Saturday, February 29, 2020

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 2-28-2020

"Be Donald"



Patty left early in the morning to meet up with friends at Winter Range. Dave, well...Dave went to a roping. There are few consistencies in life: death, taxes...and Dave's obsessive compulsive roping disorder (OCRD) among the most prevalent. It's a good thing he's good at it or Cindy would have to hide his roping gloves.

Cindy and I set up a drill we learned at one of the Kenda clinics for mounted shooting. The drill incorporates several gates and three barrels. The center barrel is your starting and ending point. You circle the center barrel then shoot a single gate...round an end barrel and shoot a three target cluster before returning to the center barrel making a gun change and shooting an identical pattern on the opposite end. Once you get that down...you run it in the opposite direction.

We each shot the drill both directions before setting up an actual pattern. The random number generator on my phone picked #83. Cindy showed me a better way to run. I have a tendency to want to run a course so that I shoot the rundown cross. When I first started shooting, a lot of shooters told me it was harder to shoot the rundown “weak” (cross shots)...so that's all I practiced. Now I prefer it. It's also how you shoot shotgun. Some shooters can shoot a shogun run “strong” but those guys might be freaks. Way beyond my skill level.

It was a good practice. I focused on the things Kenda taught. “Shoot late and you'll be right on time.” - “Lock on – arm straight – tight grip – chin to your shoulder – mean, hunter face.” It's also helpful to practice when you have another person there to help point out things you might not know your doing. And not just the things you might be doing wrong – but pointing out the good things, too. Offering encouragement instead of criticism. There is a place for constructive criticism – but maybe there's an even bigger need for encouragement. Especially among women. I agree with Cindy when she says that women are often tougher on themselves than need be.

When I get to feeling self conscious...which is often – I tell myself to “Be Donald” from the movie“Space Cowboy's” staring Clint Eastwood, Donald Sutherland, Tommy Lee Jones and James Gardner. The four are standing in line buck naked for a physical. Clint, Tommy Lee and Gardner are self conscious about being exposed. They awkwardly try to cover themselves and melt into the shadows unseen. Meanwhile, Donald, a safe bet the least attractive of the four, is standing chest out, feet apart – hands on hips with a shit eating grin on his face tall and proud. He is overflowing with confidence and self assurance. In his mind, he sees himself as a young man in his prime flaunting it for all to see. He believes it enough that others can't help but believe it too.

It's that kind of confidence and devil may care attitude that we need to succeed. While I don't plan on standing buck naked in line with anybody – friends or not – I will try to think of that scene. When I go out to make a run....start my circle with confidence. Pull my gun like I mean it...assume the hunter position and grip the handle of my runnin' irons like Nancy Peloski herself is trying to pry it from my hands. Be aggressive...be purposeful...be Donald.

~

Patty surpassed her Bonfire skills with the best yet. Perfect toe warming coals and little smoke. Dave and Cindy joined us around the fire when they got home. I brought out the apple pie that Jamie Z. had put together shortly after I got here nearly two months ago. It's been in Cindy's freezer waiting to be baked. Cindy doesn't have an oven in her RV. I baked it in my portable Coleman Oven I bought with money co-workers donated for my retirement. Why these newer LQ's come with a microwave instead of an oven makes no sense. I use the thing for a bread box.
I look forward to Patty's evening bonfire each night. Four pairs of boots propped up on the cinder-block ring and faces toward the star filled sky. Discussions of the days events and plans for what the next might bring...all carried into the night in a wisp of smoke that smells of mesquite.

Friday, February 28, 2020

Trail Log: 2-27-2020





  • Trail: Eagle Eye Rd. to Big Little Horn Peak - Apache Mine
  • Miles: 6.42
  • Riders: Self - Lynn - Peter
  • Horses: Jack - Friday - J'Lo
  • Dogs: No dogs


Notes: Took advantage of it NOT being my last day in Arizona. Lynn and Pete picked me up and we hauled south on Eagle Eye Rd. to Big Little Horn Peak Rd. and hit the trail. Ended up at Apache Mine before looping around back to the trailers. The desert is on the verge of blooming. I keep smelling this wonderful fragrant blossom. Turns out it's saguaro blossoms. They start coming out as early as February if it has been warm and it certainly has been that.


