The Grand Canyon, and the Great Divide

hello, stranger –

well, i finally made it up to the Grand Canyon.  you would've thought i’d have made it up there by now, with all the time i've been out here so far.  it is, after all, one of the most awe-inspiring geological sights in the world.  probably worth a peek, especially for a road trip junkie - for lack of any better term.  maybe if it was to the east or west it might've been more on my radar, but to get there from here you have to go through Phoenix, and i think that put sort of a mental block on it – at least in a subconscious kind of way.

but my friend's uncle was in town for a bit and wanted to go, so he asked if i wanted to come along with him and i said “hell yes.”  i figured it was as good as chance as I'd get any time soon, and besides that i enjoy his company and wouldn't mind being on the ride-along for someone else's adventure for a change.

i also needed the break in the action, as well.  for two weeks i'd been laying out the project, and even though i tended to get lost in the excitement of it as time went on, it also was beginning to take a toll.  i'd wake up at two in the morning with ideas swimming around in my head, and no hope of more sleep, and so would go down to the office and strap in for an hour or two behind the computer.  that would turn into daybreak and before i would know it lunch would've come and gone and it would be time to call it a day.  and it just went on like that, night after day and day after night.

that's just part of the deal with the creative process though – when nothing's coming it can feel like trying to pull along a dying mule, and when it's flowing it can feel like trying to corral a bucking bronco.  that’s been my experience, anyways.  i’m sure there’s a way to get used to it over time and develop coping strategies for the varying situations, but whenever i start putting hands on a project that feels hot the tendency is to go all in, regardless of what i know i should or should’t be doing otherwise.  there’s a kind of thrill to putting the pieces of the puzzle together that can be addictive, and in this arena i tend to be a full-blown junky.

so i’d put myself through the grinder a bit – physically speaking – with a real lack of sleep and being unable to get into a normal groove with this thing.  i even developed a weird rash on my legs, which i found concerning.  i went to my doctor just to hear him tell me it wasn’t cancer, and when he reassured me it was just stress-related i promised that i’d try to be more balanced about my approach.  “what kind of creative is ever really balanced though?” he asked.  that was a good point, and it felt good hearing a doctor say it.

nevertheless, i tried my best to treat the body right the next couple days, but the result was me tweaking out my back anyways, leaving me hardly able to get out of bed, let alone walk.  i lay there and curse the gods a while, until i finally managed to stretch out enough that i could waddle my broken ass down the street to the office – looking like i just crapped myself, from the way i was walking – in order to put the final touches on the first version of volume one.

that's what getting it done looks like though, i kept reminding myself.  and also - screw balance.  it's it's a nice luxury to have for those that can afford it, but sometimes the task at hand requires total buy-in.  and when you have a project that's been lingering in the background like an invisible boat anchor for as long as this one had, sometimes the only real answer is to go full steam ahead, and damn the torpedoes.  i knew the break in the action would eventually come, and when it did i was happy to pack a bag, and limp my ass into my friends uncle's truck for a trip to see one of the seven wonders of the world.

****

to call him my friend's uncle isn’t quite accurate, since i've known him long enough now and had enough good times together that i have no problem calling him a friend as well.  but still, there's a generational difference, and he made his dent in this world back in the days when i was still playing with Legos, and he’s already plowed forward to a phase of life that i'd be lucky to even get to, let alone can relate with.  he's that big guy with white hair from next-door, with the deep, booming voice, manning the grill and inviting you over for a glass of wine during happy hour – the big bear on the block, who everyone is just glad is enjoying himself the majority of the time, and happy to steer clear of in the moment’s he's not.

we left mid-morning on Friday, and made our way to the highway to shoot north.  but to get there required driving all the way through midtown, and - as always – more road construction.  it seems like the never-ending cycle of roadwork, needless delays, and nonexistent results has been at some kind of fever pitch lately, and no matter which way you turned you’re bound to hit some level of orange barricades or another.

