A Night at the Rodeo

Action! Skill! Showmanship! Points! RIDE-EM-COWBOY VAUDEVILLE!! Rodeo on Friday night. Big crowd. Stetsons, Levis and Justins – head to toe cowpoke-dressed. The Blues Festival for ranchers and cow-punchers.

Pre-show was “mutton-bustin’” in which a 5 year old child was latched onto the back of an unshorn-sheep and the sheep was set loose. Kid wearing a helmet; kid either dumped in the loam or plucked off by an adult as the sheep charged by. Longest time a kid clung to a sheep – about 5 seconds. This is how you train human rag dolls to grow up and latch themselves voluntarily on a 2,000lb brahma bull. Or as the announcer called it, “Red-necked child abuse.” I think he was trying to be funny.

Patriotic! American Flag! Honor Guards! STARS-AND-STRIPES Salute!! Rodeos are intensely patriotic. The ticket stub had ARMY STRONG on one side, and New Mexico National Guard on the other. The Guard presented the colors.

Pro rodeo started at 8 pm with the bareback bull riding. Watch my video and see who reigns in the ring – the bull chased the clown over the rail! The guy who won the bull riding event was out of uniform – he wore a motocycle crash helmet fitted with an umpire or hockey-style face guard instead of his cowboy hat. This event was followed by bareback on bucking broncos, by saddled bucking broncos, by bull-dogging where the cowboy jumps off a horse at about 30 mph onto a running, horned bull, wrestles it to the ground onto its side. This was followed by calf roping as singles and calf roping in teams. And that was followed by the only event of the evening for the “fairer sex” which was barrel racing (not that rodeo is overtly macho :->). I had been waiting for this event, but had finally gotten up to go to the johhny-spot and the barrel racing was half over by the time I got back. I’m not really making fun: we both had fun at the rodeo. It was my first time and I got a kick out of the crowds, not to mention admiring the willingness of the riders to commit their bodies to the abuse of trying to staying on an animal who is moving in 4 different directions simultaneously. Nick remembered rodeo from Tucson as a kid and was anxious to re-experience it. I’d go back again next year. I’m not sure Nick will be so interested. We left about 9:30, and there were events yet to follow. If each individual stayed on his animal an average of 10 seconds, there were 6 to 7 men in each event, and I think there were six events, that meant that in 90 minutes that we stayed, there was 7 minutes of actual riding. Add to that the 6 women competing in barrel-racing, at about 18 seconds each for another 1.8 minutes and the approximately 3 minutes of a trick rider. We saw 11.8 minutes of rodeo riding and 78 minutes of waiting while they settled an animal down in the gate or while they chased an animal out of the ring. And I used to complain about commercials taking up all the air time on TV. My most humorous impression from the rodeo? The calves and bulls in the roping contests wore helmets!

Yesterday, we went to Tucson to meet our friends who used to live there until the ocean called them to the Bay area. They were back for a gathering of friends at their former church, and we drove down to meet them for dinner and, this morning, breakfast. We went to a real chinese restaurant. REAL chinese restaurant. It is true that there is a scarcity of good restaurants here in Silver City. For all the attractions natural, educational and artistic and the the stimulations visual, auditory, and olfactory, you don’t visit Silver City for the food.

A Bluz Weekend Wuz Had By All

The 13th Annual Blues Festival – Simply put, a party that lasted all weekend. Great performers! Good crowd all out for a good time. Terrific junk – or should I say – carnival food. The best kettle corn we’ve ever had – you know it must be good for someone who grew up next to Coney Island to say that. And fire-roasted corn-on-the-cob, roasted in the husk and soaked with sweet butter and salt. There was also bar-b-q that was so good it was almost illegal, or so said the side of the cooker where we bought it, and the Texas burgers with chile bar-b-q sauce and the Mexican dish made with corn…I don’t know what they were, but they were good.