Trail Log: 2-23-2020




  • Trail: State Land Aguila to Eagle Eye Rd. - Hobo Camp
  • Miles: 8.24
  • Riders: Self  - Patty
  • Horses: Jack - Mocha
  • Dogs: Hank



Notes: Took off on State Land behind Crandall's (Aguila) and rode to the power line rd through a wire gate and beyond. Came to a homeless camp that survived the downpour earlier in the week. A New Testament Bible was among the discarded debris. It was in surprisingly good shape for being out in the elements. I put it in my saddle bags and brought it back.  We turned around at Eagle Eye Rd. Beautiful weather.



Thursday, February 27, 2020

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 2-27-2020



The Disposable World We Live In
Second chance days don't come around often. Today would have been my last full day in Arizona. Over half that day spent on pre-travel prep. Propane to fill, hay to load, diesel to top off and 4 or 5 days worth of groceries to buy for the road home. The stock portion of the trailer would need to be cleaned, reorganized and repacked. All the water tanks would need topping off and the waste water emptied. But today was no longer my last full day. That day won't come for another week. Today I could do anything I wanted – because today, was my second chance day.

Patty and Cindy had plans of their own. They invited me but I don't think they were surprised when I
declined. I knew they were going to have fun but I wanted to spend the day in the desert on my horse. I text Lynn and told her of my plans. Her and Pete would pick me up at Crandall's about noon. I would throw in with them. My trailer was out of commission for a few days while Handyman Dave did some repairs. One of the horses backed out catching a shoe on the bumper trim. “Diamond plated chrome” my behind. More like cheap Tin-Foil. Dave hammered, riveted and calked the thing back into serviceable shape.

Lynn, Peter and I drove up Eagle Eye Road looking for a good place to park and unload. We settled on FS Rd. 9111 just up from Big Little Horn Peak Rd. It wasn't easy getting the rig in and out, but Lynn maneuvered over washes, around grease-wood and between mesquite bushes like a pro. If it had been me driving – Dave would be busy fixing stuff for a week.

We didn't have a plan or a specific destination in mind. It's a good thing...we didn't have a clue where we were or what to expect....exactly my kind of day. Lizards dashed here and there. If the lizards are out...the snakes are out. We stuck to the roads and open country when possible and kept an eye out for any one of the sixteen species of rattlers. Rattlers are pissy this time of year as they come out of hibernation. I'd like to avoid all 16 types of them.
The desert is on the verge of exploding with color. Orange poppies blanket the southern slopes of hillsides. Vivid green ocotillo arms topped with brilliant scarlet blossoms compete with wildflowers of yellow, purple and pink. The saguaro tops look like they are capped in snow as buds get ready to burst into fragrant white blossoms that smell like honeydew.

We dropped down into a wash and followed it up stream to it's end. It felt like a miniature Grand Canyon ride as the red walls of the little canyon narrowed in on us. We popped up onto another road that intersected the wash. The road led to an abandoned mine. One shaft opened up into a hillside framed in upright timbers. Another shot straight down into the ground like a gaping, lidless man-hole. Both mines were fenced off with a few strands of rusty barbed wire and a sign warning of imminent death should one decide to go mine spelunking.

A late 40's early 50's?? Champion Studebaker chassis riddled with bullet holes and left to rust, stood as a reminder of a society wrought with the mindset that everything is disposable. Who was the last person to drive it? What was their life like? Were they the first owner and if so...did they scrimp and save until they had enough money to buy their first car? The car was a beauty the day it rolled off the assembly line. The new owner bursting with pride and excitement of owning this first set of wheels. The sound of independence and freedom roaring from it's powerful engine. And now, here it sits: a rusted heap of metal discarded and forgotten in the arid desert of the southwest.

Well...that was depressing. Let's move on.

We left the old mine (Apache Mine according to my Garmin) and circled back toward the trailer. I
picked a route that made a loop out of part of our ride. No sense backtracking over country we already rode. We'd picked a ridge line across the highway as our landmark before we struck out...as long as we kept that ridge in sight and the setting sun on our faces we were sure to make our way back. I don't know if my sense of direction is improving or I have an easier time finding my way in the desert. I'm hoping it's a little of both.

