Vidal Junction

John R Beyer at Vidal Junction, California

As I have in written in past articles, there are places we are destined to travel to without even meaning to travel there. 

If I haven’t written that, I should have, sounds almost brilliant. One of those memorable quotes. 

Anyway, when we travel, there are times we are moving toward a final destination, but sometimes on the way to that objective, another stopping-place shows up in front of us that is just as intriguing. 

That is truly adventure.

As a travel writer, I find myself in that realm quite often, and I find it reassuring. Just because I want to end up at one place, doesn’t mean I don’t want to find myself in a totally different locale. That is what makes life so exciting.

Okay, enough philosophy – on with what this article is about.

Growing up in Southern California, I spent a lot of time at the Colorado River. The main route I used was Interstate 10, to Blythe and then north on Highway 95 to the Parker Strip. A friend of mine, Bob, had a place along the river, and we’d spend countless hours boating on that stretch of water and then relaxing after a tiring, but fun filled day with our families.

Good times.

Well, during those trips, I must have driven past Vidal dozens of time, and never gave it a second thought.

A bent sign, along Highway 95, letting the passerby know there may have been something worthwhile there once, but apparently that something was long ago. Slow down, take the railroad tracks carefully at Vidal, especially if towing anything, and then drive on to Parker.

That was the extent of my knowledge of Vidal.

On a recent trip, Laureen and I, again were buzzing south on Highway 95 and passed that bent sign indicating the town of Vidal.

“Wonder what’s there?” Laureen asked.

“Nothing, would be my guess,” I replied.

“Let’s check it out. You never know,” she said.

And we did. I made a legal U-turn and headed back to that tall crooked sign. Getting out of our vehicle, we snapped a few photographs and started walking east on the dirt road, known as the Old Parker Road – not to be confused with the New Parker Road.

Laureen Beyer at the end to the tracks in Vidal Junction, California

Train tracks ran right next to the roadway. They were empty, straight, as if they hadn’t been used in a long time - lonely. I doubted that, since trains seemed to run through this part of the country all the time. None did while we were there, but that didn’t mean they didn’t use these tracks – just not for the thirty minutes we wandered here and there.

“That’s a nice looking little house,” Laureen mentioned, as she pointed to a very well-kept white and blue cottage.

She was correct. The house stood out in the brown desert like an unforgotten jewel. Perhaps a ruby, that has been neglected by a heart broken lover – what?

Man, this is starting to sound like a cheap dime novel.

Turns out, that the nice looking little house was the only permanent abode for Wyatt Earp and his wife, Josephine – who went by Sadie.

John R Beyer in front of the Earp's house, Vidal Junction, California

Yes, probably one of the most famous western lawmen – among other things, who rode a horse through the southwest.

The Wyatt Earp, who became even more famous, or infamous, after that thirty second street battle at the OK Corral in Tombstone, Arizona. Two factions of westerners had had enough with one another, and temperatures boiled over in the afternoon of October 26th, 1881. In a matter of a half a minute, three were dead and three wounded. Tombstone would soon become a household word.

The violence would also go down as the most famous gunfight in the American Wild West. Sorry, Wild Bill Hickok.

There is a cement slab with a plaque, in front of the small house, explaining – ‘The legendary lawman, gun-fighter, gambler, businessman, and miner along with his wife Josephine inhabited this “Dream-Come-True” cottage from 1925 – 1928. During the fall, winter and spring months while he worked his “Happy Days” mines in the Whipple Mountains a few miles north of this site. This is the only permanent residence they owned in their long lives together.’

Long life together, meant forty-seven years. They married – common-law – in 1882, and stayed with each other until Wyatt’s death on January 13, 1929.

That is a long time in anyone’s book, especially for a guy who had been mixed up in more gunplay then I’ve had IRS audits. Did I just write that?

It should be noted, that during Wyatt’s life, he moved around a lot – gambling here and there, looking for minerals in the mountains of Arizona and California, sitting for interviews, and the like. The Earp’s never really settled down, but instead rented hotels and small homes during their married life.

It wasn’t until they purchased the small cottage in Vidal in 1925 that they had true roots. They’d summer in Los Angeles and the rest of the year mainly in Vidal.

An interesting point, that the Earp’s were actually living in Calzona – not far from Vidal – in 1922, when a huge fire destroyed the town, but miraculously the little house didn’t burn.

The house was moved to Vidal, where the Earp’s eventually bought it.

According to a couple of sources online, Morgan Earp (Wyatt’s younger brother) was the original owner of the house in Calzona, but he was murdered in 1882 in Tombstone – revenge killing for the OK Corral gunfight, and I couldn’t find material backing up those suggestions.

The way with history, one person writes this and the other person writes that. It is romantic, in a literary way though, to believe Wyatt and Sadie actually lived in the house that Wyatt’s younger brother had built.

Let’s allow that bit of history go without much further investigation.

So, now that we knew this little burg had a lot more going for it, we decided to explore a bit more.

Over on Main Street, all these towns have a main street, stands a beautiful rock and mortar two story building. On the top, like castles of old, are jagged rocks as though they expected Vikings to storm the building.

Original store in Vidal Junction, California

No Vikings, and really not much on the history of the building. It must have cost a pretty penny – or a lot of pretty pennies – to build such a place.

In a statement on the website, flickeriver.com, the building had various businesses which occupied the building through the years. A barbershop, an assayers office – make sense if Wyatt and others were mining for gold – and other commercial endeavors. There were supposed showers behind the building for cowboys to rinse off the dust of the desert.

In full disclosure, the research on this building did not yield much information. Actually, very little about both Vidal and the surrounding area is very limited online. That is a shame, since this was once the home of an iconic member of the ‘old west’ legend.

Mainly ruins in Vidal Junction

As mentioned earlier, Wyatt and Sadie resided in Vidal during the fall, winter, and spring times, moving back to Los Angeles during the summer. A little bit warm in Vidal during that scorching time of year. Besides, Wyatt did work as a consultant for some film companies assisting in making western movies as accurate as possible.

