Merlin's Road Trip

New Paw Paths

2012-01-24T11:44:00.000-08:00

Time for the annual Sorting of the Maps. In case you missed Merlin’s disclosure of his secret road trip planning process, it involves tossing dog biscuits on maps. Merlin indicates the range and reach of travel by the order and speed of biscuits munched. This January’s biscuit toponymy tossing indicated an intriguing balance of new and familiar destinations.

Last year, Merlin trotted new trails from Barstow to Taos, adding several dozen new labyrinths to his collection.

This year starts close to home, exploring the local Pacific Coast, open spaces, and dog parks within a day’s drive. Merlin continues his Aqua Therapy, strengthening his gait in the underwater treadmill at the Animal Wellness Canter of Marin. In June, we’re installing an Art Labyrinth at the Marin Art Festival, compiling a map of Marin Country labyrinths. Maybe we’ll lead a Labyrinth Garden Walking Tour. Want to come labyrinth walkies with Merlin?

So, maps are sorted. Gung Hay Fat Choy! Happy Year of the Dragon. Red envelopes of hope, wealth, happiness, and dog biscuits for all. Happy new paw paths!

Solstice Bark

2011-12-22T12:22:00.000-08:00

Solstice Greetings on your road trip of life.
Wherever you travel this holiday season, may your journey be blessed with good roads and great company.

In the deep well of winter, a drop of hope illuminates the darkness.
Sun turns, light returns.

Winter Solstice Woofs!

Happy Dog Birthday Day

2011-11-08T21:54:00.000-08:00

Merlin turns 12 today. That’s a monumental birthday for a dog and Merlin got a jump start on the celebrations with a Road Trip to the American Southwest. He posed with the famous giant mittens in the Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park, at sunset, of course, for saturated photographic color. Our digital Kodachrome homage moment.

Happy Birthday Merlin, and many more healthy, happy, road tripping years! Merlin wishes you birthday treats, every day.

Blessing Merlin

2011-10-15T18:07:00.000-07:00

San Francisco celebrates its patron saint, Saint Francis of Assisi, with the Blessing of the Animals in Grace Cathedral. On the first Sunday in October all creatures great and small are invited to church. Reminiscent of medieval cathedrals where dogs roamed the back aisles and traveling pilgrims camped overnight with their livestock, the Feast of St. Francis services are peppered with barks and meows from amongst the pews. Animal murmurs mingle with prayers and merge with hymns. A few howls cheer the choir. All animals present are blessed and thanked for their loving companionship, and the entire assembly scampers to the courtyard for individual blessings and biscuits.
Being a seasoned labyrinth explorer, Merlin lingered in the cathedral, waiting for the space to clear so he could settle into the center of the magnificent Grace Labyrinth all by himself. Rainbow light poured from stained glass windows, bathing Merlin in St. Francis’ radiant blessing. Illuminated labyrinth, enlightened Merlin!

Thank you Merlin, for padding along life’s path with us. St Francis’ blessing on your precious paws, and to all creatures for companionship, courage, service, loyalty, innocence. May we be as wonderful for you, as you are for us. Many delicious blessings on your Path!

Dog Days of Summer Labyrinth Walk

2011-09-02T01:26:00.000-07:00

We came, we walked, we woofed.

Combining a TweepUp of local Marin Twitter pals with a dog play date, Merlin held court at the Fountain of Hope Labyrinth at the Lutheran Church of the Resurrection in Terra Linda. Pastor Lon filled the fountain with fresh water as resident King Charles Spaniel, Kingston, bounced about greeting his visitors.
Poncho brought Sally_K who brought Dolores, Marc, and Murphy; Hogarth sat in the olive grove shade with Cate; neighbors Nancy and Mike walked over with Mala and Boomer. Dixie sent Alembic and dog auntie Diane brought Ken_. We checked in on foursquare, scoring extra points for hanging with the mayors.

After the initial enthusiasm of a spontaneous pack party settled down, Cindy and Marty rang Tingshas inviting walkers to enter the labyrinth. Peace descended as dogs quietly accompanied their people along the path, stopping to greet each other and sniff carved pebbles offering words of hope nestled amongst the stones.

People calmed as dogs calmed. Serenity flowed around the circuits, radiating from the splashing fountain in the center. The labyrinth revealed one of its profound teachings: be present, and walk the path presented before you, one foot/paw step at a time.

Laberdogs jostled to pose in the center for the treat tossing photographer as tweep pals Pobutler, FunMaster, and BeanUpTheNoseTam texted virtual pats and biscuits.

Dog Days of Summer Labyrinth Walk Gallery

Sally_K posts Marin TweetUps so check out future events, with and without our four-footed companions. The outdoor Fountain of Hope Labyrinth is always open, and the church hosts 1st Tuesday Labyrinth Walks with music and are planning a special 9/11 observance.

The Fountain of Hope Labyrinth is one of Merlin’s favorite California labyrinths. He finds it especially refreshing. You can too. Come walk. Be of dog mind. Walk your path in life’s labyrinth with presence, curiosity, optimism. Sniff peace. Woof!

Easter Puppy

2011-04-22T13:08:00.000-07:00

Easter puppy parade!
Merlin dons bunny ears for our annual Saturday Before Easter Parade. For the last 42 years, the local Terra Linda Fire Department has led dozens of kids, dogs, and parents around the neighborhood while the Easter bunny sneaks in to lay eggs.
The parade start siren sets Merlin to howling as the kids roll out their festively decorated bicycles, tricycles, wagons, and scooters. The fire truck speeds along at 1/4 mph as kids squeal, dogs bark, and parents and grandparents click photos. After a stately promenade around the blocks, the parade returns to the start and kids line the sidewalks in front of their respective age group lawn, waiting for another fire siren signal to release them to pounce into the Easter egg hunt.

Merlin’s emergency response howling assistance has long been appreciated by pedestrians, drivers, and other hounds, and at last year’s Easter Parade, Fire Captain Eric MacAusland invited Merlin to hop up on the fire truck bumper with him. Merlin was thrilled! Everyone snapped their picture.

This Easter Sunday holds another special event with the dedication of our latest local Marin Labyrinth at Christ Presbyterian Church in Terra Linda. After service, we’ll gather to welcome the labyrinth and thank the many helping hands and paws that built it. During the frenzied kids’ egg hunt, everyone is invited to walk the new labyrinth to share hope and community.

Merlin’s sniffing out dog treat bunny eggs, practicing in his labyrinth for the arrival of spring surprises.

Easter puppy blessings of renewal and hope. Hoppy Easter,
Hoppy Spring,
Hoppy Life!

Hop, hop!
Woof!

Spring Labyrinth

2011-03-31T23:43:00.000-07:00

Labyrinths are blossoming in Marin and Merlin is right in the center of the latest. A few years ago, we sniffed out a likely location along a neighborhood footpath and with gentle persistence, and various committee meetings, the Christ Presbyterian Church Labyrinth was approved. Michelle Fouts heads the Labyrinth Task Force with Jerry Current as engineer. Joined by members of the congregation including scout troops, groundbreaking was in mid-January 2011. There's been steady Saturday progress.

My favorite 7-circuit Medieval Chartres style single pathway mirror design is the chosen pattern. The sequence of turns leading in are repeated on the way out, so we can use one color brick to the right on the way in, and a second color for the way out. We marked the pattern with string in the grass to show the potential of the space. After weeds and topsoil were moved and leveled, rock and sand made a bed for gopher wire and landscaping cloth. Severe storms in mid-March whipped up the cloth, tangling the spray painted pattern of fabric strips into twisted noodles against the back fence. We re-set the pattern, anchoring the cloth with handy boards and stumps. The wind and rain laughed at our efforts and ripped out the cloth again, so we returned armed with wheelbarrow loads of bricks and sorted the storm mess. My Labyrinth Intro photo presentation March 20 celebrated the Spring Equinox and invited walkers to send water prayers to Japan in a Global Healing Response. The big work parties this Saturday and next, April 2 & 9, will set the bricks and fill the path with sand, gravel and bark. The gardeners are gathering the surrounding landscaping and we're on track for an Easter dedication.

From the depth of winter darkness through early spring storms we build towards the hope of full spring and the promise of Easter. The labyrinth teaches hope. Like ripples from a pebble dropped in a still pond, the circuits of the labyrinth pattern radiate out from our hearts. Groundcloth glows with the painted pattern as we splash along the path. The bricks will anchor the pattern into permanence, bringing the labyrinth of our imagination into physical realty.

The ancient pattern of the labyrinth balances right and left, verbal and non-verbal, body and mind. Walking the pathway literally changes our point view as we turn left then right, then left again. Engaging the body in walking allows the mind freedom to soar, and the quiet voices of creativity and spirit are heard. Walking the labyrinth re-integrates our separate selves and we begin to re-member and re-claim our clear, whole self. Walking our individual path alone, we see that we are also walking the same path together. Mindfully placing every paw and footstep with careful awareness, we are invited to breath deep this precious moment of life.

Merlin is keen on labyrinths and likes walking with people who walk them. Dogs embody optimism, always ready for a walk, a biscuit, a road trip. Labyrinths, spring, dawn, dogs- holders of hope. Keep walking. Spring is walking to meet us.

Valentine Merlin

2011-02-14T11:09:00.000-08:00

Happy hearts to all. Merlin wishes all his pals a heartful Valentine's Day. Say yes. Hug somebody. Hug everybody. Dispense biscuits.

In the spirit of the original St. Valentine, embrace all who love, whomever they love.
St. Valentine was martyred for performing secret marriages for Roman soldiers when it was forbidden for army men to wed. Imprisoned, he wrote a love note to his jailor's blind daughter, who's sight was restored so she could read, From your Valentine. Let love open your eyes.

Celebrate love. Live your passion. Smell roses, eat chocolate (if you're a human), wag more. Embrace love, embrace life. Say YES.

Dog kisses all around.

Groundhog Dog Day

2011-02-02T00:01:00.000-08:00

Merlin sees his shadow!
Predicts no more winter anyway because he lives in Northern California’s sunny Marin County!

Every Groundhog Day Merlin trots expectantly to his local puppy park to observe rodent shadows. He's yet to meet a real groundhog, woodchuck, or marmot, the squirrel family mega members, but ears perked, nose to the ground, he hunts for local gophers. Creeping soundlessly across the sunny grass, Merlin’s shadow floats across potential gopher exits. Gentle, curious, patient, Merlin waits for little furry noses to pop up. Ears flicking, he herds his underground park pals around their tunnels. He could do this all day.

Punxsutawney Phil is the official Groundhog Day weather predicting groundhog. Every February 2nd for the last 125 years, Phil peeks out of his wintery hibernation in the Pennsylvania Wilds to see if spring is coming. According to legend, if the groundhog sees his shadow at sunrise, there will be 6 more weeks of winter. If he doesn't, early spring arrives. And, yes, of Punxsutawney Phil's 125 prognostications, he usually sees his shadow, predicting more winter. Sorry, Pennsylvania. The town of Punxsutawney celebrates all day either way, streaming live. Merlin joined in early by earning his Groundhog Day Foursquare Badge and you can too by shouting Groundhog anywhere in the world today. Details.

February 2nd is also Imbolc/ Candlemas/ Brigid's Day, half way between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. In the harsh heart of winter, we long for the steady strengthening sun. New life stirs in the thawing landscape. We wish you a frosty morning walk, free from shadows. Early spring sunshine. And badges!

Dog Star

2011-01-10T20:47:00.000-08:00

Shine bright, winter Sirius.
New year, new moon, new spark.
Merlin’s first labyrinth walk of 2011 was on First Tuesday at our local Fountain of Hope Labyrinth. Two weeks after the Winter Solstice full moon eclipse, a blazing brave sliver of new moon set with a pale sun. We sensed a deep stirring in the winter stillness, light and life returning to the world. Hope, a good word to carry on the path, placed deliberately with each step, purposeful intention for a superb new year.

As darkness thickens, bright Sirius, the Dog Star, rises in the gelid sky. Blazing blue-white in the frosty night, Sirius marks the watchful eye of the Great Dog, the constellation Canis Major. The brightest star dazzles the longest nights, reaching its highest point at midnight every New Year's Eve. Sirius, the Dog Star, our most faithful companion, watches over our night wanderings and dreams.

The eighth brightest star, Procyon, rises an hour before Sirius, in the heart of Canis Minor, the Smaller Dog. Procyon and Sirius join ninth brightest Betelgeuse to form the Winter Triangle. Red Betelgeuse marks a shoulder of Orion the Hunter, trekking across the winter sky with his two dogs. Sirius and Procyon are both binary stars with white dwarf pups, so the canine stars are really little packs of multiple stars, herding each other through our night, across all time.

Back home, our dog star, Merlin, guides terrestrial journeys with his January road trip readiness ritual, the Sorting of the Maps, selecting biscuits tossed onto maps to indicate this year’s destinations. Last fall we spent 2 weeks in southern Utah sniffing out petroglyphs, and returning along Nevada’s Extraterrestrial Highway. The 100°+ temperatures made it a bit difficult to remember what we discovered, but fortunately the chauffeurs took photos and will post soon. Promise. Sort photos. Write more. Wasn’t that last year’s resolution? Isn’t that every year’s resolution?

Dogs don’t make new years resolutions. They already live as best they can. In the present. Guarding, guiding, illuminating our darkness. All wow, and let’s go! Now, now, now. Yes, yes, yes!

So, follow your star, dog. Shine bright, all dog stars, with spirit and strong heart. And a bark out to all the Pet Blogger Challengers today. Ad Astra, Sparky.

New Year’s Eve Eve

2010-12-30T17:21:00.000-08:00

Delve deep into the dark
Retrieve your spark of greatness
Shine brilliantly
All year.

Solstice Eclipse

2010-12-20T22:10:00.000-08:00

Darkness on darkness.
Full lunar eclipse on Winter Solstice.
Blind in the blackness, reach for the precious spark of life, poised at the edge of being extinguished.
Retrieve renewal.
Life stirs towards light.

Aqua Dog

2010-11-29T21:55:00.000-08:00

Hydrotherapy for dogs has arrived in Marin. Merlin’s vet, Dr. Michelle Rose at the Animal Wellness Center of Marin, invited Merlin to experience their new underwater treadmill. Merlin’s been struggling with a bit of back leg weakness so a walk in a warm water tank sounded delightfully buoyant.

I first heard about veterinary hydrotherapy after a California horse was injured in the 1996 Belmont Stakes. Cavonnier had lost the Kentucky Derby by a nose (the closest finish in four decades), and the subsequent tendon injury was a disastrous career ender. Instead of putting him out to pasture, his Santa Rosa owners invested in an experimental underwater treadmill. Cavonnier recovered and won again two years later, making veterinary horse history. The rest of the high stakes horse trainers stopped laughing at California and started secretly fitting horse ramps into pools.

Merlin enjoys racing around in wet sand at the beach, but declines to swim. Paws always touching the bottom, water adds splashy fun. The vet’s warm water treadmill promised a low-impact workout, without a car full of sand. It’s discouraging to exercise when one is ailing or in pain, so taking weight off weak joints sounded like a grand idea. Merlin trotted into the physical therapy room and inspected the giant fish tank. He walked up the ramp, Dr. Rose closed the glass gate, and we reassured him over the open top as water flowed in the bottom. He looked a tad concerned when the water covered his belly, supporting 40% of his weight. “Walk!" we suggest as the treadmill started and he glided backwards. He gave us his this is really weird look and moved forward, raising each paw extra high, swim-walking. "He’s so clever," Dr. Rose said. We agreed.

Merlin was pleased to be having a bath with dry ears and without shampoo. After a few steps, his walking confidence soared because he couldn’t stumble. His joy was contagious. With a few breaks for rest and treats, Merlin completed three runs of increasing speed, trotting merrily in slow motion. He barked happily as the water drained and pranced wetly about, playing towel tag.

The Hydro Physio underwater treadmill is from England, an exciting addition to our vet’s commitment to animal well-being. Merlin needs to build muscle mass in his back legs but other dogs use it for post-op recovery, agility training, or weight loss. There’s life jacket vests for skittish dogs and frozen peanut butter or squeaky toys for motivation. Trainers bring Guide Dogs, young dogs, lazy dogs, hyper dogs, and post-op dogs. Water walking gives quite a workout, ramping up to 5 mph. Surgery patients can start 2 weeks after operations to foster recovery and get off drugs quicker. Dr. Rose is going to start her own blog with patient success stories. Merlin’s waiting for the first cat volunteer.

Along with hydrotherapy, Merlin is continuing his home cone course and sit-stands to improve strength, flexibility, and range of motion. The tank workout immediately improved proprioception and vitality. Maybe it’s the novelty, or the center of attention effect. Merlin’s other chauffeur suggests it’s the British love of dogs that transmits through this marvelous, futuristic contraption. I know it’s Dr. Rose’s healing presence.

Merlin now looks forward to vet visits. Water walking! Here comes Aqua Dog!

