

TBM: My brother from another mother. No. The Lions will never win a Super Bowl until they develop a culture of winning. Keep in mind I would have a completely different answer if Ford Motor Company decides to become a sponsor of the "50 State Bearded Bar Tour." 

Final question.

John Stewart, ex Daily Show Host: In light of everything that has transpired over the last year, do you view this trip through any type of political prism? 

TBM: Hi John. How's Tracey and the farm?

John Stewart: She's good. Just got another llama. 

TBM: A friend for Dalai, cool.  To answer your question, no I do not tend to see things through a political lens. On the road my interactions with people are simply that - Interactions with people. Politics don't enter into the equation. I'm not running for office. I'm more or less running from office.

Rare photograph of rescued unicorn. There are now 14 unicorns at John's farm. We are told that Bigfoot is also now living on the property, but that has yet to be confirmed.

Thank you all for coming out on a rather dreary, rainy day. I look forward to speaking with you again as I make my way across the country in a perpetual state of inebriation. 

Christiane Amanpour: Call me.

The Bearded Man Lives!

For those of you wondering where The Bearded Man has been hiding lately, here's the short answer in three easy to follow photographs that he emailed to us last night.

One.

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Apparently The Bearded Man knows someone we don't. Either that, or he's sleeping on the beach and was hired as a cabana boy at this joint.

Two

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I'm betting this photo was taken from his sleeping bag. Just prior to being arrested for sleeping on the beach.

Three

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We mentioned that we haven't heard from him in several weeks, right?  

After three months of touring the first 58 National Parks in a van, The Bearded Man decided it was time to visit National Park number 59 and finish his tour. So off he flew to Virgin Island National Park, home to some of the most stunning wildlife in the world (wink, wink, nod, nod). We are expecting his final report any day now.

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We've just been informed that this man is apparently financing The Bearded Man's extended stay.  

The Bearded Man Celebrates NPS centennial at stop #58 - Isle Royale National Park

August 25, 2016. As The Bearded Man stepped off the Voyageur II transportation ferry and walked toward the Windigo Visitor Center on the southwestern corner of Isle Royale, he felt the weight of his journey. Fifty eight National Parks in a little less than three months. A remarkable accomplishment. "The experience of a lifetime. So many beautiful parks, so many gracious and warm people along the way", he says before sitting down. "I think of all the nights spent under a blanket of stars, the sounds of nature my lullaby. I remember every stop and every meal. Some of those meals still remember me".

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Moon on Isle Royal. Seriously, the moon actually sits on Isle Royal.

Isle Royale sits in the cold northern waters of Lake Superior, just south of the Canadian border. The National Park consists of 45 small islands and the larger Isle Royale. At 45 miles in length and 9 miles in width, it is the largest island in Lake Superior and the second largest in the Great Lakes, after Manitoulin Island. Given to the United States by Britain in 1783, the Ojibwa peoples considered the island their home until 1844. Shortly afterward, copper veins were discovered, logging began and both continued for almost 100 years, until the island was made a National Park in 1940. Since logging ceased, the forests have returned to their former magnificence, even as traces of the mining past can be found all around the island.

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Shanties on Isle Royal before becoming a National Park. The second shanty on the left was rumored to be the summer home of notoriously reclusive Dales Snoots, at the time the only man to have an IQ over 195. He went on to invent the steam powered toothbrush. 

The National Park Service brochure describes Isle Royale perfectly. "A warm breeze blows through the maples and birches, a splash echoes across the water as a cow moose wades into the protected harbor, an osprey circles overhead. This is the edge of Wilderness". As The Bearded Man stuffed the brochure into his backpack and set up his tent at Windigo Campground, he muttered, "perfect". After a quick meal of gorp and water, The Bearded Man set off on the 9.4 mile Huginnin Cove Loop. "My last hike of the trip. I'm kinda sad". We love this big lug. 

Either a moose forgot to put on his rack before heading out the door, or that is one short moose under those leaves.

The Huginnin Cove Loop leads The Bearded Man along several ridge-lines and through wetlands, while offering beautiful views of Lake Superior and Canada in the distance. At the trail junction beyond the bridge over Washington Creek, the remnants of a historic mine exploration site are clearly visible. As the trail winds upward, beaver ponds and rocky beaches below provide amble evidence of the glory and power of mother nature's gifts and TBM stops to have a bite of his PB&J and take in the view. "Look at that majestic view. Not a human in sight. Even after all I've seen, it still takes my breath away". And with that thought tumbling across his mind, he promptly fell asleep and disturbed his friend Mother Nature with his snoring for the next hour.

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This is what The Bearded Man saw when he woke up from his nap. He left a Snickers bar for them to share.

As with all National Parks, the rangers of Isle Royale are the backbone and glue of the park. "I wanted a ranger led program to be the last thing I did on this trip. I wish I could say thank you to all of the rangers that have guided and educated me at each park. I admire the work they do and quite frankly am jealous as hell of many of them. You know who you are ranger Bob in Yellowstone. And ranger Lin of Grand Canyon". So as the sun began to drift down behind the mighty pines, The Bearded Man sat quietly and listened as ranger Charlie eloquently spoke about the cultural and historical uniqueness of the island, his words gliding over the grass and rough wooden benches where only a few sat. "And we would like to thank The Bearded Man for spending The National Park Service's 100th birthday with us. We trust you've enjoyed our park and we look forward to seeing you again in the near future". The few people present clapped in soft appreciative agreement as The Bearded Man rose, nodded and wiped a tear.

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An Isle Royal National Park sunset. 

Tomorrow, The Bearded Man heads back to the mainland. His plan is to take several days driving from Thunder Bay, across the Canadian northern shore of Lake Superior, catch I-75 south and wind down to Detroit. He has a few buddies that live just north of the city and on September 1st they have a flight booked to the island of St. John to visit Virgin Islands National Park. "You didn't really think I was going to leave our 59th National Park off my itinerary did you? I still love you dear reader. Stay golden Pony Boy".

The Bearded Man Visits Yosemite

Fresh from his 2 AM in-bed feast, The Bearded Man rose early. His 3 1/2 hour drive west on Route 180 and then north on Route 41 was non-stop. At 9:30 AM, he rolled up to the newly renamed Majestic Yosemite Hotel, formerly the Ahwahnee Hotel ("should have kept the name"), fresh as a daisy, but in need of a cup of coffee and an egg or three. After entrusting the van to yet another young valet - "Remember my face," TBM walked to the dining room and ordered breakfast. With towering 34-foot high ceilings, enormous pine trestles and granite pillars, he found it difficult to concentrate on his eggs. "Paddy's Diner it ain't."     

Part of the fun of touring the National Parks are the various accommodations. You get to experience some of the best wilderness campgrounds in America, while also enjoying many of the countries finest lodges. Located in the majestic, jaw-dropping main valley inside Yosemite Park near the base of Half Dome and Glacier Point, the Majestic Yosemite Hotel is one of those places that you will remember fondly for the rest of your life. Built in 1927, it is a National Historical Landmark and one of the most distinctive resort hotels in North America. With it's striking granite facade, magnificent log-beamed ceilings, massive stone hearths, richly colored Native American artwork and finely appointed rooms, it is the finest lodging in Yosemite, or perhaps any of the National Parks. Editors Note to the casual: "For dinner, we require gentlemen to wear long pants and a shirt with a collar, and ask that women wear a dress, skirt, or long pants with a blouse. Please refrain from wearing shorts, T-shirts, tank tops, flip-flops, and baseball caps. Children over the age of four are asked to dress for the occasion as well. Breakfast, brunch, and lunch are always casual." Hey, starting at $420 a night, they don't get a lot of riff-raff in the place. As for The Bearded Man, he never travels without a blue blazer. "It's what real men do." I think that last comment was directed at me. 

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One of the many soaring public places at The Majestic Yosemite Hotel. The Bearded Man has started a petition to return the hotel to its original name of Ahwahnee, an Indian word for "deep, grassy valley where no tie is required.". 

The Bearded Man has a busy day. There are so many spectacular sights to see in Yosemite, wasting time is not an option. His plan, after walking over to the visitor’s center to do a quick sanity check, is to use the ranger guided tour to see Bridalveil Fall, Yosemite Falls, El Capitan, Half Dome, Cathedral Rocks/Spires, Three Brothers, North Dome, and Tunnel View. After a late lunch, hike Cook's Meadow Loop, take in an early dinner, before heading up to Glacier Point and finishing the day with a memorable sunset and stargazing. “Ambitious but doable.” 

Yosemite is home to countless waterfalls. Bridalveil, Wapama, Sentinel, Horsetail, Ribbon, Nevada and Vernal just to name a few of the tallest. But Yosemite Falls, one of the world's tallest, is something you can't miss. Made up of three separate falls: Upper Yosemite Fall (1,430 feet), the middle cascades (675 feet), and Lower Yosemite Fall (320 feet), it cascades some 2,425 feet over a soaring rock wall. The Bearded Man had to get a bit closer and walked the one mile loop to the base of the falls, where he was bathed in a cool mist. "I wish I had known they had outdoor showers here. It would have saved me 15 minutes this morning." Considering most of his morning showers are at least thirty minutes, we began wondering which part of the shower would he eliminate? Then we caught ourselves and it made us kind of nauseous.

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A view from the trail approaching Yosemite Falls. Home of The Bearded Man's accidental shower and subsequent 'But I was just toweling off, Officer' incident. 