And the blues unite! We know this is a diverse community. Yet, I’ve observed that many of the activities we attend – Western Institute of Lifelong Learning, the performances at the university’s theatre, other musical events – don’t draw a diverse group. Almost everyone in those venues looks like me. The blues brought us all out, and all together. There were families, singles, couples, mashed groups, young and old, no-gray and white-haired, 60’s hippies, university hippie kids, anglo, Latino, African-American, Native American, clean-cut veterans, long-haired harley-ridin’ veterans, just-plain-old harley riders (must have been over 100 motorcycles parked, including some really amazing custom bikes and trikes), new high-school grads, basket-ball-playing young black, mexican-american and white men and skate-board-riding kids, men with flags in their headbands, men with feathers in their hair, men with knives on their belts, women with kids on their hip, women with tank tops, women with pink hats, women with parasols, and those who cannot be described or categorized.

Friday night we went to the Buffalo Dance Hall for the first group, the Jump Back Brothers. They had the hall rockin’ and everyone on the dance floor till the lights went up and the last guitar lick died away. Saturday morning it rained and we did Saturday chores, so didn’t get there until about 4 pm. Stayed until the last performer in the park, Coco Montoya. He didn’t have a roof to raise, but the air vibrated and the bandstand all but levitated with his hot, contemporary blues, with a few oldies thrown in for good measure. His guitar moaned, sang, crooned, cried and wailed, and the crowd right along with it. We didn’t think he could be topped. But we went back Sunday to see ‘em try. We were there all day, from 12:30 for the first performer and with the intention of staying until the last performer, Ruthie Foster, the main headliner for the day. And the day started just fine – warm, bright, sunny. We carefully chose our spot to sit, where the shade from a tall tree would catch up with us about mid-afternoon. Until then, we had hats and umbrellas to shade us. So did a lot of other people – here’s what it looked like in the early afternoon.

And then the clouds came up. With heavy, gray bottoms that were dragged across the sky by our ever-present spring winds. When the bottoms opened up, the umbrellas served their more natural purpose! Some families went home, since it was almost the end of the day. Another large number gathered under the pavilion to wait out the rain. The festival decided to move down to the Buffalo for Ruthie’s performance though, so those of us left – and of age to get in – gathered up wet chairs, wet bags, wet umbrellas and everything, loaded ourselves into our cars and moved downtown, which is all of a few blocks. Urban legend had it that this was the second time the festival had been rained out – and the last time was just before Ruthie’s performance, again the last performance of the festival. She declared herself Silver City’s official rain-maker. And then she sang. And my god, can she sing. She’s southern black roots, gospel and juke-joint acoustic bluz. People may have taken seats in the Buff, but by her second song, few of those seats were occupied. Rather, almost the entire crowd was on the dance floor, but they weren’t dancin’. They were faced to the stage, hands in the air, swaying and moving – just like an old-time revival meeting. You’ll notice I’m saying ‘they,’ because by now, after dancing for two days and two nights, we didn’t have much dancing left in us, and I think maybe there’s a possibility of a chance that Nick ate too much good junky food!

Take a look at my 2009 Blues Festival album here, as well as two little videos of sunny bluz and rainy blues. We’ll be hummin’ till next year. Sonnie

Are we there yet? How much farther???

We – Nick, Nutmeg and I – climbed Gomez Peak on Sunday. About 800 feet elevation gain/loss. I whined most of the way up and Nutmeg whined most of the way down.

Our intention was to take Nutmeg for a “bit of exercise,” an extended poop-walk, if you will; she hadn’t had much exercise for the last couple of days, except walking around the block. Gomez Peak/Little Walnut Picnic area is a short 10 minute drive from here. The trails range from a nice walk to a healthy walk to a flat-out hike-and-climb. I was thinking nice walk or healthy walk. I was not prepared for a flat-out hike-and-climb. We had with us 3 water bottles, two apples and two granola bars. Ok for snacks on a walk of an hour or so, but since we left a little before 11, not enough to cover lunch and water for 3 over a period of 3+ hours.

We planned to follow a trail we had followed before when Nick’s sister Maria was here – trail head to post 2 to post 3 to 4 to 5 and then back to the trail head. This would have been a healthy walk, with a little uphill, plenty of flat and then back downhill to the parking lot. Elevation gain, maybe 300 feet over a long stretch. But we reached Post 5, with most of 2 of our 3 bottles of water plus all our food, and only 45 minutes into the walk, and decided to go up to Post 6. We had also walked part of that way before, turning back when the trail narrowed. Sunday, we figured we could turn back whenever.

