We’ve got a bunch of good stuff coming your way, my friends. I just finished a whirlwind week in New Jersey, we hit some of the Sopranos film locations, I grabbed a bunch of very cool Norton P11 photos, we saw where Bruce Springsteen was setting up for a concert in Asbury Park, I have a review on the new Garmin chronograph about to go live, Mike Huber (aka Mike Nelson) is down there in Indonesia and Thailand becoming one with the sea turtles, I’ve got a review on Ruger Customer Service and my revamped .357 Bisley, Joe Gresh has his Z1 Kawi all dressed up with lots of new places to go, and lots, lots more.
Andrew Capone, Isle of Man impresario and British Motocycle Gear CEO, with an unknown paparazzi reflected in a Norton Scrambler fender at an undisclosed location in New Jersey.All dressed up with lots of places to go…Joe Gresh and the Z1…the gift that keeps on giving!How fast is fast? Stay tuned, and we’ll tell you!Scuba Southeast Asia with Mike Huber!Bisley mania! Plinking at 100 yards with a handgun? You bet!Andrew, Harry (aka “the Norton Whisperer”), and what is unquestionably one of the most beautiful motorcycles ever made!There’s ink, and then there’s Sopranos ink. Oh, do we have a story for you!
You know, we blew right by 1500 blogs some time ago, and I started to wonder if we were going to run out of things to write about. Nope. Not gonna happen. It’s like when one of my geezer buddies told me he didn’t know what to say at a lunch gathering, and another of my geezer friends told him, “Don’t worry…you’ll keep talking until you think of something.”
Having found myself in Flores, Indonesia (one of the scuba diving meccas of Southeast Asia) I took it upon myself to dive as much as I could. On my second dive of the first day I saw some manta rays up close and personal and I managed to get a lot of sea urchin spines under my fingernails, hands, and pretty much everywhere. I was bleeding green as I was deep enough underwater that colors would change, and it looked like I had been rolling around in some saguaro cactus or been on the losing side of a fight with a porcupine. I had spines sticking out from every part of my wetsuit.
This was part of the adventure and part of the learning. What I didn’t expect was upon our ascent my air ran out, even though moments earlier I had checked and confirmed I was at about 25%. This was another “So this is how it ends” moment. There wasn’t much time to think about that as I was not prepared for running out of air. I figured I just had moments before I would black out due to no oxygen. Being about 10 meters deep I knew I could have just surfaced quickly to get air and many people probably would have done that. Well, just as in jumping out of airplanes, you train for these type of scenarios. Also, the approach is to take your time as you have the rest of your life to resolve the no air issues, just as you would with a parachute malfunction. The problem with that mindset is that the end of your life is only seconds away.
Fortunately, my dive partner was only a short swim away. I swam over to him as quickly as possible, signaled him I had no air, and calmly (I was actually panicking by this point) grabbed his secondary air hose, and took a much-needed breath in.
That first breath in was a relief on every level you can possibly imagine. We then performed our 3-minute safety stop off using both of his air supplies before we surfaced. Even with my fingers still bleeding from the sea urchin spines and having run out of air, I managed to make a couple jokes as we swam back to the safety of the boat. This is where we learned that my regulator was faulty and provided a false reading on the amount of air remaining. That was a bit of a relief that it wasn’t some rookie mistake by me.
The joking ended on my next dive that day. As soon as I hit the water I had some massive anxiety about the no air issues and going under. It was so intense that everyone on the team had already submerged and I was just sitting there on the surface having fear to let the air out of my BCD to sink and join the rest.
After a few moments, it passed and I did join them. I don’t think I have ever swam as close to a dive partner as I did on that dive. My air barely lasted 32 minutes as my stress and anxiety were causing me to breathe faster, using up my air rather quickly. This was fine with me, as I really had no interest in staying underwater.
Once back on the boat, I was seriously thinking that scuba diving wasn’t for me and would bow out of it using one excuse or another. The lack of air experience was that traumatizing. I began to think back to the Army and our jumps. Whenever someone had a bad jump the best thing to overcome it was to put them on the very next jump ton regain their confidence so they could continue to be effective. Since diving and jumping had so many parallels, I thought this would be the best way. I booked three more dives the next day with the mindset if I didn’t overcome it I would quit diving. I owed it to myself to give it one more try.