Over eons, rivers and glaciers somehow carved 3,000 feet into solid granite to create Yosemite Valley. The nuances of the Valley form spectacular rock formations, for which Yosemite Valley is famous. El Capitan, rises over 3,500 feet above the floor of Yosemite Valley, and serves as a beacon for the best rock climbers from around the world. Half Dome is perhaps the most recognized symbol of Yosemite. Known for its sheer magnitude—a smooth granite wall rising nearly a mile above the valley, it is one of the most sought-out landmarks in Yosemite. In the mid 1860’s, it was deemed “inaccessible” and thought to be impossible to climb. But a decade later, mountaineer George Anderson had summited the peak. The Bearded Man stood silent the first time he saw Half Dome. He later said it was "one of the most intimidating pieces of nature," he has ever seen. "Even more than my mother at 9 AM on a Sunday morning." We didn't ask. 

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A tunnel view of Yosemite Valley, with Half Dome in the distance. The waterfall on the right is over 2,500 feet tall. The fog along the bottom of the valley was created by the National Park Service for ambiance. 

 It is virtually impossible to visit Yosemite and not feel the influence of photographer Ansel Adams, who produced images of Yosemite that are all but ingrained in our national psyche. His 1927, startling image of a Yosemite landmark, shot in fading light with a red filter, "Monolith, the Face of Half Dome" yielded an image that was almost surreal. His influence on creating awareness of the park ran so deep that shortly after his death in 1984, the Minarets Wilderness south of Yosemite National Park was renamed the Ansel Adams Wilderness in his honor. The following year an 11,760-foot peak on the edge of Yosemite was named Mount Ansel Adams. But perhaps the most fitting honor was given by his friend, President Jimmy Carter, in 1980 when Adams received the Presidential Medal of Freedom: "Drawn to the beauty of nature's monuments, he is regarded by environmentalists as a monument himself, and by photographers as a national institution. It is through his foresight and fortitude that so much of America has been saved for future Americans." Just as the images of nature he captured, Ansel Adams was a giant among men.

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Ansel Adams and his famous box camera in Yosemite. Adams is also credited with developing the first Google mapping vehicle. Unfortunately he fell off approximately every half mile or so and the whole endeavor was scrapped. "Worst idea ever," said Adams.

The Cooks Meadow Loop is only about a mile hike, but offers stunning alternate views of many of the sights that The Bearded Man saw on the ranger guided tour. Yosemite Falls, Half Dome, Sentinel Rock, and Royal Arches are all on display as he casually strolls through the large open meadow. There is another reason TBM has chosen to hike this loop however. The Western Azelea is a flowering shrub that produces some of Yosemite's most spectacular and aromatic wildflower displays. The flowers are large and plentiful, with a strong, sweet scent that few people - including our friend The Bearded Man - can resist. Plowing his nose into flower after flower, he looks like a crazed man-bee, trying in vain to pollinate. If a psychiatrist was watching, his trip may have been slightly redirected to the local, 'now, now, just relax and slip your arms into this lovely white jacket' facility. Fortunately the only two who observed his behavior were Billie and Bunny Bowers from Ampersand, New Mexico who found his behavior, "slightly disturbing to say the least," but did not report him to authorities. "Billie and I have no desire to interact with local law enforcement'" said Bunny, as she covered her face and walked quickly down the trail and out of site. Editors Note: The Bowers were arrested a few days later, attempting to rob an Amtrak train traveling between LA and Phoenix. They are currently awaiting trial on charges of armed robbery and boarding a train with deodorant. 

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Western Azelea on Cook's Loop Trail. The Bearded Man was enraptured by its scent, walking bush to bush, placing his nose deep in the blooms, closing his eyes and saying "Ahhhhh" quite loud. This went on for over 30 minutes and is not considered normal behavior, even in California. 

Back at the hotel, The Bearded Man kicked off his boots, lay back on the bed and relaxed a bit before showering, tossing on his blue blazer and heading down for an early dinner. The inlaid wood beamed and chandelier draped dining room was only beginning to fill up when he arrived and began his meal of grilled Spanish octopus, followed by a Cesar Salad. Pausing to catch his breath and have a few sips of water (he was still dry from a long day) TBM asked his waiter to recommend an entree. "If you like salmon, our pan seared Verlasso salmon is the finest salmon dish you will ever taste. If you like meat, the braised Berkshire pork osso buco is to die for." Without blinking, "I'll have the salmon my good man. Dying for a piece of pork is a bit steep." The waiter walked away determined to never use that particular phrase again.

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Grilled Spanish octopus. Just look at it. It's saying, "I am reaching out to you. Take me, eat me, please eat me." I know, I speak Spanish. It is also saying some other things I can't repeat.

Glacier Point, an overlook with a commanding view of Yosemite Valley, Half Dome, and the High Sierra is about 30 miles from Yosemite Valley. The drive, as with any drive in the valley, is mesmerizing. Mother Nature is on full display and she is unrelenting. When the road ends at Glacier Point, it's a short walk to the viewing area. Once everything comes into view, you understand why apparently, it isn't at all uncommon for someone to simply stand and gaze at the view, as if transfixed into place. As for The Bearded Man, he was there at this time of day to specifically watch the sunset. He had seen photos of a color-saturated sky behind Half Dome - Orange and pink flaying out across the valley, before turning to deep blue and purple shadows. But nothing prepared him for the intensity and movement of color. "It was like being in a Van Gogh oil. The richness of color was breathtaking - the way it slowly moved across the granite and valley floor." As with so many before, he was deeply touched by nature and forever enriched by simply observing her transition from day into night. 

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Half Dome at sunset. This occurs right before the sun disappears and the stars magically appear in the sky. And this event seemingly takes place every day. 

Before turning in for the night, The Bearded Man stopped by the visitor's center to take part in a ranger led star gazing walk. Looking at the stars in a National Park, in particular one as remote as Yosemite, is a visual treat. "I never get tired of a night sky. It's so much easier to see the stars when it's dark." (Sometimes stating the obvious can be liberating.) And with those pearls, TBM walked back to his $420 a night room and collapsed across the bad. It had been a long day and he needs to be up early and on his way in the morning. Six more National Parks in California, Oregon and Washington await his arrival, before turning eastward and starting the final leg of his glorious journey. He quickly fell asleep with images of Yosemite Valley and sassy Spanish octopi dancing in his head. 

An artist's rendering of the only known sighting of a dancing octopus. Seen here being threatened by Jacques Cousteau to "dance or else."

The Bearded Man tours 4 California National Parks - Channel Islands, Death Valley, Sequoia and Kings Canyon

The four hour drive from Joshua Tree to Channel Islands National Park requires The Bearded Man to hit a few freeways in and around Los Angeles. Never a good idea. TBM prefers blue highways and crowded freeways tend to make him anxious. As a result, when he arrived at Channel Island Transportation for his scheduled flight to Santa Rosa Island, we had to peel his hands off the wheel. There are tiny nail prints in the wood. I didn't know you could leave nail prints in wood.

Channel Islands National Park encompasses five remarkable islands - San Miguel, Santa Rosa, Santa Cruz, Anacapa, Santa Barbara - and their surrounding one mile of ocean. Each of the islands is a fascinating world unto itself. Accessible by boat or plane, The Bearded Man chose to take a 45 minute flight to Santa Rosa Island via Channel Islands Aviation and booked his return to the mainland on an Island Packer Cruise ship. "I get to fly over these beautiful islands in the ocean this morning and cruise through them this evening. Not a bad day. This might be a cigar day." That last reference is to his secret stash of three Cuban cigars, given to him by a friend who brought them back from a recent trip to Viet Nam of all places. "I meant to light one up at the Grand Canyon, but after that hike I was too tired to inhale."

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Mickey Machado, The Bearded Man's Cuban connection, sporting a hand rolled Havana Hoagie. If you nurse it, a Hoagie can last up to 4 hours. If you just blow thru it, the back of your head may explode.

With all of their untamed beauty, many consider the Channel Islands miniature versions of the California that many thought was lost long ago. At 84 square miles, Santa Rosa is the second largest of the eight Channel Islands (only five of the eight are part of the NPS).  Most of the island is covered by rolling hills. Steep and dramatic canyons, such as Lobo or Water Canyon, cut through the hills and open up to beautiful white sand beaches. There are also two relatively high mountains on the island; Black Mountain, 1298 ft and Soledad Peak 1574 ft. Lying just beyond Point Conception, the weather is more like the Big Sur Coast than that of Southern California and immediately after stepping off the plane in Belcher's Bay, TBM felt the cool breezes coming in off the Pacific. His immediate succinct response - "Tight." 

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This is Kyle Koseck sporting The Bearded Man on Channel Islands. What are the friggin odds that this would happen? Kyle sends us a photo from the Channel Islands while The Bearded Man is touring the Channel Islands. If I get a photo from Yosemite tomorrow I may cry.

The hike to Torrey Pines to view one of the rarest pines in the world is a fairly easy five mile hike along the flat Coastal Road. Given that Santa Rosa and San Diego are the only two spots where these wind-sculpted conifers grow, the hike is well worth it. But when you see a Torrey Pine for the first time, it's unlike seeing other spectacular wonders of nature. After all it's just a funny looking pine tree. A drunken uncle of the pine tree in your back yard. "Let's be honest. They're not much to look at." The Bearded Man, natures most PC admirer. 

