Escrow a funny thing. You agree to plunk down hundreds of thousands of dollars you don’t have to buy a house you likely can’t afford and a bunch of people are making tens of thousands of dollars off you and the seller in that magical one- to two-month period called escrow.
This last time, instead of waiting around to get plugged back in the grid, we boogied and checked out the South West all the way to the California coast and back.
Not knowing where we were going, we decided to head north to Wyoming and the Grand Tetons National Park. Moose, bison and bears, O my!
I could go on and on about how cool it was, but you already know, you’ll see for yourself, or you’ll never know: either way, there’s nothing I could write that would matter.
I will say we chased that bitch-assed bear down. Look at him running … wussy.
We spotted him in the campground and drove around in the truck, me riding in the back with some guy that got startled by him and Jackie and the kids riding up front. I was pounding on the roof telling her where to go and she was donig all kinds illegal maneuvers in (what appeared to me) granny-slow motion, but we found him digging up some grubs by a tree. I crept up behind him and figured while I couldn’t out run the bear, I didn’t have to: I just had to outrun the fat guy that followed us.
At some point Jackie picked up a glossy magazine about homes in the Southwest. Then she decided she might want to live in Sedona, Arizona — a place neither of us had been. But the pictures looked good and Jackie has pretty good taste (me, notwithstanding) so we headed south.
After being out of the country for a while it was almost meditative seeing the Great West opening up mile after mile as we droned down those wonderful blue highways. In Wyoming, although there are countless miles of lattice-worked, shored up along the windward-side of the highway, presumably to stop heavy snow from drifting on the highway. The amount of time and materials pumped into this low-tech solution was STAGGERING. A small crew could probably build fifty yards of the stuff a day (in a controlled environment with jigs and power tools) and there were literally hundred and hundreds of miles of it, sitting silently, virtually unnoticed. It was painted, made of wood and in need of constant maintenance, yet we never saw a single person replaced sections, repairing or installing anywhere and it all seemed to be in reasonable condition. The Golden Gate bridge is about one-and-a-half miles and there’s a maintenance crew all over it, all the time.
Through Nevada, on the US 50, the loneliest highway in the country, you’ll see similar staggering feats of low-tech might with power lines on great metal towers and lowly wooden posts go on for hundreds and hundreds of miles connecting a dishwasher here and gas station there and The Strip in Las Vegas.
In Sedona, we looked at real estate and seriously considered backing out of our Boulder escrow until we realized one can have too much of pretty red rocks and sunshine. While in Arizona we stopped at both the North and South Rims of the Grand Canyon. In California we saw friends, family and the magnificent Pacific Ocean between Santa Barbara and San Francisco on that dreamy Highway 1. In Nevada, we walked through dry lake beds and marveled at it’s emptiness. In Utah we stopped at Zion National Park and mountain-bike the slick rocks in Moab.
At the end of it all, we went back to Boulder just in time to sign papers and get all those escrow-people paid. Then we moved into our new house and latest project.