“i missed my calling,” i said to Big Bear. “i should've gotten into the construction cone rental game out here. i'd be a millionaire by now.”

he’d been in town for a couple weeks at that point so he got the joke and let out a heavy laugh.  spend even a day in this town and you’ll see enough road construction and junked out panhandlers at the stoplights that you begin to stop noticing.  Bear sighed and shook his head as we passed a particularly rough stretch.  we shared the same frustrated mentality that i think so many people have these days - you can turn on the news on any given night just to feel your blood boil and pray that somehow reason will prevail and it will all just come to a stop.  but then you look around at local stuff like this, and it’s like “dear lord, what the hell are you guys even doing?”

a friend of mine once said that being caught between the two sides of the political extremes these days felt like being caught between the school shooter and the Uvalde police.  i told that to Big Bear and he laughed again.  he was a laugher, and i knew well where he stood on things, so i knew where we were in for some good conversation for the ride.  it didn't hurt, either, that he was a former heavy weight from the ad industry.  Advertising pros are the mercenaries of the business world, and tend to carry a mindset that is both open-minded and battle-ready at all times.  they’re usually fun people to be around in general, but the ones from yesteryear, who came up when life was still simple and promising and wild and free, tend to be real characters.

testimony to that was the guy sitting behind the steering wheel next to me.  he’s lived in a big, full, happy life so far, and with plenty still left to go.  there were plenty of stories of wild times and big names that i've only ever heard of in headlines and movies from back in the day, many of which of i’d heard before and a lot of which i knew were yet to be told.  but the main thing i remember him saying - over and again, throughout my time knowing him – was just how he had gotten so lucky.  to hear him tell it, in fact, you'd think it was nothing but pure luck.  but i remember a professor once telling me the real ad men aren't made, they're born.  and if Big Bear wasn’t proof of that, i don't know what is.

****

we drove up the highway towards Phoenix, and once we got into the outskirts began to hit the stop-and-go traffic.  it wasn't too bad though, and we wormed our way through the five lane highway pretty quickly, but it was a good reminder of everything i don't like about Phoenix. Hot, bright, and concrete for as far as the eye could see, my impression of the city was nothing but soulless box store plazas and cookie-cutter housing developments.  i know that there must be some interesting spots somewhere in there, but i never had much interest in trying to find them.  i once worked on a film project for a month in the northern side of the city, and the coolest bar we could find for beers after work was a Buffalo Wild Wings.

i’m sure there’s a logical reason for why that city even exists, but damed if i know it.  here it was, the fifth largest metropolitan area in the country and still growing, right in the center of one of the hottest parts of the desert.  my guess would be that it would all just get too hot and crowded and just collapse someday, but what the hell do I know?  any time i fool myself into thinking i've got some kind of grasp about how things are out there in the world, all i have to do is look out the window as i pass a giant city like that one, and see the swarms of people coming and going - just a reminder to myself that my guess about the reality of things is just one out of millions, and that i'm just another ant on the ant farm.

i thought about it for a little bit, and realized that's why i've never liked urban sprawl, and in particular places like Phoenix which are built on it.  that ant farm feeling, of being just another drone in the colony of drones, busy bouncing about all day down one lane three lane road or another, lunching at yet another chain restaurant, doing whatever work you need to do for your part to keep the wheels turning, just to get back to spend the night at a condo that has at least a dozen more just like it laid out right next-door.  i’m sure it’s a pretty comfortable way to live for many of those who are in it, but for someone who’s spent his whole life feeling like he was on the outside looking in, i was content enough to remain there.  i was beginning to feel more and more, though, that the trick to it was just to start looking in a new direction.