From the pines, The Bearded Man hitched a ride over to Lobo Canyon with its native flora, eroded sandstone formations, and embedded pygmy mammoth fossils. Wait...Pygmy mammoth? Yes indeed, a miniaturized 5-foot high mammoth once roamed here. Apparently they drove rather large cars to compensate for their small...stature. But I digress. The mouth of the canyon opens to a secluded beach and expansive views of the Pacific Ocean. The perfect spot to rest and enjoy a lunch of pita chips and a PB&J on whole wheat. "Don't tell anyone about the Cow Tail. I can only go so long without a Cow Tail."  

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The secluded beach at the mouth of Lobo Canyon, site of the infamous Cow Tail incident. Did The Bearded Man give a piece of his Cow Tail to an Olive-sided Flycatcher or was it stolen by a Western Gull? The proper authorities have been notified and several gulls detained. 

The boat ride from Belcher's Bay to Ventura Harbor was two hours of fairly rough seas. The Bearded Man, for the most part a man of land, emerged from the boat feeling a bit queasy and started looking for a place to have dinner. "When all else fails, eat. It's a simple motto to live by." We agree and ducked into Boatyard Cafe for some Cajun shrimp linguine, with a side of mixed vegetables and a glass of California Cabernet (just one). With a five hour drive to Death Valley, it was time to gas up and hit Route 126 northeast. Any way you slice it TBM knew he would be arriving late.

With only one quick stop at Stoken' Donuts in Mojave (TBM is allowed a few guilty pleasures and a nutty donut just happens to be one of many), The Bearded Man rolled up to The Inn at Furnace Creek and employing his best Bogart imitation, tossed his keys in the direction of the valet stand and said, "Be gentle." Once the young man at the desk finished laughing - not a ha, ha laugh, but a are you seriously that delusional laugh - he picked up the keys and parked the van. The Bearded Man headed straight for the Corkscrew Saloon and a well earned glass of bourbon on the rocks. This was followed by a small thin crust pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms and sweet peppers, before strolling over to his room and passing out. "I need a good night's sleep for my nails to fully recover." He's brawny but tender.

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Cinnamon pecan crunch donuts. The Bearded Man ordered one and they brought him a stack. Not knowing the ways and customs of the donut people, he felt compelled to eat them.

Death Valley is hot. On this day, 120 degrees worth of hot. Do you think the Bearded Man changed his schedule to accommodate the heat? Do you think he cancelled his two mile hike up Mesquite Flat High Dune? No is the correct answer. Making matters worse, there is no formal trail to follow, so you just start walking uphill across the dunes until you reach the highest point, which is about 100 feet off the desert floor. The Mesquite Flat Dunes fill the center of a Y-shaped valley that helped lead to the creation of the dunes and also makes for expansive views. In some areas, the sand has dried to form hard clay, which lies on the desert floor cracked in polygon shaped patterns. The Bearded Man just looked up the word polygon.

On his way back to his room, The Bearded Man stopped at the Furnace Creek Visitors Center to tour the collection of geological specimens. As the lowest point in North America, Death Valley belongs to a world-wide group, whose members share one defining feature. Namely, they all have exposed land below sea level, which requires an extremely dry climate. In wet climates, low places fill with water and overflow to the sea. A dry climate evaporates water, leaving behind salt flats or briny lakes. Like most of these locations, Death Valley was not created by a river’s erosion. But rather by movements in the earth's crust along the active fault lines of the Basin and Range geomorphic province, pushing it below sea level depths. (The Bearded Man was overheard asking a ranger if Death Valley had to pay dues to be in the group of places below sea level.) 

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Q. How did a steer skull find its way to the floor of Death Valley? A. Clearly aliens.

Q. What is a Polygon? A. Footprints left behind by aliens.

After a quick bite, The Bearded Man retrieved his van from the valet stand and over-tipped the young man. You take care of these guys and nothing happens to the van. "I scratch your back, you take care of the van." Alright. That might be a slight deviation from the standard line. In any case, the drive to Charcoal Kilns and up to the top of Telescope Peak (elevations from 7,000 – 11,000 ft) passes through pinyon-juniper habitat and bristlecone pine communities and is prime bird watching territory. "What better way to end a full day in the park than spotting a Mountain Bluebird or a Yellow Headed Blackbird? Unless it's a Western Wood-Peewee." You've gotta give the guy credit - Who would even know a Western Wood Pee-Wee if it flew into their car and introduced itself?

There is no direct route between Death Valley and Sequoia National Park. If one existed you could make the drive in about and hour or so. Unfortunately you can't drive over the Sierras, so you have to backtrack south to Bakersfield before heading north on Route 65. Turning an hour's drive into a five and a half hour drive. "Such is life," says The Bearded Man. "It takes me a hour to go up and down all the isles at Kroger, so what's a few more minutes." (Is life really this simple?) With one stop in Bakersfield for gas and a late breakfast of french toast, three eggs over easy, with well done hash browns at Pappy's Coffee Shop (10595 Rosedale Hwy), TBM rolled up to Wuksachi Lodge at exactly 10:15 AM.

At an elevation of 7,050 ft, Wuksachi Lodge is ideally located in the Giant Forest area of Sequoia National Park, only miles from the entrance to Kings Canyon National Park. The magnificent stone-and-cedar mountain lodge built in 1999, is situated in the heart of the park and surrounded by a mighty sequoia forest and soaring Sierra peaks. After checking in, The Bearded Man did something he has rarely done on this trip - He put a few clothes in one of the drawers of his room. "It's odd to be staying in one place for two nights, but I have Yosemite coming up in a few days and I want to show up well rested." That almost sounds like logic.

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Wuksachi Lodge. If I bought this place I would rename it 'Lodge of Golden Light With Violet Backdrop.' Either that or 'Smitty's Motel'.

If you're looking for wilderness, you've come to the right couple of parks. While the wilds of Kings Canyon and Sequoia bump up against each other, they are also surrounded by Jennie Lake Wilderness, Monarch Wilderness, Golden Trout Wilderness, John Muir Wilderness, Dinkey Lake Wilderness and Inyo National Forest. As is the case with many of the large National Parks, you could wander around for weeks, each day filled with wondrous landscapes of giant trees, vast lakes and soaring peaks. But if your visit is brief, you need a plan in order to see the best the park has to offer. The Bearded Man has a plan and it starts with a short hike to Tokopah Falls. Beginning just beyond the Marble Fork Bridge in Lodgepole Campground, it's an easy 1.7 mile (one way) walk along the Marble Fork of the Kaweah River to the impressive granite cliffs and 1,200 ft waterfall of Tokopah Canyon. 

Dear Reader, the following paragraph is brought to you by Mother Nature.

"In order to assure that an increasing population, accompanied by expanding settlement and growing mechanization, does not occupy and modify all areas within the United States and its possessions, leaving no lands designated for preservation and protection in their natural condition, it is hereby declared to be the policy of the Congress to secure for the American people of present and future generations the benefits of an enduring resource of wilderness."  -- The Wilderness Act of 1964

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This is what wilderness looks like. Notice the lack of electrical wires and cars and cell towers and houses and shops and stadiums and freeways. We can Photoshop it in if it makes you feel better.

Sequoia and Kings Canyon had many champions that worked tirelessly to bring the parks to fruition. Walter Fry, Norman Clyde and Charles Young and his Buffalo Soldiers and Susan Thew to name a few. Thew, was a staunch advocate for preservation, but never more so than in her role in the expansion of Sequoia National Park. It was here that Susan found inspiration: "If you are weary with the battle, either of business or the greater game of life, and would like to find your way back to sound nerves and a new interest in life, I know of no better place than the wild loveliness of some chosen spot in the High Sierra in which, when you have lost your physical self, you have found your mental and spiritual re-awakening." We think she was on to something and wanted to make sure her words are remembered.

In the late 19th century, under the command of Charles Young, the Buffalo Soldiers began building highways that would allow access to the Big Trees. Over the next few decades, roads connecting the two parks expanded and branched into various parts of the parks. On June 23, 1935, at a cost of $2.25 million (roughly the same amount as LeBron James makes for waking up in the morning), the newly named Generals Highway cemented a partnership between Sequoia National Park and General Grant National Park. On the day of the ceremony, 669 cars carried 2,488 people from both the Sequoia and General Grant entrances to create a convoy along the park-to-park highway and meet in the center. By 1940, General Grant National Park was incorporated into the newly-formed Kings Canyon National Park where the highway continued to multiply the visitation between the two parks. And today, on that very highway, The Bearded Man finds himself winding around curves cut into rock by Buffalo Soldiers 100 years ago and awe struck by the beauty at each turn.

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General's Highway in 1933. I'm not saying the workers were drunk, but on the back side of that hill is a very straight path.

Back at the lodge, The Bearded Man showered, trimmed the beard and headed down to The Peaks for dinner. After a few minutes of studying the menu, he says to no one in particular, "I might be here a while." And he was. Starting with a chopped salad of organic mixed greens, shaved turkey breast, bacon, roasted corn, avocado, hard-boiled egg with sherry-thyme vinaigrette, followed by a bowl of french onion soup. Pan-search rainbow trout with a hint of peach salsa was his entree, before topping it off with a small - and at 127.9 proof, I mean small - glass of Booker's Bluegrass bourbon. As The Bearded Man slowly walked back to his room he was heard muttering "I forgot to order dessert." 

