Category: Photo of the Month

The Long Way Home: Three Routes, One Corolla, and a Little Adventure Pictures of the Month: California Coastal Towns

“So when the day comes to settle down,
Who’s to blame if you’re not around?
You take the long way home,
Take the long way home.”—Supertramp
Vintage gas station repurposed as Makers Son venue in Los Alamos, California with rustic charm
Exploring Los Alamos: Makers Son Event Space in a Former Gas Station—The Makers Son, a vintage gas station in Los Alamos, California, now serves as a charming venue for weddings and events.

Like every good fairytale, the good times eventually come to an end. Too soon, we found ourselves facing that tedious drive home. But instead of a simple choice, we had three different ways to go—our own version of ‘The Three Little Piggies.’ Only this time, there were three little routes: the quick and efficient one, the scenic and leisurely one, and the ‘I don’t really want to go home’ route.

The Fast Way (All Freeway—All The Time)

The first little piggy is all about speed—no frills, no fuss. It’s I-5 or US 99 south to Bakersfield, then a quick jog over to I-40 through Barstow, cruising along Route 66 nostalgia until Kingman, and finally, the home stretch to Congress. There is not much scenery, but it’ll get you there faster than you can say. ‘Are we there yet?’ It’s our choice for days when the destination matters more than the journey. This is also our go-to route when we’re in a hurry or carrying precious cargo—like a couple of cases of wine. We can make this trip in about 14 hours, provided I make the necessary stops for Queen Anne’s bathroom breaks.

St. Teresa of Avila Church in Bodega, California, iconic landmark photographed by Ansel Adams
St. Teresa of Avila Church in Bodega, California—a spot where Ansel Adams stopped in 1953 when this drive was just a dirt road. Anytime I get within range of an Adams subject, I make it my mission to stop and capture my own take. Queen Anne was more than willing to tag along—Bodega was the filming site for Hitchcock’s The Birds, and she didn’t pass up the chance to channel her inner Tippi Hedren, posing dramatically on the schoolhouse steps nearby.

The Leisurely Way (Santa Paula Route)

The second little piggy prefers a scenic detour. This route winds down California’s Highway 101 through coastal towns and charming spots like San Luis Obispo, Santa Barbara, Santa Paula, and Fillmore. Fillmore holds a particular place for me—it’s where I take a moment to visit my sister’s grave, reminding me that every journey has meaning beyond the miles. And then, with a clearer head, we pick up the drive home.

From there, the road takes us through Los Angeles, where we must be mindful of our timing and stay as far away from downtown as possible. Even in the middle of the night, we expect traffic, but if we time it right—threading the freeways between morning and evening rush hours—we can glide through with minimal stop-and-go. Our preferred route through LA is the I-210, which runs along the base of the San Gabriel Mountains and offers a spectacular view…on the one day a year when they’re actually visible through the smog.”

Pico Wine Tasting and Restaurant in a historic general store building in Los Alamos, California
Pico Wine Shop and Restaurant in Los Alamos: A Culinary Landmark – Pico, a historic general store turned wine-tasting venue and restaurant in Los Alamos, California, offers a high-end culinary experience.

The “I Don’t Really Want to Go Home” Way

And then there’s the third little piggy, the route for when you’re in no rush. This path hugs the coast down the Pacific Coast Highway, SR1, taking the long, winding road past Big Sur, through postcard-perfect towns, and across landscapes that demand photo stops every few miles. It’s the scenic route to end all scenic routes—a journey for those who want to stretch the fairytale a little bit longer.

Once we reach San Luis Obispo, we merge onto the 101 until Ventura. From Oxnard to Santa Monica, we’re back on the PCH with plenty of chances to spot a pod of dolphins, a whale, or seals if we’re lucky and observant. Since we have all the time in the world, we make it a point to stop, walk all the piers, and grab a bite at a couple of seafood shacks along the way.

When it’s time to leave Santa Monica, we jump on I-10 straight into the city’s heart-stopping freeway traffic. But instead of fighting it, we go with the flow—windows down, wind in our faces, and Randy Newman’s ‘I Love L.A.‘ blaring on the stereo. For a moment, we’re part of the LA rhythm, dodging in and out of lanes with all the other dreamers. Eventually, US 60 guides us through Riverside and into the wide-open desert, where the road stretches out, and the only traffic is the tumbleweeds. If done correctly, we measure our progress in miles per week.

