My 7th trip to Pine Beach at Bon Secour NWR

First week this month was the first of two seven-day stretches I get this year with my kids; this is the first year we've had the 'vacation' weeks so we were excited to go someplace we all like.

Grandnan came with us this time. She had never gotten to go the beach with her grandchildren so she was excited, too. My original plan had been to camp at Gulf State Park Campground, like the kids and I did last April right after the Gulf Oil Spill.

Grandnan wavered when I told her the arrangements I had in mind, even though I was planning on taking one of those portable air conditioners for the tent so we could sleep at night.

A few days after that she was talking to a friend and next thing you know the woman ended up saying something about her condo in Orange Beach. Grandnan offered the upgrade from camping the condo and when she said the place was on the first floor by the pool I said OK. ;)

I drove the whole way down, we stopped at Burris Farms Market on Highway 59. I had never been and was amazed at the variety, and much if not most of what they had was from their own farm fields. We bought some Chilton County peaches, not without a sense of irony since we'd passed through Chilton County like, 160 or so miles ago. Grabbed a few other things to stick in the fridge at the condo and it was back on the road to Orange Beach.

Found the place, got the key and I toted all our stuff by hand or on my back the 20 or so yards to 'our' place. We went to the beach and played, came back, went out to eat and hit the beds not too long after getting back.

Next day was our trip the best beach I know about.

The kids remembered that there was going to be a 2-mile walk to get to the beach from the Pine Beach trailhead so they were ready. They also remembered what it very likely the most humongous live oak tree most people will ever see. Grandnan had never been, so as with every time I have had a first-timer along, I was proud to show them the best beach hardly anybody knows about.

It was about 93 degrees when we got there late morning. The hike was exactly as I remembered, and this time I had my 'big badass' Kelty backpack with me to hump just about all of the stuff we were bringing. I would guess it weighed 30? 40? pounds and had 10 liters of water, a bunch of our peaches and other fruit, a soft cooler packed with ice, a few can drinks, a folding umbrella, a few beach toys, my camera and miscellanea. I'd strapped it all on and instantly remembered why I had been so proud to get it as a gift 21 years ago.

There's a nice covered two-story covered viewpoint-pavilion-rest spot where the trail emerges from the scrubby freshwater marsh section, into the saltwater lagoon section. It was probably 98 or 99 degrees by then so we were proud to stop, drink some water, snack on produce, and rest. The big photo I posted here is of the nice new (to me) signage posted there telling about the refuge.

I think they built it in 2005 after Hurricane Ivan. (?) That part of the refuge got thumped hard by the storm then and you can still plenty of smacked-and-smashed timber along through there, although a bunch seemed well on its way to thorough rotting and disintegration.

Past Little Lagoon the trail--which is also used as access to one of the two pieces of private land inside the refuge--splits right, and the final stretch encounters its only 'hill'...which is also when you get to see what a sand dune must have looked like when the Spaniards came though there.

I can't imagine saying I would ever dislike climbing that dune. It was 30 feet high with a slight cut in it for the trail the first time I hiked it in 1996. This time it was more like 20 and the cut was about four times as wide as it was back then, courtesy of Ivan.

I could tell the wind had filled in it some more since I was there in 2010. But given the near-extreme heat and the fact we were carrying our stuff, I was more than happy to have less of a climb! haha

Once over the top, we saw another, considerably shorter dune another 50 or so yards ahead. It was placed there by Ivan's storm surge and has built up, been eroded and shifted a bit in the years since. I saw more vegetation on it than I remember seeing last year. It took just a few steps to get up and over it.

Then...was the massive, seemingly endless expanse of surf and sand for which we came. The kids dropped their stuff and took off and did everything kids do at the beach. Most of the people who read this will have to use imagination--or just take my word it--to really know the kind of beach of which I speak.

The kids took off, with nothing in their way: no one to step over, no other people playing in the surf, no beach furniture, no one to bother in the course of being kids, no one fishing, no one playing ball, no one partying, no one for us to have to watch around our kids, nothing for them to see in either direction but more beach; with waves, surf, wind, and their own yelling and laughing as the only noise.

