California (again) day 13

August 25

Today was a day with little to recount. We were in Hayward, CA for one purpose and one purpose only: to have the van properly serviced. By the time we reached Hayward, I had driven it 3600 miles (5800 km). I had a list of problems I wanted to bring to their attention. I was told to be at the Road Bear distributorship at 8:00 AM and to ask for Thomas. He would take care of everything and return the van to me at the end of the same day. Thomas was not there at 8:00 AM. He arrived about a half hour late, but when I met him I was disarmed by his eagerness to solve every problem on my list, if possible. We discussed at length all the quirks and malfunctions that this specific van has in particular, and that all vans of this make have – across the board – in general. The problems included air-conditioner, brakes, headlights, wheel balancing, oil change, engine-function warning light, gas cap, unknown interior light switch, windshield stone chip, wiper blades.

While I waited for a ride back to my motel a family of German speaking tourists came in and returned their motor home. All kinds of unused articles were piled in the corner of the waiting area by the vending machines, the remains of tea boxes, pepper shakers, insect repellent, and paper-pack books in German that had served this family well until their trip was completed. Thomas drove me back to my motel himself and said I should call around 4:30 PM so they could pick me up and bring me back to receive my van.

The remainder of the day was spent in the motel room. I had a lot of blog entries to catch up on. Razelle never left the room during the day and I was only out long enough to take care of the van.

At 4:00 PM I walked back to the Road Bear location. It only took 20 minutes, but I didn't see others walking as I might have in other countries I've been to or now live in. I'm not sure if it is due to laziness, insecurity, lack of time, or heat of day. I found what looked and smelled like wild dill growing along the sidewalk. I ate one of its seeds, then thought better of it and ate no more of them. What if I had misidentified this plant?

I reached my destination and found that the van repairs were still not done. Lynnette, the receptionist who'd greeted me this morning, looked different this afternoon. She'd had long hair woven into her own. We talked about this procedure to pass the time. Eventually, Thomas came into the room and took me to see the van. He had diagnosed the warning light. It was a misfiring timer in the engine that was a minor thing; it was not about the gas cap, so the cap remained. The headlight lenses were polished and clear now instead of milky and translucent. There were new bulbs behind them. The wheels had been balanced and the tires properly inflated. The steering was as tight as it could be; the air-conditioning was as good as it could be. These are design flaws with these Dodges. Thomas thought that Chris of Adventures on Wheels should consider replacing his Dodges with Fords, as Road Bear had. The brakes were also as good as they could be; the wheels are small so the pads have less surface to grab when stopping such a large vehicle. That's another design issue. The tires had been balanced so now they shouldn't vibrate at higher speeds. The oil was changed and good for another 5000 miles (8000 km). There are new wiper blades on the windshield, whose chip isn't bad enough to fix. Under the hood I saw that the fluid levels were all topped up and the engine was clean and sprayed with an oily polish. I was given back a van that had been given the loving care I would have given it myself if it were mine. I guess I couldn't have asked for more. I have a long road ahead of me. I'll just have to accept the fact that this van is as good as it can be and that I have the backing of Thomas at Road Bear in Hayward, Chris's most trusted mechanic, that this is so. Thomas also explained the unknown switch: it turns on a converter that enables use of the 110-volt outlets (powered by the van's battery) within the van whenever it is parked where there is no electric hook up. That's a bonus I am pleased to know now.

I drove back to our motel and worked on the blog some more the rest of the day. That is a summation of how we spent this day. 

California (again) day 12

August 24

We left our motel room refreshed and found a place to have breakfast. We saw a bank across the street and decided to go in and replenish our cash supply. Using an ATM would get us the usual wad of twenty-dollar bills. We arrived in the States with hundred-dollar bills, but only 1 fifty-dollar bill has been given us in change so far. So we went into the bank rather than use an ATM, just to get a supply of fifties. Then we decided to get only a few fifties after all, in case there was a reason we weren't aware of that we had not seen more of them in circulation. The bank clerk was cordial about our request. He pronounced the name of this city Mer-céd. I picked up on that; I had been mispronouncing it until then, by accenting the wrong syllable.