The scenes and the locations are iconic, and I take pride in recognizing every one of them in The Sopranos opening credits. The music, the New Jersey Turnpike toll booth, the aged industrial locations, Pizzaland, and motoring up that long driveway at 14 Aspen Drive in North Caldwell, New Jersey. Today’s topic is the home you see at the beginning of every episode in what is unquestionably the best television series that ever aired.
I had originally seen the series sometime after it first ran on HBO. I didn’t at first recognize how wonderful the show was and how it would come to be known throughout the world. It was so good that many people think Tony Soprano is real. I was in Scotland for a consulting gig when my driver, an elderly gentleman, recognized my American accent but told me I didn’t sound “like California.”
“I’m originally from New Jersey,” I explained.
My driver grew silent. He was thinking. Finally, the Question: “Do you know Tony Soprano?” He was dead serious. We were in Glasgow on a motorway taking me to my destination, and here was this Scot asking me about a fictional character. One who obviously seemed all too real to anyone who watched the show.
“I never actually met the man,” I truthfully answered, “But I know people who knew him.”
What I told the driver was true, sort of. James Gandolfini, one of Tony’s many aliases, was a Jersey boy like me. He graduated from my alma mater, Rutgers University. I could identify with The Sopranos and its New Jersey setting. I knew people who spoke with the same accent and who most likely knew the DeCavalcante crime family (the real-world gangsters The Sopranos modeled). Hell, I speak with the same accent, and that old Scot picked up on it in Glasgow. Did I know Tony? Hey, I could name names, but I don’t want to sleep with the fish. I’m no rat.
On a recent trip, I thought it might be fun to Waze my way to a few of The Sopranos locations. The list was long, as the show was mostly shot in New Jersey (as were most of the guys and a couple of gals who fell from Tony’s favor). The first location I would visit, of course, had to be Tony and Carmela’s mansion. Waze knew the way. The Garden State Parkway took me there, and that seemed fitting.
When we arrived, the cul-de-sac was way smaller than it had appeared each morning when a bathrobe-clad Tony waddled down the driveway to pick up his Newark Star Ledger (a paper I used to read, by the way). I couldn’t see too much of the mansion, the result of 25 years of landscaping doing what landscaping does. The trees and bushes had grown to obscure the view from the street. It’s what Tony (or any organized crime figure) would have wanted. Best to keep a low profile, free from Agent Harris’s probing eyes.
When a guy like Tony Soprano posts a sign like this, I pay attention. Nah, not really. What’s he gonna do? Coincidentally, we had that same mailbox in front of our house for years. It leaked and we grew tired of wet mail.
There it was, tucked away behind the vegetation, most definitely the mansion featured in so many episodes and, as mentioned above, in the opening at the start of every episode. Even though the current occupants obviously discouraged visitors, we still took our chances. As I was snapping photos midmorning on this New Jersey weekday, others appeared and did the same. Some of them might have been FBI agents. The fans of fame kept the flame burning bright, almost three decades after the music and the scenes first appeared. Note to self: Make the next visit in the dead of winter when the trees are bare, and do so late in the afternoon when the sun is in a better position. The lighting was not good when I gathered this evidence; a good lawyer could get the photos thrown out in court (a junior G-Man I’m not).
14 Aspen Drive. If you listen carefully, you can hear Carmela bitching.
The sign’s admonitions notwithstanding, I looked around and started working the Nikon’s shutter (I’m not gonna lay down for some mailbox sign). The neighborhood was befitting a kingpin like Tony Soprano. The home on the other side of the cul-de-sac was better lit by the sun’s mid-morning rays, so I had to shoot it, too. Collateral damage; couldn’t be helped. An impressive zip code, to be sure.
A home across the street from Tony’s place. This is an exclusive neighborhood.
I liked The Sopranos television series then and I like it now. I watch The Sopranos episodes on my cellphone (it’s running on Max) when I’m working out. I get through an episode or so each time I visit the gym. I’ve been through the entire series four times (and I’m into Season 5 for the fifth time now). I started binge watching The Sopranos 18 pounds ago. The Sopranos have been very good to me, my waistline, my cholesterol, and my A1C. I need to buy a new belt, and Tony is the guy who made that happen.