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For those of you not familiar with what the term 'proof' means, it's a way of of measuring alcohol content. You take the 'proof' and divide it by two, to get the percent of alcohol. In this case, it is 127 'proof', so it is 63.5% alcohol. The higher the number the less likely you are to remember where you live.

Up with the sun, The Bearded Man walked over to the visitors center to ask a ranger if there have been any bears spotted along the High Sierra Trail from Upper Kern Canyon to Guitar Lake. His day was going to be spent on that 10 mile section of the 70+ mile High Sierra Trail in Kings Canyon and he wanted to know if there was activity in the area. Ranger Martinez assured him that no activity had been reported and to employ the normal cautionary measures of hiking a remote trail. "Got it. Make noise, look big and use a bear bag for food." I think he's been to this rodeo a few times. Coffee, hiking poles, backpack, two gallons of water...let's go.

The Bearded Man's hike begins in low country by the Kern River and takes him to Guitar Lake, the launching point for a western-approach climb of Mount Whitney. This is a stretch that climbs about 3,500 feet in ten miles. By no means an easy hike, but after climbing out of Grand Canyon, "this should be a walk through the tulips." First passing the walls of Kern Canyon and Wallace Creek, before the peaks of the Kaweah Range come into view, the trail eventually junctions with the John Muir Trail, where it crosses Wallace Creek. Finally reaching Crabtree Meadow where there is a back-country ranger station and water access. From here - after resting for a good half hour - the trail climbs around another 800 feet in 2.5 miles to Guitar Lake, which at 11,400 feet is the highest point of the hike and affords a magnificent view of Mt. Whitney. "Wake me up in about an hour and I'll head back down the trail. I'm pooped." And with that The Bearded Man began snoring within one minute.

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Mount Kaweah beneath cloud, and Second Kaweah in cloud shadow, beyond Kaweah Creek. The Bearded Man slept here and bathed here. He also left behind a present here.

After an all day hike, room service was in order, so before heading up to his room The Bearded Man stopped by the kitchen and put in an order. He was informed by the waitstaff that they did not offer room service, but as TBM slipped him a $50 bill the policy underwent a dramatic change. Dinner arrived just as TBM was done toweling off after a 45 minute shower. "Thank you for bending the rules just a bit. I appreciate it. Here you go, buy yourself a new tie." And with that, he slipped the young man another $50 before falling asleep laying sideways across the bed, still in his robe, with his dinner untouched. (His 2 AM dinner was delicious.)

The Bearded Man tours Grand Canyon and then on to Joshua Tree

The first time you see Grand Canyon you are forever changed. When you gaze out across this majestic landscape, you are filled with awe and wonder. The enormity and raw power of nature is on full display. Her beauty and might are laid bare for all to see and it is a deeply moving and ultimately humbling experience. It quite literally took The Bearded Man's breath away. 

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I dare you to walk to the edge of the Grand Canyon, look out over the unending sweep of time and not be moved. The Bearded Man wept tears of joy.

Arizona Sate University is the curator of 'Nature, Culture and History at the Grand Canyon'. They have done a remarkable job of capturing the essence of the Grand Canyon and its place in history and our current culture. The following four paragraphs are from their site - www. http://grandcanyonhistory.clas.asu.edu/index.html.

The Grand Canyon is one of the most identifiable and remarkable landscapes on earth and the most internationally recognized symbol of nature in North America.  But this over-sized natural wonder is much more than a sight to behold. It is a cultural landscape that has been lived in, traveled through, feared, marveled at, exploited for profit, utilized for education, and praised as inspiration by a diverse array of people over a very long time. 

This unique place has influenced American science, art, environmental values, popular culture, tourism, and leisure.  It provided life and salt for Native Americans, thwarted early Spanish explorers, confounded prospectors and evoked poetry from the pens of scientists. From the early travelers to today’s five million annual visitors, everyone reacts differently - but everyone reacts.  As these reactions have been captured in oral histories, books, photographs, paintings, poetry, news articles, and movies, the relationship between people and place in this iconic American landscape has grown to shape our nation’s history and values. 

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The ever-changing palate of the majestic Grand Canyon. Depending on who you ask, the canyon is over six million years old or less than two thousand. When the same group was asked when did dinosaurs roam the earth, answers ranged from 10 million years ago to last week.

One of Earth’s few natural landmarks visible from space, the massive rift carved by the Colorado River begins just south of Utah at Lee’s Ferry and curves with the river through 277 miles of Arizona toward the California border, brushing Nevada along the way. At places, it is 15 miles wide (it averages 10), and its depth reaches a mile, cutting through rock formed two billion years ago. We call it, quite simply, the Grand Canyon, but there is nothing simple about this enormous landscape.

For many people, the phrase “Grand Canyon” immediately conjures a national park. Formally dedicated in 1919, Grand Canyon National Park covers 1,904 square miles (just 50 square miles fewer than Delaware) and encompasses many of the most beautiful vistas of the region, but it does not surround the entire geologic feature known as the Grand Canyon, which actually begins east of the park and continues on for many miles beyond it to the west. In other words, the Grand Canyon contains the park, but the park does not contain the Grand Canyon."

Before the sun rose, The Bearded Man filled up with coffee and walked over to meet the tram that would take him to the South Kaibab trailhead. From here the descent into the canyon and his final stop for the evening, Phantom Ranch, is an elevation change of 4,714 feet down 7.4 miles of steep, twisting, hardscrabble, narrow trail. The hike from South Rim to Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the canyon on the Colorado River, is not for the faint of heart. It is also not for those out of shape, those who are afraid of heights, those who can't carry a pack, those with bad knees, those who don't understand the importance of hydrating, or those who were mistakenly lead to believe that this would be a 'good stroll.' However, for those that hike down to Phantom Ranch along South Kaibob, they are rewarded with spectacular views of the canyon and the Colorado. Views that reaffirm your belief in the power of nature to inspire and heal. 

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The 7 stages of the North Kaibob Trail. 1. Oh my God, look at that view! 2. Hey, this is steep. 3. What do you mean we're not halfway? 4. My legs feel like jelly. 5. Either it just got cloudy or I'm having a stroke. 6. I think my right foot just came off in my shoe. 7. You can carry me if you lift with your legs. 

For anyone planning a trip, here is the NPS brochure, 'An Introduction to Backcountry Hiking in the Grand Canyon.' https://www.nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/upload/intro-bc-hike.pdf. Read it.

The Phantom Ranch - Just the name conjures up images of a mysterious hideout for train robbers of the old west. You expect Butch and Sundance to suddenly stroll by and doff their hat. In reality, Phantom Ranch would in fact have been the perfect hideout. Tucked into the woods at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, accessible only by foot, mule or the Colorado River, which runs by a few hundred yards from your front door. As The Bearded Man can attest, it's not right around the corner from anywhere and when you get there by foot all you want to do is lay down. Or better yet, all you can do is lay down. Fortunately for anyone who has walked to the bottom of the canyon (about 1% of the nearly 5 million annual visitors), a stream runs directly behind the cabins. An ice cold stream that feels like heaven. Like butter on lobster. Like champagne on ice. Like a cold shower after a marathon. Actually, it felt better than all of those things combined and The Bearded Man lay in the stream for exactly 77 minutes before walking back to his cabin and falling asleep in 2. minutes flat.

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Cabins at Phantom Ranch. They have window unit air conditioners, which The Bearded Man credits for saving his life. "Without air I don't think I could have slept that night. Without rest I would have fallen off a cliff the next day." Hard to argue with that. If I hadn't slept last night, my head may fall over and hit my laptop - Boom you're dead. 

Dinner at Phantom Ranch is a community affair, with visitors meeting in the cafeteria and sharing long wooden tables. Meals are chosen before you hike down and The Bearded Man opted for chicken with vegetables and banana pudding for dessert All washed down with water - his 23rd gallon of the day. After dinner, stories are told, experiences shared and the hobbled return to their cabins to prepare for the tougher leg of the journey - the hike back to the rim via Bright Angel Trail. Before heading back to his cabin, The Bearded Man walked down to the Colorado and sat on the bank for a while. As the water rushed by, he suddenly found himself thinking of how far this trip had brought him and how far he had to go. He smiled to himself and promptly fell asleep. When he awoke, the sky above the canyon was a barrage of white, glowing pinpoints. Viewed up through the walls of the canyon, the night was as beautiful as any he had ever seen. He smiled all the way back up the path to his cabin. He knew he was a lucky man.

Before he hit the trail at 5:30 AM, The Bearded Man was given a pre-ordered sack lunch consisting of an apple, an energy bar and something that was obviously put in the bag by mistake, since only a raccoon could ignore the smell. Two large bladders of water, a quick coffee and off he goes on the 10 mile, 4,000+ foot climb back to the south rim. Or as he later lovingly called it, "My ascent into hell." 

The six hour grueling hike up the Bright Angel Trail passes through four rest stops along the way. Stone shelters that offer the opportunity to refill bladders and empty them at the same time. It also leads through an anomaly on the trail known as Indian Garden. An oasis of trees in any otherwise barren landscape, Indian Garden springs up as if a mirage. Once the seasonal home of the Havasupai, President Theodore Roosevelt ordered them to leave the area in 1903, to make way for a park. However, it was not until 1928 that the last Havasupai left, forced out by the National Park Service. (We were told they now own several casinos in the Nevada desert and are still angry with Teddy. We could not confirm.) After Indian Garden, The Bearded Man started to feel the climb in his legs. An experienced hiker and physical specimen (or at least a specimen) he none-the-less could feel the rapid elevation change and took several water breaks before emerging at the top. "Between yesterday and today, I think I lost 12 pounds. I am counting on dinner to put at least 10 of those back on." Always the optimist.