As mentioned in truewestmagazin.com, the early cowboy star, Tom Mix, and Wyatt became very close friends, so close that Mix served as a pallbearer at Earp’s funeral. 

Rumor has it, Tom Mix cried.

According to justwestofmyheart.blogspot.com, the town of Vidal kept growing with ranchers, miners, traders, and the building of the Los Angeles Aqueduct in the 1930’s. ‘By 1935, the area had no less than 28 liquor establishments, the paper describing them as “hangouts for river toughs and equally tough women.”

But, the great depression played havoc everywhere, and one place hit especially hard was Vidal. Soon people left and the desert began to encroach back on the emptiness left behind by the vanishing citizens. 

A relatively newer structure in Vidal Junction, California

Not much is left to Vidal today. A few deserted houses, Wyatt’s cottage, the remains of the JM Heacock building, and a cemetery across the railroad tracks.

Is it worth a stop along Highway 95? Yes, it is.

“I bet this place has a very intriguing past, I bet,” Laureen stated, as we headed to our vehicle.

“And I’d take that bet,” I replied. I knew that would be a sure wager.

 

Searchlight Museum

Entrance to the Historical Museum in Searchlight, Nevada

As I have mentioned numerous times in my columns, museums have a special place in my heart and I try to visit as many as I can whilst out and about on traveling adventures.

Again, as I have also mentioned numerous times in my columns, our children used to roll their eyes, harrumph, or feign illness whenever I turned into the parking lot of some vault of historical value - namely a museum.

Laureen, my lovely traveling partner, and I tried to instill an appreciation of history and the stories of those who came before us and who made wherever we happened to be traveling what it is today.

It did not matter if it was Amboy, Bullhead City, Randsburg, London, or Paris - each place has a special story to be heard and appreciated. 

The iconic ghost town of Amboy, California

George Santayana, the philosopher is given credit for penning the immortal phrase: ‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’

I am the perfect example of Santayana’s statement. How many times Laureen has reminded me that a small taste of Mrs. Renfro’s Carolina Reaper Salsa didn't sit well with me in the past? I generally remember while being rushed to the emergency room by a team of paramedics.

But I digress.

Recently, our daughter Kelly let us know that she was taking our grandson, Eli, to a children’s museum in their town of Meridian, Idaho.

We smiled over the video call but once disconnected, high-fived each other. “It worked,” we stated in unison.

According to Rebecca Carlsson in her article for MuseumNext, published on September 15, 2023, ‘Museums have the power to create unity of both a social and political level and a local one. Local museums can provide a sense of community and place by celebrating a collective heritage, offering a great way to learn about the history of a particular area.’

Carlsson ends her piece with ‘Museums are just as crucial to the future as the future is to museums. Not only can our museums bring history to life, but they can also shine a light on our present and future - a light which can be hard to find elsewhere.’

Great article and a must-read for parents - in addition to my own columns, obviously - to instill a sense of who we are not only as a country, state, or city, but who we are as a whole.

Sometimes those visits may conjure up images we may not want to recall.

It is hard for most right-minded people not to get teared up while visiting the Holocaust Museum in Los Angeles, or walking the acres of land containing Manzanar along Highway 395. Those are gut-wrenching places to wander but at the same time, as Santayana hoped, if we remember the past we may not let those things happen again.

Perhaps the philosopher was not as skeptical of the human condition as many are today.

But I digress.

With my admiration of museums, I visited the small but extremely informative historical center of Searchlight, Nevada.

Searchlight in the bygone days

I wrote about the once bustling mining town during the dark years of the pandemic when I was not able to enter the museum with the mask restrictions, social distancing, and COVID bugs flying non-stop creating havoc, so I made it a point to revisit.

The museum is located in Clark County within the Searchlight Community Center along Cottonwood Cove Road which ultimately leads to the Cottonwood Cove Recreation area on Lake Mohave.

In 1897 a miner by the name of George Frederick Colton was looking for gold in the area when he supposedly said, “It would take a searchlight to find gold ore here.”

Well, gold was found, and thus the name for find, Searchlight Mine, and in 1898 the name of the newly founded gold rush town.

Today, there is not much to view in the town, more of a crossing spot for those traveling to the blue waters at Cottonwood Cove or on their way to Las Vegas along Interstate 95. A casino or two, a gas station or two, and a few places to grab a meal - but the museum is a must-stop since it holds some very interesting pieces of information explaining why the town of Searchlight is a truly hidden treasure of history.

Let us put away the mining history, important as it may be for making a desolate desert landscape come alive with untold riches, but concentrate on who was once involved in this town of now only 278 humans that was once home to nearly 2,000 souls.

As I wandered around the well-displayed kiosks in the museum I was amazed at the photographs, newspaper clippings, tools, books, and other artifacts which made this stop so much worth anyone’s time.

I did not know that John Macready once lived in Searchlight where his father once owned a very rich ore-producing mine. Macready was a famous pilot in the early years of the 20th Century and helped make aviation a household word. He was one of the first pilots to fly non-stop across the United States and the only three-time winner of the Mackay Trophy. 

I did know that Edith Head, the very famous costume designer who still holds the record of receiving eight Academy Awards for Best Costume Design, lived in Searchlight as a young child. Her mother had been married to a mining engineer and called Searchlight home for many years. Edith is considered one of the most influential costume designers in the history of film, working for Paramount Pictures for over four decades.

The history of Edith Head while living in Searchlight, Nevada

I did not know that Clara Gordon Bow, the 1920s film star, used to visit Searchlight on a regular basis from her nearby abode, the Walking Box Ranch - named after a camera connected to a tripod for filming in the early days of Hollywood. The ranch was owned by Bow and her husband, actor Rex Bell, as a respite from the often craziness of the film crowd in Los Angeles. 