A Corolla with Attitude

The real surprise on this trip was discovering our trusty Corolla IM’s hidden ‘Sport’ mode button. I’ve dubbed it the ‘Gutless Wonder,’ but with Sport mode engaged, it gave me more spirit than expected. The button sharpened the transmission shifts and tightened the power steering, making each corner feel just right. For a moment, I almost felt like I was driving an old British sports car—minus the manual gearbox and with the comfort of roll-up windows and a top. And thanks to the IM’s independent rear suspension, it didn’t just handle the winding roads—it made them fun. Who knew our little econobox had it in her?

Rustic white barns in a scenic countryside landscape on the road from Sonoma to Calaveras, California
Historic White Barns: A Serene Stop Near Highway 101 – A pair of white barns along the scenic Sonoma to Calaveras route, capturing the rustic charm of California’s countryside.

Our Extended Fairytale Ending

Since it was still August and we weren’t in a hurry to get back to our cottage at the base of the Weaver Mountains, we opted for the middle route with a twist: four days, with overnight stops in places we’d never explored. Our usual all-day ‘Bataan March’ became a leisurely four-day journey of discovery, and—true to form—Anne and I conveniently planned our stops around California’s Central Coast wine regions. Now, we have at least four new destinations for future trips.

Each route home has its own quirks and charms, but this time, taking the scenic way back reminded me that the journey can be as memorable as the destination. Sometimes, the right choice isn’t the fastest or most convenient—it’s the one that lets you hold on to the experience just a little longer.

Till next time, keep your spirits high and your humor dry.
jw

BTW, 2024 Wall Calendar Orders are Open!

It’s that time of year again—calendar season! If you’d like to grab one of my personal wall calendars for 2024, now’s the time to let me know. The calendars are 8.5 x 10 inches, spiral-bound, and printed on high-quality card stock, perfect for showcasing a year’s worth of my favorite shots.

A heads-up on pricing: VistaPrint’s prices are always high initially, but they usually offer great discounts as the holidays approach. Last year, they dropped to around $11 plus shipping after Thanksgiving, but they could be as high as $20 if I go by their price list today. Whatever my printing and shipping costs are, that’s what I charge—no markup.

If you’re interested, please let me know by November 15. That way, I can organize everything, and we can take advantage of post-Thanksgiving sales! Delivery is usually at the beginning of December, so they make great stocking stuffers.

Where the Fog Refused to Roll: A Desert Rat’s Tale at Point Reyes Pictures of the Month - Point Reyes, California

White historical building with cupola at Pierce Point Ranch, Point Reyes, California
A Glimpse into History: The Schoolhouse at Point Reyes – A historical building at Pierce Point Ranch, Point Reyes, featuring a cupola that suggests it may have served as a schoolhouse in its heyday.

You might wonder why Queen Anne and I chose Point Reyes as our summer escape from the desert. The answer is simple: wasn’t it Mark Twain who famously quipped, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco?” Couple that with data I found from the Point Reyes lighthouse, which proudly claims to be the “foggiest and windiest place on the California coast,” and you’ve got a lure strong enough to reel in two desert rats like us faster than a piece of cheddar in a spring-trap.

Besides, I watched a Back Roads West YouTube video by Cliff and Ilene Bandringa last year that made Point Reyes look like a cool, misty oasis—a refreshing break from the sweltering Arizona sun. What could go wrong if we spent a week soaking in Frisco’s damp air without shelling out for those $300-a-night hotel rooms?

So, when the summer heat finally got to us, we stuffed Anne’s shoes, her mountain of books, and just enough room for my camera gear into her gutless little Corolla. Sure, it couldn’t pass a tumbleweed on the open highway, but with 35 miles to the gallon, who’s complaining? After all, we needed to save money for wine. And so, west we went, dreams of cool fog dancing in our heads.

White Dairy Buildings with Monterey Cypress at Pierce Point Ranch
A Quiet Moment: White Barns and Monterey Cypress at Pierce Point Ranch – Two white dairy buildings at Pierce Point Ranch, framed by the distinctive Monterey Cypress trees. A testament to the historical dairy farming era of Point Reyes.

Geology of Point Reyes

If you look at a map, Point Reyes juts out into the Pacific like an island tethered to the California coast—an island at dock. Geologically speaking, it nearly is an island, sitting on its own chunk of land on the Pacific Plate. The San Andreas Fault runs through Tomales Bay, separating Point Reyes from the mainland. It’s as if the Pacific and North American plates decided to part ways, leaving Point Reyes awkwardly perched on the edge.

