REAL AMERICAN COWBOY

It's  our practice to pull the rig off the road about every 50 miles for a break.  We scout the countryside, have a bite to eat and walk-out the kinks before we take another bite out of the highway.

Thirty miles north of Arthur, NE, we had made one of our refresher stops.  The landscape is rolling in these parts and nothing but grass, beef-on-the-hoof and a few shrubs are on the horizon. This is more desolate than the southwest desert, not a house, silo, grocery or gas station within 50 miles.

I was outside the rig taking pictures when I noticed an old pick-up cresting a rise some half mile in the distance.  We had backed the rig off the highway into a grassy two-track that led to a barbed wire and stick gate.  When the pick-up turned in our direction I thought that the driver wanted to access the field by the path on which we were sitting.  As the truck pulled off the highway, I walked in that direction to see if we were blocking his way.

"No, not in the least," the young man said as he removed his hat in courtesy and continued with, "I wondered if y'all was having any problems and stopped to see if I might be of any help."

Meet Magnus Hawkins, age somewhere around 21, an all American Cowboy. His business is cows, and plenty of them. Thousands of acres are owned and managed along with thousands of grazing beef.  This young man could step onto a movie set or socialize in high society with equal grace.  It's seldom one is gifted with meeting "the real McCoy."  His voice was strong, calm, sure, and unpretentious.  Words of his local land and everyday workings rolled from him like a statesman of stature.  Jackie talked with him about horses, as is her interest, and he gave an eloquent, short, succinct lecture in the vocabulary/colloquialisms of his trade using terms such as "rank and put a stud on a mare" with the ease of Mark Twain.  It was pure delight to listen to him talk...and I could have listened until...well...until the cows came home.

I noticed his spurs and asked of their origin.  "My daddy has a forge and was sort of a blacksmith and he taught me the trade," He answered,  assuredly as he was proud.  I asked if he made spurs for sale.  "Nope, just use em my own self."

Not much left of the town, just a hardware/feed store and the area's ranch brands.

Magnus, you are my hero!

UPPER MIDWEST BIRDS

Here's a few birds from Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, Nebraska and South Dakota.  Most are migrating, heading north to their summer breeding grounds.

Redwing Blackbird, Female building nest.

Yellow Shafted Flicker

Marbled Godwit

Osprey

Chinese Ringneck Pheasant

Eastern Phoebe

Vesper Sparrow

  Teal, Cinnamon and Blue Hybrid

Hermit Thrush

Downy Woodpecker

THE TOWN THAT TIME "ALMOST" FORGOT

Arthur, Nebraska population 303, sits quiet under afternoon clouds some 30 miles north of it's closest neighbor, Ogallala.  We had headed cross-country, north off of I-80, looking for rural adventure and the free city campground unearthed on an internet website. The town is on Highway 82 and the only buildings seen on the flat beef prairie in a 75 mile stretch.

We pulled through the town, that stretched no longer than 300 yards along the highway, and after a little snooping, found the little camping spot under the trees.  The ground was somewhat soft from recent rains but not so spongy that we sank no more than 6 inches.  Nice spot smack in the middle of a neighborhood with a church on one corner and a small city park across the street...neighbors to our rear and right.

We were all set up, hooked to the electric pedestal, water hose attached and sewer dumped when up comes Karen.  She walked up to rig a bit timidly and says….I own this property…I met her a the door because I was pirating off of someone’s internet signal and thought this person was the owner of the router and had detected me. Seeming chagrined, she asked if charging us $15 dollars for the night seemed excessive.  I told her how we found this site via a "Free Camping" site on the internet.  "I don't know anything about that," she informed me.  "Whatever," I thought and peeled a 10 and 5 off the bankroll and handed it to her.  A deal at double the price as far as I'm concerned.