Clara Bow's personal trunk on display in Searchlight, Nevada

I did not know that Scot Joplin, the King of Ragtime, once wrote a song entitled Searchlight Rag in 1907, in honor of a couple of friends who had done some prospecting in Searchlight - Tom and Charles Turpin. The song was inspired by the tales the two brothers related to Joplin of their time spent in local bars in the area. Now, who would not like that song?

And, I did not know that a man by the name of William Harrell Nellis spent part of his youth in Searchlight before his family moved to Las Vegas when he was 13 years old. This man then went on to become a fighter pilot during World War II and flew in over 70 combat missions before being fatally shot down on  December 27, 1944, over Luxemburg. On April 30, 1950, the Las Vegas Air Force Base changed its name to Nellis Air Force Base.

Nellis's own story in Searchlight, Nevada

I did know that the late Senator Harry Mason Reid Jr. was born in Searchlight in 1939 but learned that he was one of four sons born to Harry Reid and Inez Orena Reid. The Senator’s father was a rock miner working various mines in the hills around Searchlight and his mother was a laundress for the local brothels in the area.

The things you learn while visiting museums!

Searchlight’s museum may be small but it is jam-packed with interesting tidbits about the history of the mining industry, and the famous folks who were either born there, visited there, or spent some time there during their lives.

There are quite of things to view at the museum in Searchlight, Nevada

I wandered a bit and marveled at the care taken in preserving the memory of this small town, really in the middle of nowhere but actually in the middle of some pretty big stories.

For more information: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obKkQ4U31VA

https://www.clarkcountynv.gov/government/departments/parks___recreation/cultural_division/musuems/searchlight_musuem.php

John can be contacted at: beyersbyways@gmail.com

 

 

Tragedy at Charlestown Peak, Nevada

Looking toward the peak of Mount Charlestown, Nevada

“There was suddenly a clear space in the skies above Mount Charleston and the pilot took advantage of it,” Docent Arlene said. “He pulled back on the controls believing he could make it over the summit despite the terrible winter weather.”

Laureen, my lovely wife, and I were visiting the Spring Mountains Visitor Gateway near Mount Charleston a mere 40 miles northwest of Las Vegas.

The wind was blowing from the west down through the snow-covered valley of the Spring Mountains, leaving both Laureen and me wishing we had brought warmer clothes for this afternoon's venture. Hiking boots, shorts, and thin sweatshirts were no match for the sometimes 50-mile-an-hour gusts howling down upon us with a touch of freezing.

The three of us, Docent Arlene, Laureen and I were gazing at a large bent and misshapen airplane propeller on display outside of the Visitor Center.

That wintery day back on November 17, 1955, proved a bit too tricky for the pilot navigating the C-54 Cargo plane, registered as USAF 9068.

How Mount Charlestown may have appeared at time of crash

“I’ve heard that if he had gained less than fifty feet or so the plane would have made it over the peak and headed toward Las Vegas, their final destination,” Docent Arlene stated. “Unfortunately, that peak in the distance was their final destination, killing all fourteen men aboard.”

Memorial for those lost on Mount Charlestown, Nevada

It was two o’clock in the afternoon and we had just finished a yummy lunch at The Retreat on Charleston Peak a bit earlier - we shared a large burger with a patty made of a mixture of bison, Wagyu beef, elk, and wild boar cooked to perfection. Washing it down with a nice cold Stella, made the meal that much more satisfying.

The Retreat near Charlestown Peak, Nevada

We had stopped by the Visitor Center to learn what we could about this mountain situated less than an hour's drive from Las Vegas and yet worlds away from that hustle and glitter.

There was no way that I could have imagined that we were going to learn about an aircraft that had slammed into Mount Charleston carrying 14 men heading from Burbank, California on its way to the top-secret installation of Area 51.

Yes, the very base in the Nevada Desert that houses intergalactic flying saucers, little skinny gray space aliens, and probably a few Sasquatches for good measure.

All the folks who perished during that winter storm atop Mount Charleston in 1955 on flight USAF 9068 were secretly working on the U-2 project. The plane that would change the way the United States routinely spied on their adversaries around the world, and perhaps allies too - just speculating.

In fact, according to Docent Arlene, the mission was so secret that the military never told the families of those aboard anything about how they died, let alone why their loved ones happened to be flying over Mount Charleston in the first place during a terrible winter storm. The plane was supposed to keep a maximum height of 10 thousand feet to maintain invisibility from radar but with the nasty weather, the pilot got a bit off course and suddenly realized too late that he had to try to make it over the nearly 12,000-foot peak of Mount Charleston.

As history records, George Pappos did his best but those last feet were just out of reach for the seasoned pilot trying to ferry his cargo of scientists to Watertown - codename for the desert area where things were being constructed and tested out of the view of the general public.

When traveling, as I do quite often, there are times when you learn about stories that come as a surprise. This was one of those times.

Not about the shenanigans going on in Area 51 - nothing surprising there. No, that top-secret base is probably one of the best-known top-secret places on this planet. 

I’ve been on the outskirts of Area 51 numerous times and once nearly was detained when a white SUV came barreling toward me on a remote dirt road. I hightailed it, and just caught in the rearview mirror the driver in the truck waving at me with a skinny hand with only three fingers attached. The passenger leaned out of the window yelling something, and I swore he had antennas stuck to his rather large-eyed head.

But, I digress.

We happened to be in Las Vegas to see the band ZZ Top at the Palms when we decided to drive the short forty minutes to Mount Charleston. In all transparency, we have visited the beautiful small town a few times in the past but nearly six years had glided by so we thought it would be a nice outing away from the glitter and hubbub of Sin City.

Little did we know that we would learn so much about the Cold War while talking with Docent Arlene at the Spring Mountains Visitor Gateway.

“For decades the families never truly knew what had happened to their loved ones,” Docent Arlene said. “The government wanted to keep the facts of the incident close to their chest, and they succeeded.”

Laureen and I wandered about the visitor center a bit and picked up a few more details pertaining to the crash. It was sad looking at photographs of what remained of the C-54 on top of Mount Charleston after the horrific crash.