We got onto highway 99 and joined a lot of traffic. This highway looked like a freeway that must have been built in the early days of limited-access highways. It was no picnic driving the van so quickly on such a road, designed before traffic engineering improvements made such speeds safer. The lanes seemed to be somewhat narrower and ramps shorter – enough of an inconvenience to make the van's loose steering an issue again. The interior valley of California this road traversed was hot and again the inadequacy of the van's air-conditioning became an issue, too.

We approached Livermore, CA, to find banks of "pinwheels" – wind turbines festooned the hillsides here, harvesting energy from the hot winds that blew over these hills and into our van's by-now-open windows.

We steered into Hayward CA and parked in the lot of the motel we'd contacted while driving: another motel in the chain of America's Best Value Inns. I got upset at the clerk when the check-in process involved photocopying everything I handed her. I allowed her to photocopy my passport, but I strenuously drew the line at her attempt to photocopy my credit card. She said I was the first person who ever objected to that, but she respected my objection and refrained from doing so. What's wrong with people here? This is where identity theft begins. Why was I the first to object?

It was early enough in the afternoon to make something of this day, so after transferring most of our baggage from our van to our room – and relaxing there a bit – we drove to the BART station in Hayward to catch a train to San Francisco. Parking in this station's lot was free. What a pleasant surprise! I asked the woman in the glass information booth how we should buy tickets to get to Fisherman's Wharf. She explained the ticket vending machine to us. It took most denominations of paper money, but not fifties (perhaps this explains why fifties are not popular?). A pan-handler sat beside the vending machine to also offer his unsolicited assistance. He needed the coins we received in change, but so did we so I didn't give them away. On the platform for the train were more "characters;" one in particular was in the throes of an audible argument between two of his split personalities. I was not so sure how this trip into San Francisco was going to "pan out." Dread was welling up in me that I had to consciously suppress. We boarded our train and passed under San Francisco Bay in a tunnel and our ears popped from the depth the train dove. Razelle was nervous. What if an earthquake should choose that precise moment to occur? Her dreads were accompanying us into San Francisco just as mine were. We also feared missing our station. No sign appeared in the train, nor were any announcements made as we entered the various stations enroute. Only the names on the platforms themselves, outside the train windows, served to inform us where we were (when pillars didn't block our view of them). We appreciated Singapore's transportation system so much more now than we already had, then.

Disembarking at the Embarcadero Station, we rode the escalator to the street. San Francisco immediately struck us as a different realm than any we'd experienced before we surfaced in her midst – and mists. Our dreads (mine of being shaken down, Razelle's of being shaken up) continued to followed us. Many more hard-luck characters loitered here among the high-rising edifices of commerce towering above us in downtown San Francisco. Razelle needed a bathroom, but with all the vagrants in this district, no such facility was available without a purchase being made first. Razelle found a vegetarian restaurant to patronize, ordered a sandwich and thus gained the access code to the ladies' room.

We then waited in the penetrating chill of these environs at a streetcar station, bundled in hooded jackets against the cold mist that enveloped this district. A streetcar pulled up and its affably cheerful conductor announced that the ticket machine was broken so the ride was free. We rode this car to Fisherman's Wharf and alighted there. Signs flashed brightly and lots of tourists milled among shops selling everything tourists might covet. I found an outlet for a chocolate factory (a competitor of Ghirardelli's, apparently) and bought a small bag of chocolate-covered roasted coffee beans. Razelle was put off by the commercialism of this place and the crowds this attracted. The gauntlet she would have to walk to get to the distant end of the pier was overly daunting. I steered her to a side passage that had no shops – just moored fishing boats and some docks with closely packed lolling sea lions on them.

This was what Razelle had come to see. This made her day and her mood picked up. We were here when the sun set, but in the fog we saw no setting sun nor the colors of that time of day. It just got darker and colder. Ah, San Francisco; such a unique place. You either find it intriguing or you tire of it quickly. We didn't stay as long as we originally had planned. We returned to our street car station and had to pay to ride it this time. We took our BART train back to Hayward, but had to transfer along the way. We found our van where we'd parked it. No one had molested it in our absence. We drove it back to our motel, entered our room and shut the door. Our first impressions of San Francisco were what they were. We slept on these and considered their meaning.