Part of the infamous Teddy Roosevelt Grand Canyon mule ride after politely asking the Havasupai Indians to leave. Teddy once declared that the Grand Canyon was something everyone should see. TBM once said the Grand Canyon is something every person should hike in good sturdy boots. Two very similar great men.

A meal in the dining room at the historic El Tovar Hotel, is a meal to remember. The National Park Service calls it, "Gourmet dining in an atmosphere of historic and casual elegance. This celebrated and majestic dining room is constructed of native stone and Oregon pine, with murals on the walls reflecting the customs of four Native American Tribes – the Hopi, the Apache, the Mojave and the Navajo. The ambience is rustic, but classic and traditional. You can imagine the countless number of intriguing characters that have dined here in the past.  Guests such as Teddy Roosevelt, President Bill Clinton and Sir Paul McCartney have dined and shared stories within these walls. The menu is traditional, integrating both international and local Southwest influences.  Signature items such as the Prime Rib Hash at Breakfast or the Salmon Tostada at Dinner have graced the menu for decades and become true classics. The Service Staff for El Tovar Dining Room are consummate professionals; many have been with the restaurant for over 20 years. The El Tovar Dining Room is considered the premier dining establishment at the Grand Canyon and is recognized internationally." After his early dinner, The Bearded Man would simply say - ditto. 

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The landmark El Tovar Hotel, overlooking the rim of the Grand Canyon. The inscription on the postcard reads in part, "Sorry to hear about Uncle Fred, but we have our own problems. Betty got sauced and just slipped over the rim of the canyon." 

If you've never hiked an elevation gain of 4,000 feet, over the course of 6 hours and 10 miles, it is difficult to understand how loud your dogs are barking. After his memorable meal at El Tovar, The Bearded Man wanted nothing more than to return to his room and collapse. Read a book, watch bad television or drink 15 Mexican Cokes. But he did not want to leave Grand Canyon without visiting historic Kolb Studio, which is fortunately located about 100 yards from the Bright Angel Lodge. In 1902, Emery and Ellsworth Kolb opened a studio in the Grand Canyon and began making photographs of mule parties, landscapes, river adventures, and nearly every other dramatic scene and incident that occurred in the area. They also successfully navigated the Green and Colorado Rivers in 1911, filming their journey. The film ran in the Kolb Studio in the Grand Canyon from 1915 until Emery's death in 1976. Quintessential pioneers and visionaries, the Kolb Brothers' photographs and films run throughout numerous short and full-length films, most notably the Ken Burns' documentary, National Parks: America's Best Idea. Anyone who has ever set foot on a trail at the Grand Canyon owes a thank you to these two. Bless you boys.

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A 1903 Kolb Brothers photograph of lightening over the Grand Canyon. Taken approximately 106 years before the omnipresent iPhone. This particular photo had zero views on Instagram.

Putting Grand Canyon in his rear view mirror was difficult for The Bearded Man. Everything about the park was begging him to stay. But he is on a tight schedule and as such he grabbed his coffee, threw his gear and pointed the van in the direction of Joshua Tree National Park. The five hour drive southwest across Arizona and into California was an uneventful one, with the exception of an early lunch stop at In-N-Out Burger in Kingman, Arizona. As a rule, The Bearded Man eats very little red meat, but the chance to feast on a couple of double bacon cheeseburgers (not to mention the well done fries) at In-N-Out was just too much to resist. 

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First In-N-Out Burger in Baldwin Park, California. Rumored to have been started by a frustrated California housewife.

While the Joshua Tree area has been inhabited by humans for at least 5,000 years, by the late 1920's, the development of new roads into the desert had brought an influx of land developers and cactus poachers. Minerva Hoyt, a Pasadena resident who was extremely fond of desert plants, became concerned about the removal of cacti and other plants to the gardens of Los Angeles. Her tireless efforts to protect this area culminated in 825,000 acres being set aside as Joshua Tree National Monument in 1936 and as part of the Desert Protection Bill, was elevated to park status on October 31, 1994. In 1987, the Irish rock band U2, titled their album Joshua Tree and Bono bought his first pair of gigantic yellow sunglasses.

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Bono is the guy on the right. All four lads are wanted for postal fraud in connection with a scheme to reproduce rare Irish stamps commemorating the birth of Paddy Finnegan, a.k.a. McPaddy. Shortly after this photo, Bono began wearing sunglasses indoors.

Joshua Tree is renowned for its plant diversity, with nearly 750 species of vascular plants. Nearly half of these are annual plants, like many of the wildflowers that bloom in spring. The park also provides habitat for over 44 plant species designated as rare. and a spectacular number of trees and shrubs. Shrub assemblages here are among the most diverse vegetation types in North America. Joshua Tree is also known for its numerous species of cacti, many species of ferns, mosses, and liverworts—also known as bryophytes. Many species of lichens can easily be found growing on the famous rock formations of the park. "Now I understand why they originally wanted to call this place Desert Plants National Park in 1930," chimes in The Bearded Man, who was earlier seen enjoying a rather involved conversation with a large fern.

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Joshua Tree National Park. Home of the Yucca brevifolia or Joshua tree. Several park names were bandied about before landing on Joshua Tree: Land of Odd Trees, A Desolate Place and my favorite The Desert.   

Still feeling the effects of his Grand Canyon hikes, The Bearded Man decided the best way to spend his time at the park - beside in his tent sleeping - was to take advantage of a couple of ranger guided tours. First on his list was a tour of the historic Keys Ranch. William F. Keys and his family are particularly representative of the hard work and ingenuity it took to settle and prosper in the Mojave Desert. Bill and Frances spent 60 years working together to make a life and raise their five children in this remote location. The ranch house, school house, store, and workshop still stand; the orchard has been replanted; and the grounds are full of the cars, trucks, mining equipment, and spare parts that are a part of the Desert Queen Ranch story. 

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Mrs. Francis Keys, reads a letter from her husband Bill Keys in 1948, saying he was about to be paroled after serving five years in San Quentin for murder. In 1956, Bill was awarded a full pardon on grounds of self defense. Even though Bill was away, Mrs. Keys fixed her hair up pretty each and every morning. 

Before turning in, The Bearded Man joined a ranger led star gazing expedition. Consisting of a short one mile out and back, the group was treated to a clear sky and for many their first viewing of The Milky Way. Ranger Kipp asked The Bearded Man to say a few words about the first time he saw The Milky Way and the effect it had on him. "I was 13 years old when my dad drove us up to a place called the Headlands, in northern Michigan. I grew up in a small town outside of Detroit and although we didn't have a lot of ambient light, we never got to see a sky like the one here tonight, or the one I saw as a 13 year old kid. I remember our dad pointing out various constellations and patterns in the sky. Then he showed us The Milky Way. And there it was, as plain as day, right above my head. We all laid back on the grass and stared up at the heaven's for what seemed like hours. It was, up to that point, the most amazing night of my life. And standing here tonight, it feels as though I can reach out and touch my fathers hand.  My brother's shirt, or the hem of my mother's skirt (she wasn't allowed to wear pants - don't get me started). That night is the reason I am here tonight. That night embedded in me the love of outdoors and all things in it. It also provided me with a lifelong love affair of the night sky." After The Bearded Man finished his recollection, Ranger Kipp asked if anyone else would like to provide a memory. No one spoke until someone in the back quietly said, "I think I'll pass." TBM can be a tough act to follow. 

And now a word from our sponsor: Joshua Tree, we will continue to celebrate the NPS Centennial in October by bringing together astronomers, scientists, cultural speakers, night-sky enthusiasts, artists, volunteers, junior rangers, and members of nearby communities to celebrate the night skies of Joshua Tree National Park.

We thought we had a deal with U2. We mention their name in a post (U2) and they would help fund The Bearded Man Tour. Paul Hewson nixed the deal. Yeah, that's right Bono, we know who you are. .     

Bryce Canyon to Great Basin to Zion - The Bearded Man finishes Utah and Nevada before heading to Grand Canyon in Arizona

The 114 room Bryce Canyon Lodge, built in 1925, offers guests the choice of suites, motel rooms and cabins. The Bearded Man checked into his cabin, gathered some gear and headed out to hike the Rim Trail. Extending from Fairyland to Bryce Point, Rim Trail has several steep elevation changes and is 5.5 miles one way. It also offers the finest views of what's commonly referred to as the Bryce Canyon National Park amphitheater. Several trails, such as Fairyland and Peek-A-Boo, lead deep into the canyon and offer spectacular view of the parks legendary hoodoos. But on this day The Bearded Man understood that when you hike into the canyon, you eventually have to climb out of the canyon, and in 103 degree heat, that may be less than fun. "Sticking to the rim. Only mules and the Varner family are heat resistant enough to head to the bottom today." Editors note: His seemingly innocent reference to the Varner family and their well documented tolerance of high temperatures, prompted phone calls from their attorney Mortey Steinway. All were allowed to go straight to voice mail. We've been around the block with these litigious heat-loving people before.