A large debris field showed that the plane had nearly made the peak but instead bellied into the hard snowpack and skidded for dozens of yards before erupting into fire. It took time for responders to reach the peak with the weather and rescue equipment available in 1955, but it would have made no difference. Experts determined later that in all probability those aboard perished almost instantly upon impact. 

When the plane crashed and the military had removed the remains of the 14 men killed, the plane rested in its last landing position for years. The peak is treacherous and not easy to hike to, though people do during the summer and early fall when it is not covered by snow.

Through the decades, souvenir scavengers would scale Mount Charleston for mementos of the tragic airplane crash. It was becoming more and more hazardous, not to mention disrespectful, to allow tourists to venture into the damaged fuselage which was moving a bit more down the mountainside with each winter snowfall, so the US Forest Service had the fuselage blown up for safety reasons.

Some of the original propellers and plane debris still lay twisted and abandoned on the peak today. The engines were removed by the military and later reused in other aircraft.

One propeller is at the Spring Mountains Visitor Gateway and proudly on display at the National Cold War Memorial located on the grounds of the Gateway as a reminder of the once unknown heroes of the nearly 50 year Cold War against the then Soviet Union. 

One engine propeller from atop Mt. Charlestown 

It is the only National Memorial site in the state of Nevada.

We were told that the wind gusts were going to be hitting higher soon and the electricity was being turned off on Mount Charleston at four due to fire hazards in case of a downed power pole.

One more gander around the Cold War Memorial set in the beautiful setting of Spring Mountains and we were on our way back to Las Vegas and the concert.

But, in the parking lot, I stood a moment or two gazing at the snow-covered peak of Mount Charleston in the distance and wondered what it had been like for those 14 men knowing that was indeed their last flight.

I hoped they had not known it was.

For more information: https://www.gomtcharleston.com/

https://retreatoncharlestonpeak.com/

A good read on the topic: Silent Heroes of the Cold War by Kyril D. Plaskon

John can be contacted at: beyersbyways@gmail.com

Seven Magic Mountains, Las Vegas

A virtual rock landscape of colors

My wonderful wife, Laureen, and I were visiting Las Vegas, when a guest at the Venetian asked me if we had stopped along Interstate 15 to check out the Seven Magic Mountains.

“They are a work of art,” the man dressed in puffy sleeves and tights told me. “We stop there every time we come to Las Vegas.”

Magic mushrooms I remembered. A great time to sit back and contemplate the events of the world while studying one’s navel. But magic mountains?

“Dude,” a long haired-hippie-dude may have said. “These shrooms are like opening up the universe to me, dude.”

If I had been there, I may have replied, “Dude, you look like a walrus but with a tighter mustache.”

Of course, the above is just for giggles. I have never delved into the world of drugs. Though there was a time when possibly I ingested something innocently and two days later round up at Machu Picchu in Peru, where a Shaman had tattooed a map of the lost Incan treasure on my hairy back. 

“It’s a map,” I confessed to Laureen.

“They are freckles,” she stated with a roll of the eyes that could be felt in Cuzco,

Sure, then why did I keep getting emails from the History Channel from lost treasure hunters?

So, on the way out of Sin City, we decided to pull off of Interstate 15 and investigate all the hubbub of these Seven Magic Mountains.

“Should have stopped by a CBD store for this experience,” I said to Laureen.

“Put the car in park.”

The free parking lot was full. I had to wait until a family decided they had had enough of the Seven Magic Mushrooms - oops, the Seven Magic Mountains -- before a spot was available,

The father looked at his wife, who was jockeying the horde of kids into the minivan, “I swear I saw Captain Kirk standing by one of the tall rock sculptures. He spoke to me.”

With the last child seatbelt fastened, the wife calmly took the vehicle's keys and instructed her husband there would be no intergalactic travel that day.

Running parallel with Interstate 15, approximately a dozen miles south of Las Vegas,this is a sight to behold. Huge multi-colored boulders stacked on top of each other towering over the flat desert landscape. 

It's not just the juxtaposition of these structures that makes a traveler ponder how this could be created but the gorgeously vivid colors painted on each boulder is an artistic palette.

There were so many folks wandering around the boulder works of art that I lost count.

There were Hindus, Taosists, Shintos, Christians, Islamists, and those with tin foil wrapped around their craniums.

Yes, being a travel writer I asked each person where they were from. I suddenly stopped when a man stated that he had just been released from San Quentin.

“The teardrop tats beneath my eyes,” he said, “Nothing to concern yourself with”

It was a place for all, and all were welcomed,

The creator of this field of creativity was a Swiss artist by the name of Ugo Rondinone. His dream was to explore, ‘a creative expression of human presence in the desert. Seven Magic Mountains punctuates the Mojave with a poetic burst of form and color.’

In the middle of nowhere, Ugo decided to stack boulders, some over 30 feet tall, to allow travelers enroute along Interstate 15 to share in his vision in the Nevada desert.

It should be noted that the work was funded and sponsored by the Nevada Museum of Art, along with other non-profit groups who were very excited to be part of the largest land based art installation in the United States in the last 40 years. 

I really had no idea what a land based art installation was until I asked Mr. Google. But, it is really a cool thing to experience up close and personal.

The process was not easy when the art project began in December of 2015. Huge boulders were brought to the location and then were carefully cut into smaller boulders to Rondinone’s exact specifications.

Once the large boulders were cut into the correct size according to the artist, holes were then cut through to allow each boulder to sit atop another by the use of metal rods and bolts to ensure they would not topple over on visitors.

Nothing worse than having a 40,000 pound neon pink boulder falling on a guy taking a selfie at the bottom of a column of boulders,

“Well, that little incident won’t be staying in Vegas,” a tourist may note after watching a six foot male squashed into the desert floor. 

The project took an entire army of engineers, metal workers, boulder cutters, crane operators and other construction experts to complete Rondinone’s dream.

The motto of how it was all put together was simple - ‘One boulder at a time.’ And with 33 boulders, one weighing nearly 56,000 pounds, that was a lot of combined effort and talent.