California (again) day 11

August 23

This day was spent entirely getting to, being in and getting away from Yosemite National Park. We again started our day early – ahead-of-the-sun early. I walked to the office to return the adapter for the electric outlet and unexpectedly met the real owner of the RV park – a woman who loves to meet the people she has hosted. Meeting an Israeli fascinated her very much. She'd been to Israel in the past with her husband and she had a good impression of the country and its people. She asked me a number of questions about our Jewish religious practices and I gave her answers in a way she could understand them. She was impressed that I had so much knowledge about the sources of our religious practices. Before we left we gave her a hamsa magnet as a memento of our visit. From this woman I learned some things, too. This RV park is only open from April to October; the rest of the year is too cold and snowy for hunters, fishers and tourist to come here and the mountain passes are impassable and it gets extremely cold here.

These pleasantries set us back a half hour, but "not a problem." We drove back to Lee Vining, CA and turned to climb up Tioga Pass Road. High up this road the snowfields were melting and we came to a waterfall. We parked here beside two other cars, walked to the best vantage point and took a few pictures. By the time we had returned to our van there were many more cars parked here, and more cars streaming up the road into the park – the harbingers of the crowds to come.

Maayan and I came through this same National Park in July 1997. We had followed the identical route Razelle and I were on today, but in the opposite direction. This gave me an interesting perspective I might not otherwise have had. There are a number of places to turn off along the road through the park in this direction, but the one I was most intent on reaching was the parking lot at Olmstead Point. As we drove along in our van I watched behind us and when the line of vehicles got too long I pulled out and let them pass, knowing that when I got to the places I really wanted to stop they would be taking up the parking spots I might have found first if I hadn't been so considerate. There were enough parking spots when we got to Olmstead Point, however, to accommodate us all.

Razelle and I looked across the expanse at Olmstead Point and saw the distinctive shapes of the Half Dome and El Capitan. I took some photos from this special overlook of Yosemite Valley, which we would be entering later. I imagined John Muir resting up here in his day. I'd read his writings when I was a young man and I had been inspired by his life. I recognized the place names he wrote of as we traversed the park. I imagined that others among the visitors to the park today had been touched by John Muir's writings, too, but couldn't tell who they might be among the visitors I saw. Razelle hadn't read Muir's writings so her perspective of the park was not like mine.

Razelle and I found a place to park in the lot near the shuttle station in Yosemite Valley that was one stop away from the visitors' center. We rode the shuttle that short distance and then spent some quality time watching the film presentation. Afterwards, we each went through the interpretive displays at our own separate paces, then met up for lunch. I discovered that they sold kosher dill pickles, hummus and bisli (it was a Frito-Lays snack product that looked just like the snack every Israeli kid would have brought on an excursion to a park like this). We heard Hebrew spoken here by the rare occasional tourist and spoke briefly with some, but the novelty of finding other Israelis had worn off by now. Other than asking where in Israel they had come from, we couldn't come up with things to talk about with them.

As much as I had expected to compete with huge numbers of visitors, the numbers were not so very high that we couldn't cope with them. Our parked van was not overwhelmed in its lot by other vehicles. We were able to leave without traffic congestion problems. I must say that the advantage of so many people being in the park at once was that they themselves became fascinating subjects in their own right. People-watching was fun.

It was already late in the afternoon when we drove out of Yosemite Valley and onward to the Mariposa Grove of sequoia trees. Because of Razelle's disability and our National Parks Access Pass, we had the privilege of following the tram along its road through the grove. We didn't have to pay for this privilege, either. Whenever the tram came to a stop along the loop road in this grove we got to listen to snippets of the narration the paying customers heard. It was a good arrangement and Razelle and I got to see and appreciate sequoia trees here without having to add Sequoia National Park to our itinerary. True, there is no comparison, and when Maayan and I came to Yosemite from Sequoia in 1997 we didn't even bother stopping at this grove because the other park's sequoias are so superlatively more impressive. But for Razelle, this was a sufficiently rewarding experience and she was duly impressed by these giants here.