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A member of the Varner family racing to the bottom of Bryce Canyon. Their attorney, Mortey Steinway, can be seen in the distance on his cell. 

Bryce Canyon is home to 59 species of mammals, but only one is a potential killer. The mountain lion, also known as cougar, puma, panther, yellow cat, catamount, etc., is North America's largest member of the cat family. These majestic creatures once roamed throughout North America, but today, their range is limited to British Columbia and Alberta, Canada, the twelve westernmost states in the US, and Florida. An adult mountain lion, can be up to 30 inches tall at the shoulder, 8 feet long and weigh 175 pounds. A lethal ambush hunter, the mountain lion often leaps on its prey from trees or rock outcroppings. One lion can consume up to 20 or 30 pounds of meat in a single meal. After feeding on its kill, the lion will cache the prey, or bury it in a secluded spot. This feeding behavior prompted a warning from the NPS: "A Mountain Lion periodically returns to its food cache or may just rest between meals hidden nearby. Therefore, investigating a Mountain Lion food cache is fine if you can fly like a raven, but otherwise it is a very dangerous idea." Did The National Park Service just crack a joke or do they think certain visitors can actually fly?  

Back at the lodge, The Bearded Man indulged in an early dinner that turned out to be one of the finest meals on his trip. It began with an oven roasted portabella mushroom stuffed with fresh sage, rosemary, feta cheese and panko bread crumbs. Followed by sliced tomatoes, fresh basil and fresh mozzarella drizzled with balsamic reduction. For his entree The Bearded Man selected the skin-on boneless Utah trout filet, crusted with almonds and panko, pan seared and topped with prickly pear cactus and roasted jalapeno puree, served with herb infused jasmine rice and freshly steamed broccoli. For dessert he managed to put away a large slice of homemade Rainbow Point carrot cake and a rather large bowl of vanilla bean ice cream. He also had a bottle of 1974 Beaulieu Vineyard's Georges de Latour Private Reserve, before asking the waiter to fetch an Uber for the 100 yard trip back to the cabin. 

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The closest Uber - Seen here dropping off his last fare in Zion National Park. The driver, 78 year old Mahnoor Bajwa, is struggling to cover fuel costs for his modified tour bus and is actively searching cars.com for a used Prius.

Bryce Canyon to Zion National Park is a little over an hour's dive southwest on Route 89. The Bearded Man's home for the night, Zion Lodge, lies in the middle of a hiker’s paradise, where "accommodations include historic cabins with two double beds, full bath, gas log fireplace and private porch and hotel rooms with a private porch or balcony. All rooms feature air conditioning, phones, radio alarm clocks and hairdryers." Alas, no TV for The Bearded Man to watch his beloved Detroit Tigers take on the Chicago White Sox. His National Park tour has taken a toll on his ability to keep up with the Tigers. (We've inserted this brief whine in hopes that Mr. Ilitch, who owns the Tigers, will take pity on The Bearded Man's plight and offer free tickets for the 2017 season. We love you Mr. I.)

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A rare photo of Mr. I from his playing days. A scrappy middle infielder who perfected the art of floating above the field, Mr. I didn't make it to the show, so he bought a big league team instead. Oddly, none of his players can float. 

The name “Zion” means a place of peace and refuge. As a sanctuary with over 146,000 acres of cliffs, canyons, diverse plant and animal life, and uninterrupted beauty, Zion is well-named. Its massive sandstone walls, some as high as 3,800 feet, offer an opportunity for serenity and reflection for all who visit - including the perpetually serene Bearded Man. Early paintings brought notice to these remarkable areas and inspired others to consider protecting them for generations to come. From the earliest days of Westward Expansion, artists joined explorers and scientists to document the “unknown” lands. Most American’s first notion that such places existed was from seeing a painting, either in person or reproduced in a magazine.

The towering cliffs of Zion Canyon were so remote and inaccessible, that the nation was not introduced to this landscape until the turn of the twentieth century. One of the first paintings of Zion was by a veteran of John Wesley Powell’s second expedition of the Colorado River, Frederick S. Dellenbaugh, in 1903. He also completed an article about Zion that appeared in a popular magazine and through these mediums, Dellenbaugh transported this unknown canyon to visitors to the St. Louis World Fair and into the homes of Scribner’s Magazine readers over 100 years ago. Dellenbaugh’s images and words: “this great temple of eternity,” raised awareness about this majestic canyon and influenced some to petition for its protection as a national park. Today, the Zion National Park Foundation hosts an annual Zion National Park Plein Air Art Invitational. The event brings together 24 of the country's finest landscape artists to paint en plein air (in the open air) throughout the week. Attendees walk and talk en plein air as well. (Used en plein air twice in one paragraph. This has never been done in the history of the English language.)

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1903 painting of Zion Canyon by Frederick S. Dellenbaugh, or Freddy D, as he was known to friends. History has largely overlooked the fact that Freddy D was dyslexic and all of his paintings are backward. 

The 8 hour round-trip hike from LaVerkin Creek Trail to Kolob Arch, provides outstanding opportunities for solitude in a primitive area of Zion Wilderness. The trail begins at Lee Pass with stunning views of the Kolob Canyons as it crosses Timber Creek and continues to descend toward LaVerkin Creek. After seven miles a spur trail leads hikers to a viewpoint where they can see the Kolob Arch. With a span of 287 feet and a thickness of 75 feet, the Kolob Arch is one of the world's largest natural arches. And at this juncture, The Bearded Man decided to remove his boots and take a brief rest on the side of the trail. The tarantula returning to its underground burrow, directly under The Bearded Man's left butt cheek, did not take kindly to the human roadblock. Unlike their common depiction in horror films, tarantulas are actually quite docile unless harassed and their bite is considered non-toxic to humans. The Bearded Man was unaware of this fact and proceeded to leap up (we didn't realize he could jump so high) and sprint down the trail, screaming like a kid from the Vienna Boys Choir. Fortunately he was not bitten and after 45 minutes got up the nerve to return to the scene and retrieve his boots. 

Back at the lodge, shaken but not deterred, The Bearded Man decided that a good meal and a good night's sleep would erase his horrifying encounter with the tarantula. The Red Rock Grill, with its large windows overlooking the floor of the canyon and the soaring stone walls, was the perfect place to start. Seriously, there's isn't much that a plate of fresh, oven roasted Alaskan salmon won't cure. Add some garlic mashed potatoes, steamed asparagus and a side of buttered calamari and life starts looking up. An ice cold 16 ounce Mexican Coke served in a glass bottle as a finishing touch. Editors Note: We understand that an ice cold Mexican Coke with such a lovely meal is not the norm in polite society. And The Bearded Man cares why?

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Perhaps there is a better meal than salmon, garlic mashed and asparagus, we just don't know what it would be. Just like we don't know why they placed a small tree branch on our food. 

Driving north for 3 1/2 hours before driving south for 7 1/2 hours, seems a bit counter intuitive. But when you look at a map, the only way to get from Zion to Great Basin National Park in Nevada, before going to Grand Canyon National Park in Arizona, is to drive north then south. So as always, The Bearded Man was up with the sun and on the road. His plan was to have breakfast at Arshels Cafe, in Minersville, Utah (with a piece of chocolate/peanut butter pie to go) and breeze into Great Basin around 9 AM and he did just that. 

With the exception of remote back-country camping, there is no camping or lodging of any kind inside Great Basin. The town of Baker, Nevada, however, offers a bit of everything for the weary traveler. The Bearded Man chose The Silver Jack Inn and Lectrolux Cafe from his list and checked in. A comfortable room and let's just call it an eclectic mix throughout the rest of the place. The Lectrolux Cafe would certainly come in handy after a long day in the park. 

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The Silver Jack Inn. How can you go wrong with a place that has cocktails and fudge? Not to mention spare bike parts and breakfast. 

"The finest workers in stone are not copper or steel tools, but the gentle touches of air and water working at their leisure with a liberal allowance of time." So says Henry David Thoreau. And there is no finer example of the touches of air and water than Lehman Cave. A beautiful marble cave ornately decorated with stalactites, stalagmites, helictites, flowstone, popcorn, and over 300 rare shield formations, Lehman Cave is only accessible as part of a ranger guided tour. Before entering the cave The Bearded Man was asked if he had been in another cave recently as a precaution against the spread of a bat disease known as White Noise Syndrome, a disease responsible for unprecedented mortality in hibernating bats in the eastern United States and Canada. Since he has been to Mammoth Cave in the last month or so, he was asked to wipe down his boots with decontaminating wipes. In an unrelated incident, he was also asked if he had a mint. He did. 

The Grand Palace Tour is approximately 90 minutes long and travels 0.6 miles. The tour leads visitors to the Gothic Palace, the Music Room, the Lodge Room, Inscription Room, and the Grand Palace sections of Lehman Caves, including a chance to view the famous "Parachute Shield" formation. The Bearded Man, with newly decontaminated boots, was fascinated by the unique thousand year old formations, colors and frailty of the various rooms. The cave's ecosystem also includes many species that are only found in Great Basin, including insects such as Globular Springtail, Great Basin Pseudo-Scorpion, Model Cave Harvestman and the ever popular translucent Cave Cricket. 