I think we ended up staying there more than six hours.

Three of the seven trips I've taken to that beach I saw no one who did not come there with me. This was not one of those trips. But we only saw other humans twice the whole time.

Once, we spotted a cluster of contractors and their tractors there to continue the cleanup and remediation of the BP oil spill from last year. The tractors had rakes and bins which scooped and sifted through the sand about 30 yards from the surf. The rake rigs had wheeled bins which collected whatever they were sifting for--tarballs and other spill detritus, I guess. They took two breaks while we were out there.

The other time was when a park police officer rode by on his four-wheeler. It was around what I know to be quitting time for most federal employees who work dayshift and he seemed to have been putting along the surf line until it was time to get off. He stopped and talked to us, and seemed impressed we'd been willing to hike and bring all our stuff. I told him I liked it that most people won't come out there because it was the best beach in the world that I knew about.

I told him I'd found some tarballs but I'd had to look for them and they were little. He said most of what was left was quarter-to-half-dollar size and said the contractors were not finding that many of them any more. When he left he stopped down the beach where the contractors were and stopped and talked to them, too.

Awhile later we decided to pack up and leave, too. We took full advantage of each shaded bench along the trail, and were once again glad for the existence of the viewpoint/pavilion and its wonderfully effective roof complete with seating.

Back to Orange Beach and we rested...then made the most of our week at the beach.

What else...Oh there's three ways to get to this beach, all of them along Alabama Highway 180 (a.k.a. Fort Morgan Road) off Alabama Highway 59. Once you are driving west (toward Fort Morgan and the Dauphin Island Ferry)

You can:

Turn left when you see the sign for the Jeff Friend trail. It's not a far walk from the parking area to Little Lagoon. When you get there you will see houses to the east and the scrubby pine forest to the west. The Jeff Friend Trail takes visitors about a mile into the forest, where it becomes The Centennial Trail for more than a mile and links up with the Pine Beach trail. From there you can turn left and it's another 1.5 miles to Pine Beach.

OR

Turn left when you see the sign for the Pine Beach Trailhead. If you miss it, there is also a conventional little green street sign for Pine Beach Road. In a few seconds you will see what is likely the largest live oak you will ever see and it will be time to park. There has never been more than two other cars parked there, the times I have been.

OR

Turn left when you see another park sign at Mobile St. The road goes briefly through a swamp and there are signs warning people not to stop and mess with alligators. When you get the end of Mobile St. you can just park and pretty much step right onto the beach. To the west commercial and residential properties are visible; to the east is the beach I wrote about here. It's good for a 3 or 4 mile walk on empty beach if you and your party are game.

One of these years I might luck out and get to meet/befriend the people who own the house at the end of Pine Beach Road and have them unlock the gate for me...but until then, I have no problem with the hike. ;)

All Rob's chilluns like blueberries!

Hey, I'm just saying...and I like growing food in my yard, too...so it works out pretty groovy, if you ask me. Or even if ya don't ask! ;)

Valley of Fire Nevada State Park

Visited Valley Of Fire State park in Nevada in February with my girl as part of a drive west to Vegas for a weekend.

The trip to the park was organized by an online friend of mine. He drove and there was another carload of bloggers going, as he'd planned a few weeks before. The weather was cool, and it had just rained in the desert, but everything was a go for our day out.

It doesn't get much better for me, when it comes to having a good time: doing something I've never done, in a place I've never seen, with friends I just met.

I thought about the prehistoric people who used the place, looked around, and decided the place had changed very little in the time they were there, and the time a skinny guy from Alabama climbed on the rocks and took a bunch of photos. It was always as if the rocks and hard country were frozen in time.

There was a natural arch of stone, cut by the wind over millions of years. But it was posted with a sign saying, DO NOT CLIMB ROCK. Hmm bet they put that sign up because of a lawyer letter, I thought to myself, as I began climbing. My worn-out loafers had iffy footing in a couple places, so I lost them for the rest of the trip.