Clean Water for All

2010-10-15T20:12:00.000-07:00

Blog Action Day 2010: WATER. Bloggers around the world write today in global conversation to spark discussion and drive collective change. Water is life. Our planet glows a soft liquid blue in the dark star field of space. Merlin's latest Road Trip was two weeks around the 100° deserts of southern Utah so we're especially appreciative of clean, clear, cool water from our local dog-friendly drinking fountains.

We are thinking of our Minnesotan friends, Jill and Tim Geoffrion, who have just flown to Rwanda and the Congo. Africa makes one keenly aware of water issues. Tim teaches ministers, Jill installs labyrinths. Together they instruct, inspire, and create space for spirit led leadership through their Faith, Hope & Love Global Ministries. I mentor Jill on her location photography, and she is generating some magnificent photos in some very difficult situations.

So, enjoy a glass of clean, clear water today. Sip with deep awareness.
Connect.
Witness.
Commit.
Speak.
Act.
Write, make art.

Merlin’s Fleet Week

2010-10-10T15:10:00.000-07:00

Blue Angels roar overhead, thin specks of blue fire spiraling white smoke splitting clear blue sky. The F/A-18 Hornet delta pattern morphs into a diamond formation, bright yellow wing tips separated by 18 inches, at 400 mph. Knife edge passes and 360 rolls keep the earthbound crowds cheering, gasping, and screaming with the afterburners.

For a few moments we all soar high and hang in sunlight silence in the untrespassed sanctity of space. Floating beyond terrestrial form, we could, with WWII pilot, John Gillespie Magee, Jr., Put out our hand, and touch the face of God.

Merlin usually watches the October Air Show from the Marin Headlands where it is a bit less ground-shaking terrifyingly loud. A few years ago the US Navy Blue Angel Boss team leader was also named Merlin. Our telephoto lens tracked plane #1, Aussie dog Merlin barking for Captain Merlin. Smoke on! Ready BREAK! The sparkling echelon salutes center point, converging on show line at a combined 1,000 mph. We hold our breath, then explode with approval. Human and machine defying gravity, denying death another day.

My dad was in the Air Force and Fleet Week San Francisco is our annual local celebration of American services' dedication to precision, excellent, and preparedness. Thank you for responding and protecting. Be safe.

Merlin’s Marin Labyrinth Tour

2010-08-31T23:56:00.000-07:00

Merlin has a special place in his heart for British ladies. They are the best Dog People, clever and quick with the treats. So when we heard an English accent at the the Grace Cathedral labyrinths, we introduced ourselves. Turns out, we were all in San Francisco for an urban pilgrimage weekend and when our new friend Felicity asked about local labyrinths, Merlin suggested a local labyrinth road trip. So,the next day we collected her at the Sausalito ferry and drove out into the Tiburon peninsula fog.

First labyrinth: Community Congregational Church, Tiburon. Our good friend and labyrinth facilitator extraordinaire, Anna Cook, was the creative force behind the new labyrinth installation of cement and packed sand. Sonoma labyrinth gal pal, Lea Goode-Harris, consulted. If you're tall, you can just see the Golden Gate Bridge peeking over the shrubbery. The site held an Amiens pattern of flagstone and thyme that was a fragrant delight to walk with each herb crunching step. The new labyrinth is settling in nicely, awaiting its public dedication celebration Autumn Equinox Saturday, Sept 18, 10am. Merlin's chauffeurs have hung fine art photography of sacred places in the CCC gallery, presented pilgrimage travelogues, and played original compositions on their grand piano for labyrinth walks. The annual Winter Solstice candlelit walk is a Merlin family tradition.

Second and third labyrinth: San Francisco Theological Seminary in San Anselmo. Geneva Terrace presents a marvelous seven circuit medieval cross labyrinth aligned to Mount Tamalpias. A classical pattern of white brick is sunk into the retreat center yard. Merlin appreciates the cooling grass of the Spirit Walk Labyrinth, the walking path connected in the English village green style to the surrounding lawn, Ariadne's unbroken thread of contemplation and living relationship.

After a lively lunch we continue north to San Rafael. Fourth labyrinth: Church of the Redeemer. This full size Chartres pattern in brick, gravel, and sand was created last fall. Nestled into the open space next to the church on ancient Miwok Indian land, the labyrinth entrance connects to the public sidewalk, inviting neighbors to stroll through. Friendly and open, the space welcomes lingering.

Fifth labyrinth: Lutheran Church of the Resurrection. A few blocks from Merlin's home, this outdoor Chartres pattern in rope features a refreshing fountain in the center. Merlin's interns did a photo shoot here last summer. The church hosts First Tuesdays Labyrinth Walks every month on their indoor canvas, a seven circuit design by Robert Ferre. See you there?

Last labyrinth: home. Merlin's favorite labyrinth is the double spiral mounded earthwork in his own backyard garden. He trots along the paths every day, brushing rosemary bushes and ducking under lavender. The main feature in Merlin's private agility course, he’s swift to show off for visitors, pointing out the location of the doggie biscuit reward box. Afternoon tea and fresh scones for all.

Six Marin labyrinths in one delightful day. Thanks Felicity. Merlin enjoys playing local labyrinth tour guide host. Keep walking!

Merlinmobile: 48 miles.
Labyrinth walkers: 1/3 mile x 6 labyrinths x 3 people = 6 miles.
Plus Merlin = infinity and beyond!

Art Walkies

2010-06-27T20:31:00.000-07:00

Summer Art Festivals beckon. Merlin looks forward to art walkies walkabout. After the spring Classic cars drive away, the streets in front of Mission San Rafael are resurfaced for the Italian Street Painting Festival. Sponsored by Youth in Arts, our local event attracts world class madonnari, chalk drawing artists. Masters willingly work alongside local artists and students for two days in the hot sun to create 200 vibrant street murals. Thousands of spectators mingle in the street, watching designs take form as the madonnari apply chalk and blend color with hands, cloth, sponges, and tools from their indoor studios.

We hunt for art pals Mark Wagner, Clayton Thiel, and Joel Yau. Mark, his dog Mr. Z, and 5,678 school kids hold the official Guinness World Record for the largest chalk drawing, 90,000 square feet of imaginative image on the old Alameda Naval Air Base. Mark's mission is to re-enchant the world through art, cultivating creative collaboration to open hearts, awaken senses, build community.

By the end of Sunday afternoon, hot, tired, chalk covered artists remove the boundary tape and step back to appreciate the free flowing gallery of expression and vibrancy. Merlin sneaks in after hours to look for depictions of dogs. He spotted a cow, by Art Works Downtown volunteer, Allison Snopek. and declared it his favorite. We tweeted.

Our favorite summer outdoor art event is the Marin Art Festival. Located at Frank Lloyd Wright designed Marin Civic Center lagoon, 250 fine artists inhabit white tents in a spectacular setting 15 minutes north of the Golden Gate Bridge. Flags flutter over airy art booths dotting the lush green lawn around dance and music stages. Costumed performers greet guests as they engage with artists. Merlin presents his own on-going performance art piece, Gopher Discovery, to the delight and amusement of all. This year's Marin Master Artist is our art friend Phyllis Thelen, who's imaginative sculpture of vessels, habitats, and creatures transform natural materials like bark into profound containers of journey, safety, and home. Phyllis was the main force behind the creation of Art Works Downtown, where Merlin greets visitors to the Pavlinac studio and cleans up after receptions. Cindy photographs artwork for artists and has documented Phyllis' work for over 10 years, featuring her voyage vessels in the Marin Arts Council's Artist Dialogue Magazine when she was Editor-in-Chief, in the last century. Phyllis is indeed a master artist, residing in the process, embracing the journey. Merlin appreciated her bark fish.

Stilted Steampunk birds wobbled along artist alleys as Merlin found shaded refuge with wild animal artist Marne Jaye. Her vibrant oil paintings are some of the most exciting work at any festival and Merlin treated his chauffeur to one of her new canteens. Look for us sipping from the electric turquoise, dark gold ribboned zebra water bottle. Merlin is enticed by the enchanting music of Aryeh Frankfurter’s nyckelharpa to plop down in the thick grass and settle in for a gentle recital in the sun. Celtic motifs flowed over and around us in a well-tempered aria of memory, myth, and magic.

We awoke to a gopher staring at us, daring Merlin to pounce. He followed its tunneling sounds to a herd of giant metal animals by the lagoon. On safari from Santa Fe, the kinetic steel sculptures of Fredrick Prescott form colorful creatures that nod in the breeze. Merlin's favorite? The cow!

Art stimulates, enriches, integrates, invigorates, entices, excites, energizes.

Art nourishes our soul, relaxes our minds, opens possibilities.

Art does indeed re-enchant the world.

Some of the best road trips are close to home. Merlin delights in finding old friends in new settings. And we all treasure visiting with our artist pals, basking in tender melodies, discovering new delights, sharing creative expression, traveling in our imaginations to wondrous locations, and finding COWS!

Merlin Rides

2010-06-13T23:59:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, the road trip comes to Merlin. Every spring classic cars roll into San Rafael for auto events and admiration. Merlin sniffed out a Model T that drove the Great Race across the Bonneville Speed Flats, several futurama Rocket 88s, a pristine El Dorado, and an intriguing Delorean. The longest running street car show in Northern California, May Madness draws hundreds of vintage rides for a Fourth Street cruise. Merlin supervises from his usual perch on the curb in front of Art Works Downtown, home of the Pavlinac Photo studio and 2nd Friday Art Walks/Cheese Receptions. This year everyone in the afternoon cruising parade pointed and clicked as they drove past Merlin. He smiled politely at his admirers, dwarfed by a giant Iron Horse vehicle taking up two parking spaces in front of the art center. Created out of recycled car parts by Scottie Collinson, it is a Burning Man Art Car and a pun; the horseless carriage horse-shaped vehicle.

A sporty race car zipped in right before the parade to squeeze behind the Iron Horse. Merlin approved of the open air maximum wind-in-your-ears styling, but decided the seat was too buckety for a proper road trip. Cougars, Impalas, Mustangs, Vipers, Roadrunners, and Coyotes rolled past, honking and laughing. And snapping photos with cameras, video, and phones of Merlin, and the giant horseless carriage horse and sporty roadster.

The following weekend the Marin Sonoma Concours d'Elegance gathered several hundred classy classics in fog shrouded Mill Valley at 7am on Saturday morning for The Drive. Porches had their own route over Mount Tam while the pre-1978s roared along the Hwy 1 Pacific coast. Merlin zipped up the freeway to head them off and after a bit of a delay in Petaluma's annual Salute to American Graffiti, we arrived in position for photos as they drove past. Everyone was amused as they began to recognize the big, red, non vintage, but still classic Saturn Merlinmobile. We all rendezvoused on a private ranch/air strip/boat launch for catered lunch and lavish auto mutual appreciation.

Sunday found us on the Concours green with historic autos, hot rods, more Porches, and vintage delivery trucks. Merlin especially enjoyed the Good Humor Ice Cream Truck sign inviting dogs to run off with ice cream bars. Merlin's chauffeur drooled over the lime sorbet 1954 Kaiser Darrin Roadster, built in Michigan, which won a Best in Class Award. Janis Joplin's psychedelic 1965 Porsche was surrounded all day by enthusiastic reminiscers. Merlin's too young to remember the Summer of Love but he experiences the delight of driving freedom, the open road, the journey, his own trippy road trip.

What's your favorite ride for your road trip? Merlin hops into his mighty Merlinmobile, where his dog blankets cushion the entire back seat and the windows wind all the way down.
Dogs remind us to pay attention to the journey, nose to the wind, ears swept back, blissfully drinking in life, full each moment. Enjoy!

The Drive: 150 miles
The Cars: Just over a Century.

Merlin Meanders World Labyrinth Day

2010-04-30T00:46:00.000-07:00

May 1st is World Labyrinth Day. Everyone is invited to locate a labyrinth to walk at 1:00 pm, local time. We will Walk as One at 1, creating a wave of meandering paws and peds rolling around the globe.

Merlin has meandered labyrinths from San Fransico’s Lands End to Mount Shasta to Detroit, and trots his personal backyard garden double spiral everyday, when he’s not away on a road trip. For last year’s World Labyrinth Day, we walked our labyrinth for an hour, inhaling rosemary and lavender, carrying wild flowers and prayer flags, holding thoughts of personal and world peace as we wove through the garden along the gentle sine wave circuit of Merlin’s Labyrinth. We could almost sense others waking their labyrinths at the same time all along the West Coast. Hundreds of labyrinths are participating this year, including Grace Cathedral. The Labyrinth Society lists resources, and you can find a labyrinth near you with the World-Wide Labyrinth Locator. Check our pal Meryl Ann Butler’s OpEdNews article for more WLD info.

This year the Marin Arts Open will be the first two weekends in May and Merlin will be greeting visitors to the Art Works Downtown studios. Merlin chauffeur Cindy Pavlinac has tidied her studio and printed new work of Marin road trip views. CampingRoadTrip recently interviewed Merlin about his adventures as a road tripping dog, and you can read his responses here.

Back-up chauffeur, Martin Gregory, entertains in the Art Works gallery Sunday, May 2nd, 1-3pm. His keyboard music magic will feature Merlin’s Lullaby, from an upcoming album, Celtic themes from Bishop’s Palace, Labyrinth melodies from Labyrinth Walk, and rhythmic selections from the film score Dancing with Gaia.

Along with Merlin, 37 artists at the Art Works Downtown Art Center will open their studios to show new work, demonstrate artistic talents, and entertain questions from technique to equipment. Organized by the Marin Arts Council, 315 artists throughout the county open their studios both weekends this year.

The 2nd Saturday, May 8th, is an extra exciting day in downtown San Rafael with May Madness, the longest running classic car street show in Northern California. Merlin has his eye on a red convertible Mustang and will be sitting on the curb for the 5 pm cruise parade. The Pavlinac Photography studio has fresh photos of fabulous classic cars.

May first is the ancient Celtic holiday of Beltane, spring at its height, celebrated with garlands of flowers and dancing around may poles. It’s also Merlin’s chauffeurs’ anniversary. So passion and puppy kisses all around. Adorn yourself and everyone you love with colorful ribbons and fresh flowers. We wish you classic cars, fine art, and a wondrous World Labyrinth Day meander, wherever you walk. Ah, Spring!

Furry Pharaoh

2010-03-28T23:06:00.000-07:00

Merlin likes to meet others with legendary mono-monikers, mononymous persons known by a single name, like Snoopy. When he heard Tut was visiting San Francisco, he requested an audience. Furry Pharaoh King Mutt meets King Tut.

King Tutankhamun held court in the DeYoung Museum in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. Regrettably for Merlin, all the interesting artifacts were sealed in sniff-resistant glass cases, so he opted to wait outside in the gardens. I’d met Tut in Chicago in 1977 and in Cairo in 1978, and dreamed of golden garages, mummy curses, and Boris Karloff. It comes to life! Fate had rewarded archaeologist Howard Carter for following his dreams to the Valley of the Kings to discover the tomb of Tutankhamun in 1922. Carter had spent his life illustrating hieroglyphs and painting watercolors of Egyptian ruins for tourists, while searching for concealed tombs. The present Tutankhamun exhibit offers splendid artifacts that are unique and astounding in their very existence and survival. Spectacularly stunning.

San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park was created in the 1860s out of Pacific Ocean sand dunes, a west coast Central Park. Now one of the world’s largest and most popular urban parks, it is one of Merlin’s favorite local sniffing destinations. Behind the DeYoung Museum is Stow Lake. Built in 1893, it is one of the San Francisco city reservoirs linked to dedicated high pressure fire hydrants, created after the 1906 earthquake unleashed fires that burned for four days, ruining the city. An island in the middle of the lake has its own waterfall and a lovely Chinese Pavilion. It also appears to be a squirrel sanctuary, and Merlin went bonkers trying to intimidate dozens of fearless rodents. His favorite Golden Gate Park sniffing spot is the 1899 bison paddock with its particularly intriguing herd of huge shaggy brown cattle.

The 1903 North Windmill stands sentinel over Queen Wilhelmina’s Tulip Garden as we exit the park and cross the Great Highway to the ocean. Merlin scampers down the beach to yip at the surf as the sun sets. He says hello to artist Jim Denevan, who is doing what he usually does, drawing patterns in the sand with a rake. Really big patterns. We enjoyed walking Jim’s low tide sand spiral several years ago. Tonight’s creation is an optical box series.

From 3,334 year old golden grave goods to earth art made moments before, we walk from the long dead to the present lively living. Art endures, abounds, enriches, elevates, and endures across millennia to inspire new expression and connect us with our shared history and inherited culture. Go art!

To be sporting, Merlin translated his name in hieroglyphs. You can too.

Merlin Maps

2010-01-22T12:00:00.000-08:00

As 2009 disappears in the rear view mirror, we greet a new decade with enthusiasm. New road trips, new vistas, new delights!

Merlin’s favorite January road trip readiness ritual is the annual Sorting of the Maps. We gather all the maps from their hidey-holes to judge each on their updatedness and keepability. Yes, we use Tom-Tom and iPhone navigation for actual driving, but there’s no substitute for a wide open paper map for spontaneous inspiration. Plus, we get to use decommissioned maps for wrapping paper and chewing practice.