Back above ground, The Bearded Man opted for an early dinner at the Lectrolux Cafe, before heading back to the park for what was sure to be a beautiful evening under the stars. As of spring 2016, Great Basin has been designated an International Dark Sky Park. The International Dark Sky Association has recognized that Great Basin has distinguished and unique opportunities to experience dark nights. On a clear, moonless night in Great Basin National Park, thousands of stars, five of our solar system's eight planets, star clusters, meteors, man-made satellites, the Andromeda Galaxy, and the Milky Way can be seen with the naked eye. The area boasts some of the darkest night skies left in the United States. Low humidity and minimal light pollution, combined with high elevation, create a unique window to the universe. and tonight The Bearded Man took full advantage of where he was. "Few things in life compare to the awesome beauty of a dark night's clear star filled sky. I wish I could describe how breathtaking the sky is tonight. Let's just say it has a way of making you feel humble." With that, The Bearded Man had to look away for fear of being seen shedding a tear.  

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One of many beautiful posters depicting our National Parks. This particular poster was based on a photograph taken in 1937 by photographer and shoe salesman Willie Klearasil. The unknown man and woman appear to be gazing into the night sky. However, just over the ridge and out of sight is a concert featuring Duke Ellington and His Orchestra. The unknown couple did not want to pay the extra .25 for a pavilion seat. 

The trip from Great Basin to Grand Canyon is an 8 hour trip that will take The Bearded Man from Nevada, in and out of Utah and end up in Arizona. Two stops are planned - The French Spot in Cedar City, Utah for a late breakfast and Bitter Springs, Arizona for a late lunch. Dinner will be at the Bright Angel Restaurant after a shower and a nap in his cabin at Bright Angel Lodge, on the south rim of the Grand Canyon. The Bearded Man has been looking forward to this park since he began planning his trip many, many months ago. In an effort to help him relax and enjoy his stay, we made sure the lodge staff left a copy of "Over the Edge: Death in Grand Canyon - Gripping accounts of all known fatal mishaps in the most famous of the World's Seven Natural Wonders" by Michael P. Ghiglieri and Thomas M. Myers, on his bedside table. Sleep tight my friend...sleep tight.

The Bearded Man tours black canyon of the gunnison before heading to utah's five national parks

Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park is an intimidating landscape. A 48 mile gash, carved into western Colorado by weather, time and the Gunnison River, it reaches depths of over 2,700 feet. Bearing the name of an Army Lieutenant that first led an expedition into the canyon in 1853, John W. Gunnison's report contains the first official description of the formidable Black Canyon, calling it "the roughest, most hilly and most cut up," he had ever seen. 

The Bearded Man parked his van and set up camp at South Rim Campground in a small stand of oak-brush. At $16 for a place to park, pitch a tent, use the head and fill up with water, you can't beat National Park camping. From the campground it's a short walk to South Rim Visitors Center where The Bearded Man picked up a trail guide for the Warner Point Nature Trail. Named after John Warner, one of the park's earliest advocates, the 1.5 trail leads you through mountain mahogany, serviceberry, pinyon pine, and juniper, while showcasing magnificent views. The San Juan Mountain Range, Uncompahgre Valley, and Bostwick Park to the south and the West Elk Mountains to the north. At the end of the trail, views of the Gunnison River and Black Canyon are stunning. There was actually a brief moment, when The Bearded Man was looking out over the canyon and was speechless. He has asked us not to print that - so obviously we won't. 

Here's a link to the John Warner Trail Guide. https://www.nps.gov/blca/planyourvisit/upload/warner_trail_guide.pdf

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Standing on the edge of Black Canyon. It was only at the last minute that Harry "The Bird" Mybox, realized he had forgotten his wing suit.  

Back at camp, The Bearded Man indulged in a rare nap.  In his words, "Life caught up with me, so I closed my eyes for a bit." (Profound.) Feeling refreshed, he visited the Cimarron Canyon Rail Exhibit, at the mouth of Cimarron Creek, just upstream from where it spills into the Gunnison River. Locomotive #278, its coal tender, a boxcar, and caboose stand atop the last remaining railroad trestle along the Black Canyon of the Gunnison 15 mile route from Sapinero to Cimarron. In August of 1882, the editor of the Gunnison Review-Press newspaper was on the first train through the canyon and commented that this was "the largest and most rugged canyon in the world traversed by the iron horse." According to Rudyard Kipling, who rode through the canyon in 1889: " We entered a gorge, remote from the sun, where the rocks were two thousand feet sheer, and where a rock splintered river roared and howled ten feet below a track which seemed to have been built on the simple principle of dropping miscellaneous dirt into the river and pinning a few rails a-top. There was a glory and a wonder and a mystery about the mad ride, which I felt keenly…until I had to offer prayers for the safety of the train." The engineers that took trains through the Black Canyon for the next 67 years may have agreed to the beauty of the canyon, but were extremely fearful of the route - especially during winter. Avalanches and rock falls were common and an engineer and his crew never knew if or when their train would be the next to be swept into the icy waters of the Gunnison River. Despite the dangers and constant repair work, the Denver and Rio Grande made its Black Canyon route the cornerstone of its "Scenic Line of the World" passenger promotions and featured the Curecanti Needle on its emblem.

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A photo of The Denver Rio Grande Railroad in Black Canyon from the Sharlot Hall Museum. A decrease in mining and the rise of automobiles led to the demise of the line. This photo was taken by a Hans Goebbels, who fell off the back of the train while smoking. His camera was retrieved from scat of a mountain lion several days later.

Planning an early morning departure to Arches National Park, The Bearded Man drove over to the Horsefly Brewing Company in Montrose, so he wouldn't have to cook and clean up after himself. Two orders of fish tacos and one Six Shooter Pale Ale later, The Bearded Man headed back to camp. We would be remiss however, if we didn't relay one incident that took place while waiting for his second round of tacos. His waitress, Suzie, asked if he was from around the area. Big mistake Suzie. "Nope. I'm originally from Michigan, but my parents moved to Mississippi when I was pretty young. I went to school in Kentucky and New York, but in between lived in Florida and California. I didn't care for California. Everything was brown and Santa wore a Hawaiian shirt. People talked funny, not like in Mississippi. When I was in Florida, I thought everyone was over 90, so that didn't seem right. I liked New York, but taking classes and living alone was expensive. I remember the smells that came up through the subway grates. Kind of an oil and steam smell. If I close my eyes I can still smell those grates. Hey where did Suzie go?" This is after a single beer. Do not feed The Bearded Man beer. He will talk your ear off. Feed him bourbon and he will just smile.

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We think the Six Shooter Pale Ale is on the left. Suzie never returned to The Bearded Man's table and has since retired from waiting tables. She refused to be interviewed for this story.

The drive from Black Canyon to Arches National Park along Routes 50 and 191, winds north before heading west and then dipping south. It's about 182 miles, give or take a few, skirting two National Conservation Areas - McInnis Canyon and Dominguez-Escalante. The Bearded Man's lone stop was for breakfast at the Strayhorn Grill in Loma, Colorado. Opened by Bill and Sheryl Martin in 2009, the Strayhorn's home-cooked 'Sale Barn' breakfast of 2 eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast was as good as advertised. A Yeti full of coffee to go and The Bearded Man was off like a cheap prom dress.

Arches and Canyonlands National Park - two of Utah's five National Parks - are only a thirty minute drive apart. Since there are no campgrounds in Arches, The Bearded Man will set up camp in Canyonlands. Willow Flat Campground at Island in the Sky, sits atop a windswept mesa, a short walk from Green River overlook. "A perfect base of operations for touring two parks," states The Bearded Man. "If hell doesn't freeze over and the river don't rise, we'll be okay." What the f....?

Arches became a National Park in 1971, decades after being designated a National Monument by President Hoover in 1929. The creation of Arches recognizes over 10,000 years of human history that flourished in this now-famous landscape of rock. Among those rocks is Fiery Furnace. Here's how the park describes the Fiery Furnace ranger-led tour. "Everyone attending a Fiery Furnace tour should be aware of the demanding nature of this hike and properly equipped for current conditions, including temperature extremes. During this three-hour, strenuous hike, participants must walk and climb on irregular and broken sandstone, along narrow ledges above drop-offs, and in loose sand. There are gaps which must be jumped and narrow places that you must squeeze into and pull yourself up and through. In some of these places, you must hold yourself off the ground by pushing against the sandstone walls with your hands and feet." Here's what The Bearded Man had to say after completing the tour. "Demanding nature of the tour? Who wrote that review? Sally the malnourished art teacher?" We should probably leave that comment out of our report.

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During part of his Fiery Furnace tour, The Bearded Man says that he felt as though he was being watched. "I sensed the presence of someone with large eyes and a bulbous nose watching my every move.  It was unsettling." We filed a stalker report with a park ranger.

Back at Willow Flat Campground, The Bearded Man relaxed and dined on a carrot cake Cliff Bar, before getting ready for the evening ranger-led discussion, 'Animals in Arches' at Devils Garden Amphitheater. Considered somewhat of a wildlife expert, The Bearded Man was asked to say a few words on his choice of animal indigenous to the area. He chose the desert bighorn sheep. His talk began with the following sentences. "The typical diet of a desert bighorn sheep is mainly grasses. How many of you in the audience live mainly on grass? Anyone? Anyone?" Seventeen year old Timmy Bodine from Beaver, Pennsylvania was the only one to raise his hand and was immediately smacked in the back of his head by his mother Francis.   

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Timmy Bodine seated second from left, is clearly high. So are the rest of his pals, except Shawn Heacock on the far right. He got high once and tried to take his pants off over his head. He now drinks 13 Guinness each day.   