So what’s next? Paterson Falls, my friend. It’s where Mikey Palmici threw a drug dealer off the bridge. Stay tuned if you know what’s good for you.
It took about a week to get to Flores, Indonesia from Bali, as it is over 1,000 kilometers away. This was accomplished via three ferries and finally, a 4-day cruise. The cruise was a blast, but once aboard I realized it was a one-way cruise and I would have to find a ferry back (which could take up to 36 hours) or book a return flight to Bali. Normally this would alarm most people, but I had time to kill and quickly learned Flores was an Indonesian scuba diving mecca. Some of the most beautiful wildlife could be seen diving here. This was not a bad place to have a several-day layover.
It didn’t take long to find a scuba company. It had only been a few days since my prior dive and I was already itching to get back underwater. I chose a dive center based on its three-dives-in-one-day regimen. Most the other dive centers only offered two dives in one day. This would help rack up my dive numbers (and my experience, as I would soon learn).
Diving the Komodo Islands is just amazing on so many levels. The biggest draw is the wildlife. The second draw is the strength of the underwater currents. On an average dive we would float with the current for close to an hour and travel several kilometers during the dive. The current was a constant underwater river that was at times overwhelming, depending on the direction it was taking you.
If you got caught in a side current it would feel like you were on the Space Station and someone just cut your tether and you were floating off into nothingness. Feelings of anxiety emerged when this happened, and this caused me to go through more of my air and shorten my dive. It was always important to remain calm, move slowly, and not over-react. That’s easier said than done.
The cool part about these currents is when I was in a “controlled” area I could just watch the beautiful corals go by. The downside was if I saw a turtle or another cool species of wildlife, I really couldn’t get to it as I was swept along with the current. We were told, if possible, to get low to the ocean floor and grab a large rock as an anchor so we could enjoy the wildlife.
I took this rock grabbing suggestion as I happened upon three beautiful manta rays. They were huge, about 12 feet in width. While blowing by them in the current it was like they were in an underwater thermal hovering in place motionless unaffected by the strong currents. It was like watching a stealth fighter Jet hover. Meanwhile I was doing my best to slow down to try to remain close to them. As I descended to the ocean floor seeking refuge from the currents behind a large piece of coral, I grabbed a rock. I instantly felt something sharp on my fingers. I had accidently grabbed a sea urchin and the spines were in all my fingers to include deep under my fingernail. Almost instantly a large gushing of green fluid began pouring out of my fingers. This is when I learned you bleed green when you are deep under water.
Realizing there was nothing I could do about the bleeding until I surfaced, my focus was on watching the manta rays flying by as the current pulled me just underneath them. During this time, I religiously checked my air levels on my respirator. Once I hit 60 bar (25%) it would be time to slowly return to the surface.
We began our ascent to a 3-minute safety stop at 5 meters below the surface to allow our bodies to adjust to the pressure. At around 10 meters and still being abused by the strong currents I went to breathe in and there was nothing there. It was as though I was breathing through a straw and then suddenly someone put their finger over the end. I was out of air. This was a good time to see how much of the training I actually retained and how much of I ignored while being distracted by the beautiful scuba instructor in Australia.
My visa was nearing expiration in Australia (I had 90 days left), and my speeding tickets were exceeding $1700 Australian. The speeding tickets were from cameras. In the United States, the Constitution protects us (you can fight and win those tickets 100% of the time in the USA, but not in Australia). It was time to choose a new country to visit, at least for a short while. To me it made sense to leave my beloved Oceania and head north. Looking at the map, Southeast Asia beckoned.
Indonesia, in particular, seemed to be the best choice, and it would be my next destination. Bali, to be exact. This would provide a less westernized culture than the previous countries I had visited. Another advantage was it appealed to my new interest. I kept hearing how magnificent the scuba diving was there. So that would be incorporated into my adventures.
After the whirlwind trip through Australia, the first three days in Bali (except for some morning surfing) were spent resting in my hotel room. I needed the time to recharge and just sit back and pretend I was on vacation. Yes, I know I am sort of always on vacation, but even with this laid-back lifestyle the constant moving becomes a fulltime job.
Once rested it was time to book several ferries and boats out to Komodo National Park (it isn’t easy to get to). Visiting this epic National Park would provide me with the chance to see Komodo dragons, the largest lizard on Earth, as well as plenty of opportunities to hone my new skills as a diver. This was an experience that I could not miss while visiting Indonesia.