The problem wasn’t getting to Post 6. Along the trail, we found a shady spot with an excellent view, dug out the apples and munched away, sharing with Nutmeg, of course. Past Post 6, the trail begins a series of switchbacks at an ever increasing angle, until there’s no more mountain to switch back on and the trail turns straight up steps to the top. And that’s where I started to whine. At first it was in jest. And then the jest became more serious. At one point, after Nick had told me for the third time, “only about 5 more minutes; we just have one more switchback…” I looked up and still couldn’t see the top and just sat down! Nutmeg was flagging as well.

I was persuaded and we managed the last two switch-backs and the 3 flights of steps – a loose term meaning large stones and small boulders creating a stairway up to the tip of the mountain. Here, Nutmeg really had to scramble – 4 legs lost their advantage over 2.

When we finally made the tippy top, I found it was about the size of a large bedroom. There was one scrubby tree throwing broken shade, into which Nutmeg immediately retreated. She dug furiously to create a fresh bed of cool earth, turned around twice and flopped down with a huge sigh.

We stood looking at the view. I have to admit, it was something. 360 degrees and 75 miles in every direction. South: Mexico. North and east: Black Range. South and east: Cooks Peak, all the way over by Las Cruces. West: Mogollon range and due North into the heart of the Gila Wilderness. The Gila National Forest spread from the Black Range over there, to the Mogollon way over that way. Silver City tucked in below us. Could really appreciate the ecological transition zones which we occupy here. Looking south beyond Silver City, you see nothing but brown – the high desert; then there’s Silver with swaths of cottonwoods following the creek beds that run through the town and the transition to pinion, juniper and scrub oak. Moving north by the mile, the ecozone changes from pinion/juniper to ponderosa, except for the hillsides that are patched from either long-ago fires or logging.

Other lovelies up there – there was a type of barrel cactus that was blooming with large, brilliant, rich orange blossoms. Lots of teddy bear cholla with large yellow bloom pods on the tips and even some prickly pear with pears. Lots of birds. If only I had my binoculars to look down into the treetops. How many times do you get that opportunity – to look down on the tops of the trees to pick out the crown-dwellers. Well, and for that matter, if I had had my camera, I would have been showing pictures, rather than trying feebly to describe it.

But we were down to our last bottle of water and we needed to get our panting pup down. So off we started. I felt much better going down, knowing I’d probably get down before my blood sugar did. Remember me, I never miss a meal. Plus I could watch my feet, watch for snakes on the trail ahead, watch Nutmeg and still get glimpses of the views. An impossibility going up. And yes, I did say, snakes. It’s rattler season now. And they love nothing more on a sunny day than to find a bare spot or a rock to sun and trails are perfect for that.

Nutmeg was so tired – or perhaps more hot than tired – that every time we came to any significant shade, she just fell out. And whined when we urged her up and downward. I know this was her version of, “aw gee aren’t we there yet?” She was heartened when she got to familiar ground on the lower trail heading for the trail head and she didn’t drag as much. Gave her more water at the car, and when we got home, she raced for her water bowl, then for her rug and we didn’t see her again till dinner!

I’ll climb Gomez Peak again, but: I’ll get an earlier start; I’ll leave the dog home; I’ll take my camera; I’ll take more water; I’ll take more food; I’ll take my binoculars; and I’ll be ready to rock, uhmm, to climb that rock. ss

Shots Fired: Wild, Wild West? or just some street corner in DC?

So – we were at a meeting yesterday afternoon in the Wells Fargo conference room on 12th and Pope, just across from Gough (pronounced Goff (I think)) Park. The two of us are half of the Publicity and Marketing Committee for the local Habitat for Humanity and we were meeting with the other half discussing the 20th anniversary for our Habitat and a wine-tasting fundraiser and…well, you don’t really care about that, given the title of this story. To get right to the good stuff…

I looked out the window of the conference room in time to see a big SUV swerve around the corner, followed by two police cars with lights flashing that marshaled it to the curb, at which point one cop jumped out of each car, staying behind the doors, drawing weapons, bracing on the tops of the car doors and holding, while another officer not in uniform popped into view, also with gun drawn, resulting in pairs of hands and arms suddenly poking out of the windows of the SUV, and with great difficulty I pulled my eyeballs back into my head, realized the other 3 were staring at me and said – “I think there’s something happening out there.” Or words to that effect.