****

after Phoenix it wasn't too long before we started to gain in elevation and slowly climbed into cooler temperatures.  the landscape changed, became more mountainous, and pine trees began to appear.  we were getting into high desert country, and we both loved the drive. eventually the temperatures had even dropped enough to where we could turn off the AC and roll down the windows again.

we hopped onto the 40 just before Flagstaff and headed west.  Humphreys Peak stood out like a giant in the distance to the north, gray and green and still white-capped with snow.  i've always been slightly amazed at the range of topography in this part of the country, and seeing snow after leaving the hundred degrees of the desert floor was striking.  “this is such a vertical state,” i said the Big Bear, and he nodded in agreement, noting that we've been slowly climbing in altitude for a long while now.  from the interstate we took the long, straight road to Grand Canyon Village and checked into our room.  it was nothing remarkable, as neither was there about the village itself.  but both were clean and tidy and comfortable, perfectly accommodating to the tourist crowd, so we were happy to be there and stretch our legs a bit.  we decided to swing across the street to a steakhouse for a beer and an app after the long drive, and it was fine, but the after checking out the menu prices we decided we'd be doing dinner elsewhere.  then we headed up the road and into the park, for our first look at the canyon.

if it’s your first visit you might be surprised by how quickly the biggest hole in the world sneaks up on you.  we both already had been there, but it was a long time for us both, so it still caught us a little off guard.  there you are, making sure you have your keys and your phone, walking through the parking lot from your car, and you walk up a little paved pass between some trees and bam! – there it is, behind a waist-high guard rail, one of the seven wonders of the world, a chasm in the Earth so deep and so wide it can be seen from space with the naked eye.  the scope of the canyon is so vast, in fact, so remarkably out of scale with anything we're used to, that it felt surreal standing there in those first few moments, staring out into an abyss that the brain and the eye seemed to be having trouble working together on to calculate and figure out. it seemed like somewhere in the back of my mind something had set to work instantly to try to figure out whatever this giant puzzle was in front of it, but that had either way too many pieces to it, or far too few.

it’s a gorgeous and mesmerizing sight, but can almost be hard to accept, and even leave a little underlying feeling of frustration somehow.  i thought back to the first time i'd been there, and remembered feeling the same way.  “i wish someone would fly a jumbo jet through it, down there somewhere,” i told my girlfriend at the time.  “just to give it some scale and i could tell what the hell it is i'm looking at.”  but that's all i could remember about that visit.  we were on the return leg of a cross country trip together, and in the middle of a fight – the kind a relationship never recovers from.  it was a pretty crappy way to try to marvel at the wonders of nature, but those tomes were long gone now, and what seemed like a catastrophe at the time now registered as just another bump along the road and in the rearview.  and what are the potholes of one man’s journey when set against a backdrop of geologic wonder like that one, that had begun millions of years ago, and would continue for millions more.

incredible how mother nature can slap you in the face in a place like that, and help put you to scale, along with your worries and troubles, and even your dreams – if you’re able to let it.  i thought about how much i’d changed since the last time i’d been there, and how little the canyon had.  i’d developed a much greater appreciation for trips out into nature in the time in between, and how natural marvels like that have the power to remind us of what small and fragile creatures we are in the grand scheme of things, and how the things we carry with such weight don’t really amount to shit to the rest of the world.  and there’s a certain comfort in that, because even if we can’t escape ourselves or our issues entirely, we can at least put them on pause long enough to find some perspective and take a deep breath, and maybe even chart our course to where we really need to go – even if it seems as distant as the rim on the other side of the widest canyon in the world.

