for the sheep!
Sometimes it's hard to find the right direction to go on the road, even though the pavement is smooth enough that riding is easy.
Then a marker appears. This is a lane. But is it heading the right way?
Sometimes the directional hints seem to be correct but not clear. Is this path worn out? Was it meant for someone else?
At other times the signs are well defined but confusing.
But now and again the markers are completely unambiguous: Yes, this is your path. Keep going this way.
A while ago, the city of Fort Collins figured out that the least expensive way to deal with graffiti on utility boxes was to hire artists to paint murals on them. A program hiring artists to transform the transformer boxes began in 2006, and is explained in part in a PDF of the city utilities newsletter from 2008.
I like graffiti that has artistry to it and that doesn't deface other artists' work. Unfortunately, a lot of the graffiti in this city consists of clumsy and ugly tagging and some of it does mess up other art.
The murals, on the other hand, are creative and diverse. The program saves the city money and stashes cash in artists' pockets, on its way to doing further good in the community.
Eighteen artists are working on boxes around town this year.
What a delight it's been for my daughter and me to discover that the boxes along our most-often-used section of bike trail have been scheduled to be painted. Most of the painting has been done in the more central parts of the city. One pair of boxes will feature birdlife, especially Red-winged Blackbirds (by Redwing Street; PDF here—I've only seen one of these boxes so far, and it's complete).
There's also a whole series of boxes offering new doses of evolving brightness, courtesy of artist Francisco Esteban. My daughter and I first became aware of the sudden addition of graphic imagery on the boxes. Here's one color set-up:
And another:
I was initially worried, thinking that the colors and white dots were interesting but would invite tagging, because of their simplicity. It was interesting to find myself considering that the design of the artwork actually goes a long way toward discouraging ugly additions later.
Later, we occasionally caught sight of the artist working on the pieces. Of course, we've been on our bikes so we've zoomed on past. I'd been planning to take my camera and get pictures of the boxes, just by themselves, figuring I wouldn't happen to be there when the artist was.
As the weeks progressed, we began to see that the white circles were turning into bicycle wheels, and small flocks of black-and-white cyclists were accumulating, slowly, on one of the boxes.
Sunday I biked downtown to have breakfast with a friend and remembered to take my camera. On the way back, this was what I saw . . .
I managed to overcome my natural shyness and stopped and asked if I could take some snapshots and share them on my blog.
Fortunately, it turns out that there's a lot more to come for these boxes. I love the radically different colors in this pair. And the whole painting set-up. This guy knows what he's doing, as an artist and from the pragmatic angles.
Many more of those ovals have already turned into lines of racing cyclists:
The work is proceeding steadily, and I'm enjoying watching the construction of these pieces. I looked up the concept PDF and learned that there will be additional colors coming in the cyclists' jerseys after the black-and-white portions are all in place. It turns out that I can also follow the progress of the murals online in another PDF, although I'd rather do it in person as I bike along the trail.
I also enjoy seeing how this artist gets to his work site.
On one of my trips past where he's working, I'll need to ask about the bike. I haven't seen many cargo bikes around town. These vehicles can handle up to 400 pounds (about 180 kg).
Fortunately, there's a summer ahead of us, and it's going to take a while to make those transformer boxes even more beautiful. Considering how long Francisco is going to be working on them, we're figuring he's a new part-time neighbor. It's really nice to have artists hanging out and doing good work in our part of the world. It makes me want more art, everywhere. It's also fantastic that artists are being paid to do work that has both aesthetic and practical value.
Following the Colorado Art Ranch artposium over Memorial Day weekend, I was offered the blessing of a place to remain longer in Salida and get some (relatively) uninterrupted work done.
I've done this before, while working on the book portion of The Project. (The Project continues, by the way; it's just finding its next expression.) Since the book has just been released, my work needs to flow into new vessels, and my "concentrated time" lacks the strict (nearly rigid) focus of previous retreats. This is more challenging, and I feel less productive. So at the end of the week, I took stock.