The day trip to Komodo Island was fantastic. What made it most memorable was actually seeing a few of these giant reptiles in the wild, as up close and personal as I was comfortable with. That distance happened to be about 6 feet for me I soon learned. Even though being in a tour group of 20 people when the Komodo dragon chose a path, our group was instructed to let it through. The crowd parted like the Red Sea and the giant reptile chose the direction it wanted, and it moved with a purpose!
These giants can move up to 12 miles per hour. Some weigh as much as 150 pounds. They can take down local deer and they have no natural enemies. This meant we were guests on their island and without a stick or other type of weapon we were not on the top of the food chain. It’s always a humbling moment when you realize this.
After a day exploring Komodo National Park with large sticks in hand, I found myself in Flores, Indonesia. It’s a small island about an hour’s boat ride from Komodo National Park. Little did I realize how much of a scuba diving mecca this was (see any of my previous articles about my lack of planning). There were literally dive shops and tours every three to four buildings. It was that densely populated with the scuba community. It was perfect. This would be a great home base for a week or so to dive and continue catching up on rest from the Australia travels. It now was time to book a scuba adventure in Bali, Indonesia.
It was 0700 and the location was a pier in Cairns Australia as 30 of us were boarding a live-aboard boat to perform 9 scuba dives over the next 3 days and 2 nights. There were only 3 of us that had never performed an open water scuba dive before, and I was one of them. It would take 5 dives while completing our drills for us to obtain our PADI open water certification. We were ready.
It took the boat about 3 hours to get out to the reef for our first dive. 27 of the others were seasoned divers, so as the newbies we felt privileged they’d help us gear up and make jokes about our fumbling around prior to getting into the water.
Others may disagree with me and that is fine, but I have sky dived and to me, nothing felt closer to jumping out of an airplane as a paratrooper than scuba diving. You suit up, perform checks on your gear and your scuba buddy’s gear, shuffle to the edge of the boat, give an OK to the dive master who checks your air is on (I always stuck my hand out and yelled “ALL OK JUMPMASTER!” just to get into the moment a bit more), and jump off the boat into the water. I understand the two experiences are almost polar opposites, but what isn’t is the comradery and the procedures prior to diving (or jumping out of an airplane).
As soon as I hit the ocean waters of the Great Barrier Reef in full scuba gear I felt two things: A brief moment of anxiety, just as I felt in the pool during onshore training, and when we signaled to go down. This was a moment of bliss and freedom as you leave the world you know and enter a realm of tranquility beneath the ocean. It was so similar to exiting an aircraft as you leave the chaos and perform the 4-second count prior to your parachute opening. Both are moments when you have a quick chat with the big guy upstairs and are alone in the world. There are few experiences in life that compare to these. I was instantly hooked on scuba diving.
Our first five dives were work. They encompassed the same drills over and over that we performed in the pool. The objective was to review the same emergency procedures for a multitude of issues that you can face while underwater, and how to calmly overcome them. This was another similarity to being a paratrooper. The only big difference is there was less yelling for your mistakes, but the instructor did have a whiteboard to correct any errors you were making while on the dive. Another reason I knew my instructor was great was when she wrote my mistakes on her whiteboard for, I literally could hear her stern voice in my head just as clear and loud as if we were above water.
Upon all three of us successfully meeting the criteria we were now PADI Certified Open Water Scuba Divers. Now it was time to begin having fun and enjoying the benefits of diving. We were on The Great Barrier Reef after all and the coral and wildlife we saw over the next 3 days was magical. We were literally in God’s aquarium. Each of the dive sites we experienced had something unique to offer, from schools of colorful fish, to sea turtles, to even a couple nurse and reef sharks. If I wasn’t hooked before on this new hobby, I surely was now.
The remainder of the days were passed with dives, delicious food, and wonderful new friends. The beauty of this live aboard boat were absolutely the people I was surrounded by. We each had different experience levels in diving, and were from countries all around the World, yet we all bonded over this one passion, scuba diving. Once the evening festivities died down instead of returning to the tight quarters below deck a few of us decided to sleep on the open upper deck of the vessel. This was the perfect way to wind down. We would tell a few jokes while staring at the Southern Cross as it slowly made its way across the sky until we fell asleep, and in the morning awaking to the sunrise hitting this spectacular part of the World and lighting up the Australian Flag as the sun rose. A feeling of accomplishment washed across me each day and evening of this trip. It may have been the most rewarding time along my travels to this day, and for good reason. I had found a new way to add even further adventure to my travels.