What stands out, besides the feeling a person may be looking at a modern day StoneHenge painted in various colors of day-glo paint, is the precarious-appearing boulders stacked on top of each other. They seem to be defying gravity for the onlooker.

Being situated near Jean Dry Lake, within the Ivanpah Valley, winds howl through the flatness of the desert like folks running through the front doors of Walmart on a Black Friday sale.

“Watch out Ethel,” a husband may say to his wife. “The winds are blowing nigh-on three hundred miles per hour. And don’t forget that they have big screens for a buck today.”

The amount of engineering genius it took to ensure those boulders don’t fall over in the extreme desert conditions is amazing. 

A true balancing act

With the backdrop of the Sheep Mountains, the Seven Magic Mountains is the perfect opportunity for both amateur and professional photographers to get out and about for that perfect frame.

Per the Seven Magic Mountains website, ‘the installation creates a dialogue between the natural and the artificial, the rural and the urban. The natural form of the rocks contrasts with their artificial paint, symbolizing the intersection of human culture with the natural world,’

That was cranium deep.

When asked, Rondinone stated, “I just had some time on my hands and a bunch of boulders in the front yard, and I thought - why not?”

Actually, he did not say that.

Situated on Bureau of Land Management land, the artist was allowed just two years to display the brightly painted seven stacked columns of boulder,s but after it was completed in 2016, the response was so positive that the BLM allowed another couple of years to pass, Now, after having nearly 1,000 visitors per day touring the land based art installation, that has been extended through 2027.

As Laureen and I wandered around the luminescent boulder creations, we suspected this timeline may be extended as well. It is free to park, free to enter, and free to experience the wonders of the desert suddenly alive with tall beautifully sculptured pieces of art.

John R Beyer, loving the shades of colors

I took a photo of Laureen near a vivid purple boulder. Laureen took a photo of me standing by a bright blue boulder. Laureen was asked to take photos from strangers as they posed with their families in front of various colored boulders.

Laureen Beyer, holding up a stack of brightly painted rocks

I offered, but with a smile the strangers declined and handed their phones and cameras to Laureen. I wasn’t upset by the slight, since I did not want to take their dumb photos in the first place.

With the hundreds of people walking about the exhibit, it was refreshing to see all the smiles, the wonder in voices, and the joy people felt by just being in the center of this magical art destination.

As I mentioned, every color, every nationality, every creed was on display with the folks visiting and enjoying one man’s vision to bring us all together at the Seven Magic Mountains.

Lots of visitors each and every day

We talked to each other, pointed this and that out to each other, and smiled goodbye when we left. It was an enriching experience and one that should perhaps be duplicated worldwide.

That would be nice.

For more information:  https://sevenmagicmountains.com

John can be contacted at beyersbyways@gmail.com

Rainbow Basin, Barstow, CA

Though I have traveled down this narrow, winding dirt path multiple times in the past, it seemed as if it were the first time I’d taken the route.

That is the amazing mystery of adventuring here and there. You may have visited a certain park, lake, town, or some other destination multiple times in the past but suddenly the experience seems like a first.

I’m the usual suspect in the driver’s seat when motoring here or there. Mostly, because I travel alone on the byways the majority of the time. But on those occasions when company is present, they tend to sit in the passenger seat looking out the window trying to ignore my storytelling. 

“Stop me if you’ve heard this story,” I may say to Laureen, my lovely wife. “I was almost run over by a five thousand pound bull in Pamplona . . .”

“Stop.”

“Did I ever tell you the time a Sasquatch and I sat by the campfire in western Oregon, sharing a bottle of Macallan and a smooth Fuente y Padron?” I may ask Paul, a sometimes traveling friend.

“Stop.”

So, as I idled through the twisty twists of Rainbow Basin, my thoughts turned back to wondering if I had ever seen these natural geologic formations before.  I had, and yet somehow they appeared fresh and new, like a pair of white socks when washed in hot water and not cold. Laureen taught me that trick, and to this day, beige (used to be white) socks will never again caress my feet.

Rainbow Basin is passable by most vehicles 

Rainbow Basin lies just a few miles northwest of Barstow and is maintained by the Bureau of Land Management. It is easy to find right off Irwin Road with a large sign that points north telling the traveler the basin lies just another few miles away along a wide but oftentimes bumpy dirt road.

Any vehicle can cruise along the road but no large vehicles should attempt to enter the trail which leads through Rainbow Basin itself. Some of those humongous monstrosities from the Mad Max films may find the hairpin turns a bit challenging. Otherwise, have at it.

Well, motorhomes and trucks pulling trailers should not try the canyon road either. AAA doesn’t have a policy for Stupid.

One photo says it all - pay attention to road hazards

According to some geology know-it-alls, ‘Underneath Rainbow Basin is the massive batholith that lies below much of the western Mojave. Made from a type of rock called quartz monzonite, this batholith dates to either the Cretaceous or possibly the late Jurassic period.’

I have no idea what that means but I do know what Jurassic means - I’ve watched the movie Jurassic Park a million times - though in all transparency, most of the dinosaurs used in the film were really from the Cretaceous period and not the Jurassic period.

The Jurassic period was roughly 201 to 145 million years ago, whereas the Cretaceous period came into being roughly 145 million years ago until that nasty old meteorite turned the dinosaurs' day into the eternal night 66 million years ago.

So, T-Rex, the star of the 1993 film lived during the Cretaceous period, 90 million years ago, and not during the Jurassic period.

You better run, Little Man!

When asked about this small ‘time’ issue, it is rumored that the director, Steven Spielberg when asked simply said, “Who can say Cretaceous Park? Jurassic Park sounds so much cooler, and we’ve already had the Jeep decals printed. Back on set!”

Batholith is made up of two ancient Greek words, bathos meaning depth and lithos meaning rock. Those Greeks think of everything - deep large rocks that form when molten magma cools far down in the Earth’s crust. 