I'm going to interleave a few more photos from the workshop I took with Dean Dablow, along with some more normal images later in the post. I had a great time in that workshop.
___
Week's planned tasks and accomplishments, completed:
Planned tasks started but not completed:
Planned tasks not even started:
Unplanned tasks:
Interleaved with:
__
Biking interlude
Here are a few photos from my bike ride at the end of the afternoon on the day before I left. It had been hot, and several of the days the air was smoky from the big fires south and west of us, in Colorado, New Mexico, and even as far as Arizona. This day ended quite clear.
This is one of the county roads, with a bike trail next to it. Even when the county roads in this county are paved, they mostly don't have shoulders. (Some are dirt two-tracks.) That's the smooth, straight bike path leading to the west. On this particular day, there wasn't much smoke from the wildfires to the south. Or there was, but the wind blew it on past.
Deer hang out all over. This one was in a subdivision, between the houses and a church. There were three more hunkered down in the shade on the church lawn.
They're pretty acclimated to humans, and eat people's gardens, both flower and food types. If you're driving on the highways or county roads in the area, stay alert. They may cross the road in front of you at any time, often in groups of three or four. That wasn't a concern when I was on my bike.
___
Hey! A project really completed!
On the day I got home, the new issue of Spin-Off (Summer 2011) had just arrived.
It contains the article I wrote way back in January on Soay sheep (there was more to say than we could fit in The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook, even though we included a lot there).
That sweet ewe on the far left is demonstrating the molting, or natural shedding, of her fleece.
Small samples of several types of Soay wool.
And lots of words. I like words. I also like pictures! The photos in this article came from varied sources, including my own camera, Interweave's studio shots, and Steve and Priscilla Weaver.
So nice to see a piece in print. (And since it's been published, I get paid!)
On March 15, Penny Tschantz dropped a couple of comments on my January 17 post about recording the rare-breeds DVD set for Interweave. In one, she told me about a book, Dreaming of Sheep in Navajo Country by Marsha Weisiger. I now have a copy, although I haven't had time to start reading it. In another, she mentioned an exhibit of Two Grey Hills/Toadlena-style Navajo weavings that has been installed at the Wheelwright Museum in Santa Fe but is closing April 17.
It's amazing that this exhibit has been up for most of a year (since May 15, 2010) and I hadn't heard about it. That just goes to show how intense the book project has been. (Oh, yeah, I remember May 2010. And the months following. Sort of.) I guess I can forgive myself for having missed the news about the textile installation. And thank Penny for letting me know in time to make a quick, not altogether responsible, trip! (Not responsible because the undone work piled up here is deep and needs all the shoveling time I can give it.)
Last night I got back from a four-day trip that involved 1302 miles of driving (really? that's what the odometer says) and two days of visiting the Wheelwright. My brain got full both days. I had thought I'd go to the Wheelwright one day, and maybe see something else the other day. Nope. Had to go back and spend more time with the textiles.
What I can't show here is the weavings themselves. No photos permitted in the exhibit, and, alas, no catalog. I can talk about the trip, and give some hints about the rugs and tapestries.
First, Two Grey Hills/Toadlena weavings come from a certain part of the Navajo Nation, in its eastern portion. They emphasize the use of handspun yarn in natural colors, much of which comes from Navajo Churro sheep. Within an exquisite textile tradition, they are some of the most extraordinary works. They are associated with two trading posts, the Two Grey Hills Trading Post (about ten miles off US highway 666) and the Toadlena Trading Post, which is about six miles farther toward the Chuska Mountains. You can see photos of Two Grey Hills-style weavings on both posts' sites.
I've been fortunate to have visited both trading posts, more than once, and have seen work by some of the weavers featured at the Wheelwright. I even had the incredible opportunity to accompany trader Mark Winter of Toadlena on visits where I met two of the weavers and saw their work in progress. These were top-of-the-heap life experiences.