The landscape here is a study in contrasts. The peninsula’s eastern side gently slopes up from the coast, eventually rising to a broad plateau that stretches across the western half. This plateau is a patchwork of windswept grasslands dotted with clusters of Monterey Cypres trees that stand out—gnarled, twisted, and pruned by the persistent winds that whip across the plateau. They seem to lean into the wind, shaped by years of relentless gusts that have carved their forms into something resilient and hauntingly beautiful. As you journey westward, the land meets the ocean in a dramatic drop-off, with cliffs that plunge into the Pacific, as though the land falls away into the sea.

Historically, the cool coastal climate and fertile soils made this plateau an ideal spot for dairy farming. In the late 1800s, families like the Pierce and McClure clans established sprawling dairy farms here. However, as with many land use stories, controversy followed. Over time, concerns about environmental degradation grew as the cattle impacted the fragile coastal ecosystem.

Eventually, the tide turned, and the land began to be reclaimed. Today, Point Reyes is home to a thriving Tule elk population, roaming freely across what was once pasture. The elk symbolizes the land’s restoration, while the weathered barns and ranch buildings, now abandoned, stand as silent reminders of a different era. But it wasn’t just the history that called me—the photos first made me drool.

Close-up of weathered upper windows on a rustic building at Pierce Point Ranch, Point Reyes, California
Weathered Wood and Windows: A Closer Look at Point Reyes’ Ranch Buildings – A close-up of the weathered wood and upper windows on an auxiliary building at Pierce Point Ranch showcasing the rustic charm and history of Point Reyes.

Pierce Point Dairy

As soon as I saw those weathered barns and fog-cloaked pastures, I could visualize myself working in the damp, misty air, capturing the kind of light Andrew Wyeth made famous in his iconic rural scenes of Maine. Photographing these barns and windswept trees with that soft, ethereal light seemed like the perfect opportunity to channel Wyeth’s muted tones and quiet beauty—not on canvas but through the lens.

Pierce Point Ranch is one of the oldest and most significant dairy farms on Point Reyes. Its weathered white barns are a testament to California’s agricultural past. Established by the Pierce family in the 1850s, the ranch was part of the Point Reyes dairy boom, when the cool coastal climate made this land perfect for dairy farming.

At its height, the ranch produced butter and cheese for San Francisco and beyond, shaping the region’s early economy. The Pierce family and others carved out a life here, managing their cattle amid some of California’s most stunning—yet harsh—landscapes.

But as time passed, so did the viability of dairy farming. Environmental concerns over the cattle’s impact on the land eventually led to the phasing out of ranching operations. Today, Pierce Point Ranch is preserved as part of Point Reyes National Seashore, a symbol of the area’s agricultural heritage. The ranch buildings remain their whitewashed walls standing in quiet contrast to the now-peaceful surroundings, save for the occasional Tule elk wandering nearby.

However, getting to the ranch is an adventure in itself. The road leading to Pierce Point is paved with just enough potholes to make you consider airing down the tires—something I usually reserve for off-roading with the Turd. It felt like I was off-roading on asphalt! As I carefully navigated each crater, I couldn’t help but think how this rugged drive suited the history of the place, where dairy farmers once worked the land in equally challenging conditions.

Close-up of a weathered door with a padlock, showing the rustic texture of a building at Pierce Point Ranch, Point Reyes, California
Rustic Charm in the Details: The Door of a Ranch Building at Pierce Point – A close-up of a weathered door with a padlock at Pierce Point Ranch, highlighting the rustic textures and historical wear of this Point Reyes building.

The Photographs

When we arrived at Pierce Point Ranch, I felt like I’d brought the brutally clear desert air. Not a single trace of fog was in sight. Standing in the crystal-clear air, we could see the fog banks hovering about three miles offshore as if they were paranoid of catching Valley Fever, our local desert respiratory disease unique to arid climates.

I envisioned working in the soft, diffused light made famous by Andrew Wyeth, but the fog had other ideas. It stayed away as if allergic to my presence. Faced with the harsh reality of bright sunlight and whitewashed buildings, I figured if I couldn’t be Wyeth, I’d channel my inner Pete Turner instead—leaning into the bright colors and sharp edges, capturing the contrast and crispness of the scene.

The ranch sprawled around me like a Hollywood set constructed by Cecil B. DeMille as my personal photography playground. I wandered around merrily, snapping away. The clear skies may not have given me the moody atmosphere I’d hoped for, but they offered a different kind of beauty—a bold, vibrant one. I was as happy as a kid at a drugstore soda fountain with a twenty-dollar bill to spend.

Wrap-up

Now, before we wrap things up, I’ve got to share a story my mother used to tell us about growing up on a farm in Kentucky. Believe it or not, one of her favorite things was feeling chicken and cow manure squishing between her toes. Aren’t you glad I left that part out of my story?