Toponymy, the study of place names, is a fabulous way to inspire road trip way points. Random generation of places can beget intriguing itineraries. We practice dog biscuit toponymy tossing for synchronistic spontaneous selection.

Let’s begin with a map of Northern California. Tossed dog biscuits land on Whiskeytown, Happy Camp, Mad River, Lava Beds, Alturus, Paradise, Viola. Merlin is quick to assist. Biscuits land, breifly, on the intriguingly named Experimental Forest and Forks of Salmon. Lake Tahoe and Zepher Cove are already on the list for our annual February snow powder plunge. Merlin adds Sheep Peak, Pyramid Lake, and Mt. Ansel Adams in Yosemite.

A biscuit toss onto a California state map lands on Hollywood. Merlin will sniff out the Hollywood Walk of Fame stars of dog legends Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, and Strongheart. Additional biscuits guide west through Joshua Tree to the Salton Sea and the Chocolate Mountains.

On a Western States map, the Craters of the Moon and Canyon of the Ancients beckon. Merlin rode through the Devil’s Playground to Vegas and the Grand Canyon several years ago. Further biscuit casting urges us eastward to Bandelier and the Ozark Medieval Fortress.

On the big USA map, Key West, Florida looks like a spectacular head-out-the-window drive. How about another visit to friends in Michigan, then northeast through Sault Ste Marie to Quebec? Merlin’s been to Peru. Let’s add North American Rome, Athens, London, Paris, and Sydney. Mars Hill anyone?

Closer to home, spring events include Yuri’s Night, the Maker Fair, Marin Open Studios, and the May Madness Classic Car Parade. Next month, chauffeur Cindy will relay Merlin's sage advice to writers at the San Francisco Writers Conference panel on critique groups. And there’s always labyrinths to walk. We’ve discovered several new ones already this year. Maps for the Journey.

So, open a few maps and toss some dog biscuits. Load up. Where to?

Merlin’s Blog Before Christmas

2009-12-24T22:24:00.000-08:00

'Tis the night before Christmas and Merlin the Dog,
Is polishing this year’s new Santa Paws blog;

All his dog pals had long gone to their mats,
The photo-shoots done, no more un-comfy hats;

The red Merlin-mobile was parked tucked in its shed,
Dreaming of thrilling new road trips ahead;

Merlin’s collar was hung by the car keys with care,
Secure in the knowledge they’d soon go somewhere;

The dog toys were tidied and stuffed in their crate,
Awaiting the next RSVP play date;

The chauffeurs were snuggled asleep oh so well,
Happy in Merlin’s home dog-friendly hotel.

Deer biscuits sat by the hearth on a plate,
Merlin was sure they must be reindeer bait;

In case he was Scottish, for Santa a dram,
A hearty retort declared, “Aye, that I am!”

Eight tiny deer biscuits were laid in a row,
What if one biscuit were somehow to ‘go’?

NORAD’s on-line Santa Claus sleigh tracking site
revealed that Santa’s due deep in the night;

Will the eight tiny biscuits be fresh when they come?
To be a good host, Merlin sampled just one.

As iTunes played quiet holiday Filk,
Merlin spied by the biscuits, a saucer of milk!

Too much to resist was the smell of full cream,
Merlin’s head slowly turned as if in a dream;

Ever closer and closer his muzzle was drawn,
Until in a twinkling the milk was gone long before dawn!

Merlin raised a keen ear for the chauffeurs at rest,
He could tell by their snoring, it was time for a test;

With a quick focused lick a commotion was heard,
A second biscuit was gone, yum, yum, and a third;

As the biscuit plate made a just bit of a clatter,
Merlin froze in mid-bite willing hush in the matter;

Silence restored, chauffeurs slept on through the night,
Merlin thought, “I’ve had three, it must be all right!”

Four biscuits, five biscuits, six biscuits woofed,
And still no tiny reindeer hoofs prancing the roof.

Now as Merlin concludes his Santa Paws blog,
He confesses to the reindeer he’s been a bad dog.

“I’ve eaten your biscuits, and though they were small,
I’m certain that deer don’t eat biscuits at all;

“And I drank Santa’s milk but it wasn’t my fault,
‘Cause I know for a fact he prefers single malt.”

Outside Christmas solar-powered lights go dark,
And Merlin signs off with a holiday bark:
As the last tiny biscuit now passes from sight,
“Happy Holidays to all, and to all a Great Night!”

The Cheese Never Had A Chance

2009-12-13T22:19:00.000-08:00

Artists welcome every excuse to have a party, and December is a busy month for open studios, art receptions, and holiday gallery events. Merlin gleefully volunteers to greet art appreciators to the studio, and oversee the snacks. He’s particularly attentive to art reception cheese and invites visitors to participate in the long running performance art piece, Toss the Cheese to Merlin. The cheese never has a chance.

This week is the thirteenth annual Art Works Downtown Holiday Open Studios. Forty artists open their studios to the public with good cheer and great art. Merlin’s back-up chauffeur entertains in the AWD Gallery all weekend with original compositions on keyboards. Sporting his Santa Paws hat, Merlin plays gracious host, pointing the way to the Christmas cookies and herding kids around the card making tables. Guest snacks appear throughout the art spaces. Merlin stalks the art cheese. He’s trained a few artists to perform cheese tricks. Anne Wolfe serves Merlin cheese on a silver platter in her painting studio. Painter of masks and myths, she creates fantastical goddess/ alien /spirit art.

On the lower level, Jason Sheldrick assembles, disassembles, and illustrates found materials. Jason's trick is Cheese Chunk Kiss, an improvised cheese performance variation. Painter and illustrator Ann Langston creates delightful images from her travels, and invites Merlin to her dinner parties.

Janelle Schneider is a mixed media digital artist of astonishing internal landscapes, and an official follower of Merlin’s Road Trip blog. Merlin is looking forward to her Marin Arts Council exhibit reception at the Marin Community Foundation later this month. The AWD Marin Jewelers Guild always has elegant, tasteful displays and tasty snacks.

After checking on the music in the Gallery, Merlin returns to greet visitors to the Pavlinac Photography studio, his home base when he’s not on the road. Settled amongst phenomenal photos of places of presence, Merlin plots his next road trip to trot fresh labyrinths and sniff pristine destinations. The journey continues, fueled by art, dreams, and cheese.

Rainy Mendocino Writers

2009-11-30T23:42:00.000-08:00

We’ve a lunch date in Ft. Bragg, lured by the promise of great beer at the North Coast Brewery. Merlin rides for the fries. Our pal, Frankenstein author Mary Shelley author Molly Dwyer, invited us to address her local writers' group. Molly was inspired by her visit to the Marin Branch of the California Writers Club to charter a new, more conveniently located, branch. So three CWC officers, Linda McCabe and Kate Farrell of Redwood Writers, and Merlin's chauffeur from Marin, trekked the three hours north to Mendocino County. Instigator Molly was still in Paris so we toasted her with fabulous microbrew and birthday cake. Merlin gathered us for a photo snap in the rain beside Hwy 1.

California State Route Number One is Merlin’s favorite road trip road. Designated an All-American Road, the infamous Highway One hugs the western edge of America along some of the most specular coastline in the world. Many of Merlin’s favorite destinations are on Highway One: Muir Beach, Point Reyes, the Golden Gate Bridge. The artist colony and resort town of Mendocino is an obvious addition to the Highway One catalog, and Merlin managed to parlay the writers lunch into a three day getaway. The first big storm of the season arrived just ahead of us; it rained the entire sojourn. Merlin trotted across raging storm drains, splashing into the center of puddles, soaking through his clean towel pile at the first stop. Happy wet Merlin streamed up the car windows. We drove towards the ocean and slid to a muddy stop on the cliffs above the roiling surf. Stepping out into biting wind and salty rain, Merlin squinted from the leeward side of the Merlin mobile. No whale sightings today.

Merlin suggests we find some of those famous Mendocino redwoods. Turning inland from Van Damme State Park beach, we enter a primordial forest. Gliding through soggy tree tunnels, Merlin inhales wet pine. Mendocino has some of the tallest living trees in the world, and some of the smallest. A Pygmy Forest hides in the poor soil of coastal terraces between Fort Bragg and Anchor Bay. Cypress trees over 100 years old are only a foot high: Merlin-size! We disembark with umbrellas, towering over the tiny trees. A ginormous Merlin sniffs their tippy tops from the raised walkway protecting the delicate Lilliputian forest from disruptive visitor feet. Here we are Brobdingnagian, strolling respectfully among century old toothpicks. We slosh back through thick drizzle to our warm coastal cabin fireplace and hot tub.

Mendocino Getaway: 333 miles

Get Us to the Church on Time!

2009-10-27T22:32:00.000-07:00

When we embarked on Merlin's Road Trip blog two years ago, we were driving across America to a wedding in Michigan. The daughter of my college suite-mate was getting married, and it was going to be quite a reunion. Merlin wanted to attend. So, Road Trip!

Allowing two weeks seemed plenty of time. We expected deserts, salt lakes, petroglyphs, dinosaurs, labyrinths, Lincoln Highway, Pony Express, and more labyrinths. Our journey surprised us with snow flurries, ice storms, Jesse James, and a harrowing near death drive.

Arriving with a day to spare, we did get to the church on time. The wedding was wonderful, the couple splendid, the dress gorgeous, the reception legendary. We ate, toasted, laughed, and danced like it was 1979. Merlin particularly relished the M & M wedding table favors, while the British side of the family doted over him.

Merlin and his chauffeurs stayed a few extra days to enjoy the fabulous company, and to stretch all our legs before the 3,000 mile drive back west. Merlin frolicked in sunlit autumn Maple leaves, and discovered Midwestern black squirrels.

Happy Anniversary,
Sian and Aaron!

Bright Blessings
on your road trip of life.

Come visit Merlin some time.
Road Trip!

Who Speaks for Earth? Blog Action Day

2009-10-15T19:42:00.000-07:00

Who speaks for Earth?

Merlin does. You do. I do. Everyone does. We speak through our actions. Speak speak through our silence. Today is Blog Action Day for climate change. Join the conversation. Speak!

Merlin Meets Snoopy

2009-09-24T23:48:00.000-07:00

Merlin adores his bright red MerlinMobile, always eager to hop into his traveling dog clubhouse. Having a wizardly namesake, Merlin has a nose for legend. Mention a flying doghouse and he sniffs out the renowned Snoopy, and Red Baron dogfights. Snoopy’s home is Santa Rosa, California where Charles Sparky Schulz drew the Peanuts Gang comic strip for 50 years. The Schulz Museum hosts a cute outdoor garden Snoopy Labyrinth, built by our pal Lea Goode-Harris.

Snoopy was also a fledgling writer, tapping his typewriter on his doghouse roof. Unlike Snoopy, some of our writer friends finished their novels. They brought them to the Sonoma County Book Festival. We went to see, loading the MerlinMobile for an autumn romp and writer rendezvous.

En route through the town of Sonoma for the Valley of the Moon, we espied a labyrinth-suspicious garden beyond a church parking lot. With a quick u-turn at the Vallejo Home Sonoma State Historic Park, we did indeed discover a new labyrinth. The First Congregational Church of Sonoma was founded in 1871, and the labyrinth is a recent addition to their Memorial Garden.

Sneaking the back road way into Santa Rosa, we arrived at Old Courthouse Square and hopped out to find our authors. Merlin immediately located one of his favorite writers, Kate Farrell, author of Girl in the Mirror. He had helped with her cover photography and website artwork, which features his favorite model, Karen Tomczak. After a quick photo op with Kate and Teresa LeYung Ryan, author of Love Made of Heart, Merlin spotted the Redwood Writers table. He was enthusiastically greeted by Ana Manwaring, Susan Littlefield, and Susan Bono. Searching for two of his loyal blog followers, Linda McCabe and Ann Wilkes, he interrupted lunch for Guy Biederman, a former fellow Art Works Downtown resident artist. We couldn’t find Molly Dwyer, because she’s in Paris! Great excuse.

Lurking on the edge of the fest was Jo Cool, Surfer Snoopy, one of the 95 statues painted by local artists. Merlin was astonished that Snoopy was so huge, wondering about the size of his flying doghouse, and his biscuits. We sniffed Joe Cools along 4th Street, looking for his typewriter.

Merlin likes writers. They’re always eating. He likes helping out at writer events, especially those of the Marin Branch of the California Writers Club. They have meetings at Book Passage in Corte Madera and gala holiday parties. He earned a guest badge for their Writers Way Conference in the Marin Headlands, by attending more planning meetings than some of the two legged committee members. Whatever the event, Merlin makes sure all the snacks are tidied.

Writers go to interesting places for inspiration. Wild, untamed places. Road trip places.
Write on! Ride on!

Santa Rosa romp: 84 miles

Sleep is for Sissies

2009-09-02T11:43:00.000-07:00

Motto of the Robert Ferguson Observatory
Merlin goes camping! Best dog friend, Norma Jean, invited Merlin and entourage to a star party birthday sleepover at Sugarloaf Ridge State Park in the Sonoma Valley. Her people booked the group campground and arranged for the Valley of the Moon Observatory Association astronomer docents to open the Robert Ferguson Observatory just for us! They have three telescopes: a 24" reflector for deep space, a classic 8" refractor for solar system objects, and a 14" CCD for photographing faint objects direct to digital, displayed on a huge room monitor. Thrilling!

Our small group had the telescopes all to ourselves. Here's some snapshots from the CCD. Not as spectacular as Hubble, but pretty thrilling for a California State Park in Sonoma. Messier 51a is the cannibal Whirlpool Galaxy. NGC 891 is an edge-on spiral galaxy in Andromeda, 30 million light years away. Sirius, the Dog Star, would appear an hour before dawn. Merlin lasted until midnight. We had our eye on Jupiter all night through the refractor in the dome. It's at opposition, and is the closest, biggest, and brightest so far this century. The brilliant planet revealed four moons through the telescope. Over the night, two bright moon dots sidled up to Jupiter from either side. By 1:30 am all the sissies were asleep. Only Merlin's people were up with the docents to witness Callisto disappear behind Jupiter as Io disappeared in front. Io’s inky black shadow crept across radiant Jupiter for two hours. Orbital dynamics, live, through a telescope near you. Just like Galileo, except without the Inquisition.

Galileo Galilei was the first to observe Jupiter's moons in 1610, through his telescope invention. Science challenged Church and Galileo lost, spending the last decade of his life under house arrest. Merlin hides out in the arts whenever he has a subversive urge.

In the morning we walked to Mars. Pluto was too far on a distant ridge. Astronomy mingles science and mystery, empirical observation with awe and wonder. Plus, we get to stay up all night. Anyone with a pair of decent binoculars can look up into the night sky and see Jupiter's moons for themselves. Tonight, Callisto and Io will slip behind Jupiter as Europe and Ganymede pass in front. All four Galilean moons of Jupiter will disappear, an event which occurs only a few times each century. We’ll be outside, looking up, pup tent near by. Ad astra!

Sugarloaf: 80 miles
Pluto: 2.66 billion miles
Andromeda Galaxy: 2.5 million light years
Edge of Universe: 46.5 billion light years

Merlin’s Apprentices

2009-08-14T12:00:00.000-07:00

School’s out and interns are clamoring to work with Merlin. We hosted Ryan and Matt this summer at our art/ photography studio. Merlin insisted on modeling, sharing his secrets for achieving great portraits (blueberry doggie crunchy attention enhancers).

Our interns earn credit through the Marin County School to Career internship program, which requires multimedia presentations and blogs about their work experience. Ryan goes to Drake and Matt is at Redwood where they’ll be seniors in the fall. Visit their blogs, Ryan’s and Matt’s and post an encouraging yip.
After a month, Merlin suggested the interns might like to work with someone taller than him, so we contacted our favorite human model, Karen Tomczak. We arranged a location shoot and packed our bag of tricks with metallic cloths, sheer fabrics, shiny streamers, and reflective fans from Chinatown. Everyone rendezvoused at our local labyrinth in Terra Linda. Merlin trotted the path, had a drink from the fountain, and frolicked in the nearby park. The interns were amazed to work with a professional model and both marked the experience as the highlight of their summer internship. We shot over 800 digital photos between the three of us. Karen reveled in the photographic Circle of Confusion, melting our camera with her unwavering intensity and playfulness. She’s our super model!

Pavlinac Photography has been a popular Marin internship since the mid-90’s. We’ve gotten our tripods wet at Muir Beach, waited for the full moon to rise over the Golden Gate Bridge, made multiple time exposures in the Headland tunnels, got kicked out of Fort Point for not having a movie permit, walked the labyrinth at Grace Cathedral, noted botanical captions in Latin, balanced road cones on our heads, and documented artwork and jewelry in the studio. Merlin handles the canine modeling arrangements, inviting interns’ dogs to come along and try their paw at being professionally photographed. And catch frisbees for dog park action shots. Our interns have gone on to top photo schools, won awards at the Mill Valley Film Festival, worked with Stan Lee, are congressional aids and photojournalists, and splashed in Hollywood.

We welcome aspiring artists and students of photography to drop by our studio in Art Works Downtown for conversation, questions, portfolio sharing, and mutual inspiration. Merlin is often resident in the studio, especially for gallery receptions and open studios events. He volunteers for clean up duty and is adept at tidying extra Art Cheese.
Bark by. Bring blueberry biscuits.