Second, I've woven a Navajo-style textile. A fairly long time ago, using information provided by Noel Bennett that reflects the teachings she received from Tiana Bighorse, I made an upright, Navajo-style loom, warped it, and beat the weft into place. Some time I will write more about that experience. Mine is not, of course, in any way a Navajo textile: and as always when I work to learn with my hands the ways of traditions that are not a direct part of my own heritage, I designed my rug (it's a rug, not a tapestry) in ways that make it clear that it's neither a copy of a Navajo work nor an attempt to imitate one directly. The colors are different and the ways my patterning goes together are different. No one would mistake my work for a "real" Navajo textile, even though I wove it on the appropriate type of loom; it has four selvedges; and so on. By making it, I learned the techniques and developed an intimate understanding of the interplay of work and creativity in the creation of masterpieces like those that the Navajo weavers produce.
Third . . . I just had to go to Santa Fe. Even though the trip made no rational sense. I remembered my experiences from my travels within the Navajo Nation in the mid-1990s. I thought about timing. I calculated fuel costs. I researched inexpensive lodging, and the presence of a hostel began to bring the trip into focus. Then my friend Susan Tweit forwarded me a coupon that allowed me to book a stay at the Sage Inn for just a bit more than the hostel would have cost and with a superb location. The Wheelwright is open both Sunday afternoons and (very unusual for a museum) on Mondays. I cleared a space from a Saturday morning through a Tuesday.
Here's part of the sunset on the drive down:
It's only appropriate that the place where I stayed was enhanced by relatively very simple, yet still warming, Navajo (rug) and at least Navajo-influenced (pillows) textiles.
There was even room for yoga, which might have been iffy at the hostel.
(My yoga strap dates from about the same era as my Navajo-style rug, which my mother now owns. The strap is cardwoven, from 5/2 perle cotton.)
While I was planning the trip, I located a wonderful bikeways map of Santa Fe in PDF form. Its only drawbacks were that it is LARGE and the color is absolutely essential to using it. My printer handles 8.5x11 sheets of paper and prints in black and white. I wrote an e-mail note to "Project Administrator, Bicycle and Trails Committee," asking how I might be able to get my hands on a printed copy of the map.
The tricky part, of course, was that I would be arriving in Santa Fe about 8 p.m. on a Saturday night, and would want to bike Sunday morning, well before the museum opened for the afternoon. I learned that the map is available at bike shops, but much web-surfing revealed to me that almost all of Santa Fe's bike emporia are closed on Sundays. Robert Siqueiros, Projects Administrator of the Engineering Division of the Public Works Department, came to my rescue and helped me connect with the right map at the right time. Because of his help, my car rested at the motel from the time I checked in to the time I checked out.
I could not have done the riding (or car-resting) without the help of the map. It got battered because I kept having to pull it out of my back pocket and unfold it to read it under what were pretty windy conditions.
I got lost a number of times, but because of the map I got found again quickly enough and could continue on my way, whether I was just exploring or whether I had a destination, like the museum, the entrance to which looks like this if you bike up Camino Lejo just past Corrales:
The museum itself isn't visible in that photo. Here's how I knew I had reached my destination:
Open at 1 on Sundays. I arrived at 1:03, without really intending to . . . I'd taken the long route, simply setting out on an exploration and still with half an idea that I was going to drive the car to Museum Hill, because it is uphill, and I wasn't sure how I'd deal with the wind, the extra 2,000+ feet of altitude, and the wrong turns I took on the trails ("Bikeway ends" and "No access except by government employees" required backtracking). Yet one mile after another, I kept going, and then . . . I was there! At exactly the optimal time!
The docent who was serving as gallery host, Judith Beery, is knowledgeable and enthusiastic, and we had a great conversation. Then I spent two and a half hours in the exhibit before I needed to take a break.
There are 37 textiles (I counted on Monday; Sunday I was just too enchanted to be analytical), representing 31 weavers, including:
And one each:
I have listed the weavers in the "one each" group not in the order their work was presented in the exhibit, but according to recorded or approximate birth dates. I took down their names and dates when I went back on Monday.