Yeah, yeah, attach whatever white trash stereotype you like...haha...the guy from Alabama not wearing shoes...but hey, the ancient people of the Valley of Fire, probably didn't wear them either!

Actually in the museum later I saw an Anasazi sandal...so much for that idea. It still felt good, walking around having fun and feeling the soft powdered dirt of the trail on my feet...plus passing tourists gawked at me! which of course was just a bonus, lol

Getting to Vegas: Phooey on you, I-22

That was the main thing on my mind going west to Vegas last Thursday morning...the unfinished Interstate has miles and miles open, but where you really need it (the ass sides of Memphis and Birmingham) it's still a shitload of red lights and slow packed lanes of traffic.

Soon enough my girl and I made it to Interstate 40. That was a lot better. As we pushed close to 12 hours on the road, we pulled off at a rest area in Arkansas. Which BTW has the most rest areas on I-40, one about every 50 miles.

My girl brought out from the cooler the shrimp alfredo pasta and veggies she had skeptically prepared and packed before we left. From the crusty reaches of mu military surplus collection I broke out a German Esbit stove, US Army trioxane bars, metal plates and got the flame going. One one of the metal plates it took about 4 minutes before the food was hot and as tasty when fresh...the fact that we whipped off the road and were eating a home-cooked meal 5 minutes later, instead of fast-food garbage, added a lot. Dessert was Cold Stone hot chocolate made with milk in a Swiss alpen "volcano" stove.

Right back onto the Interstate...the miles grew but I dared not look how much further it was. I had said I would drive all day and all night and let her take over at dawn, and that was what I did. I guess she stayed awake until midnight talking before nodding off, head on my right shoulder, rest of her curled up in the passenger seat of the Civic.

Albuquerque puts out colored beacons on the highway overpasses and the viaducts are color-coordinated with the pavement color and color of the embankments. Really. Almost etheral in the wee hours.

Deeper into New Mexico mountains I almost fucked up and let us run out of gas while I had The Rolling Stones Exile on Main St. playing and I got a little too into it. The low fuel light came on and I kept driving, looking. Finally with 350 miles on my 11-gallon tank of gas I saw a station. It was closed but the pumps were open to credit card customers. It took 10.87 gallons to fill up the tank.

I think we were eastern Arizona when sunrise became visible. I think. I let her drive and sort of slept with the seat laid all the way back. When I woke I did not feel as weary and addled as I expected and got back behind the wheel. It was a few more hours to Vegas.

Made it to The Riviera. The place is humongous but I did find some parking in an unattended deck which I may or may not have have had the privilege to use. Took a spot right next to a door and from there it let us cut into the hotel, eventually.

It took too fucking long to register at the Riviera. It was like the airport, without any plane tickets.

I told my girl the tower we stayed in was probably pretty fucking swank around the time she graduated high school (1987) but it was clean, well-kept, on the Strip and not expensive... just what we wanted for our stay. I could not help thinking what it would have been like to have had run of that hotel room in 1987, when I was 20, while she dolled herself up for Friday dinner.

She had already said it was years and years since she'd gotten to go anywhere without for 4 boys, even for one night, much less 4 days together on a road trip. I kept seeing her smile getting ready, and I was proud to be the guy who took her off to have some fun.

Walked down the Strip to the Bellagio...it was the most I've ever paid for a buffet but it was worth it: all the gourmet food upon which I could reasonably expect to gorge, and them some. Said hi to a few bloggers there, then me and my girl headed back out on the Strip. Mostly we did people-watching, a little gambling, and much admiration for my girl walking in the cold, in heels, looking hot and getting looks...it was a show I'd wanted to see.

The mix of people we saw walking the Strip, amazed me. Not in its diversity, so much as it seemed skewed to just a few types. Hot Asian women, often just 2 or 3 of them together, was a common sight. As were the college fraternity types hooting and hollering, literally...with the majority of people like us, just walking and seeing what we could see.