Thanks for coming along on our journey to Pierce Point Ranch—I hope you enjoyed the show! My website has larger versions of these photos [jw link]. They will remain online for three months before they are replaced or removed. Feel free to dive in and explore the details.

I’d love to hear from you! Do you have any thoughts about the photos, the story, or maybe some farm experiences of your own? Drop a comment—we enjoy hearing your stories and feedback. Be sure to return next month for our journey home—it’s bound to be just as exciting, if not a bit cleaner.

Keep your milk fresh and your cheddar sharp.
jw

BTW: As we began our journey south on the 101 early Sunday morning, the hilltops were shrouded in low clouds, and just before we crossed the San Mateo Bridge, I had to turn the windshield wipers on. The fog was that dense. I guess I finally got my foggy California experience after all. You bastards!

Natural Bridges: Beauty, Bears, and Backaches Picture of the Month - Natural Bridges National Monument

Eroded rock overhang with dark varnish stains in Natural Bridges National Monument
Ancient Waterway Overhang with Varnish Stains—Sedimentary layers and mineral stains highlight the geological history of this Natural Bridges formation.

I may not be the rugged outdoorsman that I appear to be. Until two years ago, Queen Anne’s and my camping world revolved around our little Casita trailer. We took it everywhere, from the Grand Canyon to Alaska. However, we had to part with it due to unforeseen circumstances and began using motels for our overnight trips.

As much as we enjoy watching The Big Bang Theory reruns in our motel room at night, it’s not the same as sitting around a campfire under the stars and eating Jimmyums. Recently, I decided that I would get back to basics on my next photo shoot—and the perfect opportunity was coming up.

Queen Anne’s Adventure

Anne’s sister Jane called about one of her bucket list items: a road trip to Utah’s Mighty-Five National Parks. Anne jumped at the chance to travel with her sister and even offered to drive. Their tour started for two weeks but got whittled down to a week by the time they left. While they were off ‘Thelma and Louise’-ing their way across the Beehive State, I decided to use that time to explore the Bears Ears National Monument near Blanding. After all, when we bought the Turd—my RAV4—I made sure there was room for me to stretch out in the back.

View of Owachomo Bridge from the canyon rim in Natural Bridges National Monument
Natural Beauty: Owachomo Bridge from Above- The delicate span of Owachomo Bridge is set against the rugged canyon landscape.

Preparation for the Trip

As I prepared for my adventure, I dug out the remains of our camping gear from the attic and added some kitchen items to augment them. Since I’d be alone, I bought a bunch of canned goods for food, reducing the need for an ice chest. I always heated them on my single-burner propane stove when I camped as a younger man. Besides, Cup-O-Noodles and coffee make for an easy, warm meal on those chilly mornings.

One thing I splurged on was a heavy-duty air mattress. I can no longer tolerate sleeping on a hard surface without a cushion. The one I bought from Amazon was designed to fit in the back of SUVs. It’s T-shaped and broad at the back doors, then narrows between the wheel wells. Another nice feature is that each side inflates independently—so I could pack my camp boxes on the deflated side while day traveling. Did I mention that it was guaranteed not to leak? Yeah, about that…

Once the girls got a head start, I carefully packed my new mattress, all of my photo gear, plenty of clean socks and undies, and the rest of my provisions into the Turd and set off on my 9-hour journey to Natural Bridges National Monument in Utah. On the road again—what could go wrong?

The Struggle

I arrived at the park after 4:00 p.m., so the campground was full. I expected that, but the BLM runs the Mani-La Sal forest, so throw-down camping is permitted, and I had ample time to find a good spot. Before long, I backed into a lovely level spot surrounded by Ponderosa pines beneath the towering red cliffs of Bears Ears.

The air had a damp-cool chill, so I put on the sweater I brought before setting up camp. Since I didn’t have a table, I used my sturdy camp box for one, which doubled as an ottoman after dinner. I stowed the rest of my boxes on the truck roof to keep them out of the dirt.

After emptying the back of the Turd, I unrolled my mattress and started inflating it using the portable pump that it came with. Before I began to inflate the passenger side, I looked closely at the sky and felt it would rain, so I moved the rest of my boxes back inside along the flaccid side of the bed. It cramped my bed space, but I’d be fine since I wasn’t planning on spooning with a bear.

Before dinner, I had time to wander and capture video clips of the red cliffs and trees in the sunset. Upon returning to camp, I prepared an Epicurean meal of warmed-over canned ravioli, a cup of peaches, and a cup of tapioca pudding. As the night grew late, I gathered my things and climbed into the back of the truck. Ah! The life of Reilly.