I could have spent many more hours examining these works of art, which were hung and lit in ways that made them glow like stained glass.
With the time I had, I looked closely at the weaving techniques, and admired the absolute mastery and individually inventive ways of approaching the geometry of the loom: the right-angled intersection of warps and wefts, and each weaver's intensive discovery of how to work with that geometry, doing Olympic-level backflips and perfect landings with pattern elements, and in some cases to also create curvilinear forms that adroitly escape the grid.
And I explored the use of color, mostly the natural sheep colors (with only occasional, very small, accents of red or turquoise). Some weavers chose to blend the colors completely, smoothing out any variations within particular color areas. Others, of equal technical skill, chose to blend more roughly, but then used the varying shades in ways that create an exceptionally lively quality. The approaches were equally breathtaking.
Of course, I also looked intently at the quality of the wool and the spinning. Some of the yarns, and I think this is characteristic of Navajo Churro, have a silk-like shine and seem to glow. I know the resulting yarns are durable as well as beautiful. The sheep produce an exceptional type of fiber, and the weavers whose work is on display at the Wheelwright have worked over generations, as a lineage and as individuals, to create an evolving and inspiring body of work that depends on, and makes the most of, that material.
I sat on the floor and looked and looked.
On Monday morning, I went back again and spent more time with a handful of rugs, sketching motifs to remind myself of some of the details. I had to leave far too soon, having done only a scrap of the observing and note-taking and sketching that I wanted to do, after having been in the presence of these 37 works for a total of four and a half hours. Not nearly enough to be "done" with seeing them, but as much as I could physically handle in the available time and plenty to reward the decision to get to Santa Fe while the exhibit was accessible to me.
Outside the museum's entry is this sculpture, "Heading Home" by Allen C. Houser.
Here's how I felt about the trip (one of a long series of painted walls seen from the the multiuse path as I rode my bike):
And here's one of my favorite buildings on the highways I took back north:
It's located in La Jara, Colorado, between Antonito and Alamosa.
Thanks, Penny. It was an absolutely amazing trip. And I never would have known to take it if you hadn't told me. Thanks, Susan, for the Sage Inn. It's right across from the bike path, next door to a healthy grocery store, and a few blocks from Body, where I ate my only Santa Fe restaurant meal, and a fine (and reasonably priced) choice it was.
Wow.
Now I need to deal with some of that piled-up work. It waited for me (and multiplied a bit while I wasn't looking).
I made it to Santa Fe. The unlikely trip proved well worthwhile, and I'll have more to say about it. First, though, I want to share something I saw that reminded me of my friend Richard Cabe. Richard makes wonderful granite sculptures, some functional (sinks that smell delightfully like wet rock when the water is running) and some that don't need to incorporate functionality to express qualities of earth either solo or in conjunction with other elements, like fire.
While riding my bike around Santa Fe, intending to get to a particular destination, I got lost (the first time) and discovered this:
Here's a closer view of what's written on the paved multiuse path:
It says "STUMPED?" and indeed there are a lot of small stumps nearby.
Here's a closer view.
But wait. Some of those stumps are a little unusual.
They're rocks, walking along on sturdy legs.
They've got places to go and people (or something!) to see.
They're located at the juncture between two sections of the multiuse path, and they're headed toward the Cerrillos Road portion. This is pretty much right behind the campus of the New Mexico School for the Deaf, in an area with a lot of artwork that you could miss if you're moving too fast.
The heavy blue lines show some of my bike ramblings. The star shows where the sights above were recorded.
And this is the nearby trail marker:
It says "Acequia Trail, mile 0.5."
I offer the location details so Richard can locate the spot, if he wants to, the next time he's in Santa Fe.
There's a lot of rock in Santa Fe. I saw a bunch of it, even in a short visit. Because of the humor here, and because these guys obviously have a mission and are on the move, they're the ones that most reminded me of Richard and his view of rocks as what he calls "ambassadors of the earth."