We left the park with the sun low and in our eyes. But, before we did, I bought some gas. The price of gas here in the National Park was the highest I've encountered to date – even higher than Hawaii's prices. The road west out of the park wound through mountainous terrain in the gathering darkness. I have had trouble driving the van in the dark because I just haven't been able see ahead that well. We stopped to eat and when we continued it was perfectly dark and far harder to see. I thought we might aim for Modesto as our destination for the night, but by the time we had reached Merced I could go no further. We pulled into a motel and ended our day here. The sounds of the highway and of a railroad penetrated our room, but our fatigue pushed these sounds to the margins and they even lulled us to sleep.

=========================================

RAZELLE'S PHOTO OF THIS DAY

Posing together in Yosemite National Park
with view of Half Dome and El Capitan

Nevada to California

August 22

According to our GPS, we needed about 4 hours to reach Death Valley from Las Vegas. I prepared for this by studying weather charts and forecasts for Death Valley to learn that the temperature at the bottom of the valley doesn't exceed 100°F (38°C) until after 10:00 AM. It continues to climb well into the afternoon, peaking by 4:00 PM (or even later). Today's forecast was for a high of only 107°F (42°C), just like Hoover Dam yesterday. Each day after today the high temperature was predicted to be more extreme than the preceding day. By Thursday, 120°F (48°C) was predicted. It seemed reasonable that if we could get to Death Valley today by 10:00 AM we would not tax our van's systems any more than we had already anywhere else we'd been.

We rushed through breakfast and were on the road by 6:25 AM, a bit behind schedule, but not critically so. We drove toward Pahrump, NV. The desert landscape became more extreme; then a mountain range came up and had to be crossed. On the far side a wide plain stretched before us, with Joshua Trees growing on it in profusion. After about an hour, a vast collection of homes and shade trees and streets and businesses came into view: Pahrump, Nevada.

Pahrump has a museum dedicated to brothels and an ample variety of casinos. This place looks to be large enough to be self sufficient. What's it doing in this place? Who would want to move to such a place? I was mindful of Art Bell. He lived here during the years he broadcast "Coast-to-Coast with Art Bell." I was among his most intent fans; even from far-off Israel I tuned in via the Internet. I spoke with him once, from Israel on 1 January 2000, while it was still 31 December 1999 in Pahrump. From what I could see, Pahrump didn't engender pride of place – or else it did, in spades.

Our next point of interest was Amargosa Valley, NV. This valley is emptiness epitomized. It has some kind of association, if my memory serves me correctly, with atomic research and area 51. Then came Beatty, NV. This small community has a speed limit of 25 mph (40 kph) and a police car that followed me the whole way down the street to enforce this speed (if you can call it that). He made me so nervous that I pulled into a gas station to fill up the tank before turning west to enter Death Valley (actually I had planned to do this all along). Beatty, NV is one of the gateways to Death Valley. I chose this route because it would minimize the time and distance I would actually be in Death Valley.

We then officially entered Death Valley National Park. A large sign was posted so we'd know this. Shortly thereafter the thinnest stick of a marker announced that we had returned to California. It could have easily been missed had I not been watching for it.

Death Valley has such an intimidating name that Razelle finally confessed as we headed into it that she was greatly frightened about doing this. I must admit that as we descended steeply on the road down with the air conditioner off (a road sign cautioned against using it to keep engines from overheating) and as a blast of heat rushed in through the open windows, I was reminded of the guy who was falling from the top of a skyscraper, who said as the pavement below was coming up at him, "So far so good." Perhaps this blast of heat was only a foretaste of what awaited us at the bottom, as the van melted in the crucible of Death Valley, to become a molten puddle of metal with us turning into human cinders. We stopped at an intersection long enough to take a few pictures to prove we had been here, then we posed again next to the "sea level" sign as we dropped below that altitude (if you can call it that). It wasn't as extremely hot out there when you stood upon the crucible's surface. Hmmm. We came to a resort (if you can call it that) with lots of people parked there and milling around in the heat. Who would want to spend the night down here? Apparently these people did.