Outside was silence except for the trees rustling in the gentle breeze—a cowboy’s lullaby. The yellow moonlight was coming in the passenger side windows as I dozed off. I watched it a bit before snuggling into my sleeping bag as sleep crept over me.

The next thing I knew was feeling uncomfortable and opening my eyes to figure out the irritation. The moonlight was now at the back door, so hours must have passed. The mattress still had air, and the sleeping bag was warm. What’s nagging me? Then it hit me: as an old man with a prostate the size of a grapefruit, I had to pee. The one thing that I hadn’t taken into consideration. I needed to get up and out of the truck—NOW.

First, I untangled myself from the twisted sleeping bag and opened the zipper. I began feeling around for my boots, and as I tried to put them on, the laces were tight, so I had to fix that. Once I had them on my feet, I opened the door on my right. While grabbing the handle over it, I tried lifting my legs and pivoting them out the opening, but my right leg got caught in the useless seat belt harness. After freeing myself from the straps, I successfully extracted myself. As I slowly unrolled into a standing position, my back said, “Don’t ever do that again.” But it was not to be. Simone Biles would have been proud to pull off that gymnastics routine once, but I did it three more times that night—and my back seized up in protest.

View of Kachina Bridge from the canyon rim in Natural Bridges National Monument
Natural Splendor: Kachina Bridge from the Rim-Kachina Bridge’s grand arch spans the lush canyon below, offering a stunning contrast of colors.

Where’s My Towel?

I could barely walk when I got out of the truck the final time. Dawn lit the eastern sky, so I hobbled over to my chair and managed to put on a pot of water. As I sat and drank my instant coffee, I pondered my predicament. I had driven a long way and hadn’t snapped a single photo, but I certainly couldn’t spend another night injuring myself in the truck. Not until I can figure out a better method of extracting myself.

I threw in the towel. After my coffee, I started packing the truck, including the camp box that was now too heavy for me to move. I had to remove its contents, then drag the big empty box into the Turd, and finally repack it.

Play Through the Pain

After I had loaded the RAV4, I drove back to the park’s visitor center. It was closed, and I had the entire park to myself. I convinced myself that I could do some shooting even if it meant not hiking down into the canyons. So, as daylight broke, I raced another car from Texas from overlook to overlook, taking pictures. Where the hikes were level and short, I walked like Quasimodo, pulling myself on the handrails where I could.

Storm clouds gathering over Cedar Mesa Sandstone in Natural Bridges National Monument
Thunderstorm Approaching Cedar Mesa Sandstone in Utah – The interplay of storm clouds and Cedar Mesa Sandstone highlights the raw beauty of Natural Bridges.

Notes To Future Self

After I returned home and reviewed my images on the computer, I was happy to find they were publishable—I must have been on auto-pilot. They weren’t the ones I hoped to get, but that encouraged me to return soon. Even hiking in pain may have been beneficial. My back feels much better after a week of rest and light work. The constant low-level pain is there, but that’s how people my age know which of their body parts are still attached. I also conjured some strategery for the next trip—like providing a handy stash for my car keys, opening the tailgate with my remote, and then rolling over on my hands and knees and backing out that door. I’m also going to keep a pair of loafers in the Turd.

Thank you for joining us again this month. I hope you enjoyed my Utah horror story more than I did. As we customarily do, larger versions of my photos are available for you to examine on my website <Jim’s New Work> and on the pages that I created on Fine Art America <FAA Page>. They will be on display for three months before being rotated. Finally, Queen Anne and I can hardly wait to hear the ribbing you’ll give in the comment section. Please share your thoughts about the photos, camping, Utah, or travel horror stories. We love to hear from you.

Until then, keep your spirits high and your Ben Gay handy.
jw.

Gallup, New Mexico: The Heartbeat of Native American Culture Picture of the Month - Gallup, New Mexico

Arrowhead Lodge sign showcasing classic Route 66 Americana
The Retro Charm of The Arrowhead Lodge sign in Gallup—The sign features retro typography and design typical of historic Route 66.

Queen Anne and I recently traveled to Gallup, New Mexico, to film some b-roll footage of Route 66 across Arizona. We wanted to traverse the Grand Canyon State in a single day, so we spent the night in neighboring New Mexico to get those video clips and finish our latest Route 66 video. I’m excited to announce that the video has just been released on YouTube—be sure to check it out here.