We gathered around the windows of the conference room and watched while an individual got out of the drivers position of the SUV, keeping hands and arms out in view, faced away from the police, backed up several paces, until the plain clothes guy had her kneel and put her hands behind her; he cuffed her, stood her up and moved her to one of the marked cars, and put her in the back. Well. All of this was enough for our colleagues in the room to start joking about Police 1 or some cop show that Nick and I aren’t privy to. We also started looking around the gathering crowd to see if anyone was taking video and sure enough, there was a guy on the corner who had gotten off his bike, pulled out his cell phone and started shooting – video, that is. He was disappointed. The plain clothed officer was courteous and efficient – as courteous as you can be when you snapping hand-cuffs on someone’s wrists and ducking them into the backseat of the car.

The get-out-of-the-car-with-your-hands-in-the-air was repeated 4 more times. One dude, though, couldn’t quite leave his persona in the car – backing down the street with his arms in the air, but still dipping and bouncing (you know the gait) and holding his fingers in a gang sign.

We couldn’t wait for this morning’s newspaper. And of course, there were pictures on the front page under the headline, “Shots Fired.” Now, we didn’t hear any shots fired, but there was speculation that it might be gangsters. I guess they are the new “Wild Wild West.” The guys with the cowboy hats have been displaced. Now, it’s droopy jeans, backwards caps and attitudes. We thought we left that behind.

On a much calmer note, I had an interesting experience one night last week sitting on the back deck. The moon was a day short of full, and was rising opposite the setting sun – a ghost moon. I was looking in the right direction at the right time and caught it just as the top curvature of the moon was about even with the tips of the trees. I had a hard candy in my mouth; that becomes important in a moment. I watched the moon with the idle curiosity in mind whether I’d be able to see it progress. I watched the steady movement of the moon, lifting itself from behind the trees, to rest full and bright on the tips of the trees and then slip up into the empty sky. In about 5 minutes – or less time than it took me to dissolve my piece of hard candy, I could literally see the moon move. The movement was so distinct, I experienced rather a bit of vertigo. Mostly because I got to thinking that it wasn’t so much the movement of the moon, as the movement of the earth. Where I was sitting was spinning away fast enough that I could track the moon’s movement in finite increments, measured by tree branches. I stayed focused long enough for the moon to rise clear of any framing. And it was especially interesting that once the moon was up where there was no measuring frame, just space, it didn’t seem to move nearly as fast.

A small but touching thing: when we walked up Cherry Creek Rd last Sunday, nearing the top, we came upon a hand-made wooden cross. Made of small slats, but carefully put together; not painted. Handwritten on the cross-wise arm was Branden L. Whitworth. No date. Wood was weathered. Writing a little faded. When you see these crosses on the side of the highway, surrounded by flowers, balloons, whatever, you have a good idea what happened. But on this barely-a-road – it’s really more of a track – that not quite passable for anything except a 4-wheel drive with high clearance, we wondered how Branden came to be commemorated there. I didn’t notice it on the way up, but coming back down, and pausing again to wonder, I noticed a single, faded can of Lone Star Beer at the foot of the cross. Branded was cared for and about. And it reminded me….

Have you even been to the Vietnam Memorial in Washington DC? Sonnie

Mother's Day Fledging and Other Natural Phenomena

Mother’s Day has come and gone, and I know one mother who will finally get a bit of rest – one father, too! The little Juniper Titmouse family fledged. We weren’t around to help send them off – somehow it always works that way; I never get to see the babies fly the nest. Well, almost never. I was lucky enough to get up early on a Saturday in Maryland and see the Carolina wren babies come tumbling out of the bathroom fan vent where the folks had built their nest, with much coaching and coaxing from both parents. But not this time. I wonder if those busy parents will lay another clutch of eggs and raise another set of babies this summer in that apartment?