Cindy, 17 years hosting interns
Merlin, 9 years delighting and training interns

Merlin’s Criterium

2009-07-26T12:00:00.000-07:00

Merlin likes bikes. They go fast. Almost as fast as a sprinting Merlin across the park. Merlin also enjoys the Tour de France three week TV couch potato encampment. After weeks of virtual cyclists, we took a stretch break to cheer a real bike race, the annual San Rafael Criterium.

The Saturday event draws 700 cyclists for a series of races around a downtown loop. Merlin enjoys a front curb view. His ears blow back as the race accelerates. Marin mountain biked cops smile over their radar guns as the front cyclists break the posted speed limit. Merlin approves of supporters who dispense promotional treats to the crowd. The best sponsor is a dog company who’s paw print logo encourages a women’s team with a pat on their rumps. He’s not too sure about the cowbell mania. He prefers cowbells on cows, or cats.

The 1K Criterium course circles three city blocks. The first hay baled turn is from Fourth Street uphill onto D (as in Dog), right in front of Merlin’s chauffeur’s studio in Art Works Downtown. Our summer intern, Ryan Derham, joined us to learn sports photography. Fast shutter speeds freeze the action and slow shutter speeds create artistic blur. Photo opportunities whiz past every few minutes as the racers flash by our spot. Ryan posted some photos on her internship blog. Go see!

There’s a break before the final pro races for the thrilling Kids Course Ride. Under-5's pedal, crawl, and are pushed two blocks, before the most serious racers of the day step up- the 5-12 year olds. Excitable parents are barred from the street as the kids stare down the first lap. They erupt from the starting gate and never look back. Merlin’s favorites are the pink girls with pink bikes, pink helmets, pink shoes, and flying pink ribbons, and the lone batman. They blur past Art Works Downtown, marshaled by pro riders on their own speed machines. All required fast shutter speeds as they zipped around the course. Official results on USA Cycling.

Last February, Lance Armstrong, Levi Leipheimer, and the Astana Team rode in the 2009 Amgen Tour of California cycling right by Merlin in Marin and across the Golden Gate Bridge. Phil and Paul commentated as spring rain pelted the racers. For the third year, Levi was first. Everyone won.

Of course, big name cyclists missed San Rafael this month for Paris. But next spring the Tour will return to California and Merlin will be there to bark them through Marin and onto the Golden Gate Bridge.
Ride on!
Cyclists, Tour de France: 2,174 miles
Cyclists, Tour of California 2009: 781 miles
Cyclists, San Rafael Criterium: 225 miles
Merlin, 8 mile loop

Bird Puppies Tour de France

2009-07-06T16:14:00.001-07:00

Merlin’s mourning doves have returned to Chez Merlin. Last spring they landed in the trellis against the backyard window, dropped a few sticks and called it a nest. Merlin watched with great interest as they strutted about his patio, helping themselves to his backyard water dish. Doves do coo, and loudly. They also make a wonderful cooy fluttering wing whistle when they take flight. Merlin, being a herder not a hunter, invented a game where he makes a quick huff at them, sending them skyward. When informed there would be baby bird puppies, he sat down to wait. Puppies are to be tolerated because they are young, vulnerable, clumsy, and don’t know any better yet. We tolerate their milk teeth nipping our ears. So Merlin switched channels to Bird TV, watching without interference.

July is Tour de France month at Merlin’s house. We watch the three week epic bicycle Race of Truth, time shifted from its 5 am start. It’s a chess game of individual athletes and team tactics. TV crews on motorcycles whiz through the French countryside as helicopters sweep overhead sending dazzling images from Provence hill towns through the Alps and Pyrenees to the finish in Paris on the Champs-Élysées. We note places to visit. The early live version features the nonpareil team of Phil Liggett, the Voice of Cycling, and Paul Sherwen, who’s British accented knowledge, wit, and commentary are legendary. Plus, they pronounce everything properly. They put us right in the chase car and after 3 or 4 hours of strategy, breakaways, catches, and sprints, we’re bouncing up and down on the couch cheering, allez, allez, allez!

The doves laid two white eggs when we sat down to begin the Tour last July. Dove dad sits from morning to afternoon, mom evening and night. The devoted pair watching us watching the Tour, probably thinking we were sitting on our nest- couch potato eggs. Some time in the Pyrenees the eggs hatched and tiny heads peeked up waving for food. The dove parents took turns feeding them as they grew through the Camargue.

One night, Merlin barked around 3 am. A dark lump on the patio flashlit revealed a bird puppy chick, not moving but alive. Merlin dog dad, Martin, was roused and tasked to return it to the nest. As the bird puppy was plopped back on the bed of sticks, mom fluttered off. Doves need sunlight to navigate and we feared both chicks would now freeze. Mom couldn’t find the nest in the dark and left. Dispirited, we went back to bed with a plea to Saint Francis of Assisi, protector of animals. By the time the cyclists were back on the road at 5:30 am, the doves had returned and all was well. Over the next few weeks the chicks strengthened their wings, flapping bravely through the Alps.

One morning the nest was empty. Merlin walked slowly to the edge of the patio where the two bird puppies were settled under a bush. Bird brains! We set out water and birdseed as they waited for dove room service. They hung around a few more weeks, well past Paris.

We were delighted when the dove parents and grown bird puppies returned this spring. The trellis is gone, puzzling them. Surely this is Chez Merlin, home of plenty of fresh water, bird seed tree, giant cyclops guardian (telephoto lens), nighttime bird return service. Dog dad Martin customized a wooden box from the garage and nailed it below the window. No bird puppies would fall out of this nest! The doves inspected and claimed the box and a single chick was up and away before the equinox. Not to leave us alone on our couch nest, a second clutch was started and two chicks bobbed along with the Tour de France theme music this week. They’ll watch us watch Lance Armstrong return to the Tour. As strategies and dramas unfold, we cheer human excellence and endurance across nationalities.
Live strong. Viva la Tour.

Cyclists, Tour de France 2008: 2,174 miles
Bird Puppies: 8 feet

Shasta Drive-by

2009-06-14T12:26:00.000-07:00

Five days of Trinity River tranquility and the food is beginning to run out. Time to return to civilization and re-enter our lives. Merlin suggests driving by Mount Shasta on the way home. It is close on the map, only 150 miles out of the way on a national forest Scenic Route. After a last dip in the river, we load up and head towards Whiskeytown.

North on State Road 3, we drive deep into the Shasta-Trinity National Forest, a 2.2 million acre wilderness threaded by logging roads and small frontier towns. The roads are clear and bright. We arrive in Weaverville mid-afternoon looking for a late lunch. The Main Street exudes California gold rush charm with saloons, salons, and video rental shops. There’s a 135 year old Taoist Joss House built by Chinese miners, the Temple of the Forest Beneath the Clouds. A saloon promises Buffalo Burgers so we walk through the mirrored bar to a table, stepping around a few locals who look like they’ve been there since breakfast. Fueled by a buffalo bite and ‘extra’ french fries, Merlin explores Main Street. Curious iron spiral staircases rise out of the sidewalk to balconies. A handy sign explains that in the 1850s, second buildings were built on top of existing ones and were owned independently, requiring autonomous entrances.

We leave the 1850s and return to the forest road, flowing alongside effervescent rivers, rounding hills, and rolling into ravines. We are the only car for hours, gliding through timberland, midway between the Pacific Ocean and Nevada, 50 miles south of Oregon. The Cascade Range mountains are in the Pacific Northwest Ring of Fire and so classed as sporadically active volcanoes (remember Mount St Helens?). Mount Shasta is 14,000 feet high, second only to Mount Rainier, and is one of the world's largest and most impressive stratovolcanoes, hosting five glaciers on four overlapping cones. Mount Shasta is a National Natural Landmark and as one of the most visible mountains in the world, we wonder why we can’t see it. The maps say we're almost on top of it. We feel its presence as we descend from the forest ridge and pour into open ranch land. Merlin perks up at the sight of cows. There! Mount Shasta soars 10,000 feet from level ground, dominating the landscape.

We stop at the Weed Rest Area, weaving through college students from Chico taking each other’s pictures on their phones by a big sign that says WEED. They’re laughing hysterically, pretending to smoke. Merlin doesn’t get the joke. He’s too young.

We circumnavigate the base of Shasta, mesmerized by the shining cone. Early Spanish explorers to San Francisco could see Shasta from Mount Diablo, 250 miles to the south. Local Karuk Indians call Shasta the White Mountain. Like the rest of Earth’s ice pack, the glaciers on Shasta are shrinking and it is startling to see bare ground exposed between fingers of deep ancient snow. There happens to be a labyrinth nearby and the ulterior destination for our 5 hour detour. We’ve been told this is a magnificent labyrinth, probably more for the proximity to Shasta than the actual painted brick pattern plopped in sagebrush. The labyrinth is in the Living Memorial Sculpture Garden, a collection of large human figures of war and remembrance, loss and hope. The most haunting sculpture is a broken soldier in a POW/MIA cage. Decorated with tributes left by visitors, dreamcatchers and American flags flutter pleas towards Shasta. I suddenly remember the copper POW bracelet I wore all through high school, my protest of the Vietnam War. Support the troops, while seeking peace. I never knew if the soldier named on my bracelet came home. I took it off when the war ended, for us. While writing this, I located Project Homecoming online and searched for the name I still remember etched on my bracelet 35 years ago. His entry reports after ten years in captivity, his remains were returned to the U.S. He was a fellow Michigander and his birthday is in a few days. Jeffrey Seglin over at True/Slant wrote about returning his POW bracelet to its namesake, an intensely meaningful meeting for all sides of war. Merlin avoids the cage. We walk the labyrinth quietly, rolling wild sage between our fingers, gazing at Shasta blazing pink in the sunset.

Back on the freeway, Mount Shasta gleams in the gloaming before full dark. It’s gone to Truck Time. Driving across country, Merlin noticed a sudden shift around 9pm every night when all the freeway traffic becomes semi-trucks. The brave Merlin Mobile was often the only car driving the covert interstate with the long haul transports. Normal travelers have found their rest for the night. But Merlin is no normal traveler. Head thrust out the window into darkness, he breathes in deep mystery, enigmata, and passing whiffs of life stories. Trucks rumble around us, rafting the smooth ribbon rivers of paved pathways between pick ups and deliveries.

Deep in the night we exit into the last rest stop before descent into the San Francisco Bay Area. The parking lot is crowded with napping trucks and dark cars. We creep into the last open space, walking by snoring cars to sniff the sprinkler wet grass. We are grateful to be awake and almost home.

Shasta detour: 350 miles, 13 hours.

Trinity Tranquility

2009-06-01T12:00:00.000-07:00

Merlin’s best friend is Norma Jean, an energetic Border Collie who lives around the corner. They share neighborhood walks, play dates, and beach outings. She is Merlin’s personal trainer. Her people are building a retreat in the northern Californian wilderness on the South Fork of the Trinity River. They’re way off the grid, using river flow to generate electricity and satellite internet for wi-fi. Norma Jean raves about the river and sleeps for days when she comes home. She invited Merlin for Memorial Day. So, long weekend wilderness road trip.

Merlin is always packed for a road trip, his Planet Dog travel bag by the front door. He oversees the pouring of five days worth of kibble into his traveling dog food bucket. He calculates how far we’re going by the number of freshly filled water bottles. Ensconced in the backseat between toys and towels, Merlin is poised to be away. We’re off.

We’ve been warned it’s a six hour drive, with the last hour down old logging roads. North from Marin, we cross the California Coastal Range and slip into the central valley furnace. Merlin rides with his nose out the window, expecting cows as we turn north at Vacaville (yes that does translate as Cow Town). Rolling brown hills are punctuated by an occasional outdoor paintball range. It’s as if this I-505 corridor hasn’t been discovered yet. Or it’s from the future with wind farms and solar paneled office parking lots offering shade while collecting the relentless sunshine. We imagine solar panels sheltering mall parking lots and other auto wastelands. Couldn’t everyone in California be passive solar, collecting smart power while keeping cool? A solar carport in every drive.

We turn west at Red Bluff into the Beegum Creek Gorge. This is wild river running country, through U.S. Forest Service and BLM Land. Comparing trusty AAA paper maps with Merlinmobile TomTom GPS, we plunge off pavement onto what we hope is the correct logging road. Surfing the ruts, we drive just fast enough to stay ahead of our dust. Merlin tracks deer out his windows. A network of unmarked logging roads lace the wilderness. The GPS keeps repeating, Turn around when possible. We shake off a shiver from a previous road trip in Utah which descended into icy snow and darkness, glad it’s almost summer and we’re carrying 5 days of food and water. The meandering forest road ends with a hand written sign: MERLIN! Norma Jean is down here. The driveway opens into a daisy filled meadow. We’re greeted with wagging barks and fresh lemonade. We’ve arrived.

Merlin is thrilled to see his best friends from home. For the next four days, Merlin stands in the river with a big smile. Norma Jean splashes about nipping at water sprites. One afternoon, neighbors arrive for a pot luck feast, adorning Merlin with a daisy chain necklace. Norma Jean endures being covered with flowers and called Dog Salad.

Natural time flows through us, restoring, relaxing, renewing. The river splashes and laughs over rocks and logs, flashing diamonds. Turquoise and emerald light shines from the swimming hole, tumbling submerged sunlight. Norma Jean swims. Merlin wades. People drift between staring into the sparkly flowing water and balancing rocks, inspired by British environmental artist Andy Goldsworthy and Bay Area rocker Bill Dan. Lounging at the river’s edge, we surrender to gravity rather than defy it.

Trinity tranquility.
Thank you Norma Jean.

Trinity getaway: 770 miles.

Classic Car Merlin

2009-05-22T08:54:00.001-07:00

Merlin appreciates a classy ride. Every May American Graffiti rolls into downtown San Rafael for the May Madness Classic Car Parade and Rockin' Street Dance. All afternoon muscle and pony cars line the main drag, spilling into side streets, all spit, polish, and shine. Mustang, Cougar, Barracuda, Road Runner, Charger, Challenger, GTX, GTO, Firebird, Thunderbolt, Thunderbird, Falcon, Skylark, Stingray, Triumph. Innovations in independence. The promise of power, in style. Open possibilities, cruising into the future with the radio bleating.

Key scenes of George Lucas’ 1973 American Graffiti movie were filmed here on 4th Street and Marin County is the home of Lucas, Skywalker Sound, and Industrial Light and Magic, minus the bits translocated to San Francisco's Presidio. Car movie stars park in front of the restored Art Deco Rafael Theater.

I tell Merlin when I was a pup, we changed our own oil and re-built engines after school. Everybody drove courteously and gas cost 25¢ a gallon. I learned to drive in our family Ford Galaxie 500. As teens, we cruised Woodward Avenue, Detroit, Michigan's Highway One, V8s roaring, rattling the windows of Porsche and Lotus dealers who refused us a test drive no matter how much we dressed up and talked like we, or our parents, could afford a Porsche or Lotus. The Woodward Dream Cruise, held every August, is the world’s largest one day automotive event, although cars and cruising are an all summer sport. Woodward Ave’s northern terminus is Wide Track Drive in Pontiac, an important destination on Merlin’s 2007 California to Michigan Road Trip. In 1909, Woodward Avenue between Six Mile and Seven Mile Roads became the first mile of road in the world to be paved with concrete. People have been driving classic cars on it ever since.

Merlin looks dubious when I show him the flying car of the future past, a dazzling 1955 Oldsmobile Rocket 88. License to drive forever, the frontier of going. Merlin sniffs for the dog biscuit compartment, wondering how many we’d need for a trip to the moon.

My mom babysat a few times for John DeLorean, developer of the Pontiac GTO and Firebird, and famously, the DeLorean DMC-12 with it’s amazing gull-wing doors. Appropriately featured in the Back to the Future movies as the hero’s flying car time machine, Mr. DeLorean probably liked the idea of an engine powerful enough to run on anything, like banana peels. One time my mom asked him if his kids had their daily vitamin and Mr. DeLorean looked blank for a second then decisively handed each one four Flintstones Chewable Vitamins, one for that day plus three missed ones. More power!

Merlin eyes the rides for road trip-ability. He appreciates a spacious cargo hold and big windows. Perhaps a convertible. Merlin’s choice? Original Pony car, the Mustang, red with white leather seats- WOOF!

The weekend after May Madness was the Marin Sonoma Concours d’Elegance. Merlin discovered a vintage Rolls Royce. WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!

Spring Bath

2009-04-27T19:35:00.000-07:00

In the grand tradition of medieval monarchs bathing once a year in spring to remove their winter layer of warm dirt, Merlin recently graciously agreed to his annual spring bath. Merlin likes water and will wade streams, splash puddles, and swim, as long as his paws touch bottom. Being an Australian Shepherd, he’d gleefully leap into a cattle trough somewhere in the Outback. At home between road trips, his backyard bathing tub gets filled with hose water and a squirt of lavender dog shampoo. After a good brushing and a Navy shower on any visible skin, Merlin gingerly steps into his wading pool, stoically enduring the hose shower and shampoo lather. He sits, briefly, as the sudsy water is worked into his waterproof fur.