Man, as a blogger on a site that sometimes offers movie reviews, I am flat on my butt. No excuses, folks. I’ve been having too much fun doing other things. This is a catchup blog on three shows I’ve watched recently. Two were excellent; the third was a unmitigated flop. With that an as intro, here we go.
First Man
The story here is about Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon. I really enjoyed this one. In a word, it’s outstanding. Maybe outstanding is too weak an adjective. I was a teenager during the Apollo program years, and this movie hit home for me.
First Man is running on Netflix, and I’m giving it two thumbs up only because I don’t have three thumbs. If you have a Netflix subscription, this is one you might consider viewing.
As an aside, I almost got to meet Neil Armstrong. He was a regular at the former Nieuport 17 restaurant in Tustin, California (I wrote about it in our blog about Admiral Gordon Smith). I knew the owners there, who would have introduced me if the real First Man had been in the restaurant. It just never worked out that we were both there at the same time, much to my regret.
Horizon
I was hoping this Max film would be an epic work, but it was a real bust. I want anticipating something like another Lonesome Dove, but Mr. Costner appears to have lost his touch.
Costner’s presence notwithstanding, it’s not Dances with Wolves. If you want to urinate away three hours of your life you’ll never get back, this wandering, mumbling, constantly moving back and forth in time, difficult to follow, and plot-free show is for you. My advice is to take a pass. I wish I did. But having said that, I noticed in the photo above that this is to be a “two-part theatrical event.” For me, Part II will be like driving past a bad motor vehicle accident. You know you don’t want to look, but you do. I’ll give Part II 15 minutes, and if it’s a snoozefest like Part I, I’m outta there.
Bad Education
Bad Education is an outstanding movie. It’s about a school system superintendent and his administrator convincing a Long Island, New York, community that their school system was outstanding in every regard while simultaneously embezzling something north of $10 million over a multi-year period. It’s a true story, which makes what happens on screen even harder to believe.
I don’t want to spoil it for you, so I won’t tell you too much more other than what I’ve written above. You can tell a movie is good when it seems like it’s over in 20 minutes. I enjoyed it and I think you will, too. Bad Education can be seen on Netflix.
Guys, I apologize (again) for the long gap without writing. I have a massive backlog that I am attempting to catch up on and really have just been constantly doing too much to complete even a short blog. It has been a busy but productive time for me. I’m currently in my 6th country and I’m 8 months into a 1-year journey. I’m in Cambodia.
Cambodia is yet another country that wasn’t on my radar but having been semi-obsessed with experiencing all 7 Wonders of The World I really wanted to see Angkor Wat. I know, I know. It isn’t on the list of 7 Wonders now but that list seems to be ever changing and I didn’t want to miss out in the event it was added again. That, and the other reason is I was about to overstay my visa limit in Thailand (running my visas out seems to be a new talent of mine).
Originally, I booked a flight to Phnom Penh as a forward journey requirement for Thailand entry. As the time got closer to my travel I linked up with a driver in Cambodia who would take me around to see the many Temples. However, upon sending him my flight itinerary he quickly replied “Dude, you are flying into the other side of the Cambodia, Angkor Wat is 360 kilometers from that city.” After 8 months this was really my first error of any consequence. There were two options, a 6-hour bus ride, or just eat the $80 and book a new flight. I chose the latter to save time.
Upon arrival and a minor hiccup going through immigration (I didn’t bring $30 for a visa so I had to “borrow” it from an immigration officer who included a hefty “tip”). It was part of the game and another lesson learned from my poor planning. I can’t complain. Once through customs I met my driver, Kong, outside the airport. And we were off to my hotel in Seim Reap.