*****

we stayed at the canyon until sunset.  there were lots of other visitors there but it wasn't packed, and in fact i was surprised given the time of year that there weren't more.  Big Bear made a remark about how many Europeans were there, and then nudged my attention in the direction of a couple women with nice butts, just in case my eyes needed the help in the midst of all this geologic wonder, i guess.  then we wandered our way down the trail, which is really like a paved golf path alongside the edge of canyon, with different lookout points every so often.  the lookout points all have a secure railing, and some where pretty crowded, but in between were plenty of spots where people could go right to the edge of the canyon wall if they wanted.  and more than just a few people did, to take selfies and just have their own little patch of canyon wall, and enjoy the view.

that's not the kind of thing for me though, thanks.  there’s absolutely nothing subtle about the drop-off of the canyon walls, and looking over the edge is like looking down into an abyss which seemed to me to have no bottom.  i shuddered to think of what that initial moment of terror must have felt like for those handful of poor souls who realized too late that they'd gotten too close to the edge, after losing balance and tumbling over.  we watched from afar as a few people stood only a few feet away from certain doom, with their backs to the canyon, hand holding their phone up over their head to get that selfie, and i wondered if it occurred to them that no one would ever know the difference if they were standing an extra five feet further away from danger from a canyon that is ten miles wide.

but to each their own, i was just happy being safe and sound behind a steel guard rail, watching the last of the day’s sunlight crawl it’s way up the eastern walls of the canyon.  from where we stood we couldn’t see the sun setting, just the giant shadow that had overtaken the cliffs and gorges below, and as it flooded the rest of the canyon the final rays of light moved up those giant walls of stone, covering eons of geologic history in mere moments.  the reds and yellows and oranges of those formations came into greater relief against the backdrop of the purple hue of twilight, as the last rays of sunlight fled across them and out of the canyon – a quiet reminder that this was a dance that had been going on long before mankind, and would continue long after we were gone.

*****

after we got back to the village, the first place we went was the IMAX theater at the visitor center.  a friend had recommended seeing the movie, which only ran for about a half hour or so, and we decided to take the advice.  we were glad we did.  although I'm sure the film dates back a ways, the production quality was excellent, and really helped illustrate the scale of time in history of this natural phenomenon, eons in the making.

we learned about the indigenous peoples, first European pioneers, and subsequent tourism trade as well.  but for my part the most impressive segment was about JW Powell, the famed one-armed explorer who led the first exploration of the Colorado river through the Grand Canyon by white men.  what first caught my attention – aside from the footage of the actors portraying the event getting absolutely brutalized by the unforgiving rapids of the river – was the description by the narrator the Powell’s journal entries and various writings often read more like poetry than scientific findings. “The Grand Canyon is a land of song,” one entry goes. “Mountains of music swell in the rivers, hills of music blow in the creeks, and meadows of music murmur in the reels that rip all over the rocks. Altogether it is symphony of multitudinous melodies.  All this is the music of waters.”  this, while on a month’s long exploration trip through such extreme conditions it had daily chances to claim his life.  what a bad ass.

it didn't hurt that he was a seasoned explorer, Civil War hero, dedicated naturalist, and one of the most hardy frontiersmen you'll likely ever read about in American history.  and yet despite all this he must have been feeling the very real possibility – likelihood, even – that after weeks of leading his men down the never-ending perils of the river, hidden away from the rest of the world in the mysteries of that giant crack in the Earth, that they might never make it out. otherwise he wouldn’t have given a portion of his writings to a couple of the men who had deemed the continuation of the trip to be insanity, and decided to abandon the canyon by foot.  but Powell felt compelled to continue on, and he and the other men who stayed with the boats rode the rest of the rapids into the history books, while the men who turned back were never heard from again.

there was a lesson there, to be sure, and i wondered what it was within the man that kept him pressing forward. Pride? Ambition? Integrity? A directive from God? Or maybe a combination of factors that rested solely in his own heart, and had been even a mystery to himself.  whatever it was, he clearly had a very healthy conversation with the universe going, and found himself and his remaining men delivered safely shortly after deciding to push on further into the unknown.  and for just a moment i caught a brief whiff of envy as it passed through the back of my mind like a cloud – sitting there, with the benefit of all that hindsight, and in the comfort and safety of a movie theater - as i remember thinking how fortunate he had been to have had only the physical obstacles presented by the natural world to face and overcome, and not the inner obstacles of a turbulent mind.  but the thought evaporated just as quickly as it had drifted in once i saw it for what it was, and i couldn’t help but chuckle at myself for entertaining a notion so ridiculous and yet kind of understandable at the same time.