Merlin usually prefers sunbathing, dreaming in ultraviolet, his black fur glistening with iridescent highlights. He would enjoy the warm, shallow Roman Baths in Bath in southwest England about 40 miles west by northwest of Stonehenge. An ancient spa town, Bath is the only place in Britain with natural hot springs, and probably the only place in Britain the Romans were remotely happy. Their temple town, Aquae Sulis, was dedicated to Celtic Sulis and Roman Minerva, goddess of wisdom, war, art, schools, memory, and getting into hot water. Hydrothermal springs still flow along Roman-built channels between mineral baths and healing pools in the rather unique Roman Baths Museum. Particularly agreeable to visit on a cold winter day, warm air wafts above the sacred spring, heating the entire complex. Visitors to the Grand Georgian Pump Room can sip the mineral rich water. An ultra chic Thermae Bath Spa recently opened, restoring 2,000 years of buoyant repose.

Merlin’s favorite part of his bath is the leap from the tub to race around the yard, shaking his wet cleanness over garden plants and sliding glass doors. He also enjoys toweling. Douglas Adams would approve, since a towel is the one essential item for every interstellar traveler, according to the omniscient Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Merlin carries around a special one on official Towel Day, May 25th, in honor of Adams and his fabulous intergalactic road trip tales. Merlin always travels with a handy stack of towels for wiping, sleeping, and piling. He recommends you always have one close at hand, or paw, in case you find yourself suddenly embarking on a road trip, or leaping out of a fresh spring bathtub.

The Last Daffodil Party

2009-02-28T12:00:00.000-08:00

Each year Merlin eagerly looks forward to the annual early spring Daffodil Labyrinth Party in Mendocino. As a four month old puppy, the weekend was Merlin's first big overnight road trip. We packed his mobile dog house with familiar blankets, squeaky toys, water dishes, and puppy food for three days and headed north.

Puppies have tiny bladders. We stopped every half hour for a stretch, sniff, and drink. When I was a kid, our family spaniel only rode in the car on her way to the veterinarian, so the one time we tried to take her on vacation to a friend’s cabin up north she howled and puked all the way there. And back. Since here in California we drive everywhere, including to our walks, I knew any California canine companion would need to be road-ready and car friendly. We collected puppy Merlin from the Valley of the Moon when he was six weeks old and he’s been riding around joyfully ever since. Merlin adores his MerlinMobile and is happy to sit in it even when it’s parked in the driveway all day. One of his top favorite phrases is: In the car. Other favorites include What’s this?, Say please, and Oops! (especially when exclaimed from the kitchen). And of course, Road Trip! He rides about, senses thrust out the window, brain expanding and tracking. How astonishing to watch the earth shift and change around you with no knowledge of maps or countries. Merlin is like an early explorer, setting out for new worlds, guided by the sun and stars (and his chauffeur's GPS). He inspires me to discover new places, take the back roads, stop often for a stretch and a sniff.

The three hour drive threads through the ranch land north of San Francisco and west along US 128 through Boonville. Boutique vineyards are nudging out sheep ranches so we have to be sharp to spot spring lambs. Merlin’s got a thing for sheep. He’s not sure what it is, but he’s supposed to do something about them. We slow down so he can give them the Intense Herding Stare silently from the safety of his MerlinMobile. He also plays close attention to the Anderson Valley Brewing Company. He likes microbreweries. They serve french fries.

The annual daffodil party has been hosted since 1987 by Alex and Joan Champion on their property down a remote dirt road. The festive weekend gathering in early spring celebrates labyrinth walking, feasting, art, music, and travelers’ tales from the road trip of life. It’s our family reunion. One year there was a total lunar eclipse.

Alex is a labyrinth builder. He creates outdoor earthworks by digging and mounding dirt, engineering for drainage, wildflowers and beauty. His installations include public parks, private homes, schools, and conferences from hillside rock gardens to painted playgrounds in Chinatown. Merlin has helped with several, including the 80 foot installation at the Luther Burbank Center for the Arts. There are five earthworks on his property in Mendocino and in early spring a verdant carpet of native grasses flows around river stones and quartz rocks anchoring the pathways. Dozens of daffodils pop from the premier seven circuit Cretan Classical labyrinth.

This was Merlin’s first labyrinth. As a puppy, he could barely see over the foot high mounds from the path. He followed us boldly, at our heels, right where he wanted us. Round and round we trotted, following the path and other walkers right and left, to arrive in the center. Merlin immediately claimed the grassy knoll center as the best place from which to herd the entire troupe of walkers. He tracked everyone but when I ran along the outermost ring he shot towards me, hopping straight across the labyrinth, leaping from bank to bank. He bounded the mounds, tagged me with his nose, and bounded back to the center. Everyone cheered and a new game was born. Merlin spent much of the next two days running around the pathways and leaping from mound to mound. Thus his first and lasting love of labyrinths.

Last year’s Daffodil Party was cancelled because Joan Champion had just passed away. She had battled, and beat, cancer for a year but the treatments wore her down and she transitioned into pure spirit on the weekend of the annual daffodil party she loved so much. This year we gather again at her home in Mendocino to celebrate her life, and each other’s precious company. One last daffodil party.

Of all the labyrinths Merlin has visited from Grace Cathedral to Detroit, the Champions’ meadow earthwork daffodil labyrinth is his favorite. Come walk with Merlin!

Superbeach Sunday

2009-02-01T21:15:00.000-08:00

While most people celebrate Superbowl Sunday by gathering in front of a large screen TV to cheer their teams, half time, and million dollar commercials, like Apple’s Macintosh Computer’s 1984, Merlin looks forward to wide empty roads to interesting places like Point Reyes National Seashore.

Just north of San Francisco in Marin County is a world of redwoods, rolling ranch land, and Pacific Ocean beaches. So with hot coffee in travel mugs and fresh pastries from the Marin Farmers Market, we set off for a day outing, a road trip mini.

It’s a winding road to the coast, and the Merlin Mobile rear seat windows go all the way down to avoid chin bumping. Merlin has developed a special stabilizing tripod sit. He can lean into curves while keeping his chin to the rim. His nose telescopes out the window in focused drive-by sniffing, sifting roadside rodents from pastureland cattle and deer. Even I can smell skunks and horse stables. Cows are his favorite. His herder brain sparks, his ears enlarge, his nose extends, and his head stretches out the window, pinpointing the herd. He knows he’s supposed to do something about cows and looks smug to be herding them from his car. Drive-by herding. Got them right where he wants them.

Highway 1 doglegs through Point Reyes Station, passing master black and white landscape photographer Marty Knapp in his gallery, our favorite west Marin artist. Continuing west towards Inverness, we skirt Tomales Bay, cross the San Andreas Fault, and drive uninterrupted onto another continent. The land feels wild and ancient, shifting into undulating hills and historic dairy farms, still inhabited, to Merlin’s delight. Ranch parcels have alphabetical letter names, as if settlers were so exhausted by the time they reached this far west, they just sat down and declared, “M”.

Radio antennas shimmer into focus. We drive through the magnificent Monterey cypress tree tunnel to the 1929 “G” Ranch RCA / Marconi Wireless Station, the most successful and powerful ship to shore station on the Pacific Rim. Merlin prances through the dappled light, enjoying the grand trees, sniffing for deer and watching for squirrels. Low winter rim light ignites the southwestern edge of the ancient, wind twisted cypress. We have stepped into another land, another time. We dance in the empty road.

Cattle give way to oysters at Drake’s Beach Visitor Center. We hop out to see if winter low tides have revealed Sir Francis Drake’s plaque proclaiming this land for England. While circumnavigating the globe raiding Spanish galleons, Drake camped here in the summer of 1579 to careen the Golden Hinde to repair her hull. A notorious Sea Dog, polite speak for authorized Elizabethan pirate, Admiral Drake traded with the local Miwok Indians, and claimed all the land east for Queen Elizabeth. He named it Nova Albion, Portus Novae Albionis, the Port of New England. If anyone had returned to defend his claim, we could all be speaking British, instead of English. Meanwhile, the Spanish crept north from Mexico, naming Drake's Beach la Punta de los Reyes, the Point of the Kings, in honor of their shipwreck date, the feast day of the three wise men, January 6, 1603. Merlin’s not a digger so no plaque discovery today.

There are several dozen cars in the visitors parking lot and a few people waiting for the shuttle bus to take them to the lighthouse for whale watching. The ranger mentions that Sundays are usually overflowing with hundreds of cars and we smile in our Superbowl strategy cleverness. With a NPS map of dog friendly beaches we drive on. Passing a herd of Tule Elk posing by an elk crossing sign, we head west for South Beach.

Merlin romps joyfully along the tideline, dabbling his paws in the darting waves. The steep beach makes for dramatic crashing surf, and dangerous undertows. We know better than to swim in the Northern California Pacific where even surfers wear wetsuits. We also know to never turn our back on the ocean but in a moment of unguardedness a sneaker wave suddenly surrounds us, dousing me to the knees and immersing Merlin. Time to retreat up the beach. There’s a considerate shower and foot wash in the parking lot. Merlin tries the paw wash but prefers to dry off in the back seat towel pile to emerge white pawed and sand free.

Buoyed by a car picnic, we drive east to North Beach and settle onto a sensible dune well away from sneaky waves. At the edge of a continent, we look west off the edge of the world. Merlin whale watches. There she blows! The unmistakable water spout of a surface gliding whale sprays into the sky. Our perch affords a fantastic view of the surf as water reaches towards sky and beach to tumble, churn, and roil. Waves rise dark blue then, shot through with sunlight, roll over themselves as they break light green. Bubbling with white frosting they dissolve into white splashes and glide up the beach to kiss the toes of squealing toddlers. After 200 photos (gotta love digital) I clean the sea spray from my lens and herd everyone back to the car.

Refreshed, restored, revived, we greet the evening star Venus in the darkening sky as we approach the near empty freeway, flowing home from our Superbeach Sunday.

Point Reyes National Seashore loop: 100 miles.

Winter Solstice Stirring

2008-12-21T13:37:00.000-08:00

The winter sun weakens. We slow, snuggle, and loll in dreams. Life retreats, hibernates, gathers itself into a still core. Days are short and feeble, nights long and cold. The sun slows to a stop. We turn inward to draw from the deep, dark well of winter.

Here in Northern California, the summer dry season ends and it starts to rain. The hills sprout green. Merlin enjoys the rainy season. He frolics in the rain, splashes through the deepest puddles, races around the muddy fields, and rolls in the soggy fresh grass. At home, we towel off, light candles against the dark, and snuggle into a warm puppy pile under sleeping bags.

On winter solstice eve, we walk a candlelit labyrinth.
Over the next few days we watch the light, willing it to strengthen. By Christmas, we notice days are just a tad longer and brighter. Spring is a long quarter year away, but on the winter solstice, light returns to the world. Hope is renewed.

We celebrate the re-turn of the sun, imagining ancient sky watchers who set stones and timbers to mark the weakest extreme of the sun’s yearly journey. The Neolithic great chambered tomb of Newgrange in Ireland is aligned to winter solstice sunrise. A shaft of dawn light flowed into the passageway to illuminate triple spiral carvings in the heart of the tomb. You can watch it live via internet webcam. It was cloudy this year.

Winter solstice sunset was also a popular Neolithic holiday and Stonehenge hosts a spectacular light show. Aussie dog Merlin has yet to travel (physically) to Stonehenge, but I have visited a dozen times. A UNESCO World Heritage site in southern England, Stonehenge is a interminable magnet of mystery, controversy, speculation, and spectres. Winter solstice is my favorite time. No crowds, long strafing light, misty muted stones. The sun is a pale circle crawling along the southern sky towards the great gate of stones. At sunset it sinks between the trilithons and seems to pause. It hangs hitched to the henge, light pouring fourth along the winter solstice sunset/ summer solstice sunrise alignment with the outlying Heel Stone. Stonehenge has marked the sun’s journey for over 5,000 years. Now, you have to watch from the road through the fence to stand on the exact winter alignment. It’s worth it.

Jesse James Picnic

2008-07-25T19:31:00.001-07:00

Ah, this is the life: wide open road, level horizon, stop whenever, sleep, drive again, just me and Merlin. Ah, endless road trip.

We cross the Missouri River into Iowa, and promptly stop at a shiny new Iowa Welcome Center. It’s like walking into the future- climate controlled glass, chrome, etched rock walls, original fine art, and motion detecting everything, including the chilled drinking fountains. Illuminated vending machines calmly hum. There’s wireless internet. A covered walkway leads to the information center where square birch islands of cheerful brochures pose beneath a parade of area maps. A perky historical society volunteer smiles and asks what she can help me find. I tell her about Merlin’s Road Trip and she thinks that sounds like a grand adventure. She hands me a map of antique shopping towns with a wink. I ask for a picnic stop recommendation. “Oh, there’s the Jesse James Historical Site.” Perfect.

An hour later we’re at the scene of the world’s first robbery of a moving train. Allegedly, the notorious James Gang had discovered the drama and ease of heisting trains. Choosing remote, unguarded locations to derail mobile cash seemed the ideal crime of the future, and a healthy alternative to getting shoot by bank guards in towns. In the summer of 1873 they learned about $75,000 in gold due to depart Cheyenne for Chicago on the new mainline Rock Island and Pacific Railroad. The outlaws fortified themselves with pies purchased from the section foreman’s wife, and camped in the hills near Adair waiting to topple the train. On July 21, 1873 with a track removed and the engine on its side, Jesse and Frank James convinced the guard to open the safe, but the gold shipment had been delayed. Enraged, they ransacked the passengers, collecting only $3,000. Telegraph alerts shot around the country. Armed posses chased the gang all the way to Missouri, where they disappeared... A bit of rail is all that remains of the Adair railroad line. And it is a lovely spot for a picnic.

Iowa is America’s middle, the land between two rivers, where I-80 runs almost straight east west, like an Indian road aligned to the Equinox, or the promise of a better future. All sorts of normal people are from here, like American Gothic painter Grant Wood and U.S.S. Starship Enterprise Captain James T. Kirk. The radio choices are talk, country, sports or Christ. Merlin settles in for a day of drive-by sniffing of cows as we listen to the next caller getting around to his point. Merlin settles in for a day of drive-by cows sniffing as we listen to the next caller getting around to his point.

Somewhere in the middle of the Tall Corn State, we pull into a welcome Iowa Interstate Safety Rest Area. Iowans never abbreviate. They have the time to say everything they mean to say, and they take the time to say everything they mean. In my initial exodus from Michigan to California, I stopped in a Poweshiek hardware store to get a rain tarp for my U-Haul trailer full of all my earthly possessions. I asked for a tarp. A chap in a red checkered shirt asked if I meant to request a tarpaulin that resisted wind shear and had been water proofed and was fitted with reinforced grommets and did I have a preference for dark midlands forest green or lapis lazuli blue. I stared back and tentatively said green, please. Perhaps it’s an indicator of a good life to have the time to never abbreviate. Perhaps its a side effect from watching corn grow.

Merlin and I play with the Interstate Safety Rest Area automatic drinking fountain detector while truckers surf the web. Merlin gets covered in ladybugs. For the next 50 miles, I shoo ladybugs out the windows, thinking of Jimmy Stewart’s Charles Lindbergh giving his insect hitchhiker an aw shucks last chance to escape before his Spirit of St. Louis left land for the icy Atlantic. In the movie version of Lindbergh's historic 1927 first solo non-stop transatlantic flight, an airline executive warns that the New York to Paris feat isn’t like dropping a mail bag in Keokuk, Iowa. Fifty years after Jesse James was robbing trains, Lindbergh flew airmail for the army and once hopped a night train after his plane went down in a Midwest blizzard. He said he believed in things he could touch: an instrument panel, a pressure gauge, a compass. I'd seen the Spirit of St. Louis in the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. It's smaller than our front seat. Merlin and I sip our canteens and check our gauges. As we’re calculating our next fuel stop, signs announce the World’s Largest Truck Stop. We have to stop. Dwarfed by several hundred semi-trucks, we fuel up. I decline the wi-fi service. Merlin declines the dog wash service.

The Mississippi River is calm here at Davenport as dusk lifts a near full moon over the eastern trees. We drive up the bluff and romp about on the lawn of the closed Welcome Center. A jay squawks and I wonder if it’s an east of the Mississippi or west of species. Indian mounds dot the Mississippi River bluffs. During a 1990’s pre-Merlin road trip, I explored Effigy Mounds National Monument after following the Wisconsin River west with Lewis and Clark. I stood in their footsteps 500 feet above the roaring confluence of the Wisconsin and Mississippi Rivers, now Wyalusing State Park, where they had first seen the Mississippi after hearing it for days. Their complete 1804-06 journals are now online in the Library of Congress American Memory Collections. The rivers meet at Prairie du Chien, French for Prairie of the Dog Merlin notes.

Some time later, find ourselves looking for lodging in Peru. We could have gone on to Ottawa or Marseilles, but our bums were sore from sitting. We check in to a sparse dog friendly motel and check out a huge corn field dog run out back under the stars. We’ll figure out where we really are in the morning. Ah, endless road trip.