During the early years of the Cenozoic Era, roughly 66 million years ago, the batholith was exposed in the Rainbow Basin area and was molded downward with the immense pressure of the faults, creating some truly amazing geologic landscape for the traveler to gaze at.

Lots of beautiful landscape to explore

Through the eons of the Cenozoic Era, which includes the modern day, more movement by the faults in the area, including the Garlock Fault, created otherworldly geologic wonders.

Now, if I have gotten any of the geology mambo-jumbo incorrect, let it go - it does sound rather brainy.

Driving through the canyons, a visitor can park in pullouts and get up close and personal with the sandstone formation which makes up most of the area surrounding Rainbow Basin and the nearby Owl Canyon, where there happens to be a large and welcoming campground for those with longer stays in mind.

One noticeable thing about Rainbow Basin is the beautiful array of colors, and thus the name, I imagine.

There are vivid shades of green-gray, yellow-gray, and some almost red. As I wandered the canyon it was amazing how the colors from the land seemed to melt into each other while still leaving their own definable individualism on the landscape.

It was a weekday, so there were no cars honking at me to move from the center of the roadway while I studied the various formations while taking the occasional photograph.

The formations at Rainbow Basin are spectacular

My buddy, Paul, had traveled with me on this one-night excursion and was thoroughly enjoying himself climbing ridgelines to get a better gander at the joys mother nature had made.

Of course, as any true outdoors person, we both took care not to disturb anything in the way of plants, animals, or space aliens we may have come across.

To travel is to respect where one travels. 

Spending over two hours along the drive through the canyon gave both of us a better appreciation of how nature can turn simple things like sand, granite, and other geology thingies into works of art.

Our base camp at Owl Canyon Campground had been set up earlier in the day and we headed back to relax and discuss the day's adventure.

“I think I’m going to sit and relax a bit when we get back to camp,” Paul said.

With a nod, I agreed. “Yes, then we can discuss the geologic wonders we witnessed today.”

He rolled his eyes, a trick I swear he learned from Laureen. “Nope, I’m going to discuss having a nice cold one, it’s hot.”

It was warm and there was not nearly a breeze to cool two adventurous souls who only wanted to sit, relax, and go over the adventure of the day.

Owl Canyon Campground is a wonderful place for individuals, families, loners, and college geology classes who want to spend quality time outside while enjoying the openness of the desert.

A great trail doggie and humans, Laureen and our buddy Paul Bakas

Laureen and I, along with our doggies, camped here in our motorhome years ago and it turned out to be a wonderful experience. However, our Doberman, Dobie, decided that sliding down a steep ‘uplift’ in the canyon would be adventurous. It was not and after a few hair-raising moments, we were able to coax her up the steep sides and into the arms of Laureen. After that, Dobbie believed well-marked hiking trails were the next best thing to Minties.

Our furry companions exhausted after a day of exploring

Since it was a weekday, there were only a few other campers taking any of the numerous campsites. It was quiet, the sky was blue, barely a breeze, and made for a perfect ending to the day of exploring.

A warm campfire in the desert is a welcomed delight

Owl Canyon Campground is on a ‘first come’ basis, so the weekends during Fall, Winter, and Spring can be tricky to find a spot, but in summer - the place is wide open. With no electric hookups and very little water, it is a place for campers to think twice about before adventuring for the overnight. Daytime, no issue, just bring plenty of water, sunscreen, a yummy lunch, and a copy of one of my traveling columns, and it is a setting for a perfect outing.

A trip to Rainbow Basin is a must for locals and visitors from far away. It is where geology comes into contact with humans to understand how precious this floating globe in space is. 

For more information: https://www.blm.gov/visit/rainbow-basin-natural-area

John can be contacted at: beyersbyways@gmail.com

The Cabot Trail

John R Beyer ready to explore the Cabot Trail, Nova Scotia

It was not always easy to be an early explorer. Take Christopher Columbus for example: in August of 1492, he took off with the ships from modern day Spain and headed for India.

In October of that same year, his tired and ocean-weary band of sailors arrived in what would later be known as the Caribbean.

Columbus, being rather hard-headed, referred to the folks they found paddling around the island in canoes Indians, believing he had ventured all the way across the great waters to South Asia.

A rumor is that one of his sailors pointed out the ‘Indians’ were drinking foo-foo drinks from coconuts with little plastic umbrellas stuck in them, and did not seem like the people they were supposed to meet.

“Are they not supposed to be wearing dupattas, your Excellency?”

“Senza senso,” Columbus may have replied.

Even when the natives started shouting, “It’s gotta be five o’clock somewhere,” the expedition leader continued to tell his men it was nonsense and they had reached India.

“But, let’s not advise Isabella,” he may have said. “She gets sort of touchy now and then.”

And even when the explorer John Cabot left England in 1496 after being given permission by King Henry VII to explore the coast of North America, all did not go as planned.

A letter written by John Day, a Bristol merchant, stated the following of Cabot’s first venture into the unknown: ‘He went with one ship, his crew confused him, he was short of supplies and ran into bad weather, and he decided to turn back.’

Sounds a lot like me when my lovely wife, Laureen, sends me to Target.

“Where’s the bread?” she may inquire.

“I got beer, it’s sort of like liquid bread.”

But Cabot’s second venture turned out a lot better and he landed on the North American coastline on June 24, 1497. The exact location is not truly known, since GPS was a couple of years away, but it is believed the adventurer landed either on Cape Bonavista, near St. John’s in Newfoundland, or on Cape Breton in Nova Scotia.

Since we were in Cape Breton, that is where I chose to believe he made landfall 527 years ago.

Our home for a few days was the small fishing village of Baddeck, which lies upon the gorgeous waters of Bras d’ Or Lake. One thing we learned while traveling Nova Scotia is that most places you'd want to visit are within a few hours’ drive and so, having a home base made a lot of sense.

It also saved my back a lot of pain toting Laureen’s ten suitcases from the rental car to a different hotel room each evening.