****

Grand Canyon village is nothing if not convenient, so once we were done with the movie we popped over to a restaurant right next-door, and which was on the same lot as our hotel.  we had a couple of margaritas and some decent Mexican food, before returning to our hotel room, where we intermittently disrupted each other's sleep with our competing snoring patterns throughout the night.  evidently i also have a habit of turning on the TV in my sleep, and then just rolling over and conking right back out.  apparently i did this three times during the course of the night, which was all news to me.  but Bear was laughing about it, and besides that it was a comfortable, pleasant and uneventful stay for us in the village also we left in the morning in good spirits and grabbed some quick fast food from the drive-through on our way back to the canyon.

this time, though, we had a map, and navigated our way to the Yavapai Lookout point.  there was hardly anyone there when we arrived, and the quiet helped allow for the sound of the canyon to carry better than the day before, like stepping off a busy street and becoming aware again of the sound of your own breath.  “it feels like it’s trying to suck you in,” said Bear, gazing out over the rail of the vast expanse, and standing there in that quiet wind i could feel exactly what he meant.  we also agreed it was a better view, and in the fresh morning of the day there was a crispness and clarity to the air that we hadn’t seen the da before.  the colors of the rock formations below shown through brilliantly, and we marveled again at the scope of it all.

the lookout point is a visitor center loaded with information about the geological history and scale of everything as well, so it helped train our eyes to put things in perspective and truly begin to comprehend the magnitude of what we were looking at.  in two little spots, way down thousands of feet below and miles away, were areas where the Colorado river was actually visible, and across one of them spanned a 400 foot bridge, which from that distance was hardly even visible, and could have been an inchworm on the glass.  but it was a good benchmark to help give scale and context to the view.  i even got my wish from twenty years ago, and even though it wasn't a jumbo jet, saw a helicopter flying around far off and down below in the distance, a speck of white with whirring blades, appearing and then vanishing again behind mammoth walls of stone.

i could've stayed there longer, taking it all in, basking in the contemplation of our own smallness, set against the overwhelm of something so vast and seemingly endless, but after an hour or so Big Bear said it was time to go.  i had it in my mind we might travel west through the park to some other spots along the rim, but the day was getting on and he was ready to start the journey back.  we had a lot of miles to cover, and a couple of pitstops to make, and i think he felt like once you've seen something of that scale, seeing it from slightly different angles wasn't much worth it – not when we had a full day of travel ahead.  i agreed, but got in the truck with a twinge of reluctance.  we were there, and it felt a pity not to see more - there was a pull to go beyond the rim of the canyon walls, and climb down into it.

but i knew it wasn't that kind of trip from the start, so once we got going i was happy enough to breather it out and be on the road again.  i had my hiking boots at home, along with all my other gear, waiting for me and eager to be used again, ands that was an encouraging thought.  i tried to imagine how it must be, deep at the base of those canyon walls, where the stone pillars must rise up like giant cathedrals, and it struck me as the kind of thing i’d have to experience sometime sooner rather than later than later.  i've done a fair share of hiking mountains and canyons in my time out here, but nothing ever to equal the scope of that.  it had been a truly breathtaking site to see, and i was glad we made there trip, but as we drove away out of the park it also felt a little like i imagine what an astronaut must feel when they look up at the stars through a telescope in their back yard at night, admiring the beauty of everything that lies out there and the wonder of it all, but with the bittersweet awareness that they’re not actually able to reach out and touch it.