Being park Cherokee, The Bearded Man is always interested in the story of the American Indian as it relates to many of the parks, and Canyonlands is rich in American Indian history. Early farmers in the area are called the ancestral Puebloan (formerly known as Anasazi) and Fremont people. They grew maize, beans and squash, and kept dogs and turkeys. In order to tend their crops, they lived year-round in villages like those preserved at Mesa Verde National Park. Though the two groups overlapped, the Fremont lived mostly in central Utah, while the ancestral Puebloans occupied the Four Corners region. For many years, changing weather patterns made growing crops more and more difficult. Around A.D. 1300, the ancestral Puebloans left the area and migrated south. Before leaving, other groups appeared in the area, including the Ute and Paiute. The Navajo arrived from the north sometime after A.D. 1300. All three groups still live there today. 

After a lunch of campfire bacon and eggs, The Bearded Man set out to explore the Shafer Trail Road, 18 miles of dangerous dirt track that requires extreme caution for vehicles and bikes, even in the best of conditions. As dangerousroads.org explains, "This road has humbled many egos. It’s not for the sissies and shouldn’t be attempted by novice drivers. The road is in dreadful condition and requires strong nerves to negotiate it. It’s certainly breathtaking and it has a fearsome reputation. It still remains an adrenaline-pumping journey and is definitely not for the faint of lungs, heart, or legs." Translated...it's a perfect road for the VW van. "Highlights of this trip include well marked Indian petroglyphs and amazing natural stone arches. You’ll also have an opportunity to tackle the Schafer Switchbacks, a breathtaking climb with expansive views of the surrounding canyon-lands." As we said, perfect for The Bearded Man's van, so off he went, Steely Dan blasting on the 8-track.

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The notoriously dangerous Shafer Trail. The small speck behind a boulder at the bottom is The Bearded Man. We told him to use the bathroom before getting in the van.  

Following his adventure on the Shafer Trail, The Bearded Man settled in at Willow Flat for an evening of cooking and star gazing. An early dinner consisted of turkey bacon, lettuce and tomatoes wrapped in a toasted pita, a side of fresh green beans dipped in butter, all washed down with Vernor's ginger ale. Feeling full and pleased with himself - why not? - The Bearded Man cleaned up and walked over to the visitors center for the ranger-led star gazing program. Tonight's program included a rare six minute glimpse of the International Space Station at exactly 9:53 and The Bearded Man was excited, almost giddy. "To think that people are living on an object orbiting the earth at a speed of roughly 17,150 miles per hour, blows my mind. They are orbiting the earth once every 92 minutes. That's faster than most of my morning showers!" (Let's just act like he didn't say that.) As it appeared, a large white light, much larger than a plane or satellite, traveling southwest by northeast across the dark Utah sky, the people surrounding The Bearded Man fell silent. The space station seemed to glide silently across the sky, perfectly visible to the naked eye - much larger than anticipated. At one point, when it was directly overhead, you would swear it was possible to make out features on the space station. It was an awe inspiring encounter with human and technological accomplishment and grace that everyone should experience. Drop what you are doing and visit this site to see when the space station will be passing over your trailer park. https://spotthestation.nasa.gov/sightings/

Russian cosmonaut Vlad Pushkin preparing to board a rocket that will take him to the International Space Station. Note the special gloves designed for holding curved objects and the large cupboard in the rear, where the rocket is stored when not in use.

If you could drive in a straight line from Canyonlands to Capital Reef National Park, it would be about a 30 minute drive. But there are very few straight lines in this part of Utah, so the two hour and fifteen minute drive takes us north, before heading west and ultimately turning south on Route 24. One quick stop in Hanksville, just south of the confluence of the Fremont River and Muddy Creek, which together form the Dirty Devil River, and eventually end up in the Colorado River. Since skipping breakfast to get an early start, he thought a stop at Stan's Burger Shack was in order. A couple of bacon burgers and a chocolate shake later, he rolled over to the Hollow Mountain grocery/bait shop/gas station/souvenir stand, a must see for anyone interested in stores build inside a mountain (isn't everyone?). In need of a few supplies, he picked up a box matches, Altoids, a roll of duck tape, 6 Cow Tails, some AAA batteries, twine, a bar of soap, a map of California and a used paperback copy of Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows. They did not have any Chick-O-Sticks in stock.

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Two working payphones, bait and the largest selection of buffalo jerky between Kansas and New Mexico! But nothing could hide the bitter disappointment of no Chick-O-Sticks.  

The Waterpocket Fold Country in what is now Capital Reef National Park, was the last territory to be charted in the contiguous 48 states. In 1776, two Franciscan priests, Francisco Atanasio Domínguez and Silvestre Vélez de Escalante, left Santa Fe with the intention of finding a route to missions in Monterey, California. They made detailed recordings of their findings through Arizona, Colorado, and Utah during their trip.

In the winter of 1853, John Charles Fremont passed through Utah and Colorado, attempting to find a northern railroad route to the Pacific Ocean. The expedition was difficult and the explorers were forced to eat their horses before stumbling upon a Mormon settlement. Fremont took care to document their journey, hiring a daguerrotypist, Solomon Nunes Carvalho, to accompany them. Carvalho took nearly 300 daguerreotypes, most of which were unfortunately lost in a fire after the expedition. However, one of the remaining images was identified from the northern district of the park as the formation "Mom, Pop, and Henry". Fremont and his men also recorded their encounters with Ute and Southern Paiute Indians. 

The Fruita Campground is often described as an oasis within the desert. Adjacent to the Fremont River and surrounded by historic orchards, it is the only developed campground in Capitol Reef National Park. The Bearded Man set up camp and immediately set out for the Upper Pleasant Creek trailhead. The hike takes you along the creek for about a mile before giving way to deep, narrow canyons that require several stream crossings. After a while the canyon gives way to a broader expanse of small sandstone chutes and ponderosa pines which signals the western boundary of the park and serves as a turnaround point. On his hike back to camp, The Bearded Man met a few hikers from northern Michigan and struck up a conversation. "Where is Neebish Island?" "It's in the upper peninsula of Michigan, across the straights of Mackinac. It's pretty quiet up there. Just us, a few bears and passing freighters on the Saint Mary River." "Any theaters on the island?" "Nope. No theaters, no malls, no car dealers - hell, we don't even have a Starbucks. Just a campground store. Everything else you have to bring over on the ferry. Neebish is not for everyone. You have to like peace and quiet. Solitude." "How about a book store?" "Nope." "REI?" "Nope." "Does the camp store sell moon pies?" "Nope." "If they had moon pies I might have been able to swing it."

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A booming Neebish Island 1936. The closing of Stevie's Bait Shop in 1939, signaled the end of the population boom (well over 100 people!) Recently, rumor had Jimmy Hoffa buried under the dock by the old Candish house. When the FBI dug up the area they found skeletons of 124 cats and a case of unopened Dr. Pepper. 

Tired after his hike, and knowing that he had a few hours before his guided full moon walk, The Bearded Man returned to camp and immediately fell asleep. Up around 8:00 to make a fire for dinner of pepper stew and mixed green salad. Once fed, he walked over to the ranger station to meet ranger Bo, who was leading the full moon tour. Always eager to discuss the difference between a waning and waxing gibbous, The Bearded Man found ranger Bo to be well versed on the night sky and a delight to be around. A crowd of 15-20 visitors arrived and was treated to a tour of the heavens. Both ranger Bo and The Bearded Man spoke about the eight phases of the moon, how each of phase is instantaneous, lasting theoretically zero time, although they occur at slightly different times when viewed from different points on the Earth. Ranger Bo discussed the intervals between principal phases, when the Moon appears crescent-shaped or gibbous. How the shapes, and the periods of time when the Moon shows them, are called the intermediate phases. The Bearded Man droned on about time frames and how, on average, a phase is one-quarter of a synodic month, roughly 7.38 days, but their durations vary slightly because the Moon's orbit is slightly elliptical, and thus its speed in orbit is not constant. He closed with 10 minutes on why the descriptor waxing is used for an intermediate phase when the Moon's apparent size is increasing, from new moon toward full moon, and waning when the size is decreasing. As one attendee from Turtle Shell, Alabama so eloquently put it, "Damn, those boys know what's what and what isn't. I thought a gibbous was a kind of monkey. Sheeeeit." Well said Mr. Alabamian, well said.

About a two hour drive mostly due south is Bryce Canyon National Park. Up early with the sun, The Bearded Man is planning breakfast at the Koosharem Cafe and video store in (where else?) Koosharem, Utah before heading into the park. With over one review on Trip Advisor, it seemed like a can't miss. As The Bearded Man likes to say, "It's hard to mess up an egg, unless it's bad." (He truly is a man of great wisdom.) Breakfast turned out to be delicious - Four strips of bacon, three eggs over easy, well done hash brown, buttered wheat toast and a Coca-Cola. Our waitress even gave us a to-go cup of Coke. Now that's service with a smile and his tip of 25% reflected his approval. (Editors Note: As a rule, The Bearded Man is a generous tipper. The exception is when his server sneezes on the food just prior to placing on the table. Even then he leaves 10% and a monogrammed handkerchief - TBM.)     

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Right down the street from the Koosharem Cafe/video store, a few fellas pose for us at the Koosharem hardware/post office, which is right next door to Dr. Nutfloat's office/cattle feed store.