Here are samplings of the costume creativity at the Tour de Fat last Saturday:
These crayons were near the end of the route—there were about twice as many colors when I saw the group of people in this set at the start of the parade—maybe the others melted in the heat?:
I never did see my cousin's daughter and her friends. I'm not sure I recognized more than a handful of people in the entire parade. All ages participated, from babies to seniors, although the 20s to 40s seemed to be most heavily represented:
Some people made quite amazing and relatively practical outfits. These unique additives, for example, were probably pretty easy to ride in, although I'm not sure how heavy they were:
Some people had very thorough visions of what they wanted to be:
Some folks were likely pretty warm in their feathers or fur (at 90+ degrees F), while others, like the person in back here, probably stayed relatively cool, although I hope they remembered sunscreen (the photo shows the costume in its entirety):
While homemade costumes (like the one front and center here) always appeal to me, people cobbled together whatever they could get their hands on (this included me) and the overall effect was exuberant:
Funny where the need to use a cell phone shows up:
Imagine 8,000 variations on the idea of "costume" + bike. At a future parade, it would be interesting to pick one theme and snap photos of representative interpretations . . . say, "superheroes" or "vegetables" or "cleavage."
Once the parade began, it went for about 2.5 hours. There were that many people. I snapped a few photos, although mostly my job was to help promote safety in the vicinity of the corner to which I was assigned. There were two of us on duty at that spot, which was good, considering the sizes of the passing mobs.
A huge variety of bikes showed up. Some were folks' everyday vehicles. Others obviously only come out of storage once a year.
I saw two seven-seaters. This one was piloted by Rick Price, co-founder of Experience Plus! bike tours. He's the one with the beard (recently trimmed).
Among the other configurations: long and low. . .
Triangular. . . .
Vertical. . . .
One with a wagon following, and another sort of rectanglar. . . .
Bi-directional . . . well, sort of . . . the bike went in one direction, while the pedal sets went in two directions. . . . This contraption had a fancy chain set-up that got derailed at one point, but the riders reseated the chain and kept going. . . . I think they rode the route 1.5 times like this. . . .
Mini. Lotsa pedaling to get anywhere, and all these photos were taken from my station near the end of the route (although some people may have joined the parade part way through).
Recumbent cycles were well represented. When I was getting waivers signed, before the parade began, a group of at least a dozen arrived together.
And here's a very large boat-simulating structure being hauled by a bike:
Next: a few costumes.
The annual Tour de Fat—a manifestation of bike-centric creativity that includes a parade of thousands of people—took place in our community today. Although I generally travel quickly in the opposite direction when there's mention of a crowd, I volunteered to be a parade marshall. My reason? One of the organizations that greatly benefits from donations at this event is a local bicycle education and advocacy group that also creates and maintains a bike library, from which people can check out bicycles. The group does a lot that has improved my life here. I figured I could do something to help it out. (One of my favorite projects that this group has undertaken is the "You know me, I ride a bike" poster campaign, which features a friend of mine, Barbara Liebler. A weaver and former Interweave Press book editor, Barb currently owns CycleTote. She got very seriously into biking a few years ago while she was in treatment for brain cancer.)
My presentation of the Tour de Fat will be both biased and photo-heavy. It's biased because I was a volunteer and saw the parade from that perspective. I rode at the beginning of the parade with the other marshalls, each of whom "dropped out of" the procession at his or her assigned corner. Because my station was near the end of the route, I got to ride most of the six miles before assuming my duties. I didn't hang around afterward for the festival that follows, with music and beer. (Instead, I went to Bas Bleu Theatre's first Bleu Flame event, held in conjunction with the Rist Canyon Volunteer Fire Department benefit art auction.)