*****

once we checked out of the hotel we went down the road ways to hunt down cheaper gas. when we found it Big Bear pointed out the metal sculptures in the yard of the station.  i got out and took a few photos, even though there was nothing particularly novel about rusted metal sculpture work in this part of the country.  i thought about going into the little store for a moment, but it looked like it was focused heavily on selling stones, and i had no desire to purchase a tiny piece of the Grand Canyon from a gas station.  when Bear came out from paying for the gas he said the lady behind the counter was none too friendly, and all they sold was rocks.  “this place is weird,” he chuckled.  “did you see that one? it looks like he's taking a dump.”  he was pointing to a small sculpture of a cowboy, squatting on the bar high above the entrance to the back lot.  i laughed with him and snapped off a quick shot – but I've been in the southwest about a decade now, and he was just a visitor, so i knew far better than he could that just because something might seem weird out here does not necessarily make it unusual.

from there we traveled out to the freeway, then south again, letting GPS take us the whole way. we were on our way to Wickenburg, to stop in and pay a visit to one of Bear’s old colleagues and friends.  but Prescott was on the way first, and when we got close we passed by some large hoodoo boulder formations huddled along the side of the road, which were beautiful and massive and a bit intimidating, in the way the seem to be at odds with gravity, right there next to the roadway.  i hadn’t been going in expecting much from Prescott, but once we got to the center of town i immediately had the urge to stop and explore.  there were people all over the sidewalks, and a beautiful city square, and rows of restaurants and old saloons, busy with patrons inside and out, lunching and drinking and having a beautiful weekend afternoon.  it looked like one of the most pleasant places i'd seen in a long time, and the weather was perfect and i was getting hungry and thirsty, so i imagine i must have looked slightly like a panting dog with his head out the window, trying to take it all in as we passed through.

but it was too much for the kind of quick stop we were looking for, so instead drove out through the pine forest, and down the steep and curving mountain road to the little town of Yarnell, where we pulled over at a roadside grill for lunch.  there were mainly motorcycles parked outside, which might normally give me pause, but the little building had a quirky and friendly appeal to it, and Bear strikes me as the kind of guy who's been going wherever he feels like without hesitation for a long time now.  so when we stepped inside we felt right at home – which was good, because we both agreed later but it felt a little like sitting down to eat in somebody's living room.

we both appreciate little hole-in-the-wall, random spots like that, and after we sat down at the counter took note of all the homie little art pieces filling up the walls.  it was a colorful little spot, and our waitress was friendly and welcoming, and it felt like the kind of place that had a lot of good stories behind it.  most of the customers were bikers out for their weekend ride, and i counted at least three guys with guns in the holsters on their hips.  but that’s not an unusual sight out in these parts of the countryside, and even though these guys were obviously from a different tribe than we were used to, the place just seemed simply like a great place for good folk to get lunch.  and the sandwiches had a delicious, home-cooked quality to them that hit the spot perfectly, so we walked out of there full and happy, and making a mental note to stop in again, if ever in the area.

from there we took the road further down to the somewhat terrifying mountain pass down to Wickenburg.  it had guard rails, but roads with drop offs so high and sharp like that still spook the hell out of me, so i was glad Bear was driving and we were in his new truck rather than my old rattle box.  to help distract myself though the moment i nervously brought up the greasy spoon we just left, and how we were probably the only ones in there that voted the way we did, except for possibly the waitress.  Bear nodded in agreement, his eyes on the road, and i sat back and thought about how easy it is to kid yourself, from the comfort of your couch, about the obvious position to take about one issue or another.  but then you take a pitstop off the road out in wilder lands like this and it becomes a little clearer how tough that position might be to sell, especially if it comes packaged up in a pant suit or a Prius.

*****

when we finally got to Wickenburg i was relieved to be out of the mountains, even though the temperatures had skyrocketed upwards after we left the mountain climate.  Wickenburg is a big horse town – Bear pointed out – where round-ups and rodeo stuff is a big draw for entertainment.  he would later drive us over to check out the corral where a lot of the action happens, and also by a decent looking Main Street with some cowboy shops and saloons that was strike me is pretty inviting.  but first we had to pay a visit to his friend, and he lived in a cookie-cutter condo complex that could be mistaken for any other in Arizona.  when we finally found the right door, Bear knocked on it and we waited.  it took a while, but then the door slowly opened, and we both took half a step back.