The bottom having been reached, and the van performing perfectly well, so far, all that was left was to get up and out of this infernal place. The road wound up interminably. The heat dissipated perceptibly but the top could not be perceived as easily. Even when we had crested the top of the ridge we thought was the end of the climb, another valley appeared below us. This valley also had to be crossed. It had a wide flat muddy saltpan-looking floor that wasn't actually level. I don't understand how this came to be. I'll have to look it up later.

Finally, Highway 395 was reached. Ahead of us was a mountain range so high that we could see patches of snow on it...in mid-August! This mountain range would have to be crossed, too, but that would be tomorrow's goal. Today we would get as far as Bridgeport, CA. It was too late in the day to enter the High Sierra.

As we drove northward I pointed out where Steve Fossett had met his tragic end. I described to Razelle how his gnawed and scattered remains had been found after a high-country hiker came upon some of his personal effects up there before the snow could fall and conceal his remains forever. Razelle asked me to change the subject.

We stopped at the Mono Lake Visitors' Center. It was very nicely put together. There was information here about campgrounds in the area, but in the end we found an RV park on our own near Bridgeport. We paid for the site of our choosing, then drove into Bridgeport because it had so much significance for Razelle, who comes from the "other" Bridgeport...in Connecticut. I took pictures of Razelle against key Bridgeport landmarks and she found appropriate mementos here to buy, then we returned to our campsite.

The owner of the place had provided us with some boards for me to drive onto so the van would be level, and he and a helper named Keith fitted us with an adapter so we could hook up out electric line to the post. Keith, who spoke with a pleasant Virginia accent, hung around to debate politics with us. We didn't agree about many things, but the debate remained friendly.

Everyone in this RV park seemed to go to sleep early, probably because of the mosquitoes, so we did the same.

Nevada day 2

August 21

Our motel has a wonderful breakfast room so we made a point to eat there this morning. They have a waffle-maker and a toaster that can handle bagel halves. They have a juice dispenser that can give you cranberry juice, apple juice, or orange juice, or you can mix them as you wish. Razelle considers this free breakfast a real plus. You can have cheerios or raisin bran or cornflakes with milk; hard boiled eggs or English muffins or Danish sweet-rolls; or all of the above! Can't beat that, can you?

We have decided to visit Hoover Dam, today. The drive to Hoover Dam took us through parts of the greater Las Vegas area we hadn't visited so far. Henderson looked like an even more arid place than Las Vegas. We continued to drive downhill and finally reached the Colorado River. We missed the dam and entered Arizona on a higher roadway. We turned back and re-entered Nevada, then took the lower-level access road that took us to the dam. I don't know what they expected they'd find in our van but a security officer had me open the back door so he could look in. I think, now, that he was checking to see if we had a pet, because pets are not allowed in the dam area and leaving pets in your vehicle is also not allowed.

I wound up driving into Arizona again as I crossed the dam looking for a place to park and had to turn around so I could deposit Razelle by the visitors' center on the Nevada side. I found a parking garage tall enough there for the van and paid the fee. Razelle waited for me to join her.


We walked around on the dam and adjoining areas, took some pictures, ticked more out-of-state license plates off a scribbled list I'd prepared and endured the heat that was focused and intensified by the shape of the canyon we were in. A time-and temperature sign in Henderson showed 107°F (42°C). We've experienced hotter, but for some reason this was rarified heat down here and we were not holding up as well as we should have. Razelle was complaining about a rash on her arms. It looked like a form of hives – an allergic reaction that made her skin sensitive to the sun. She tried a cream on it that she has, but it only gave her relief without reducing the rash. We heard Hebrew here at the dam, but we didn't stop the couple speaking it to say "Shalom." We also saw a family group with men in fringes and wearing kippot (skullcaps). So, some of our own ARE touring the sights we've been touring.

We felt we'd gotten our money's worth for the parking garage without spending more for the museums or for the other things they were charging for, so we left the dam and returned to our motel. It was my intention still to strike off on my own to see some of the Strip, but once again, I found the heat off-putting enough to forego this – even if touring the strip could have been done in the comfort of air-conditioned buildings. Back at the motel I typed mightily to get my blog caught up. I was so far behind that this required a lot of time to accomplish. I made a good dent in the project, but never managed to catch up.