She stood in the shade of large cottonwoods and pointed around the compass at all the goings-on around town.  The old jail boarded up now for repairs, Straw bail church just up the road, new church on the corner, K -12  high school up Elm street and the businesses along main street;  Grocery store, Bunkhouse Saloon and a tack shop.  Karen did note that the tack shop sold leather brassieres but she tried to avoid such things and then invited us to her basement should a big storm come in the night.    I was overwhelmed with so much information presented in rapid succession and was only able to comment that our country could use more small towns exactly like Arthur.

Karen Sizer, owner and operator of "Arthur Enterprise" local weekly newspaper*Circulation 330* and the no-name mini-park.

                                                                      One bank town.

                                                                      One saloon town.

                             .
                                   Church constructed of hay bales plastered over with stucco

                                                              Pilgrim Holiness 1928

We were up and off in the morning with our noses headed toward home.  The all-day rain gave the rig a through washing, cleaning the Colorado road salt off the sides and underbelly.

ELVIS SPOTTED IN FORT COLLINS, CO.

Circa 1959
It was the time of carefree living, girls,  large-finned cars and an occasional beer when we could find someone over 21 to buy a 6 pack for us.

The only thing changed is the hair color, shoes are still white.

Still on our way home.  We jockeyed a bit south off-route to make a flyby-quick stop in Fort Collins, CO to visit with an old high school chum, Harvey.  He still looks like Elvis to me and I see he is still attracting the best looking women on the block.  Darlene and Elvis have been married 30 years and still act like they are on their honeymoon.

 American White Pelican

At least a couple of dozen pelicans circled over Fort Collins in the morning sun rising on the thermal until they caught the right wind to take them north. Once on the northern breeze they formed a signature "V" and headed for summer breeding grounds in the north somewhere between the Great Salt Lake to Alberta, Canada.

SNOWBIRDS GOING HOME.

A full compliment of blue skies and 80F degree temps waved goodbye when we departed Earp, CA our home of many weeks near the Colorado River on BLM lands. It was time to head home via the northern route through Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, South Dakota, Minnesota.

Earp, CA

 Don't fill the rig's gas tank on the CA. side of the Colorado River.

 Jackie flying the two-string stunt kite in Earp.

 One last taco in the land of good Mexican food.

"My Grandchild, Education is the Ladder"

Good advice from the Chief in Cameron, AZ

The ride up and through Bryce Canyon Utah was spectacular.

The days are warm but the evenings are beginning to get quite cool.

Highway 29 in Utah to Huntington State Park  was the most beautiful, and scary with numerous switchbacks and 8+ percent downgrades.

Now the days are beginning to be cool too, and the nights downright cold.

10,300 ft summit south of the Wyoming border on highway 191.

Looking north from Interstate 80 going east.  This ain't no blue road, but the weather is producing blue pimples and shivering limbs.

The ultimate in back seat driving.

Wishing for blue skies again.

Looking out onto I-80 from our RV Park in Rawlins, Wy.

The snow has stopped all but the trucks.

Do we venture out?

BIRDS OF BRYCE CANYON, UTAH

Heading home.  Leaving the Mojave Valley along the Colorado River we ascend into the mountains of Utah and find the high altitudes (7,799 ft.) have a dragging effect on our bodies.  I hear it takes a few days to acclimate to higher elevations.   We over-nighted near Bryce Canyon and found a bonanza of new birds for lifer-ID’s

The nights are dropping to near and a little below the freezing.  Snow is still on the mountain tops. One evening/early morning our water froze and a kettle of hot water was needed to thaw the intake hose…..Kept the faucet active every ten minutes after that.

MOUNTAIN BLUEBIRD

CASSIN'S FINCH

MOUNTAIN CHICKADEE

CLARK'S NUTCRACKER

(Jay family)

AMERICAN KESTREL

(Sparrow Hawk)

PYGMY NUTHATCH

VESPER SPARROW

(Fuzzy pic but the white around the eye is a dead giveaway)

And now one last bird.  This guy was spotted on the shores of Glen Canyon Dam on

our way to Bryce Canyon

FRANKLIN'S GULL