Although we’ve driven through Gallup before, we decided to stick around and see what all the fuss was about. Spoiler alert: it’s more than just a pit stop for refueling the car and our caffeine levels. We discovered it’s much more than just a stop along the Mother Road. Gallup is a vibrant hub of Native American culture and history, and I think it would make an excellent topic for one of my monthly projects. I look forward to returning.

Founding and Early Development

Gallup, New Mexico, was established in 1881 as a headquarters for the southern transcontinental rail route by the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad, which later became part of the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad. The town was named after David L. Gallup, a paymaster for the railroad. When workers went to collect their pay, they would say they were “going to Gallup,” which led to the town’s name. Imagine that: a city named after a guy who handed out paychecks. If only my old boss had been so popular—’Jim’s Paycheck Town’ does have a certain ring, though.

Gallup's deserted motel sign, a relic of Route 66 history
Gallup’s Deserted Motel: A Sign of Times Gone By – An old motel sign in Gallup, New Mexico, capturing the essence of deserted Americana.

Strategic Location and Growth

Gallup’s strategic location at the crossroads of several major rail lines and highways contributed to its growth as a trade and transportation hub. It became an essential center for the coal, timber, and livestock industries, which fueled its economy in the early years. Rich mineral deposits in the region also attracted various settlers and businesses. Coal, timber, livestock—Gallup had it all! It was the Amazon Prime of the 19th century.

Gallup’s proximity to the Navajo, Zuni, and Hopi reservations made it a significant trading post for Native American crafts and goods. This connection to Native American culture has been a defining characteristic of Gallup, earning it the nickname “Indian Capital of the World.” This diverse cultural heritage is vital to the town’s identity and economy.

Historical Events

One of the most impactful events in Gallup’s history was its major stop on Route 66, the iconic highway connecting Chicago to Los Angeles. This brought a steady flow of travelers and tourists through the town, further boosting its economic and cultural significance. The El Rancho Hotel hosted so many Hollywood stars that I half expected to see John Wayne himself checking in at the front desk. I had my autograph book ready, just in case.

Today, Gallup is known for its vibrant downtown, cultural events such as the Gallup Inter-Tribal Indian Ceremonial, and its decadent array of murals and historical markers celebrating its diverse heritage. The town remains a vital link between various cultures and continues to honor its historical roots by preserving and celebrating its unique past.

Gallup’s Role in Preserving and Promoting Native American Culture:
Gallup, often called the “Indian Capital of the World,” is crucial in preserving and promoting Native American culture. The town’s proximity to Navajo, Zuni, and Hopi reservations makes it a central hub for Native American arts, crafts, and traditions. Gallup’s cultural landscape is rich with influences from these tribes, visible in the town’s art, architecture, and daily life.

Vintage Blue Spruce Lodge sign in Gallup, New Mexico on Route 66
Blue Spruce Lodge: Retro Signage in Gallup—The iconic Blue Spruce Lodge sign in Gallup, New Mexico, is a reminder of the town’s historic past.

The annual Gallup Inter-Tribal Indian Ceremonial is a significant event that showcases Native American traditions, including dances, parades, and crafts. This event attracts visitors from around the world and helps promote the cultural heritage of the local tribes. Additionally, Gallup is home to several museums and cultural centers celebrating Native American history and contributions, further solidifying its role as a cultural preservationist. The Gallup Inter-Tribal Indian Ceremonial is a bigger deal than Anne’s annual shoe sale pilgrimage—and trust me, that’s saying something.

I know that there are many more Gallup stories to be told, and since its elevation is higher than Phoenix’s, we may turn it into an escape in the following summer or two. If we pique your curiosity with this month’s Route 66 photos, I invite you to explore larger versions of this month’s images on my New Work portfolio and the detailed pieces I’ve posted on Fine Art America. These photos will be displayed there for three months before being rotated.

Good Eats

Vintage neon sign of Jerry's Cafe in Gallup
Neon Nights: Jerry’s Cafe Sign on Route 66 – Gallup’s Jerry’s Cafe is known for its delicious Mexican-American food and classic neon signage.

As is our custom, we checked Trip Advisor for a nice dinner place. As you’re all aware, that’s the only way I can get Her Majesty into the car—as a repayment for “Gallup! You want me to go to Gallup with you?” At the top of the list was Jerry’s Cafe. It’s located near the municipality buildings downtown, a few blocks south of the railroad tracks.

Jerry’s is a no-frills dive with linoleum floors, a small counter along the left wall, a half-dozen tables in the center, and as many booths lining the right wall. The fare is American and Mexican dishes, and don’t even think of wishing for a beer or Margarita because they don’t have a liquor license. Since the place is so tiny and located in the business district, there’s usually a long line of locals trying to get in.