We passed the trailer (horse's weren't real thrilled with that one) and rode to the top of the mine I'd hiked to the week before. Lynn wanted to check it out, plus, not stopping right at the trailer at the end of a ride helps to keep horses from getting trailer sour or chargy on the way home...IMNHTO (In My Non Horse Trainer Opinion)


Lynn once again managed to get the rig turned around in a spot I swear wasn't big enough to turn a VW bug around. We stopped at The Coyote for ice tea and a burger before Lynn dropped me and the horses off at home. It's always a bit emotional saying goodbye to Pete. Even after you convince him you will see him again before heading out...he gets teary eyed...I get teary eyed...he grabs you in that all encompassing hug before making the sign for friends and promising to call. A rusted old Studebaker might be disposable...but good friends are anything but.




Wednesday, February 26, 2020

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 2-26-2020

Photo courtesy: BLM.ORG 

I've been in a frump the last couple of days. Watching the end of my adventure creep nearer is a bit depressing. To take my mind off it – I signed up for another Kenda clinic. I cleaned out my trailer to make room for Cindy and Patty's horses – Cowboy and Mocha. I might as well use the septic dump while we were there. Plus, taking my rig freed Dave up to take the bumper pull roping. A person might get the impression that boy likes to rope.

Cindy spotted a band of wild burros on a hillside. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to appreciate them. “If I didn't have to go home in two days, maybe I could have spotted a herd while out riding and snapped some pictures. I bet if I had a little more time, I could have spotted a Javelina, too.” Instead of appreciating all the amazing things I've seen and done in the last two months...I've been busy focusing on the ones I've missed.

J'Lo did really well at the clinic. Me...not so much. Kenda said my form is great...I'm riding good...my course management and lines are spot on. The reason I'm missing balloons is I'm shooting too soon. I need to “slow my mind down.” I have to remember to “Shoot late and you'll be right on time.” “If I didn't have to go home in a couple days...I could take a few more clinics and start hitting all my balloons again. What do I care...I'll just donate for the weekend shoot in Vegas, go 'home,' kick rocks and eat worms.”

Dave met us at Chili's for a late lunch after the clinic. I don't normally eat out this much. “What difference does it make. I have to go home in a few days. Doesn't matter if I pack on a few extra pounds from greasy restaurant food. The extra layer of fat will help keep me warm when I'm back in Idaho freezing my ass off.”

I was happy to see Patty eat something besides cold scrambled eggs. The space formerly known as her tooth was feeling a little better. She would know more about her travel schedule after her dentist appointment next week. I told her to keep in touch and I would wait in Alamo after my Vegas shoot and we could travel back together from there. Dave and Cindy shook their heads: “Oh for crying out loud, quit your belly aching...scratch Vegas, enter Winter Range here at Ben Avery and travel back together so neither one of you are traveling out across the godforsaken desert alone. we are sick and tired of you whining about not wanting to go home.” That's not exactly how they said it...but the meaning was close.

In that moment....the entire restaurant filled with dancing unicorns and rainbows. I don't have to go home in two days?! Patty's tooth...or the space formerly known as her tooth...had bought me a good week. I feel like I should pick up the dentist bill.

Cindy rode home with Dave. Patty and I pulled out of the Chili's parking lot in brighter spirits than when we arrived. We jabbered away as I kept a close lookout for the burro's. Patty spotted one off by itself. I missed it, but that's OK. I had another week to look for burro's, Javelina and maybe even one or two of the sixteen species of rattlesnakes that live here.

Patty was already planning the bon-fire she would build when we got “home.” She realized what she said as soon as she spoke the word: “Home.” “It feel's like home, doesn't it? I mean Aguila...it feels like home.” Yes Patty...it feels like home to me, too.”

Tuesday, February 25, 2020

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 2-25-2020


Does Indian Jones Do Laundry?



Something you don't see in all those action adventure movies: the leading role calling for a cease fire in the battle between good and evil to add fabric softener to the rinse cycle. sadly...in reality, even the best adventures must be put on hold if one is to live them out in clean underwear.

There was no way of topping yesterday. I embraced the fact and deemed it laundry day. The laundromat wasn't particularly exciting. No cross dressers handing out Harley shirts...no creepy dude in the corner watching you fold your underwear. Just me and Sam Flatt (“Fake News” thriller by author Jerry Hatchett) unfolding the cyber clues that will ultimately lead to the shocking plot twist at the very last chapter.