The roadway which supposedly shows the route Cabot sailed and trapsied around Cape Breton is 185 miles long - it is a well-paved, winding road that reveals some of the most stunning scenery I have ever witnessed.

Majestic coastline along the Cabot Trail, Nova Scotia

Trunk 30 is the main path to follow the Cabot Trail and since I had never heard of a trunk except for the rear of a vehicle where goombas used to stash bodies or rich folks use when traveling on luxury cruises, I was puzzled.

A trunk road in Nova Scotia is used for long-distance and freight traffic. They are the recommended routes between cities, ports, airports, and other places. Of course, since most are single lane each way and possibly narrower than highways, visitors should expect slower times in reaching destinations.

The term is also utilized to perplex out-of-country drivers.

“Should we pack a picnic?” Laureen asked, the morning we were going to venture around the Cabot Trail.

I nodded. “Yes, how about Scotch eggs, apple pie with pickled figs, and black pudding?”

“Nope, just bring your wallet for when I get peckish,” Laureen replied. No homemade picnic basket would be accompanying us that day - that would also mean no pear pies, drat!

Driving around Cape Breton takes a person with nerves of steel and a head on a swivel. There is a constant gorgeous coastline, tracts of green trees, cute little forest creatures darting here and yonder, and houses hugging the shore with docks.

Forests right down to the ocean's edge, Nova Scotia

A house with a dock means there is a boat, and I love boats.

That concept was mentioned enough that Laureen finally stopped me, “I know, that house with that dock means our pontoon tied to the cleats there.

“No, that house deserves a fifty-foot Grand Banks,” I replied. 

I drove on and at every curve of the road the view never changed, it was all beautiful. Of course, being a Desert Rat, seeing green trees, green bushes, green grass, green moss, and sometimes people green with envy is a wonderful treat.

I wrote about Baddeck in an earlier column but we also drove through tiny towns or villages by the names of St. Anns, North Shore, French River, and Nell’s Harbor while traveling north. Each place was a photo stop - and none were better than the last.

We stopped at a town by the name of Ingonish which boasts one of the top 100 golf courses in the world. Since I had not brought my clubs and was wearing a pair of ankle high Keenes, I did not think I would be allowed to play.

“Puhleez, the servants quarters are in the back,” the golf pro stated at the Cape Breton Highland Links.

Traveling often reveals things a person did not know, of course that is a good enough reason to travel. We discovered that Ingonish has a wonderful winter skiing resort by the name of Cape Smokey. We stopped by to see what this was all about and were pleasantly surprised by what we learned.

It is a four season resort for skiing, hiking, having lunch, or just taking a gondola ride to the top of Cape Smokey to enjoy the views of the Atlantic Ocean and the Cape Breton Highlands National Park.

Unfortunately, we did not have the time to travel up to the 1,000 feet to the top of Cape Smokey on this trip and marveled that folks can ski at such a low elevation.

I asked a staff member at the gift shop. 

“It’s cold here in the winter and everything is covered with snow,” she replied.

In winter, Ingonish has an average temperature of 32 degrees fahrenheit during the day and 18 degrees at night. A person could ski on their driveway for most of the winter is my guess.

We took our time touring the Trunk and stopped here and there for photographs or just to enjoy the immense beauty of nature along the Cabot Trail.

There are hundreds of spots for a walk along the coastline, Nova Scotia

Around oneish, we both were getting ready for a bit of lunch and found a wonderful little restaurant high on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. 

Tables were set outside but since the weather had turned suddenly, such is the way in Nova Scotia, and the wind was now howling and we could see reindeer in the air, we chose the interior which was warm and friendly.

The owner smiled, “You should be here when the wind really blows.” At that moment a Prius was hurled down upon the rocky shores.

“I see,” I replied.

My order was a basket of fried shrimp with scallops and Laureen ordered something - I don’t recall. But my lunch was fabulous with a cold Big Spruce as a chaser.

One of the most picturesque stops was the town of Cheticamp which is heading south toward our temporary home of Baddeck.

A fishing boat heading out for a late day of fishing

The name of the town probably comes from the native Mi’kmaq which means ‘rarely full’, indicating the harbor was rarely full of sand which allowed boats to enter unhindered by Mother Nature.

And I enjoyed the name because if you say it multiple times fast enough it sounds rather naughty.

We stopped, even though we had eaten lunch a mere two hours earlier at the DoryMan Pub and Grill because it sat waterside and the sun was shining. 

“It is so beautiful here,” said our waitress. “I’ve only lived in town a couple of years but I could not imagine living anywhere else.”

“How about winter?” I asked.

“Wear heavier clothing.”

We wandered the boardwalk, and just enjoyed the brilliance of this now late afternoon summer day on Cape Breton.

On the drive back to Baddeck we passed other towns such as Margaree Harbour, and Lake O’Law and appreciated the stoic folks who founded these towns so many centuries ago, but also the resilient people who still live here battling the brutal winters.

Five hours is recommended for the route and we spent nearly nine. It was not even close to what was needed to take in all that the Cabot Trail and the lovely citizens along its route had to offer.

Memorial to those service members who would not be returning home

John can be reached at: beyersbyways@gmail.com 

Anne of Green Gables

The bridge to find the home of Lucy Maud Montgomery.

I have had the privilege of visiting the residences of Hemingway, Steinbeck, Wilde, Stoker, Doyle, and so many other writers of renowned fame.

Recently while traveling through Nova Scotia, Laureen, my darling wife, and I had a chance to stand next to JK Rowling’s 290-foot yacht, moored by the boardwalk in Halifax. The rain was pounding our umbrellas but we did not care - the ship was gorgeous and I was hoping Joanie (as I call her) would look out and say, “Johnny, don’t be a silly sod and get your waterlogged behind onboard.”

Turns out that she may or may not have been aboard, but nevertheless, the invitation never came.

Writers can be criticized, and I get my fair share for my columns, but one thing I learned at a young age is if there were no writers, there would be no readers.

That almost sounded profound.