The first thing I noticed in Cambodia (beside the fact that they drive on the right side of the road…it has been 8 months since I have been in a country that drives on the right) was the heavy humidity. It was brutal, even though I was in high humidity places over the past three months. This was next level and there just was no reprieve, even in the early morning and evening. Along the drive we discussed my objectives while in Cambodia and the main one was to see Angkor Wat. With the heat and humidity being so oppressive, Kong recommended we start at 0430 the next morning in order to see sunrise at the Temple. This would provide for a magnificent way to begin the day and allow us to get a head start on the heat.
We arrived at Angkor Wat at around 0530 and walked through the darkness and over the moat that guards this UNESCO treasure. All the while the mountainous sandstone silhouette was gaining in color and depth as our path led toward a meeting point between us and the rising sun. Even during off season there was quite the crowd at the reflection pool, at sunrise, to try to get that perfect photo of this stunning homage to Hinduism. It didn’t take long for the heat to follow. This was our queue to seek out shade deep within the Temple to avoid more heat and more crowds, and begin exploring the hidden Temple chambers.
The depth and detail on the Temple was more than impressive. Even with the destruction from past wars and an occasional bullet hole in the sandstone, the overall structure hadn’t lost its mystical feeling. The mysticism was unavoidable as we walked through the Temple’s many chambers.
Of the many experiences along my journey, I think Angkor Wat is one of the best things worth seeing, touching, and experiencing. Whether included in the 7 Wonders of the World or not, it makes little difference in my appreciation of this stunning structure. Even as a massive tourist attraction, this Temple sets the criteria for what an ancient wonder should be. Experiencing it was well worth the trip to Cambodia.
As mentioned in our introductory Idaho blog, I had briefly visited the Craters of the Moon National Monument on the 5,000-mile Western America Adventure Ride with the Chinese and other folks who owned RX3 motorcycles. Good buddy Baja John did all the navigating and planning on that ride; I just rode at the front of the pack and took all the credit.
Baja John posing at the Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserved entrance exactly 10 years ago. Tempus fugit, my friends.
We planned those early CSC trips as if it was just Baja John and me riding, and I figured on way too many miles each day. John and I can do 600-mile days easily. When we planned the larger Western America Adventure Ride, even 400-mile days were a huge challenge. A good rule of thumb on such larger group rides is to stick to a maximum of 200 to 250 miles each day. I didn’t know that then.
Anyway, on that first Craters of the Moon stop, we were on a big mileage day and we didn’t have too much time to spare. We pulled into the Craters entrance, grabbed a few photos, and continued our trek to Twin Falls. I recently wanted to do a Destinations piece on Craters for Motorcycle Classics magazine, and when I looked through my files, I found I only had a couple of Craters photos. That dearth of useable photos became part of the reason Susie and I visited Craters again.
The ride from Boise (where Susie and I started that morning) to Craters takes you east on I-84 and then east on US Highway 20. As an aside, Highway 20 runs across the entire United States, from Newport, Oregon to Boston, Massachusetts. Part of Highway 20 in Idaho was designated as the Medal of Honor Highway by Governor Brad Little in 2019, and Susie and I took it to Craters.
US Highway 20, Idaho’s Medal of Honor Highway. The photo ops through this part of the world are impressive. Bring a polarizer.Idaho is justifiably proud of its Medal of Honor winners. That’s an M1 Abrams tank in the background, a turbine-powered, 70-ton beast that can hit 60 mph and fire on the move with great accuracy. Three Medal of Honor recipients currently live in Idaho; as many as 48 people awarded the Medal of Honor have an Idaho connection.
After Highway 20, it’s a left turn onto Highway 26 to get to Craters of the Moon. It’s more scenic riding, including the towns of Carey and Picabo. Carey is where we had a comical encounter on the Western America Adventure Tour when riding with our Chinese compañeros across Idaho. On that day 10 years ago, it happened to be Pioneer Day. We didn’t know that, nor did we know that there was a parade in Carey. I was in my usual spot (in front of the pack), Gresh was riding alongside me, and our group of a dozen RX3 riders were right behind us. As we approached Carey, local residents lined the streets. Many were holding American flags. They waved and cheered us as we rode into town. We had no idea what was going on. Gresh flipped his faceshield up and said, “Wow, a lot of people are following the blog” (I had been blogging our trip across the western US every day). We didn’t know it at the time, but we were only a few minutes ahead of the parade Carey was expecting, and those good Idahoans thought we were the advance guard. It was fun and it made for a great story (which I have told about a thousand times by now).