I know the Raven family hasn’t fledged down in the cottonwood trees. I know, because I can hear those babies chatter and fuss all the way up the hill to our back deck in the quiet morning when I sit out with my coffee. If you have heard a nest of small baby birds calling for mom, multiply that by a factor of 10 decibel levels. I have seen the raven parents heading overhead for their nest carrying large things in their bills. I know what the titmouse parents feed their young; I wonder what ravens feed theirs?

It’s been very birdy around here over the last few days. Lots of migrants moving through, especially warblers and hummers. Some of them are life-birds for me: a flock of beautiful red-faced warblers surrounded us on Sunday on a walk up Cherry Creek in the mixed oak and ponderosa forest, with a stunning Painted Redstart in the mix. Here at the house, I’ve had MacGillivray’s, Townsend’s and Wilson’s warblers all in the shrub oak and juniper next to the house. A pair of Ash-throated Flycatchers was apartment shopping and studied the bird-house carefully for door size. They weren’t convinced they couldn’t fit through the door to the nest box inside. What did convince them to look for another neighborhood was the titmouse – mom, I’m sure – who arrived in time to raise hell with the larger interlopers. If only I could decipher bird-talk. And imagine what birds I would see if I really took the time!

The most obvious of the hummers buzzing the yard is the broad-tailed. While I haven’t gotten a good look at him, I have heard him loud and clear. His wing feathers make a loud trill that is unmistakable. And finally, the mockingbirds are back. They are ubiquitous, of course, across the country. But here, because they are, after all, mimics, their songs are peppered more with the chips, stutters, chirrs, buzzes and chatter that is more typical here than the trills, tweedles, whistles and warbles that I was familiar with in Maryland. One songster has adopted the top of the electric post outside my office window, and spends all day there, chasing bugs and vocalizing.

I think I saw a coatimundi or two! We were out washboarding on Sanctuary Rd, where we have wandered around looking at land, and I saw, separately, two straight-up black tails attached to small, fuzzy and very fast animals cross the road. Do they have life lists for critters? And another critter we saw in family-packs down in Sapillo Creek was the infamous javelina. Locals, except for hunters, will tell you that javelinas are not a problem, except to the landscaping. Hunters will convince you that the only good javelina is on a dinner plate! I don’t know – I haven’t gotten close enough to them live or grilled.

My Christmas tree is growing. On one of the first trips we made to visit Silver City, we went to the Buckhorn for dinner. It was right around the Christmas season, and they had a dried agave blossom, sometimes called a century plant, decorated with Christmas ornaments. I thought it was outstanding. And that’s what I wanted for a Christmas “tree” when we moved here. Somehow, I thought they’d sell these blossoms on the street corners, like they sell Christmas trees back east. Nope. Gotta harvest your own – or know someone who has one and is willing to give it up. They grow wild in the Forest, as well as in landscape everywhere. One sad thing: once the blossom is up and bloomed, the plant dies. The blossom stalk grows so fast – we’ve been watching one in the neighborhood and it seems to shoot up a foot a day – and so tall in many cases, that it just takes the life out of the parent. This image is from Wikipedia, but gives you an idea of the massive stalk and blossoms.

A last flora-and-fauna note: Some things die back and green up or come out in reverse of what we learned to expect as deciduous Easterners. Here, there is a common shrub oak that is mixed with pinion and juniper. It lines the hillsides and is green all winter, like the evergreens with which it grows. But two or three weeks ago, I noticed on a ride up to Pinos Altos that all along the hillsides, the oaks were turning yellow. At the same time, the large shrub oak by our driveway dried up and dropped all its leaves. Mmm, too little water? Something eating the plant and draining the sap? No, it turns out that the oak stays green all winter, turns yellow and drops its leaves around April and by May, buds out again with new leaves in anticipation of the monsoons to come in June/July. At higher elevations, it will wait to bud and green until the monsoons actually start. Coincidentally, the crickets or locusts here start to sing in March or April, as soon as the days and especially the nights start to warm. They’ve almost stopped now that it’s getting to be 80+ during the day. Now I grew up with the old-wives-tale that winter was 6 weeks from the time the crickets and katy-dids started to sing and chirr. Here, it seems to be seasonally adjusted. Six weeks from when the locusts and grasshoppers make their presence known, look for summer! Is it almost that time of year, already? Where’re my shorts?! Sonnie

A Weekend at the Races with Lance, Levi...