Back to the hotel room we went, then to the casino at our hotel. Drifted around inside the huge place for hours then made it back to our room, tired but excited to have one another to ourselves.

She got a text from a neighbor, saying her sons' car had a tail-light out, unaware she was very far out of town. She asked me what would be the best way to tell the boys to fix it, since she'd only said she was going out for the weekend, not to Vegas. I told her just to text, Fix your tailight, and nothing else, because they might think she'd seen their car on the road.

They bought it, asking, how do you know that?? with no reply from her except, Just fix it. Later when we got home, she told them we'd been to Vegas, and they did not believe her. All that time they'd thought we were lurking in town, watching them....LOL

It was with a grin we drifted off...I think. I barely put a dent in my fifth of Wild Turkey and she had a tiny nip of her vodka...we were just glad we'd made it to Vegas after 28 hours driving, to do what we wanted to do, by ourselves. And that is what we did...

McWane Center redux

Yeah, we'd been there once before, but that was awhile ago and it was time to take Griffin and Carlie there again.

The McWane Center http://www.mcwane.org/ 205-714-8300 is a great time for kids of all ages. It makes learning about science fun even if you don't know or don't care about learning science. It's in downtown Birmingham and is quite the deal on price, which those of you who take kids places will appreciate. The tab for me, the Spawn of Rob AND $5 for the parking deck was $22.

Shot some all-right photos while we were there.

Art back to life

FIRST OFF: I hate that I have no photos to show you when I talk about art. It's lame, I know. I would say to use your imagination, although I doubt that very many of you could do it enough to 'see' the art I want brought back to life.

Spent the afternoon with my son and daughter Tuesday. We went and played at the mall near where they live and made the most of the afternoon, as we always do every other Tuesday.

We got some food, played at the arcade, but mostly walked around and looked. My daughter stopped us at a part of the mall I'd never noticed before and stared at the storefront.

"I want to go look at that picture, daddy!" It was a painting, actually, but no matter. What my daughter wants when I am with her, she pretty much gets. So we went inside.

It was an art gallery. Mostly oil paintings and a few sculptures. All were by local artists and everything was for sale. It was completely original, and not all to my taste in art, but we looked at every last bit of it.

A 30-something woman walked up and asked what brought us there. I told her it was because my daughter asked to come in there. The woman was engaging and polite, and quietly told me about the place. Said she was always curious what brought folks in and that was why she asked me. I told her I liked what I'd seen and loved the way they had it displayed. She smiled and said if I saw anything else I liked, to just let her know.

It was around that time I noticed my kids were quiet and behaving, soaking the place in, the way I was. It had been years since I was in a real gallery, which was a nice memory. But something else happens when I get to look at art.

You see, my best friend in the world, Mark Howard, was an artist. He worked in oil paint and got to be quite prolific. His style was a blend of abstract and purely visual depictions of a variety of themes. But only at the very end of his life did he want his art shown and it was only then, did he ever entertain the notion of selling it.

Almost ten years ago, Mark died instantly beside me in my car when we were hit head-on. A few months before it happened, he had made a conscious effort to get his art seen. Even then, he was still self-conscious about the idea of painting for any other reason than feeling like he had to do it. More than once I heard him say that putting a price tag on his work was, "like slapping it in the face." Eventually enough of us told him his art needed to be seen, and he finally listened.

Later in our visit to the gallery Tuesday, a guy struck up a conversation with me about the place. He was its owner, and the husband of the woman who had spoken to me earlier. Like her, he asked what brought us there, and what we liked.

I told him about Mark. Told him as far as I knew, his relatives still have his huge oil paintings on canvas, stored away with nobody getting to see them. The guy said that was too bad, and said he was planning an art show festival throughout the mall in September. I took his business card and handbill, shook his hand, and told him I would be back.