“The Angel of Death called,” boomed Big Bear finally, and in a joking but slightly uneasy voice. “And they want their hood back!”  he was obviously kidding around - but not by much.  in front of us his friend stood there, in his mid 80’s, gaunt and with a sallow complexion, un-showered and his gray hair a mess, all under a dark purple robe.  later on we’d both agree that if he’d been trying to do an impression of the Grim Reaper he couldn't have done a better job.

“Heh?” asked the old man, not getting or even properly hearing the joke.  Bear explained it to him a little, as he welcomed us in, and then we pulled a couple of chairs from the kitchen table over to face the couch so he could sit back down in his spot.  the fishing channel was on, and there was a small mountain of cigarettes built up in the bowl of the table next to him.

“have you been down to the club lately?” Bear asked, after some light pleasantries and a brief recap of our road trip.  the club was one of those American Legion social clubs where beers are a dollar or two for members, and he’d been a loyal member there for years.  “heh?” was the reply. then Bear repeated himself a little louder, and his friend said no, he hadn't been in about six months, and when asked why he said he just didn't feel like going.  he didn't feel like doing anything anymore, he said.  he just wasn't interested in it.  he had a sort of dull, blank stare to him whenever he gazed over the TV, and when an ad for the news came on i couldn’t help but empathize with him.

but Bear did his best to catch up him on things, and revisit old times so they could share a few stories.  and i guess the old man did his best too, but as we sat there it became pretty clear pretty quickly he was all too aware that his time for making any new ones was in the past.  there seemed to be a profound air of acceptance hanging in the air about the inevitable, and he was content with just sitting there with his cigarettes and his television while he waited for it, and didn't have much interest in anything else in the meantime.

after about 45 minutes we got up to leave, which i think was a relief for all of us.  Bear offered a sort of half apology as we drove off, noting that i really didn’t need to have been there of that, and then adding with a sigh that it was doubtless the last time he’d see his friend again.  but he was glad he’d stopped in for the visit, and on a surface level anyways our time there seemed to have had more of a hold on me than it did on him.  for a little while my mood went to a pretty desolate place, one that i’d thought i’d pretty well worked my way out of since my own recent loss. but then there i was, sitting across from this old man, with those familiar bony hands - except his were gently holding a cigarette while politely waiting for us to leave, rather than reaching out for mine one last time.

“he's lived a rich life,” said Big Bear as we made our way back to home.  and by the sounds of it, he very much had.  the man had been the top dog in the NYC broadcasting game back in the day, had a family, made a fortune, lost a fortune, suffered unspeakable tragedies but also had lived the high life that few of us will ever even know.  sounded like a very storied life – full of all the highs and lows that anyone could ever ask for or endure – and now he was sitting in a robe on a couch in a generic condo in the desert somewhere, just watching the clock go by, while people he’d never know caught largemouth bass on the television in front of him.

“it was a great trip,” said Bear as we pulled into the city from the highway.  “we packed a lot in to a short time.”  he was a difficult guy to stay in a glum mood around, and i agreed that it was hard to believe we’d only been gone one day.  he then went on to repeat about how much he loved the sites when you drive around out here – the long vistas, the mountains, the crazy rock formations.  i agreed with that too, and told him i was glad he could come to see it.  then we pulled down one of the roads, and came across our first patch of construction at the intersection.  there were pan handlers, of course, along the sides of each corner too.  “one on each side of the street,” he pointed out.

“i know,” I told him.  we’d come back to the tail end of another hot afternoon, with the sounds of traffic and jackhammers to surround us.  “i guess some things never change.”