The morning started at 6:15, since I needed to be in costume and makeup and on my bike by 7 a.m. in order to travel the five miles to the volunteer sign-in point by 7:30 (I actually got there in about 25 minutes). I found out on Wednesday evening, at volunteer orientation, that a costume was required. My daughter and I thus had a mere two days to put something together. Temperatures in the 90s were predicted, along with a lot of sun. (Yes, I wore my helmet and high-visibility jacket while biking to and from the parade location, and my pack contained a lot of sunscreen.) My get-up included face paint, courtesy of my daughter. I became especially fond of the spangled fronds on my bike.
Here are a few of the many volunteers listening to last-minute information on timing and procedures:
Here are close-ups of some volunteers:
All of the participants in the parade were required to sign liability waivers, with parents signing for kids. Joining the festivities was free, although people were asked for $5 donations to the bike advocacy and education group. Many provided that and more. In the photo below, volunteers are getting waivers signed and handing out stickers to people who registered (so all the volunteers would know they'd done their paperwork). One of the volunteers in this photo is someone I've known since before she was born. I haven't seen her in a long time and I don't think she would have recognized me if I'd had time to say hello, but she's all grown up now and looked terrific in her fancy outfit.
Two more volunteers with widely disparate costumes:
Here's a bunch of people heading toward the starting point of the parade about an hour and a half before it launched, about to be accosted by volunteers with clipboards, liability waivers, and encouraging requests for donations:
And here is the gathering crowd at the starting point, behind the orange cones. Parade marshalls, including me, rode at the beginning of the parade, so I had a good vantage point from which to observe the horde. An estimated 8,000 people rode in the parade (there may be more accurate numbers tomorrow). Many more people lined the parade route to watch.
I'll be doing a second post with photos of a variety of bikes and costumes, all taken during the parade.
When life gets rocky, as it has been around here lately, balance and a sense of safe harbor for me can come from friends (two-footed, four-footed, and other), fibers (especially wool), and good books.
Tussah Redfurr has been doing her best to fill the hole in our lives that remains following the death of Ariel, our fifteen-year-old Border collie-ish.
It's amazing how many household habits revolved around our newly missing member.
I've greatly appreciated the comments and notes that have come in from friends, especially while our family has also been caring for a few human members with acute ailments. Those folks are on the mend now, and we are all, I hope, taking care of ourselves in the ways that work best for us.
For me, that often means wrapping myself in wool, both physically and mentally. For the former, I have sweaters, shawls, hats, and more (a nice woolly afghan I knitted more than a year ago is still at the publisher's for photography: I look forward to having it back! and I will be showing it here on a blog tour early in 2010).
For mental comfort and joy, I'm working on The Project. I also have a couple of nearly complete book reviews and some knitting updates that I hope to get posted in the near future.
Which brings me to the woolly photo of the day, about the importance of crimp. Put simply, crimp is waviness in a fiber. If there's lots of it, the fiber coils a bit like a spring. Crimp forms as part of the growth process of the fiber. Fibers can have more, less, or no crimp.
Here are two small sample skeins for The Project. They were wound on the same sample niddy-noddy, so if crimp were not a factor they would have identical circumference measurements.
The longer skein on the left is OptimTM Fine, which is wool that has been processed in ways that reduce the individual fibers' micron counts (make them finer and softer), increase their length, and remove their crimp. OptimTM still has many of wool's qualities (breathability, moisture-handling, and so on) but in many other ways it has become more silk-like (elasticity disappears and draping qualities increase). While the process can be applied to other wools, it's pretty much focused on use with 19-micron Merinos, turning them into 15.5- to 16-micron Optim fibers. (The micron counts refer to average fiber diameters: under Optim processing, the fibers get skinnier and longer.)
The shorter skein on the right is Polwarth, which by breeding is about 75% Merino and 25% Lincoln (details in The Project's book). I'd compare the Optim to Merino, but Polwarth was what was on the drying rack when I realized the value of a photo comparison. Same basic idea. The Polwarth skein can be stretched to extend as far as the Optim skein does, but when the Polwarth is relaxed it bounces back, while the Optim skein stays put.