There were more 'out of order” dryers than the week before. Fortunately – there weren't nearly as many people fighting over the few available. I didn't have to wait to swap from washer to dryer. The folks that came in after me weren't so lucky. My clothes dried with 15 minutes to spare on the dryer timer. A tall kid who looked to be fresh off the Team Roping circuit had the same expression on his face as I had last week waiting for a dryer to open. I took pity on him same as a lady took pity on me last week. I pulled my clothes out of the dryer and saved it for him. Relief washed over his face as he thanked me and joked “We could probably make a pile of money by setting up a clothes line out back.”

I stopped at Safeway for groceries before heading back to Aquila. The Tuesday flea market was in full swing. I swooped in to see if the denim jacket I saw last Tuesday was there. It was not. Maybe next year. I made one last stop at the post office and the dollar store just because. I was going to miss everything about this little town. Everything but Pa and Boy...but everything else!

Dave came home from...well, roping of course and Patty and Cindy shortly after. The girls (Patty, Cindy and Rachael) had taken a road trip up to Yarnell and hiked the memorial trail. I stayed behind not wanting to get car sick for three days. They had a great time and should be proud of themselves for hiking over 6 miles straight up and straight down.

Dave, Cindy and I went to the Coyote Den for dinner. I wasn't really hungry – but I wanted to visit one more time before heading north in a few days. Man...I was really going to miss everything about this little town...except maybe Pa and Boy...but everything else, for sure.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries:2-24-2020

FIREBALL MINGLERS AND MINIONS


I am officially a groupie. A fan of destiny sounds less “stalker-ish” but whatever. Several years ago – I came across a song I really liked...”Come ride with me” by singer/songwriter Dave Stamey. Further investigation into this Dave Stamey guy revealed I liked just about everything he performed. He soon became my favorite singer/songwriter. I was thrilled a few years ago when my Aunt and I went to see him perform at a Cowboy Poetry Contest in Utah. I was especially impressed when he whipped out his pocket knife to cut the cellophane off a CD he autographed for me. What a guy...

A few months ago, I got a notification that Dave Stamey would be in Utah again. I asked my Aunt and Patty D. if they wanted to go see him. Patty was up for it – but asked why go all the way to Utah when he's coming right here to Weiser? No kidding? Weiser Idaho? If that's not destiny, I don't know what is. I jumped on-line and bought the tickets.

Fast forward ...I get to Arizona and find that Dave is playing here in Wickenburg. While I am more than delighted to see him in concert twice in one year...it gets even better. Not only is he playing that venue, but he has also been booked to do a private house concert hosted by the Newman's in Cave Creek – organized by life long friend and mounted shooter – Ken Jones. I don't know Ken personally, but Dave and Cindy do. Cindy jumps on the phone, contacts Ken and asked if there is room for a couple more at the dinner/concert. Ken obliged. I will love him forever and ever in a not creepy way.

It was set. I'd get to see my favorite performer and all around swell guy not only in concert, but in a private house concert! Call me a groopie...call me an obsessed fan...call me a stalker if it pleases you...I call it destiny! I'm showering AND combing my hair for this one.

We did chores early so we could get in a short ride before getting ready for the dinner/concert. Cindy drove into Wickenburg to pick up our potluck items and the B part of BYOB. I've recently learned that does not mean Bring Your Own Balloons....so I had her pick up Fireball instead. Patty and I loped off into the desert and Dave...well, Dave worked up the arena and...I know it's hard to believe...but swung a rope on the dummy up until the last minute. Doesn't he realize this is Dave Stamey we are talking about? There are some things in life that trump even roping, Dave. Maybe Dave C. isn't as impressed with seeing Dave S. as the rest of us because, in a way, Dave C. see's Dave S every time he looks in the mirror. Dave C. could be Dave S.'s stunt double if Dave S. were to be in the movies. Pretty sure Dave C. can sing, too. He call's himself a closet singer but I heard him one day playing the guitar and singing in the LQ when he didn't know anybody was around. Not bad...if the whole roping thing stops working....just saying.

True to my word – I showered, combed my hair and even put on clean pair of pants...and not just previously shaken out clean, either. Clean as in not yet been worn since laundry day. Patty and Cindy looked as gorgeous as ever. Dave looked as if he'd been primping all day instead of driving tractor and swinging a rope. Men...they can put on a clean shirt, run a comb through their hair if they got it and look like they worked at it all day. Go figure.