Day Seven: Crossing the Mississippi to Peru.
Lincoln, Nebraska to Peru, Illinois. 545 miles.

Transcontinental Merlin

2008-07-01T16:54:00.000-07:00

Breakfast is another fresh self-made waffle. We GOT to get one of these machines when we get home. Merlin was hoping for a triple King Kong burger but they weren’t open for breakfast. Feeling the miles ahead smirking at our languid progress, we zip onto the highway.

Traveling Interstate 80 one merges with the deep current of American driving freedom. Much of I-80 is the original Lincoln Highway, the first automobile road across America. Planned in 1913 to link Times Square to San Francisco’s Lincoln Park, it traveled through 13 states, 10 of which Merlin and I will touch on our road trip. The highway onramp sports proud blue signs proclaiming the Eisenhower Interstate System. Young Eisenhower had driven the Lincoln Highway across America in 1919 with the U.S. Army’s first Transcontinental Motor Convoy. Crawling from Washington DC towards San Francisco, they fixed cracked bridges and pulled their trucks out of mud and sand for two months. Eisenhower titled the trip, Through Darkest America With Truck and Tank. He later discovered the German autobahn network and when he became President, launched the National Interstate and Defense Highways Act, the largest American public works project. We thank Ike as we glide along the smooth ribbon of road, saluting his 5-Star signs as we pass.

Having driven arrow straight Roman Roads all over Europe, it’s hard to imagine America a hundred years ago with barely a dirt track through the wilderness between towns. Interstate transport was all trains. The American Automobile Association was founded in 1902 calling for a great system of public highways. People were skeptical, since few could afford to spend weeks riding around in expensive horseless carriages. Undaunted, the AAA began publishing road maps in 1905. We’re carrying a handy box of modern AAA maps and tour books for the navigator.

The first successful transcontinental automobile trip was in 1903 by two men and their dog, Bud. Riding on an bet sparked in their San Francisco men’s club, Horatio Nelson Jackson and Sewall Crocker drove east in a Winton touring car, dubbed Vermont. Sixty-three days and $8,000 later, including the Winton purchase, they reached New York. Bud made the cover of The Auto Era, wearing his dust encrusted goggles. Their road trip inspired America to get out and get going. In 1909, the first woman, Alice Huyler Ramsey, drove a Maxwell touring car from New York to San Francisco in 59 days. In 1916, suffragists Nell Richardson and Alice Burke, and their cat Saxon, drove across and around America for five months and 10,000 miles advocating voting rights for women. Their yellow Saxon auto, known as the Golden Flier, became a powerful symbol and mobile podium for women’s rights. In 1928, Boy Scouts placed thousands of markers along the route dedicated to Abraham Lincoln. In 1931, Amelia Earhart flew the Lincoln Highway for her Beech-Nut Transcontinental Autogiro Tour, taking 10 days from Newark, New Jersey to Oakland, California, and 16 days back to Newark.

The Lincoln Highway Association was formed in 1912 by automobile entrepreneur Carl Fisher. He rallied his industry friends to build a coast to coast rock highway to be completed in time for the 1915 Panama Pacific International Exposition in San Francisco. Headquartered in Detroit, their Trail Blazer Tour set out in 1913 to scout the best route from New York City to San Francisco. Fueled by contributions from former President Theodore Roosevelt and Thomas Edison, both friends of Henry Ford (who refused to support non-government funded road projects), President Woodrow Wilson joined the project. Wilson was the first U.S. President to make frequent use of an automobile and his $5 pledge earned him Lincoln Highway Certificate #1. All along the route, people began to wake up to the possibilities of automotive progress and pleaded to be included on the new highway route. After a month of mud, sand, floods, overheated radiators, and cracked axles, the Trail Blazer Tour’s 17 cars and two trucks paraded down San Francisco’s Market Street for applauding crowds. The Lincoln Highway Trail Blazers returned to Indianapolis by train.

The announced road included eastern Turnpikes, British military trails, ancient Indian footpaths, pioneer and stagecoach routes, and the Pony Express trail. We’re driving through history and back in time!

The 1916 Lincoln Highway Association Official Road Guide cheerfully described a transcontinental road trip as something of a sporting proposition. It optimistically allowed 30 days of daylight required driving, averaging 18 miles an hour for 6 hours per day. Estimated budget was $5 a day per person for food, gas, oil, and hotel meals. Car repairs were too unpredictable to be included. Motorists were urged to top off their gasoline tanks at every opportunity since gas stations were rare, wade ahead in water before risking the car, and carry a block and tackle, chains, shovel, axe, jacks, tire casings and inner tubes, and a pair of pennants. The guide advised against wearing new shoes. Firearms were probably not required, but full camping gear was west of Omaha. Sagebrush signal fires would alert nearby ranches to bring horses for a tow.

We were an hour west of Omaha and refreshed from camping in a dog friendly plushy motel. Fueled on waffles with our tanks topped off, we set out to look for pennants along the way.

Motor City Merlin

2008-05-31T14:07:00.000-07:00

Merlin arrives in the Motor City!

Dog Mom's Day

2008-05-11T19:29:00.000-07:00

Merlin meets his Grandmum in Michigan.

We take a break for a few days to revisit the landscape of my childhood and restock for the return drive to California. Every journey has departures, moments of surprise, and hopefully, grace. How we greet the present informs the future, and the past.

Detroit Riverfront Labyrinths

2008-04-29T08:14:00.001-07:00

Merlin enjoys the perfect Merlin-sized labyrinth at the new Riverfront Park across from Detriot's Belle Isle. This nine foot wide, seven path Classical Cretan is one of three in the International park created by our good pals, master Artistic Paver Marty Kermeen in collaboration with British master Labyrintharian Jeff Saward.

Kermeen Chicago Labyrinths

2008-04-25T09:41:00.000-07:00

Our all time favorite labyrinth creator is Marty Kermeen. His amazing hand crafted brick paver designs are a delight to behold, infused with sophisticated workmanship, tradition and innovation. Marty is in great demand and lately he's been collaborating with another labyrinth pal of Merlin’s, Jeff Saward. They have several new installations I hope to visit near Chicago. The first is the historic Homestead Bed and Breakfast in Plano. The new labyrinth surrounded by a yew hedge maze creates an enchanting focus in the estate's outdoor sculpture gallery. Merlin especially enjoys exploring the living puzzle maze, sniffing his way along the paths.

We lunch with Debi Kermeen and walk a few peaceful labyrinths and landscapes near her home. The next morning, she takes us to the Illinois Math and Science Academy Labyrinth in Aurora. Marty said on the phone, (he’s away creating a new labyrinth in Wisconsin), that IMSA is his most exciting contemporary installation. Again in collaboration with Jeff Saward, Marty has devised a multi-layered design which incorporates the Fibonacci sequence and prime numbers in colored pavers of the labyrinth border. The center rewards walkers with a hand carved golden spiral, the Golden Ratio, the foundation mathematical constant aesthetically pleasing to mathematicians and architects. The Windy City earns it's reputation as Debi, Merlin, and I frolic amongst the splendid fusion of math, science, geometry, and art.

Day eight. Chicago Labyrinths. 48 Miles.

Pony Express and Labyrinths

2008-03-31T14:20:00.000-07:00

We woke to the sound of semi-trucks leaving. By 7 am the truck-stop parking lot was empty. By 7:30, housekeeping was working it's way down our hall. We had pulled into the truck-stop motel late last night, lured by a huge blinking sign declaring PETS WELCOME. I walk Merlin, pack the car, and venture into the truck-stop metropolis for breakfast. CNN blares from a dozen TVs suspended over tables throughout the restaurant. I order French toast with a bit a bacon for Merlin, trying to ignore the drawling bad news over my head. The southern California wild fires dominate the stories and I’ll be asked more than once if I’m driving away to escape them. At least gas was getting cheaper, as we drive east towards Washington, DC. The first morning stop is a labyrinth in North Platte. We find it sprawling behind the First United Methodist Church parking lot, a lovely smooth gravel and brick construction. Built in 2005 as an Eagle Scout Project, it’s over 80 feet across. I enjoyed it’s simplicity and clever use of interlocking bricks and solar powered garden lights.

A Lincoln Highway sign at the next rest stop announces that we are standing on the Oregon Trial and the Platt River Pony Express route. Nearby Gothenburg is apparently the Pony Express Capital of Nebraska so we have to investigate. We follow signs to a 1860 Pony Express Station, located in a lovely shaded park. Merlin enjoys sniffing around the old cabin, appreciating the antlers and buffalo coat, while I chat with the docent. My dad worked for the U.S. Post Office for over 30 years and I fondly remembered the Pony Express patches on his uniforms. We picnic in the park, appreciating our solid metal horse-wagon stocked with stores of bottled drinks and boxes of energy bars and kibble, grateful we’re not walking to Oregon.

Early settlers called the flat grassland prairie of the Nebraska Territory the Great American Desert and I can see why Nebraskans invented Arbor Day. The name Nebraska is an Oto Indian word for flat water, the Platte River. As we speed past dry corn fields towards Kearney, located exactly between San Francisco and Boston, I’m getting a bit anxious about our progress. Half way to Boston doesn’t feel far enough to Michigan. Nonetheless, I detour to the St. Francis Medical Center to visit a 60 foot rock garden labyrinth which I’d heard was quite impressive. It turns out to be a rather a long strip mall traffic jam from the freeway, and constructed of curious sharply pointed rocks. Being a hospital, Merlin isn’t allowed to wander the grounds so after a few snapshots, we drive away to find lunch. Over a chicken salad, I realize we had crossed another time zone, some time this morning. With another hour lost, we agree on an early night outside Lincoln. Merlin requests lodging next to King Kong Burgers. We settle in with fresh supplies, watching the twilight deepen out our big eastern picture window. When the sun sets over the prairie, the stars shine like no where else on Earth. We munch our dinner by candle light, watching a near full moon rise with diamond brilliant Uranus above the flat empty East.

Day Six: Nebraska. 322 miles.

Kindness of Strangers, Part 2

2008-03-28T16:32:00.000-07:00

The highway patrol waved everyone off Interstate 80. It had taken four hours to drive 100 miles across frozen Wyoming and we were ready to exit. The other side of the highway was already closed, littered with dozens of wrecked semi-trucks, trailers twisted, sheared, and scattered in the previous night’s wind. Our outside thermometer flicked between 29 and 34 degrees. The windshield spray froze, blocking the driver's view with slushy mud and crispy snow. We were the only non-truck, and put wipers on high panic whenever a semi roared past, spraying blinding slush for yards in all directions. I willed the temperature to rise. It refused. I used to love to drive in snowy Michigan as a teen. Winter driving in recent decades had been limited to sunny, dry roads between ski resorts in Lake Tahoe. Yesterday’s harrowing night drive through a pitch black, icy Flaming Gorge sat like a block of ice in my stomach. I began to consider turning around and limping home.

Hours passed in tense focus, seeking a safe track through frozen slush. We crept along, aiming for each other’s melted tracks, fighting glare ice patches and gusty winds. We watched trailers twist and glide in slow motion as they floated off the pavement and across the shoulder. We tried not to bump each other. The sun lit the brilliant landscape, dusted in gently flowing white. We crossed the Continental Divide, several times, and I would have stopped for a photo if I thought we wouldn’t get stranded, or crushed. A freeway plow glided along the other side of the deserted freeway, sending a cascade of powdery ice snow 20 feet into the air. We cheered.

At the exit all other ramps were blocked by barriers. A very serious sign announced, Interstate Closed When Flashing. It was flashing. Apparently, closing the Interstate was common enough to install permanent gates. I was astonished! It’s the Interstate, America’s freedom road. AAA never mentioned I-80 regularly closed for weather. You expect mountain roads to close in winter but this was the Lincoln Highway, the first intercontinental paved road in North America, a long straight friendly line of liberty on the map. I carefully slid to a stop in front of registration at the first motel. The lobby was warm and welcoming. A busy restaurant and steamy indoor pool beckoned through misty glass walls. I decided to check in and catch up on route planning and trip blogging, after a long soak in the spa. The busy receptionist flashed me an annoyed look, said there were 200 people already on the waiting list, and went back to answering phones. Devastated and unable to face the cold, I wandered aimlessly around the lobby, crowded with people and luggage. The only free seat was in a computer alcove, so I plopped down to figure out how to find another motel. I stared at the computer screen, trying to push aside hopelessness and exhaustion from the recent difficult drives, trying not to cry. A gentle man’s voice suggested I check road conditions. He assured me the crews would have the Interstate open soon. He sounded so reasonable. I relaxed in his company and began to think again. We chatted about our lives a bit and he thought Merlin's Road Trip was a grand idea. I wasn't so sure. He suggested I eat. So I joined a dozen truckers at a salad bar. We got our vehicles in line for eastbound I-80 as it opened. I inched back onto the white Interstate, refreshed and restored, and grateful for the kindness of strangers.

Back on the high plains the road was a thin, dry ribbon through the white landscape. We carefully parked at open rest stops. Merlin thoroughly enjoyed frolicking in the fresh powder. I enjoyed the hot air hand dryers in the restrooms.Recalculating a destination, we excused ourselves from reaching Lincoln and aimed for Cheyenne before dark. We reached the Cheyenne Botanic Gardens Labyrinth by late afternoon. A lovely setting any time of year, four flagstone benches host carved finger labyrinths, filled today with ice. The Peace Garden has dozens of inspirational quotes engraved in paving stones. I kicked stubborn frozen mud off the wheel rims, pouring water to melt the huge mass rubbing the tires. Merlin greeted a few other chilly dogs and had another lovely romp and roll in the snow. We had a winter picnic and drove east into dark Nebraska.

Day Five: Rock Springs, WY to Eastern Nebraska. 418 miles.

Wendover Waffles, Bonneville Speed Flats

2008-02-29T18:34:00.000-08:00

Waffles or kibble for breakfast…
There's a delightful new trend in motel breakfasts. Fresh pour-your-own-waffle makers are replacing the shrink wrapped danishes with expiration dates in the next decade. Merlin offered to clean my plate before I had a bite. We’d been sharing amaranth biscuits baked by wondrous cook husby, Marty. Merlin embraced the share all food road trip rules. Biscuits for both.

Apparently we awoke in Mountain Time. West Wendover, Nevada hopped into Utah’s time zone in 1999. The daylit terrain didn't have any color, but Merlin met some colorful show dogs staying at the motel during his early morning sniff. They were traveling to a competition in California and we knew they were professional dogs because the afghans had curlers in their hair!

We swing by historic Wendover Air Field, which in 1943, was the largest military reserve in the world and home of the Manhattan Engineers. Yes, those Manhattan Engineers who developed the atomic bomb and trained B-29 crews to drop it. The Enola Gay departed from Wendover Air Field in 1945 on its way to Hiroshima, Japan.

A few minutes from West Wendover, we enter Utah, a new U.S. state for Merlin, named after the Ute Indians. We’re here for the Bonneville Speed Flats, home to the world’s land speed records. It's our first big road trip destination. I had originally planned Wendover as the first night’s stop but Nevada expanded when we drove into it. We exit onto an asphalt road, following signs for the Speed Flats, Danger Cave State Park, Undeveloped, and the Barren Desert Silver Island Mountains on the edge of the Newfoundland Evaporation Basin of the Great Salt Lake. Growing up near Detroit, I have an inbred need for motor speed, and have long admired the mechanic drivers who create turbojet rocket powered land cruisers to break the sound barrier without exploding. We pull off onto salt, imagining Speed Week with the full desert effect. Merlin explodes from the car, racing around in the wild open salty sand dirt. He circles me, arcing out into an infinity figure eight with me at the cross center. I give chase and Merlin responds by attempting to set the four paw Aussie world land speed waffle powered record. With no competition in sight, I declare him the winner and rightful holder of the title.

Back on the Interstate, the official rest stop sports a concrete tower overlook of the Salt Lake desert. There’s a considerate foot wash faucet for salty sand walkers and an arbitrary spit rail enclosure plunked in the sand labeled Pet Area, which Merlin dubiously visits. We brush off salty sand and settle down for the long drive to Salt Lake City, across the Wendover Air Force Auxiliary Field, Dugway Proving Grounds, and Hill Air Force Range, all Restricted, No Travel. A distant train carries double stacked containers, giving it a shimmering crenelated look on the horizon, perhaps similar to what the Indians saw as the pioneer wagon trains pushed westward. Mournful roadside signs lean weathered and blasted blank. One rest stop sign erected bravely in the salt desert says Keep off Grass. Merlin hasn’t seen anything green since the casino lobby. Another sign greets us at the restrooms, telling us to watch for snakes and scorpions. We don’t stop long. The steady wind spits salty sand into our windows for another hour before we follow signs insisting we pull off and take a trucker brake at Skull Valley. Merlin closes his eyes against the biting salt and dirt. I begin to get a headache from the change in attitude, I mean altitude, as we drive across what’s left of the lake into Salt Lake City. The city raises in sunny terraces up the mountainside and Merlin hangs out the window watching the construction traffic. Since neither Merlin nor I would be admitted into the great Mormon temple for religious reasons, we drive on, leaving I-80 to turn south on US-40, climbing towards 7,000 feet and Park City, home of the Sundance Film Festival, and 2002 Winter Olympics. With Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon blasting, we join the parade of jeeps with roof racked snowboards and Foo Fighters blasting out of their speakers. The road funnels through mountain passes and we pause for a stretch sniff snack at the Heber City town square park. Banners proclaim the annual Cowboy Poetry Gathering and Buckaroo Fair. The Main Street movie theater is playing Becoming Jane.