When we drove into town, I immediately spotted several closed motels that I wanted to photograph in the evening light. I suggested to the Queen that we get an early dinner and shoot our way back to the motel afterward. “Whatever,” was her reply. “When we got to Jerry’s, I couldn’t believe our luck—no line at 4 PM! It was as if the stars had aligned, or more likely, everyone else was still at work.

So, the place is a dive; they don’t serve alcohol, and it’s crowded. I was in heaven. Anne, not so much. There must be a reason to eat here—the food. Mine was so good that I don’t even remember what Anne ordered. They offer specials that are variations of what we call in Arizona a Navajo Taco, but they called them Stuffed Sopaipillas. Mine was stuffed with guacamole, carnitas, and jalapenos—not those sissy jalapenos from Texas, Arizona, and California. This is New Mexico, and these were proper Hatch Jalapenos, which bite back. I knew I was in trouble when this came out of the kitchen. The Sopaipilla was bigger than my head, and its plate was barely big enough to contain it. It was a golden color with red and green chili smothering the top. Each bite contained a mouthful of cool guac, contrasting the zing of peppers and the crunchy bits of pork within the deep-fried tortilla. The other customers kept giggling and pointing at me because I kept making Homer Simpson noises, but I didn’t care. It was the best Chimichanga I’ve ever had, and I would happily embarrass myself again for another bite. This dish was good enough to change Gallup from a gas stop to a destination. I highly recommend it.

Suspended in Time: Adventures Beyond the Petrified Forest Picture of the Month - Petrified Forest National Park

Colorful petrified wood logs under a dramatic sky at Petrified Forest's Rainbow Room with the White Mountains on the horizon
Clouds Over Color: A Journey Through Time: The Petrified Forest’s Rainbow Room captivates with its rich hues of fossilized logs, set against a backdrop of the White Mountains and a dramatic sky.

We were parked on Blue Mesa in Petrified Forest National Park under a new moon when something strange happened. One moment, it was a quiet desert night—just me, Queen Anne snoozing in the truck, and a few restless coyotes yipping in the distance. The next second, everything went dead silent.

Then, as if the universe was playing a cosmic joke, the planets aligned in perfect alphabetical order across the sky. I didn’t even know that was possible. Maybe Jupiter bribed Mars to cut in line. Either way, it felt like the kind of thing that shouldn’t happen unless reality had a glitch.

And then, out of nowhere, a weird blue light appeared. It wasn’t headlights or a flashlight beam—this thing swirled like a dust devil but didn’t kick up dust. Instead, it glowed like the inside of a plasma ball at a science museum. Anne told me to stay in the truck. Naturally, I didn’t listen.

I edged closer. The light wasn’t just floating—it was a hole—a hole in the universe, a hole that swallowed the stars behind it. The sheer impossibility of its physics beckoned me closer yet filled me with an instinctual dread.

Retreating momentarily, I fetched a new tee shirt from our recent gift shop visit, wadded it into a makeshift projectile, and lobbed it at the spectral phenomenon. On contact, the light flared like a campfire doused in brandy, the tee shirt evaporating into a blaze of unknown physics. In its place, a window appeared—one that looked out onto another world.

Except it wasn’t another world. It was this world—just a couple hundred million years earlier.

Two vibrant red petrified logs in the middle of Petrified Forest National Park against a desert backdrop
Timeless Twins: Petrified Logs Standing Sentinel in Arizona’s Heartland—Red Remnants of Prehistory: Twin logs of petrified wood stand in stark contrast to the barren terrain of Petrified Forest’s central expanse.

The contrast was striking. Below me, the landscape stretched out at a significantly lower elevation, nowhere near the mile-high expanse of the modern Colorado Plateau. The sun blazed directly overhead, a stark reminder that this land had once been closer to the equator. What had been a blue-gray dust bowl moments ago was now lush and green—forests of towering Norfolk Island Pines lined the banks of a river fed by distant volcanoes.

A sense of awe welled inside me. I was witnessing the Triassic Period—the dawn of the dinosaurs. This was the initial deposition of what would one day become the Chinle Formation. I recalled from my readings that this geological stratum could reach staggering thicknesses of up to 1,000 feet, layering mud, volcanic ash, and silt into a colorful geological record. Each layer was a story in minerals left behind by cataclysmic floods—floods that had entombed trees, animals, and entire ecosystems in time.