It was getting late in the evening so I took time off from writing to go next door to the Walmart. I needed to get a card to refresh my cell phone's account so I could use it for another month. I bought a few other items, too. The disconcerting thing was seeing the disaffected and displaced people who were hanging out in the Walmart parking lot. One approached me for a hand out. This happened yesterday in the motel's parking lot, too. I didn't want to be approached and I didn't know of a delicate way to refuse them. I hope my frank "No!" doesn't get me hurt one of these times. Reflecting on this further, I understand that Walmart doesn't object to people parking their campers on their lot. I wonder, now, just how safe it might (or might not be) for us to actually do this during these difficult economic times in America. Obviously not a good idea here in Las Vegas, because of the heat, but farther afield across America, will I find more of these characters in a Walmart lot? I won't know until I get somewhere else.

Speaking of somewhere else, tomorrow we will be leaving Nevada to sleep somewhere else: California ... again. Tonight we will try to get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, we want to cross Death Valley as early in the morning as possible. I don't know what all the fuss is about. We drove to Hoover Dam in similar heat today and our van did it in style. What could go wrong tomorrow that didn't go wrong today?

As for my tooth, I received email from my dentist in Beer Sheva, today. I had sent him a photo of the interior of my sore tooth. This photo was taken in Singapore. His response was that the right thing to do is just have the tooth extracted. Any other effort to save it would be unwise, considering that its pulp bed is cracked. I may yet be able to sing, "I left my tooth in San Francisco...."

These were things to contemplate, as I prepared to sleep one last time in Nevada.

Nevada day 1

August 20

Today we returned to Temple Beth Shalom for Shabbat morning services. I drove along Flamingo street part of the way there and we noticed the array of "regular" businesses that this residential area of Las Vegas supported and in turn served. I had befriended the guard at the synagogue the night before so he saluted us as we pulled into the lot. We took seats where we could see the congregation as well as the Bima (the raised platform where the prayer leaders stand). Today was a double Bat Mitzvah – twin sisters. They were well trained and their competence showed. Their rabbi had just returned from a visit to Israel with his family. Interestingly, he was in Beer Sheva only days before and he is a good friend of our rabbi there. The rabbi gave a sermon on the importance of supporting Israel. Right now, Beer Sheva is being bombarded again with rockets from Gaza, so on many levels we were very moved by the fervency of his sermon. I had introduced myself to him the night before and spoke to him in Hebrew. It was as if he'd put this sermon together because we were sitting there among his congregants, which I know couldn't have been the case, but it felt that way. We were impressed by how much of an impact his visit to Israel had had on him and how much he "gets it" when he described what life is like for Israelis on a daily basis. It made us wonder why we should prolong our trip a single day longer. What are we searching for that we don't already have there?

The meal after the Bat Mitzvah was the usual good food we've found at synagogue receptions. We ate at a table with some members of the congregation who were fascinated by Razelle's account of the trip. One of them, a Russian man, came up to me afterwards and asked the kind of logistics questions that showed he was ready to travel as we are. He wanted to know about insurance and visas and inoculations and tickets, etc. He may yet do what we have done. I may never know, but I might have helped him fulfill a similar dream to the one we are fulfilling now. The older couple who Razelle spoke with also seemed enthralled by the details of the trip, and they too may be contemplating such a trip, some day.

My tooth is starting to give me problems. This is the tooth that had root canal in Singapore. I don't know how long I can postpone getting it treated again, and what treatment I should have (or reject having). If all I need is a series of antibiotics, then that would be fine, but if I need extensive work, then I'm concerned. After services we couldn't help notice the number of dental clinics of various kinds that line the major through-streets of Las Vegas as we headed back in the general direction of our motel.

Razelle found a place that gives haircuts. She has had enough of looking shaggy (so she thinks) and she found one that mentioned walk-in service. We stopped there. She couldn't be taken immediately, but later in the afternoon there was an opening. We accepted and drove back to our motel to rest until then. I drove along Flamingo Avenue all the way to Las Vegas Boulevard (the Strip), then took Las Vegas Blvd all the way out to our motel on Nellis Blvd. Along Las Vegas Blvd. we again saw all the casinos and hotels, but by the light of day we saw an entirely different, more casually dressed clientele. North of the strip we found where all the quicky wedding chapels are located; we actually saw one couple getting married in lavender wedding attire. It was a good thing I chose this route back. We understand the layout of Las Vegas so much better now. We returned to the hair salon for Razelle's appointment on schedule, and bought gas for the van along the way. Every time we stepped out of the van we realized that the air-conditioning must have been working, because the heat was so oppressive outside, but in the van we were just barely comfortable in a glistening-sweat sort of way, as opposed to rivers of it rolling down our backs or anything like that.