For some applications, Optim (less crimp) is a better choice. Crimp-free fibers are more elegant. For drape that doesn't cling (at least in a low-static environment), crimp-free fibers will work better.
For other purposes, Polwarth or another crimpy fiber will excel. Crimpy fibers are cosier than crimp-free ones. For a fabric where elasticity and body-hugging qualities are important, crimp wins. For example, it makes socks that will pull over the heel easily yet won't fall down (at least if they're sized correctly!). Crimp also increases warmth: all those trapped air spaces increase the fabric's insulating qualities.
The person selecting the yarn for an envisioned purpose is the one who decides what matters.
Does all this mean crimp = comfort? It might.
Over the past few days, I've been enjoying the power of crimp, spinning samples of Merino (including its Optim variant), Polwarth, Rambouillet, and Île de France. This afternoon, I plan to begin on Corriedale and Bond. Later this week, I've got Cormo, Romeldale, CVM, and Targhee. All fine wools, each with an individual array of qualities.
We have some brushings from Ariel, saved over the last year or so. A lot got tossed (Ariel grew, and shed, fiber generously), but we have a nice small box full. My daughter asked last week whether I thought we could make some wrist warmers from the collected fiber. This seems like a perfect way to remember a pup who collected the nickname Snow-nose because she adored playing in the snow.
Ariel's fur is a lot like angora. It's fine, exceptionally soft, and has almost no crimp. It's warm. A little Ari-fur will have a big effect on a yarn (as the dog herself had a big effect in our lives), but it could use an infusion of crimp to give it enough elasticity to make good wrist warmers or fingerless gloves.
While I'm working up my samples, I'll be looking for the right match. A good fiber match takes into account fineness, color, and fiber length, in addition to the behavioral qualities (like crimp) that are desired in the finished yarn. Any of the fibers I'm spinning now would be a good match in fineness. The overall effect of Ari's fur spun by itself is a light gray. The colored Merinos and Rambouillets I'm using have shorter staple lengths than Ari's fiber. I have some exquisite colored Bonds here, but they're longer. I'm guessing one of the CVMs or the colored Romeldales will pair with the fur best. As a plus, they're rare wools. That bit of wool will also give the yarn some of the bounce that Ariel herself contributed to our lives.
Comfort and crimp.
The interstate east of Glenwood Springs passes through Glenwood Canyon, one of the most beautiful places on earth. Traveling through the canyon always combines both delight and cringes of discomfort for me, close to tears. I remember it from the 1950s, when we would drive to my grandparents' house. I remember peering from the back seat of the car, rolling along the narrow two-lane road without guardrails (this was before interstates, of course), across the tumbling, shining water, studying the light on the rocks, and following the railroad tracks on the other side, appearing and disappearing as they traveled in the open or through tunnels.
At that time, the canyon was obviously the thoroughfare of its time, with both cars and trains traveling through it, although the natural features of the place far outweighed the human intrusions. It still is the thoroughfare of its time, although now the road is a massive interstate, intricately constructed to damage the canyon as little as such a project can. However, the balance between geology and engineering has shifted.
Whenever it's even remotely feasible (nearly always), I take a rest stop and walk down to the river and re-imagine what this place was like a half-century ago.
I think what I really need to do is bring my bike. There's a trail the whole length now. Biking wasn't possible before the massive construction, because the roadway was so narrow. Maybe I can relocate the magic by traveling on two wheels.
But that's for another trip, and it would have to be a trip that was planned for that purpose. It's hard to break loose to just go somewhere just because, but I may have to figure out how to make that happen.
Here's a view looking east from one of the rest stops:
And here's looking west, from the edge of the Colorado River at the same rest stop:
While the water looks moderately calm above, a significant piece of what I remember is this:
Must come back with the bike. Sixteen miles (26km) one way, a total of thirty-two (52km). I think I would like
it. I think my close-to-tears might be of the good kind.