I turned to tell Anne, but she was out cold—head propped against the window, breathing fogging up the glass with every snore. Occasionally, one got loud enough to jolt her awake, only for her to blink in confusion and drift right back off. The coyotes had gone silent, probably unnerved by the glowing vortex, but Anne’s snores carried on, oblivious to time travel unfolding just outside her window.

As I turned back to the portal, movement along the tree line caught my attention. A herd of dinosaurs grazed contentedly on the lush ferns, their stocky bodies covered in what looked like prehistoric leather armor. They had the build of a hippo, the tusks of a walrus, and the personality of a slightly confused cow. Upon later research (a.k.a. Wikipedia), I learned these were Placerias, some of the last big herbivores before the actual dinosaurs took over.

I watched in fascination—until I noticed two of them playing with an orange Frisbee. No, seriously. One scooped it up with his tusks and flung it across the meadow. The other caught it, twirled it, and then sent it flying back with an expert head flick—a prehistoric game of fetch.

That’s when I saw it. One of them was wearing my tee shirt.

Several large pieces of petrified wood clustered together in Petrified Forest's agate section
Agate Assembly: Petrified Logs in Nature’s Mosaic at Petrified Forest – Scattered Legacy: A cluster of petrified logs in the agate-rich grounds of Petrified Forest, each piece a fragment of prehistoric life frozen in time.

Reality teetered. Somehow, the vortex wasn’t just a window—it was a two-way door. My gift shop souvenir had traveled through time, and now, a pair of Placerias named (in my mind) Gonzo and Norm were engaged in a high-stakes game of Triassic Ultimate Frisbee.

Their game was a peculiar sight—half-fetch, half-soccer, with all the earnestness of Olympic competitors. It was a scene of sporting prowess that would have baffled even the most imaginative sports commentator. Amid my amusement and disbelief, a part of me couldn’t help but feel a touch envious of their uninhibited joy—a stark contrast to my usual self-deprecation and haplessness, which at that moment seemed confined to the sidelines of time.

It was a bizarre sight—part football scrimmage, part comedy routine. Norm, the bulkier of the two, lined up his shots while Gonzo made wild, dramatic leaps for the disc. The game might have gone on forever without a sudden, ominous shift in the air.

Dark clouds swelled over the distant volcanoes. A deep rumble rolled through the valley. The river that had seemed so tranquil moments ago was now choked with debris, swelling at an alarming rate. It wasn’t just a storm—it was a flood—a Triassic monsoon.

The realization hit me—this is how the fossils formed. This was the very moment when entire forests were buried, trees transformed into stone, and creatures like Gonzo and Norm were swallowed by history.

The Frisbee dropped. Gonzo and Norm turned, finally sensing the danger. They ran. Well, they tried to. Norm’s stubby legs churned in slow motion while Gonzo, the optimist, still attempted one last throw. The roar of the flood drowned out their squeals. Within seconds, a massive wave of mud and debris swallowed them whole.

The portal flickered. The colors blurred. And then, it was gone.

The coyotes started howling again. Anne stirred. “You ready to return to the motel?” she mumbled sleepily.

I nodded, glancing at the now-empty desert. The past was the past again.

Before leaving Holbrook the following day, we stopped at the park’s gift shop. I searched for a replacement T-shirt but found nothing. Then, as if on cue, the cashier said, “Funny thing—rangers found one like that near a dig site. It’s in lost and found. Want to see it?”

She handed me a stretched, dirt-crusted shirt—with a punctured orange Frisbee sitting underneath it.

I stared. I laughed. And I took it. Because sometimes, the universe has a way of letting you keep the souvenirs that really matter.

Deep erosional textures of the Chinle Formation seen from Blue Mesa walkway in Petrified Forest National Park
Blue Mesa’s Eroded Wonders: Textures of Time in Petrified Forest—Nature’s Sculpture: Blue Mesa’s eroded beauty unveils the Chinle Formation’s intricate textures, a testament to the relentless artistry of natural forces.

Thank you for joining me on this incredible Petrified Forest National Park journey. Suppose you’ve enjoyed this tale of prehistoric whimsy and modern-day mystery. In that case, I invite you to explore larger versions of this month’s images on my New Work Portfolio. These photos will be displayed there for three months before being rotated.

As the echoes of the ancient past slowly fade, let’s turn our gaze to a different historical exploration. Next month, join me for a night among the neon and nostalgia of Gallup’s abandoned motels. We’ll explore the haunting beauty of old motel signs, capturing the stories they whisper to the desert winds. Don’t miss this eerie yet visually captivating journey—subscribe now to get a reminder as soon as we go live.

Until then, keep exploring the layers of history around you, and perhaps you’ll discover your own story woven into the fabric of time.
jw