The woman who cut Razelle's hair did her job so well even I noticed how good Razelle looked when she came back to the waiting room. Razelle was very happy with her haircut. She asked me to take photos of it from three angles so she could show her hairdresser in Beer Sheva how well it came out.

The owner of the place kept me captive with ideas he had on how peace could be achieved in the Middle East. He meant well, but he doesn't understand the mentalities of the peoples he'd like to try his theories on. This was the first time I found myself justifying Israel's position. It went well. He listened as much as he talked. 

We drove back to the motel again. Originally, I had considered taking Razelle there, then going by myself to the Strip and exploring it. In all honesty, I still couldn't summon enough enthusiasm to follow through on that. The heat alone was enough of a deterrent. We remained at the motel for the rest of the evening. I caught up on my blog. Razelle caught up on her reading and TV viewing.

We had seen a saner side of Las Vegas today. We also saw the subtle marks of the economic downturn here. Neighborhoods were spaced far apart, as if the empty areas were going to be filled in later, but later was itself being postponed until further notice.

We kept scratching our heads, wondering what could possibly draw so many people to this place. Other than the hedonism of the Strip, what fed this city? 

Utah to Nevada

August 19

Getting up early worked well yesterday for visiting the Grand Canyon, so we did the same today for visiting Bryce Canyon National Park, half an hour away. We left before the management of our KOA had opened the office, so I had no record of the credit card transaction for this place. Farther down the road Razelle remembered that she'd left behind a book she had just begun reading in the washroom We were going to be doubling back anyway after visiting Bryce, so it was in my thinking to stop in and get the receipt and look for the book later.

Access to Bryce is via a canyon of perhaps the reddest red rock in the West. Razelle took notice. I promised we'd take photos of the arches the road passed through when we returned on our way back out of Bryce. The entrance fee for Bryce was quite a bit more that any of the other National Parks charged (but we had an access pass and didn't have to pay). There was a shuttle station here also and a sign warning of high levels of smoke. There was indeed the smell of wood-smoke in the air, and farther along we saw a smoldering log in a small burned patch of forest. We inhaled the incense of smoldering pine deeply and remarked that we enjoyed the association we had with this fragrance (camping, Lag-Ba'Omer bon-fires, etc.). We were told that this was a controlled fire, intentionally set to prevent damage to the forest.

The parking lot had more out-of-state license plates, and a large group of girls in the parking lot were obviously "landsmann" (it was their long skirts and long sleeves that was most telling of this). Razelle and I walked to the vantage point at the edge of the parking lot and Razelle was duly impressed. Every direction offered a photo-op. Razelle very enthusiastically directed me where to stand and pointed her camera at me against the different vistas. Then she encouraged me to walk down into the "canyon" while she sat in the van and read in the cool of the morning.

I took half an hour to descend the path along with many other healthy out-doors types. They spoke among themselves in many languages; I found myself descending just ahead of a family from France, and a couple from a German-speaking country asked me to take their picture with their camera. At the bottom of the descent through this deeply shaded crevice I came out into a sunny glade by a streambed still muddy from a recent rain. I decided that the ascent would be strenuous enough, and chose to climb back up in the same shady crevice for comfort's sake. This was my third visit to Bryce and each time I had the privilege of walking among the "hoodoos" – that's what they call the vertical columns that make this delicate sand-castle fairy land so special. Some hoodoos have shapes and textures that resemble faces or groupings of people. I took a few pictures of these and returned to Razelle, refreshed from the exertion.