The Uinta Mountains open up into beautiful 5,000 feet high plateaus. We practice high altitude breathing while walking on national forest nature trails and stop for a quick bake beside Starvation Reservoir. BringFido.com locates one of the few dog friendly hotels in this bit of Utah for us. It’s the kind of place that you're glad you brought your own shampoo and hand soap, but there’s plenty of hot water and serious water pressure. We drink lots of water and spread out the maps. I go to sleep dreaming of tomorrow's dinosaurs.

Day Three: West Wendover, Nevada to Vernal, Utah. 314 miles.

Endless Nevada

2008-02-20T15:38:00.001-08:00

Merlin waited at the open motel door for the world to come back. He had explored the night before, unimpressed with dusty stone fence posts and a neighborhood of small houses with big yards of pavement. Merlin needed green. We had located the only tree in the neighborhood, a wide elm in a vast lawn. Merlin had promptly rolled around on his back in glee, stretching out stiff muscles. Wondering who maintained a thick watered lawn in this desert, I discovered we were guests of the county police department. We smiled at the imagined(?) security cameras and Merlin sat before crossing the street. He waited in the car at the motel while I nipped across the street to a casino restaurant. Tobacco smoke drifted in from the slots as I considered ordering breakfast, usually a safe choice on a foreign menu. Listed side orders included a stack of beef patties, double gravy, and triple fries. No steamed broccoli or tofu in sight. A tired waitress sat down at my table with two plastic cups of water. I asked for chicken tenders. She smiled as I told her the fries were for my dog. “Of course they are, honey. Sounds quite the adventure,” she said, wistfully. Merlin tugged at my awareness so I switched my order to take out. The waitress returned with a fistful of ketchup and sweet sauce packets and a small cup of milk for my morning tea. Ever patient Merlin herded me into our room, the promise of french fries in his nose.

I settled in to unpack and fuss with the new motel wi-fi. Apparently our motel was a favorite of university geologists, who insisted on high speed internet. The room seemed to be in the middle of it's own upgrade with torn curtains and light bulbs missing, but we were glad for a dog friendly place with a tea kettle. I can manage most anything after a strong cup of tea. Merlin watched from the second bed as I reorganized our luggage. He understands suitcases. He gets left behind when they appear, so he hops in and curls up, as if to suggest he is quite under the weight limit so is allowed to go to Europe with us. I’ve promised him I would only take him on an airplane if it were a private lear jet so he could sit with us and look out the window while enjoying in-flight biscuit snacks. Since I usually find myself in people cattle class, Merlin stays blissfully ignorant at home. Unless we’re on a road trip. Hence, his enthusiasm for road trips.

We repacked the car in the morning and headed for the lawn tree. Merlin greeted it with gusto, rolling in the grass with his paws punching the sky, as I waved to a patrolman sitting in his police car. The cop waved back and called, “Hey, little Aussie.” With gentle dog manners he asked permission to say hello and offered Merlin the back of his hand for a sniff. Merlin approved and accepted a friendly ear scratch. The patrolman remarked that Aussies are great dogs and I agreed. Most strangers mistake Merlin for a Border Collie or Bernese Mountain Dog, but here in the middle of Nevada is Basque country, and the epicenter of Australian Shepherd dogs. Aussies are actually an American breed, arriving with Basque sheepherders from the Pyrenees who had swung by Australia to collect sheep in the 1800s on their way to the California Gold Rush and open range of Nevada. The Australian Shepherds' strong herding instinct, keen intelligence, and graceful agility made them a favorite at western ranches and rodeos. The Basque are a fascinating people with an ancient language and complex culture. Some scholars consider them the direct descendants of the Paleolithic cave painters of the last Ice Age. Merlin’s Basque ancestry is a deep pulse in his magic.

We joined the I-80 road trains of truck convoys. Wal-Mart triple trailer trucks roared in both directions, feeding the pioneer, Mormon and survival enthusiasts their required two year supply of food and toilet paper. Sudden gusts made the trailers fishtail so we followed and passed with great care. Keeping our vow to stop at every rest area, we amused ourselves with signs insisting we restrain our livestock and pet area signs pointing to the wilderness. Merlin was not pleased with whatever had happened to the ground. He raised a paw pitifully with each step, waiting for me to brush off the crusty soil and sticky seed pods. He almost fell over trying to raise all his paws at once until he accepted the situation, peed where he stood, and quickly returned to the familiar comfiness of his padded back seat. The other parked vehicles towered over us, double rear wheeled pick-up trucks, covered with ranch work. By late morning, the road became emptier, littered with blank, weathered billboards and abandoned homesteads, charred chimneys raising from dry sagebrush. This was heavy metal rock music country with cowboy coffee and burned shells of cars every few miles as we approached Battle Mountain. The Washington Post had crowned Battle Mountain the official Armpit of America in 2001 and the town responded by convincing Old Spice Deodorant to sponsor an annual Pit Festival. Several billboards now declared Battle Mountain the Gateway to the Outback, and the town exit had three gas stations and six coffee shops vying for business with Moto X cycles and ATVs on their roofs. I looked around for X Games athletes but they were off practicing triple flips in private foam pits or base jumping off a skateboard into the Grand Canyon. Not wanting espresso and Red Bull for lunch, I chanced the gas station mini-mart. It was full of locals and I waited in line with a boxed salad as a big Indian filled his cooler with hot cheese stogies for his escape to a new life in Texas. The round woman cashier gave him all her oldest bills and they negotiated for a few minutes over two tattered fives until he bought a pack of gum and she had to give him change.

After a quick picnic in a windy dirt park, we returned to the road. Highway signs now warned of something called Dust Fog, for the next 75 miles. Services averaged 100 miles apart, conveniently spaced for drivers to fill up with gas and coffee. Occasional signs forbade us to pick up hitchhikers and I suspected some of the razor wire fenced mining operations were prisons. Wind and dust buff the car. The endless gray flatness is ringed with distant snow topped mountains. We could be driving through time in this timeless landscape. My finger throbs from a paper cut the night before and I think of one of my favorite science fiction authors, Tim Powers. In his book, The Anubis Gates, a modern man travels back to Coleridge’s London in 1810, gets a cut and realizes he’s more likely to die from lack of sanitation than anything else. I make a mental note to borrow Merlin’s antiseptic ointment from his doggie first aid kit and a band-aid from mine when we stop.

We exit back into the 21th century with the neon shock of Wendover casinos at the eastern edge of Nevada. Merlin sniffs the strip with great interest as we pass restaurants offering two-for-one all you can eat buffets. I explain the offer doesn’t apply to us because the small print says, Truckers’ Special. We check into a dog friendly Days Inn and I carry my map bag into a friendly, non-smoking restaurant. It’s a slow night and the cute young waiter, Wayne, pours out his dream to become a fashion designer in California. I look him in the eye over my third ice tea, no ice, and tell him yes, he can do that. He smiles, not needing my permission, but welcoming my confidence in him. I leave a huge tip.

Day Two, First Full Day, all Nevada. 306 miles.

Petroglyphs and Dinosaurs

2008-02-08T15:24:00.001-08:00

We woke to overcast skies and an ominous cloud front lurking in the west. The Weather Channel promised rain. We packed quickly and drove towards Dry Fork Canyon, trusting a photocopied hand-drawn map from the motel lobby. Our destination- the Sadie McConkie Ranch Petroglyphs, one of the largest and most accessible collections of rock art in Utah. Dating back a thousand years, these petroglyphs are on private property with public access. The National Register of Historic Places lists this prehistoric site as Fremont Culture petroglyphs characterized by elaborately decorated anthropomorphic figures up to nine feet tall. It sounded astonishing. Well worth a Road Trip detour.

At the edge of town the road joined the river plateau. Drivers in mud spattered ranch trucks waved at us, appreciating Merlin sniffing the passing horses. A hand painted wooden sign led us to an antler fence parking lot. The doorless welcome hut requested a $2 donation for parking. Painted arrows indicated a trail considerately marked with surveyor ribbons. A young cat greeted me in the hut, meowing to be petted. Merlin waited outside. I signed the guestbook, dropped all my change in the donation can, and visited the pink outhouse. The kitten boldly scampered by Merlin and up the path. Merlin trotted under an enormous antler gate and climbed the trail to the 200 foot high sandstone cliff. Excited to be free, he ran around the red rocks and dry plants, yipping. Then he let lose a loud happy bark, which echoed back and forth along the canyon. Listening to himself, he decided that was great fun, and barked some more, exciting distant ranch dogs to join in. I calmed him out of respect for the ancient people who revered this place for 1,200 years. The kitten reappeared and perched on a rock while I scanned the cliff face. I could not see any rock art but took a photo of the entire cliff anyway, knowing sometimes faint designs show up afterwards with a little levels adjustment. I had memorized a few of the petroglyphs from the wall map in the hut and knew a panther was supposed to be somewhere right in front of me. The kitten meowed and purred as I absently stroked it’s head. Then suddenly the rock art panther leapt into focus, five feet long. Nearby was a faint face, a flowing circle, a small arrow. Once I saw the first subtle design, my brain recalibrated and petroglyphs began to appear everywhere. Always obsessed with prehistoric art since seeing photos of Lascaux as a little kid, I’ve visited Ice Age cave paintings in France, archeology museum collections in London, Paris, and Istanbul, Indian mounds in the American midwest, and rock art all over the Southwest. This was some of the best petroglyphs I’d seen anywhere.

The three of us happily scampered along on the rugged cliff bottom, the kitten leading, Merlin herding, me taking photos. After an hour we crossed a gully and came upon amazing tall figures with elaborate headdresses and beaded collars. Several groups gestured to each other, water drops falling from their eyes as if they were crying for, or bringing, rain. There were heads, feet, circles and spirals, proto-labyrinths, depicting spinning energy.

We returned to the car for drinks and snacks. I offered Merlin the dog food that had been sitting in his bowl since California. After our morning rock art romp, he was finally hungry. He nobly ate a few mouthfuls, then I tipped out his stale food for the gathered cats and poured him fresh kibble. He happily gobbled his new meal, sharing his water with the kittens. Perhaps he realized that he won’t have to live the rest of his life in the backseat of the car, so it was ok to eat. We stopped for a final photo as rain clouds gathered. Merlin found a lovely smelly rabbit carcass to roll in. This was turning out to be his best Road Trip day yet.

When I first started planning routes for Merlin’s Road Trip, I spotted Dinosaur National Monument straddling Utah and Colorado. I couldn’t believe I’d never been to Dinosaur National Monument! That decided it. We drive. A proper road trip invites adventurous detours and the American west is the place for detours for dinosaurs.

The Dinosaur National Monument website warns that driving distances to the Dinosaur Quarry Visitor Center are very long: 6 hours from Denver, 4 hours from Salt Lake City, 9 hours from Yellowstone, 5 hours from Moab, UT. But the spectacular geology, Indian Petroglyphs in rock shelters dating from AD 200-1300, and remains of early homesteading and outlaws made it seem worth the effort. Besides, I could nip back into Vernal and turn north through Flaming Gorge, another ‘I can’t believe I’ve never been to’ destination, to rejoin Interstate 80 in Wyoming.

The Dino NM website also states that pets are welcome at Dinosaur National Monument. However, they are apparently welcome only where cars are welcome, even if your pet is journalist Road Trip Merlin and you two are the only visitors in the parking lot built for 300 cars, 15 RVs, and 10 buses. Since Merlin couldn’t hike the trails with me and the Dinosaur Quarry Visitor Center with its 45 foot wall of 1,500 in situ bones closed in July 2006 (see what happens if you wait?), we purchased the 50¢ Auto Tour map and drove off. The paved road skimmed brilliantly colored rocks, from pale cream through flaming brick to hard black. Carved by the Green River, the canyon exposed 23 geologic formations, records of extinct ecosystems, the most complete fossil record in North America. The quarry is the world’s best window on the Late Jurassic dinosaurs from 150 million years ago. The Carnegie Museum has excavated bones and made casts for the world’s museums since 1909. I’ve meet several, including London’s Natural History Museum’s Diplodocus (double arm lizard), the longest land animal ever to live, and the four-story tall Brachiosaurus (arm lizard) in Chicago’s Field Museum. The Field Brachiosaurus is the largest mounted dinosaur in the world and now resides in Terminal One at O’Hare International Airport, relocated in 1999 to make room for Sue, the largest T-Rex ever found. The Allosaurus (other lizard) is the most commonly found Utah dinosaur and is the official State Fossil.

The auto tour was a dead-end, so after an hour we reluctantly made a u-turn and headed back for the park exit. A stiff, frigid wind brought rain and lightning. Aware that we were the tallest object in the valley, I parked by the slightly taller park entrance kiosk trying to unsuccessfully photograph lightning strikes from the dry safety of the car. An official sign told us to unload all our firearms. After following a slow gravel truck with a responsible sign stating it was not responsible for broken windshields, we returned to Vernal to look for lunch.

Day Four Morning: Vernal, McConkie Ranch Petroglyphs, Dinosaur National Monument, Vernal. Six hours, 57 miles.

Road May Be Impassable

2008-01-31T13:10:00.000-08:00

Every traveler’s tale has to have something go terribly wrong. It’s required. Readers salivate for it. Since I’m the traveler having the tale, I decided I didn’t need a disaster to keep my story interesting. No lost wallet, no flat tires, no broken camera, no stolen car, no sick dog, nor any number of much worse catastrophes, thank you very much. So, I believed the National Park Ranger when he said the road would be fine, that even if we get 'weather,' the road crews clear it right away. I believed the Utah Welcome Visitors Center lady who checked the current road conditions website and said 'maybe a little rain but nothing to be concerned about'. So I swung back to Vernal for gas and lunch, a hearty pancake breakfast #6 at Betty’s, and turned onto US-191 North through Flaming Gorge. My information said the gorgeous 106 mile drive would take under two hours. I would reach Interstate-80 in Wyoming near Rock Springs before dark and drive another few hours to stop for the night in Rawlins or Laramie. We might even make Cheyenne, where I planned to visit a botanical garden labyrinth. Fed and happy, we looked forward to our wilderness drive.

My first indication that something wasn’t right was the condition of oncoming traffic- a camper RV covered with brown frozen mud, a flatbed trailer with motocross cycles under wet snow, several huge pickups carrying a foot of wet slush. Everyone driving towards us also wore bright orange clothing. It might be hunting season. Orange would come in handy if you were trying to be spotted from a rescue helicopter. They looked funny. I laughed. I wondered where they had come from.

The Flaming Gorge welcome sign declared, Road May Be Impassable. Its surrounding flashers were not blinking. In California, the permanent Chains Required signs on mountain roads are only in force when their lights are flashing, usually a few weeks each winter. Here in Utah, vehicles were traveling in both directions, so I proceeded. A pretty dusting of snow in the far hills contrasted beautifully against red rocks. The road climbed through a forest of bare Birch trees. Apparently I had missed the fall color. Having learned to drive in snowy Michigan, I am a competent all-weather driver, but I was glad the road was clear and dry. Merlin rode with his head thrust out the window, breathing in the wilderness.

Suddenly, two black tail deer trotted into the middle of the road and stopped. I stopped. They looked at us. I honked. They reluctantly trotted to the side. I started ahead slowly. They trotted along side. Merlin watched them with great interest. They were much bigger then his local suburban white tail deer that devour the neighborhood deer-proof gardens. By the time we were pacing them at 10 miles an hour, Merlin had his whole head and shoulders out the window, nose flared and lip quivering as if to taste them. I accelerated and the deer accelerated. Merlin herded the deer from his car for several minutes before they bounded off into the scrub. Definitely a Road Trip highlight for him. He swaggered in the back seat with a huge grin.

I realized the deer were the only life we had seen for awhile. There were no other cars, no Park Rangers. The car engine started to groan and I hoped it was the altitude, not a hose about to split. The car smelt funny when I stopped at the Flaming Gorge Dam overlook. I told myself it was extra windshield fluid that had sprayed after the antifreeze washer nozzles froze. Merlin had a good roll around in the snow. I turned the car heater all the way up.

Perhaps I should have stopped when I saw the cars driving towards me covered with a foot of snow. But the mid-October afternoon was clear and bright, the road ahead dry. Perhaps I should have talked to the Park Ranger at Flaming Gorge Dam when I stopped for a photo. But he sat in his Jeep with the heat running and did not wave me over. I did stop when I came around a curve into emergency flashing lights of two semi-trucks stuck on the black ice. A half dozen cars were waiting and it was starting to snow. I’d driven over 2 hours already, and an early dusk had descended with heavy clouds. Surely, the park exit onto I-80 was just a bit ahead. A little car with Wyoming plates crept forward between the trucks. If he drove up here in that, surely I could follow in my 4 wheel drive SUV. Hazards flashing, we went forward into the night, me aiming for his fresh tire tracks. No one followed. As it became pitch dark and the temperature fell, I realized I was in serious trouble. The unfamiliar mountain road was glare black ice with no guard rails. Any road reflectors or lines were covered with snow. I stopped. I slid. The wind pushed me towards a dark edge.