The truth is that I love to read: fiction, historical fiction, non-fiction, somewhat non-fiction, newspapers, magazines, and I truly love real estate magazines.

Oh, there are other books out there, just saying.

So, when we traversed the Confederation Bridge and landed on Prince Edward Island, Laureen looked at me and smiled.

“This is where Lucy Maud Montgomery spent much of her life.”

I drew a blank. “Is that before or after she used to snag the football from beneath Charlie Brown’s foot when he went in for a kick?”

The roll of her eyes almost threw us back across that eight-mile bridge we had just crossed.

“Anne of Green Gables? The books our girls read while growing up,” she said.

I remember reading to our girls all the time. But they were fun books about how body parts made funny noises - usually Laureen was not within earshot for those bedtime readings.

‘What sound does the elephant make before going to sleep?’ And our daughters would roll with laughter as I impersonated a gaseous elephant in the forest. If Laureen happened to come in, the reading topic would suddenly change to something by Niccolo Machiavelli.

I wanted our children to be well-rounded when it came to literature.

It seems on Prince Edward Island, Lucy Maud Montgomery is very important, and rightfully so. 

We drove into the town of Cavendish and spent a couple of days looking here and there. What we learned was there was nowhere we looked that the name of Lucy Maud Montgomery wasn’t present.

She put this small village on the map - well, it was actually on the map already but she made it famous.

It is very similar when people mention Riverside, California.

“That’s where John R. Beyer was born, right?”

Cavendish is an old town, founded back in 1790 by three families who had moved from Scotland. It was not a sea town with a large harbor but what it lacked there, it made up with wonderfully rolling green farmlands and the town flourished.

We drove around in the pelting rain, loving every moment of it since we came from the desert and rain is simply something one reads in the history books.

Montgomery was born around November 30th, 1874 (exact dates at this time period were not always exact) and died on April 24, 1942. During that time she was able to write 20 novels, 530 short stories, 500 poems, 30 essays, and knit a full-length replica of the Canadian Red Ensign.

She also was married and had three children. And my kids believe getting up before eight in the morning is a hardship.

Growing up in the idyllic countryside of Prince Edward Island, Montgomery came up with an incredible story of a young orphaned girl, Anne of Green Gables, being taken in by a brother and sister to work their farm. They had wanted a boy to work the land but by mistake, they were sent a girl, Anne Shirley.

This was before Amazon and returns were not easy to accomplish.

As Laureen told me, and I nodded, this fictional brother and sister who got Anne by mistake were meanies but later, due to Anne’s wonderful personal demeanor, loving spirit, goodness, and the fact she could pull a plow across rocky ground without the aid of a horse proved she was a wonderful asset to the community.

The point the author was making was that this young woman, no matter her dire background, succeeded due to her ‘youthful idealism and spirituality.’

The novel, Anne of Green Gables, was an immediate success and the young author gained both national and international fame.

Later in life, Montgomery tried for a new series entitled, Joey of Yellow Gables, but it did not do very well.

We visited a wonderful public park in Cavendish, Montgomery Park, where there are kiosks describing Lucy’s life and what her inspirations were as she spent her life telling tales for her readers.

Bronze benches lined a walkway around the park where the visitor can sit and reflect amidst beautiful green treed lanes. There is a bench dedicated to the writer with a full-size metal sculpture of her gazing into the sky while two black cats saunter nearby.

Bronze bench with the author and her cat.

We wandered the park and then ducked beneath overhanging tree branches as we made our way to the home in which the author grew up. There is a wonderful visitor center and gift shop at the site and docents who explain everything one would want to learn about Montgomery.

“It is sad,” a male docent told us. “Even though she was a famous writer and her books sold well, she never made the same money as her male contemporaries did.”

“Talk about misogyny,” I retorted, in solidarity with women.

He looked at me, “No, she had a bad literary agent. She made good money later on with her writing.”

We walked the grounds despite the gale-force winds and soaking rain and learned that this writer did not grow up in a land of the rich. Simple wood-structured buildings were her home with large rock foundations laid as the floors. A small kitchen, which was refurbished for the museum site, showed a very modest room with rudimentary furnishings.

The original kitchen where Lucy grew up.

“So, is this Green Gables house real?” I asked as Laureen was shaking off her umbrella.

The docent looked at Laureen who only slowly rolled her eyes. “Ask him if he ever heard of the book before this trip.”

Foundations of the original home where Lucy grew up.

Thirty minutes later we found ourselves at another museum in honor of Lucy Maud Montgomery and this one was huge. The entire life story of the author was on display, as well as the actual house that inspired the story of Anne Shirley.

A beautiful two-story, not counting basement, farmhouse-styled structure painted white with green gables.

The original 'Green Gables' home

Tourists, despite the continual rain, were traipsing here and there across the grounds and as we toured the home, the docent reminded us to wipe our feet.

“We need to keep the home as pristine as possible and water tracked in can ruin the period carpets.”

I wanted to mention that this section of Prince Edward Island receives about 600 days of rain each year but kept that to myself.

It is a beautiful home, but the best part was the exterior trail leading to the Haunted Woods.

Once again grabbing our umbrellas, we traipsed through the mud into the thick and dark woods behind the home and looked for ghosts or anything else that would be haunting. There was nothing scary except plants that looked very similar to poison ivy. Then I remembered I was an adult and Montgomery would have written her stories about a young girl entering these dark woods alone.

The narrow tree-clogged trail could easily allow the imagination of a young girl to expect something terrifying to emerge at any moment. When Laureen was turning her head from the trail I jumped up and yelled, “Boogie boogie boo!”

Trails to the haunted woods.

I did not know that the swelling of an eye could last a week even with ice packs.

Anne of Green Gables is still a must-read for young folks, both boys and girls since it is a series that shows the reader diversity in one’s life is no excuse for failure. Anne knew that and with her inspiration and positive attitude achieved wonderful things in her life.

Laureen explained that - but I do know the noises elephants make in the forest.

John can be contacted at: beyersbyways@gmail.com