We didn't go deeper into the park. Razelle didn't want to have her first impression of Bryce cluttered with more impressions. Good enough. We returned to the red arches, as promised. Razelle took her pictures of them. We returned to the Panguitch KOA where Razelle found a book someone else left behind but not the one she had left (it turned up in the van later in the day!) and I collected my receipt. Then we drove to a special national park called Cedar Breaks National Park.

Cedar Breaks is so high in elevation that it is only snow free from July to October. As we climbed above 10,000 feet (3100 m) Razelle felt notably short of breath. I watched her carefully, but she didn't have any other symptoms of altitude sickness, so we didn't turn back.










Cedar Breaks has a very modest visitors' center with a diagram on the wall explaining the geological connections among the national parks and features of the region we have so far visited. This diagram put it all into perspective. Razelle had a long chat with a morbidly obese woman visitor there. All her questions about my ring were explained to her from my personal experience. She is a biologist so this all made sense to her. She was grateful to learn everything I told her. I hope we have helped this woman make a healthy life choice.

The road down from Cedar Breaks was quite dramatic. It eventually reached the town of Cedar City; then it led us onto the Interstate. It was nice to have such a road again for the first time since Albuquerque. We could have turned toward Zion National Park next, but we joked about the time we've already spent in Zion (i.e., Israel) as we bypassed this Zion and drove on to Las Vegas. We hoped to make good time so we could get to Las Vegas in time for Friday night services.

Interstate 15 goes though a corner of Arizona for 29 miles (47 km). This is because the Virgin River cuts this corner of Arizona and the interstate highway follows the deep deep canyon this river has carved here. It was the most dramatic section of interstate highway I've seen in the southwest (at least to this point). At the outlet of the Virgin River Canyon a sere flat plain came into view and the heat beat down as Nevada was attained. Our air-conditioner couldn't cool us. Nevada sure didn't look like any place else we'd been. Vast stands of Joshua Trees appeared on this terrain. A haze concealed the bases of the distant mountains.

We crossed this hostile environment and reached Las Vegas near Nellis Air Force Base. This is where our motel was. We signed in, dragged some of our bags into the room and changed for the synagogue. We reached Temple Beth Shalom on the western side of Las Vegas in time for services and, after a security check of my shoulder pack, went in and joined the congregation in prayers. This congregation had two guitarists, two vocalists and an oboe player for musical accompaniment. It was a bright touch we found very pleasing. The congregation, led by the Cantor, sang the entire Friday night service. The atmosphere in this Conservative synagogue was uplifting and we were glad we had crossed mountains and deserts to reach here on time.

After services we drove to the Las Vegas Strip. We found a place in the Macy's parking lot to park our van, next to the Treasure Island Casino. Razelle and I walked in and Razelle watched all the zombies sitting at the slot machines. So many flashing lights and images! It was truly overwhelming! Razelle had to try her hand at this, as would anyone who is in Las Vegas for the first time. She inserted a dollar bill into a slot and received four credits. She pulled the handle four times. Each time – nada. Nothing. She was so repulsed by the whole experience and even more so by the zombies around her who were staring expressionless at their machines and pushing buttons like lab monkeys.

We then watched people betting on a roulette wheel. A man nonchalantly dropped a 100 dollar bill on the table and then placed a stack of chips on a single number. The stack was dragged off the table at the end of the spin. Easy come, easy go. Shocking!

We then turned to find ourselves facing scantily clad ladies at blackjack tables. I looked one woman in the eyes and saw behind them a sad expression. I felt sorry for her. I was embarrassed for her. She didn't belong here. Razelle was truly sickened by this casino.

We walked out onto the strip, but Razelle couldn't walk any further by this point. We noticed the outfits the women were wearing as they passed us on the sidewalks. Their assets were so obviously enhanced by the cut of their clothing that we couldn't decide who among them had come to enjoy themselves and who among them were trolling for customers. Enough was enough. We got back into our van and drove back to our motel. We reflected on both our experiences of the evening – the synagogue and the strip. We felt we had gone from "the sublime to the ridiculous." Quite a contrast.

========================================

RAZELLE'S PHOTOS OF THIS DAY

Early morning viewing of Bryce Canyon, Utah

Early morning viewing of Bryce Canyon, Utah

Admiring Bryce Canyon

Descent into Bryce Canyon to walk among the hoodoos