Chris, Philip, Kristin and almost 600 road-racers of international and local fame. The town was a-buzz with riders, fans, officials and media. It was the 23rd Tour of the Gila and the community put on its best. One of the most frequently-heard comments live and in the papers was some version of the following, “…and the Silver City people were all so nice to be around.” That quote is attributed to Kristin Armstrong (no relation), the young woman who won the Women’s Pro, surely an achievement right up there with the 2008 Olympic Gold Medal she also took in Bejing! Of the race itself, Lance is quoted as saying, “…an American Classic.” But the comment that was most telling about our town and the people here was reported in the paper early in the week, “People here are so nice—they let you into traffic!” Surely a big-city racer used to negotiating the streets of DC or Phily or LA.

So who won? You should need to ask? Levi, Lance take top spots… the Sun-News reported on Monday. But I get ahead of myself...

On Saturday, we went to the Criterium, which is the name of the in-town street race. It was a big square with the legs: Bullard (Silver’s ‘main street’), College, Cooper and Broadway. The start and finish line was at 6th and Bullard, but the best places to watch the big-kids races were the corners of Bullard and Broadway, and Broadway and Cooper. First, however, there were the Citizen’s races, starting with adults and working down the age groups to the littlest racers, with the youngest racers aged 3-5 and still riding training wheels and tricycles. And if you think these pictures are cute, check out my videos


And here’s where Lance ran over my hat! Maybe not, but at least half of the 150 plus Men’s Pro 1 did. Here’s what happened: I was wearing my blue Gila Wildlife Rescue ball cap just like I promised. The wind kicked up and was blowing in very strong gusts. Just as the big kids turned the corner from Cooper and down Broadway, the wind kicked my hat off right off my head and into their path. It bounded and flipped and skittered in front of and underneath the riders. My heart was in my throat that the hat would catch in spokes and upend one person, starting a chain reaction. But I and they were lucky – the cap was eventually tamed and run over, leaving tire tracks both on the inside and outside of the crown and in zig-zags across the bill. As I retrieved it, hoping the cameras were following the riders and not the ride-busting cap, someone yelled, “Say, how much you want for that hat!?” You might have missed the cap on ESPN under the Isaac’s sign, but look for it on eBay; Lance’s tiretracks are almost as good as his signature and, having seen his signature on some fan’s jersey, at least as readable.
If you wonder what it’s like to watch 150+ riders at break-neck speed make a 90degree turn with a strong tail-wind, take a look.
My final great picture of the day: Lance and Chris making a cool-down lap at the end of the race: So on we went to Pinos Altos on Sunday for the finish of Stage 5, the Gila Monster Race. The different classes rode different distances, but all rode UP! Because to get to Pinos Altos, that’s the only way – UP! The Men’s Pro 1 rode over 100 miles and climbed a total of >9,000 feet. That wasn’t 9,000 all at once, mind you: we don’t live on the moon, after all, nor even Everest. But the course climbs and dips and climbs and dips and so the total climbing came out to 9,000. Pinos Altos is a small place, as you saw if you checked out the story at the link above. But it was full and bustling and busy with racers, food vendors, fans and locals. The riders didn’t come in as a pack, the way they rode in the Criterium. They stretched out and came riding in, in ones, twos and threes, with only a couple of groups coming in together. We saw the winner of the Women’s Pro, Kristin Armstrong, but didn’t recognize her until people were yelling, but by then she was past and finished. We did see the front three of the Men’s Pro 1 ride with, with an Aussie in the lead – or at least he was riding for an Aussie team – Levi second and Lance third. Chris came in 4th or 5th. Even though Phillip of the Aussie team won the day, Lance’s team took overall first and second places.


I put together my best set of images of both races here on Flikr. Hope you enjoy them. We had just a great weekend. And May is a busy month: we have the Blues Festival, the Rodeo and a house tour. Wonder what we’ll do for June – or the rest of the summer!