On US Highway 26 heading east into the Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve. Note the volcanic rock on either side of the road.
The good folks in Carey were not waiting for Susie and me on this trip, but we had a good time anyway. When we rolled into Picabo a little further down the road, we had an even better time when we topped off the Jeep and had lunch (which was excellent). I told you a bit about that (and the Ernest Hemingway connection) yesterday.
The volcanic flow in the Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve. That’s Echo Cone in the distance.
The National Park Service describes the landscape in and around Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve as “weird and scenic” and that’s an apt description. The landscape is almost lunar-like. Its alien features consist of mostly dark brown solidified lava surrounded and sometimes punctuated by patches of green vegetation. It makes for a dramatic landscape and awesome photo ops.
A walkway above the pahoehoe lave field.Sue reading about the pahoehoe lava. The National Park Service does a great job making these kinds of places accessible and providing explanations telling the story at each location.
You can ride a designated, one-way, circular tarmac road through the Preserve, with paved offshoots for specific sights. One of the first stops is a pahoehoe lava field. The name is a particular type of lava, and it comes from the lava volcanoes and their flows in Hawaii. Pahoehoe lava is characterized by a rough and darkened surface. What made it even more interesting is the walkway above the lava. You can walk a loop of about a quarter of a mile and see what the hardened lava looks like. The walkway is a good thing; I don’t think it would be possible to navigate this terrain on foot.
Monolithic cinder cone fragments in one of the lava fields.
Another lava structure is called cinder cone. Sometimes these structures break apart and leave monolithic forms like those in the photograph above. One of the more dramatic areas in Craters of the Moon is the Inferno Cone. There’s a place to park near the base and you can climb to the peak.
The climb to the Inferno Cone peak. Sue did it. I watched.Completing the circular ride through Craters of the Moon. The lava formations to the left are called cinder bombs.
There are several lava tubes (caves formed by lava flow) in Craters of the Moon, and if you wish, you can hike into them. We didn’t do that. There are also longer hikes throughout the Preserve if you want to explore more.
There’s much to see and do at Craters of the Moon. How long you stay and how much you see is up to you. We were there for about three hours and we had a great visit.
The next stop on our Idaho expedition would be Twin Falls. That’s coming up, so stay tuned.
If you would like to read about the Western America Adventure Ride and how CSC rewrote the motorcycle adventure touring book, the story is here:
The Basque Museum is a small museum in downtown Boise. It covers the history of the Basque people in Idaho as well as other parts of the United States. We enjoyed our visit.
When I first moved to southern California in 1979, the Inland Empire (the area that stretches from Pomona to San Bernardino and maybe a little beyond) still had large wide open areas. You could still see shepherds with their multicolored coats, shepherd crooks, and sheep out in the fields that are now covered by cookie-cutter tract homes and shopping malls. Who are these people, I asked. Oh, those are the Basque shepherds, my coworkers at General Dynamics told me. You have to go with us to lunch at the Basque restaurant in Chino, they told me. I still had no idea or sense of who the Basque really were.
What I’ve since learned (amplified greatly by our visit to the Basque Museum in Boise) is that the Basque region includes several provinces in northern Spain and southwest France. The Basque have their own language (known as Euskera or Basque), and for a number of reasons (primarily related to economics, persecution, and politics), a large Basque diaspora created Basque communities in other parts of the world. One such community is here in southern California, another is in the Boise area. In fact, the Boise area has the largest concentration of Basque people in the United States. The Basque country in Europe has a coastline, fertile areas for farming, and good grazing lands for sheep. This led to a unique Basque food culture.
The Basque in Idaho also enjoyed a connection to Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway became aware of the Basque in 1923 while he was a Toronto Star reporter writing about the Festival of San Fermín in Pamplona (that’s the famed running of the bulls). In his first novel, The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway also wrote about the festival. It was one of Hemingway’s earliest writings showing an appreciation for the Basque culture, which emerged in his later writings in Cuba and Idaho.
The Basque Museum is a worthwhile stop. It’s located at 611 West Grove Street in Boise, and it’s open Tuesday through Saturday.
It took the boat about 3 hours to get out to the reef for our first dive. 27 of the others were seasoned divers, so as the newbies we felt privileged they’d help us gear up and make jokes about our fumbling around prior to getting into the water.