There is a moment in life when you know your own death. I sat in the car, windshield wipers flapping uselessly, headlights covered with frozen sleet and wanted desperately to be somewhere else, anywhere else. I could not go forward blindly. There was no room to turn around. There was no where to go anyway. I couldn’t face driving back the way I had come with the weather worsening. I sat there shivering with the heater on full, thinking of death. No one knew I was out here. There was no cell phone signal. One of the primary snow driving skills is know when to pull off, and all my wilderness training had taken place in the warm summers of Killarney Park in Ontario. I tried to look at a map but my hands were shaking. Surely I was almost out. Interstate-80 had to be just ahead. The odometer said we had only driven 12 of the 63 miles. So the cold, dark reality was that I was lost, alone. I couldn’t turn off the car in the middle of the road to wait for dawn. We could be frozen by then, or struck by another vehicle that couldn’t see us, or couldn’t stop. The storm might get worse or last for days. Last November a family took a wrong turn onto an Oregon logging road with a broken gate and became stranded for 14 days. The father died trying to walk out for help. Am I even on the road I think I am? Why didn’t anyone stop me if the road was impassible? There is a terrible presence that rises up when one knows one is trapped. I looked out into the blackness in all directions and thought this is what hell must be like. Not heat and flames but blackness and cold, and absolute aloneness.

Merlin had been very quiet in the backseat so I turned to pet him and tried to sound encouraging, muttering something like, ‘what an adventure, eh?’ and ‘You like snow, don’t you?’ As I was insisting snow is our friend, I thought a saw a blinking light in front of me. I wiped the inside of the windshield and saw the little Wyoming car backing up with it’s hazards flashing! With a surge of hope, I inched forward, carefully feeling the road for the difference between wind gusts shudders and tires sliding towards the cliff edge. For the next hour, that little car paced me, going faster when it was safer, slowing and flashing at curves before I could see them. Both hands gripping the wheel, making constant adjustments for wind and ice, I didn’t dare reach for a drink or a snack, or take my eyes off the tiny red tail lights in the blackness ahead. Once I fell behind my escort, electing to go slower than him when I lost control on an icy patch. His lights disappeared around a bend and I was alone. But when I crept around the corner, he was waiting.

My father told me stories about his time in World War II as an Air Force rear tail gunner. His was the most vulnerable position in a B-29, life expectancy about 12 minutes. Not a particularly religious man, he spoke in awed tones about foo fighters, phantom aircraft that escorted lost or damaged planes safely home. When the rescued airmen tumbled out of their aircraft to thank their rescuers, they found no other plane, realizing they had been somehow guided by a ghost, or angel. Even though I was sure this Wyoming car leading me through the dark was real, I began to think of him as an angel, a modern foo fighter escorting me through the treacherous night, north to civilization. Our recently tuned car was packed with plenty of food, water, and warm clothes, but I hadn’t considered a situation like this. I pressed on, trying to match the speed and track of the small car ahead. Time stopped, drawn out into the longest hour of my life. Eventually, the road began to have dry places and the little car sped ahead. I wanted to thank him, to buy him a steak dinner, to buy us both a stiff drink. But once the road was dry, he sped away. Still unable to see very far along the road I fell behind. Eventually I saw a dim ribbon of freeway lights in the distance and blinking lights across the road ahead. Had the car waited? Perhaps I would have a chance to thank the driver after all. But no, it was a railroad crossing. When I stopped at the flashing barrier I realized there was no train track. I drove around the obstacle and looked back. A flashing Road Closed barrier blocked the way we had come. Indeed. Merlin and I got out to stretch. Dog is my copilot. I thanked our phantom foo fighter escort and drove towards the lights of civilization.

Grueling Afternoon/Evening of Day Four: Vernal, UT to Rock Springs, WY. 106 miles.

Underway

2007-12-26T15:42:00.000-08:00

Wheels rolling, noon. The red Merlin Mobile is packed for three independent weeks, with full chauffeur visibility in all directions. Merlin’s entire back seat is padded with dog bed and towels. Drinks and food bowls are secured and convenient, both rear passenger windows are accessible for cow and sheep spotting. As we drive away, squirrels scamper into our yard, gleeful that Merlin is off duty. We’re only a day and a half behind our projected schedule. Should be no problem. Our tech prep is revamped for blogging.

From San Rafael we skirt the southern end of California’s Wine Country and cross the new Vallejo skyway bypass, sniffing for tigers at the park formerly known as Marine World. We join I-80 East towards the state capitol, Sacramento. We’ll stay on this great across-North-America ribbon of highway until the far side of Chicago. Merlin surveys the familiar landscape around Vacaville. Yes, that is Spanish/French for Cow Village. We have our usual UC Davis refueling stretch and sniff stop, and pass our customary South Lake Tahoe turnoff to continue east towards Reno. Road Trip Merlin inspires frequent breaks. As driver-navigator, I pledge to stop at all rest stops and any other remotely interesting pull-offs. Our first official highway traveler stop is Gold Run Rest Area near Dutch Flat. Merlin lopes amongst the Pines, happy in the crisp mountain air. Several fellow travelers approach us and ask to say hello to Merlin. He graciously accepts his role as Doggie Ambassador for dog-less travelers. He once agreed to pose with 20 visitors from India for a photo overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. Back on the road, we climb into the Sierra mountains and, hey, it’s snowing! Mid-October seems a bit early for California snow but then the weather has been squirrelly everywhere. We take the first exit for a little romp in the flurries and recognize the Kingvale gas station, fondly. A few summers back we explored the old Emigrant Gap/ Donner Pass backroad. The driver, obviously not me, allowed the gas tank to fall below half, then a quarter, then almost empty before admitting it was time to look for a gas station. In the wilderness back country. Where the ill-fated Donner Party pioneers died of starvation. The old wagon trail road had to return to the freeway eventually, right? And every freeway exit has a gas station, right? So I pretended to enjoy the magnificent mountain wilderness, while calculating how much camera gear and dog water I could carry if I had to walk out. Would Merlin enjoy a ride in a State Park Land Rover, if one ever found us? And, are you supposed to stay with your out-of-gas vehicle, or walk along the road towards civilization? With the empty gas tank warning light blazing, we regained the freeway. After several gas station-less exits (surprised?) we coasted into Kingvale on fumes, and jubilantly filled the tank. To avoid such avoidable anxiety, whenever I’m driving the vehicle gas tank is always at least half full, especially when traveling on my own, especially thousands of miles.

Meanwhile Merlin, blissfully ignorant of the fuel requirements for his adventure, runs pass the gas pumps and leaps into the nearest snowbank. He races around, nipping the snow, before throwing himself on his back to make rolly poly doggie snow angels. I excavate the Michigan snow gloves and throw some snowballs, which Merlin chomps in mid-air. Back in the car, we blast the heat and continue towards the summit. Caltrans, the California Transportation Commission, has live traffic cameras, including I-80 near Truckee. This stretch looks very familiar; it’s where the TV camera crews interview drivers stopped in Sunday evening five hour traffic jams during ski season. My standing policy is to avoid driving when snow chains are required, preferring to travel clear roads, relying on the Merlin Mobile’s 4-wheel all-weather capabilities for any weather surprises. Thick fluffy flurries greet us at the Donner Summit Rest Area. We park between people leaping out of their cars in shorts and sandals to throw snowballs. Merlin romps and barks in the fresh new snow.
I always have a snack at Donner Summit. It seems an eternally hungry place, almost as if the landscape itself remembers the harrowing story of the Donner Party emigrants caught in the early snow of 1846, succumbing to cold, starvation, despair, and cannibalism. Their story soured the Westward Ho wagon train fever, until gold launched the 1849-er California rush. One hundred and fifty years later, playing with my dog in the snow, near our car full of food and water, insulated clothing and sleeping bags, I wonder at the travelers who walked west into a hostile wilderness from the settled East. Stranded for six months in 20 foot snow drifts is beyond my comprehension, and, hopefully, remains outside of my personal experience. I vow to always carry my charged cell phone on my person.

The freeway signs are coated with wet snow, but the way east is obvious. By the time we approach Reno, the sudden snow has disappeared and the sun shines cheerfully. Our Road Trip prep included consulting the Worldwide Labyrinth Locator and cross referencing local resources for interesting roadside attractions along our route. There are two promising labyrinths in Reno and I type their addresses into GPS Tom-Tom. The first is on a riverside bike-path, under a bridge, in what turns out to be a rather rough looking part of town. The sun slides under the overpass to light the river stone pathway, but the homeless people pushing shopping carts and overhead road clanking makes Merlin uneasy, so we don't stay long. The second labyrinth is a Lea Goode-Harris Santa Rosa design in the Rancho San Rafael Regional Park. We follow bold signs to the Labyrinth Garden in May Arboretum and enjoy a spectacular sunset walk in the pleasant surroundings.

After a quick picnic, we rig for night driving and leave bright town for dark desert. Cars become scarce and three-trailer trucks common, fishtailing in the crosswinds.

Merlin has been to Reno before- it’s his End of the Known World. He looks out into the dark, watching for whatever is Beyond Reno.

Day One: Home to somewhere in Nevada. 310 miles.

Prep and Pack

2007-11-28T19:26:00.000-08:00

Every journey begins with the first step, and a road trip of 6,200 miles begins with rolling out the driveway, but the preparation for every journey begins with the decision to go. When the Michigan wedding invitation surprised me last summer, I was suffering with a persistent sinus infection exacerbated by that long west coast flight to Paris, and was in my usual post-flight never gonna get on a plane again funk. But the photo booth magnet with the cute couple imploring "Save the Date" convinced me I had to attend. I RSVPed on the wedding wedsite and began figuring out how to get there. It’s always difficult for me to fly to Detroit, mostly because direct flights to London are 1/3 the price (a reason lost on my mom, who insists on living near Detroit). A helpful voice in my head suggested, “You could drive…” and the idea snowballed. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a good, even great, idea. The more people I told, the more the idea was encouraged. The world became divided into people who love long road trips and people who thought I was crazy. Just like whenever we think we are first to discover a new book, plan a trip to a secret location, or suffer an accident or illness, everyone suddenly has a personal story to share. Apparently, almost everyone in California drove here from somewhere else. Many people have driven America coast to coast, or have always wanted to someday. The local long distance drive winner is a Marin labyrinth pal who moved her family by car from Louisiana to Alaska several decades ago, with toddlers.

An obvious first stop for an across America road trip is AAA, locally the California State Automobile Association. I adore maps, and a have lifetime AAA membership just for the all-the-maps-you-can-eat option. Their motto, Dream, Plan, Go! resonates nicely with my travel philosophy. They never say I’m crazy when I take in my map request list. I’ve found their travel drive time estimates maddeningly accurate. Their current USA map states San Francisco to Detroit is 36 hours. Six six-hour days seemed almost too easy. I turned to the packing checklists.

Yes, I’m a confessed list maker. Externalized memory leaves more room for creative thought. Besides, I hate trying to figure out how to say band-aid or kleenex in a foreign language; FYI: It’s Band-Aid® and Kleenex®. Over the years I have refined succinct travel lists for photo expeditions, foreign travel, conference presentations. There are two Merlin outing checklists, day-trip and overnight, and a stay behind at home dog-sitter checklist complete with vocabulary list (500+ distinct words and phrases). The Merlin’s Road Trip checklist required a creative merging of extended weekend getaway and photo outing with Merlin overnight, plus wedding clothes. The good thing about packing a car versus an airline carry-on, is that you can take as much as you want. The bad thing about packing a car for a trip is that you think you can take as much as you want. Merlin comfort had priority, followed by camera gear. The front passenger area got all the maps, GPS, cellphone, snacks. The way-back cargo area got a winter sleeping bag and Merlin’s down vest, in case we both ended up napping in the car, on purpose or stranded. Yes, I’m the person who always has matches for candles and a Swiss Army knife in my purse. Plan for contingencies. Tertiary back-ups. Packing for a California visit to the American Midwest, is alarmingly similar to preparing for a third world country, without the electrical plug adapters. Extra vitamins, strong tea, sturdy shoes and enough clothes to not have to do laundry more than once in a hotel sink. Rain-gear. Snow-brush windshield scraper. Driving gloves. Dog food, people food, non-high fructose energy drinks, gallon jugs of water. OK, the water was for Nevada. Michigan is the water, winter, wonderland.

For travel checklists newbies, two good sources of ready-made checklists are REI and Rick Steves’ Travel Tips. What’s your favorite essential Road Trip item?

Blog Bogged

2007-11-14T19:08:00.000-08:00

My intention to post a travel blog every day while driving solo across America turned out a tad ambitious. Driving 300-500 miles each day was fine, but frequent stretch and sniff stops, minor diversions, and finding dog friendly wi-fi lodgings each evening left little time for coherent writing. Hotel room arrival involved finding enough electrical outlets to recharge computer, camera, phone, bluetooth headset, iPod, and me. Solo human and canine care had to be woven into the familiar digital workflow of downloading photos, checking email, backing everything up, and googling specific details for the next day’s itinerary. The route emerged from local maps, state travel guides, old magazine clippings, labyrinth location printouts, and brochures from the hotel lobby, plus online and on the ground research. It took a few days to refine unpacking and repacking the car each day. We were up, packed, and underway as early as possible every morning, which wasn’t as early as I would have liked. Most writers agree that the best time of day to write is upon waking, when consciousness floats out of dreamspace pulling a bargeload of incredibly imaginative ideas back into tangible reality. Most travelers agree that the best time to get on the road as soon as you’re awake, helped by a good breakfast and hot coffee, to get a clear, strong start on the day. Considering I’ll write right through to lunch once I get going, Merlin and I decided the road trip asserted priority. Even without morning journaling, we were often the last vehicle to leave the parking lot, by an embarrassing 9 am. Looking at the USA map on the third day, I began to get nervous about missing the wedding. My leisurely extra half week buffer began to look like a week too short. We had known it would get dark earlier as we approached winter, but we underestimated how dark and how early as we looked for lodgings in the late afternoon twilight, stopping far before our projected destination city each night. And we kept losing whole hours to silly time zones crossings. Zap. Plus, it snowed. So, although we may give away the ending by announcing that we survived and are now back home, (friends, applaud here) we remain driven to share our journey. Here follows postings of scribbled notes and snapshots, with fleeting observations and sudden insights from slick travel brochures and crooked photocopies about the most amazingly unbelievable local attractions. Thanks for riding along on Merlin’s Road Trip.

Merlin's Road Trip Begins

2007-10-15T12:22:00.000-07:00

Merlin’s Road Trip is an On The Road journal of travel musings. Our first journey is a mid-October 2007 drive from our home in Marin Country, California to Michigan, and back. The impetus for this expedition was an innocent note in July from one of our best friends from undergraduate Kalamazoo College announcing her daughter’s Saturday-before-Halloween wedding. Since air travel isn’t the joyous party it used to be, I thought: Road Trip! The idea flash took on a life of its own, spawning enthusiasm and triggering sparks in all directions. This blog will muse and weave bite-size bits as we traverse the miles.

Merlin’s Road Trip may meander, but like any pilgrimage, it will be purposeful travel. Driving across America will immerse us in the physical environment of a national landscape. Traveling from the creative freedom of California through the wild west to the industrial midwest will challenge us to retain our inner bearings. Traveling as a pilgrim orients us to seek the essence and interconnectedness of all life and strengthens our sense of greater purpose and global community. Travel literally expands our horizons, and being away helps us appreciate the return home. The traveler weaves together what she knows and what she discovers into a richer dialogue.

I moved out to Livermore, California in 1979 from Kalamazoo, Michigan, in a red Mazda hatchback with an open U-Haul trailer containing everything I owned. I knew it was a one way trip, like the wagon train pioneers. I’ve never driven back; never even considered driving back for fun. I do adore a good road trip and have been all over England and France in various borrowed and rented cars. Merlin’s mobile dog house has popped up around northern California and as far as the Grand Canyon. It’s probably on my list to drive across the continent some time, but the perfect two months free have yet to align. Since it's my 50th year and I’m getting a bit anxious about getting to everything on my list, it seems an appropriate time to create a personal pilgrimage of reclamation, remembering, renewal, and return to origin (born: Pontiac, Michigan). With dog Merlin, we'll have a lovely non-verbal drive where I can reflect, stop for photos and sniffing whenever we like, and sing along with the iTunes radio at the top of our lungs.

We’re planning to take I-80 east and I-70 west, with spontaneous side trip meandering. Let us know if there’s something we must see. Wave if we ramble through your town. We’ll be back for Fall Open Studios, Nov 10-11, weather, Indian petroglyphs, photo opportunities, and labyrinth stops permitting. Welcome to our Road Trip blog. Later!