After I dropped off my kids at their mother's house, I kept thinking about Mark's art and that gallery. When I got home 45 miles later, I sat down and emailed his widow about the place. I told her that for some time, I have been wanting to make high-quality photographs of his paintings so I could see them any time I want, and show them off to people I know.

It had been a while since we spoke so I wondered how long it would be until I heard back from her.

She wrote me back a couple of hours later. Said that was great timing! because she had spoken to someone about Mark's art that same day. Said she knew the gallery of which I spoke, and she loved it. Said Mark's 16-year-old son had expressed interest in showing some of his own work there.

She said yes, Mark's paintings are still around and no, no one gets to see them. Said Mark "would have hated that," and that she would be happy to arrange it so I could take the photos I want.

Unless you were kin to him, or knew him well, Mark's art is all you will ever have to get a sense of who he was. I feel like I should have made a move to get his art seen a long time ago, but then again...like his widow said...timing can be a funny thing.

I can't bring my friend back to life, which is a shame, because the world remains a less-interesting place without him in it. But I can help bring his art back to life.

He visits me in dreams once in a while. I wonder if the next time he does, he'll be laughing and shaking his head, saying, "Well shit, Rob, it's about time!! How long were you going to let my stuff stay put-up in daddy's barn?"

Pizza payback

I don't know that I've ever had to write a rant blog like this, bear with me.

Spend the early morning talking with guys I know who work for local law enforcement. I have known them for years and run into them around town a good bit but this time we spoke in their official capacity.

For the past couple of weeks at the pizza joint there has been this POS meth-head ordering food and paying with checks that he stole. He burned 5 of our drivers, including me, twice in the same day.

When somebody pays us with a stolen check we have to 'eat' the amount of the check. It comes out of our pockets. It's always been that way but it almost NEVER happens until recently with this one motherfucker.

It started when he wrote some checks that were stolen from a doctor. Got a buddy at work and then a new guy who just started. Then he got me with two checks he stole from his grandmother (with whom the waste of sperm and eggs lives) for a total of $110.

I had delivered to her house before when it was her ordering. I recognized the name and address on the check and that was why I took them both, thinking she had him order food when she was not home.

Then just yesterday, he hit another of our new guys with ANOTHER check he stole from a women who lives a few miles from his grandmother's house. Our store manager, God bless her, knows her job inside and out and knew she was going to catch big-time heat from the store owner over this fucker paying with stolen checks even though it comes out of the drivers' pockets.

After a while yesterday I said, Lisa, fuck this. I know some guys who can take care of this bastard. And called them.

I did not know the deputy who got sent out to take a report for me. But in calling the grandmother's house she told him who her grandson was and that she had no idea her checks were missing. The deputy told her what she needed to do, and when he hung up, told me he went to high school with the fucker who'd been stealing checks and burned us with them.

He had a photo of the guy on his iPhone. Yep, that's him, I said. Then I called the other burned drivers and they said the same thing. This morning we all went down to the cop shop, made the positive ID from the photo lineup, and each of us talked to the investigator in charge. It helped that I have been knowing the investigator for oh, 15 or so years.

He told me there are a total of three police agencies after the fucker, with possibly up to 15 separate charges.

He also told me he had dealt with this piece of shit thief before and the guy had always come clean when pressed. He said he was going to talk to him this afternoon and would keep me updated as the case progressed. But I could still go ahead and swear out a warrant on the fucker if I wanted to.

The word, 'to,' was not quite all the way out of his mouth before I asked where I needed to sign.

Depending on his it goes, stealing the checks will be a misdemeanor charge. (smack) So will forging then (another smack) The act of passing them to me and the other drivers is theft by deception, which will be a felony (SMACK!!!)

I know full well that I will never see my money from this fucker. If he does not confess I will have to go to court and relish telling my story for a judge. If my luck is in, one of the three judges in my county (all of whom I know personally) will be in a pissed-off judicial mood that day and see fit to make an example out of the thieving motherfucker. And even that scenario will take more of my time, which I will never get back.

But I still have been smiling all day, because it felt so very nice to set the wheels in motion for some pizza payback.