I'm not much of a mingler. I sort of knew a few people – but not well enough to initiate a conversation. I'm way to introvert for this kind of thing. I headed for the last place I left the fireball. The bartender accurately assessed that I looked like I could use a drink. Why yes I could...Fireball please. I forgot to ask for the Sprite part of it until the cup was ¾ full. By the time I got half of that down...I was a mingling machine. I have no idea what 99% of those people were talking about. I just smiled big and nodded a lot and said affirmation things like, “uh huh? Oh yeah?..and “No kidding! Haha.” I do remember one conversation where a group of ladies were talking about how boring trail riding is. The non-mingler part of me wanted to jump in and defend trail riders. “Boring? I don't know what sort of trails you ladies ride – but they don't sound anything like the sort of trails we ride! Ride with me sometime and we will reevaluate that statement after/if you make it back alive.” The new, Fireball sipping mingler just smiled big, nodded and said...”huh...oh yeah.”

I looked around for Patty before the non-mingler, Fireball sipping me popped up. She had Dave Stamey backed into a corner, deep in conversation. I 'mingled on over' – I can do this. I have Fireball on my side. Patty introduced us. Dave shook my hand. My really cold hand that had been holding a cup full of Fireball on ice. “Sorry ...I have cold hands.” That's it. That's all I could think of to say. He introduced me to a lady standing beside him. Megan? Morgan? Ed? I have no idea. I had cold hands. I should probably run them under hot water. I excused myself...”I'm going to go wash my hands and get something to eat before the food is gone.”.Dave agreed.

Ken Jones, a musician in his own right, opened for Dave. Ken has a pleasant voice and is a talented song writer as well. He sang a few of his original songs. Dave stepped up to the mic shortly after Ken. I think he sounds as good or better live than in a recording studio. There aren't many singers you can say that about. His voice is unique enough to set him apart from other performers of his genre. His sense of humor is as genuine as it is unapologetic.

He sang songs that I was familiar with and a few new ones. One of my favorites in the first set is the title song for his newest CD “Good Dog.” It wasn't “Old Shep” sad – but it was sweet and hit close enough to home to threaten a few tears. He engaged the audience on a couple songs by having them sing a long. Dave C. was to my left – Cindy C. to my right. I figured Cindy could sing. She greets her little dogs every time she comes home using this adorable voice. I can't explain it. It's super high-but perfectly on pitch. The best I can describe it is a happy little girl minion. “What's you doiiiiing!? LUUUUCY! How's my puppieeeees!? OH MY GWAAAD....Why you barkiiiing...VIOLET!!!” It just makes me smile. When she belted out the words along with Dave S...I wasn't surprised how good she sounds. I cocked my head to the left? Is Dave C. singing along? I don't think he is. His foot was tapping but if he was singing, it was too quiet for me to hear. Closet singer. I wish I could sing...I would be belting it out like Cindy. I can't carry a tune in a bucket.

A 20 minute break until his last set. I perused the kitchen table laid out with stacks of CD's. I picked up the newest album, 'Good Dog' and continued to browse. Someone behind me asked which album was the best. I said they all are. He asked which was my favorite. I had to think about that. I can tell you my favorite songs: “Come ride with me.” “Campfire Waltz.” “She always wanted a buckskin horse.” “The bandit Joaquin” Favorite album? I'd have to wing it. The Fireball mingler stepped up to bat. “Come ride with me” - that's my favorite album.” Even if it weren't true – it got him out of my hair so I could finish purchasing my CD. I hand the lady my $15.00 and turn around to leave. Dave Stamey plucks the CD out of my hand, whips out his pocket knife to slice open the cellophane sleeve and signs my CD: For Laurie...Dave Stamey. OMG...he still carries a pocket knife. I said something even more stupid than, “I have cold hands”...something like - “OMG, you still carry a pocket knife” and whip out my pocket knife and proudly exclaim that I too...carry a pocket knife! Dave looks at me sort of puzzled and says: “Who the hell doesn't carry a pocket knife, especially if they mess with horses?” I swear if that man weren't already married, he'd be my next future X husband.

The final set was somewhat shorter than the first. Even guys who carry pocket knives are effected by the cold. Dave wrapped it up with one of my favorites: “Come ride with me.” It was an amazing evening. I've been on this adventure for close to two months and there are days when I still can't believe I am here. Each day brings something different. Some days, of course are better than others...but as Dave C. said when I first arrived. “A bad day roping is better than a good day at work.” That's how I feel about this journey I've been on: A bad day living out your dreams is better than not daring to dream at all.