Ludlow Blues

Ludlow, California had its day, but not a whole lot more than that.

It's one of those places that showed up on the map of American history for our country's temporal equivalent of 5-6 seconds. Blip. Ludlow's heyday was actually about 25 years long - it served as one end of a short railroad line built specifically to move borax from one side of Death Valley to the other. Construction started in 1905, and by the middle of WWII, the tracks were torn up completely.

Now the only reason why Ludlow is there is because no one thought to remove it; the Ludlow Cafe is still open, there is a Dairy Queen, truck parking, a gas station that sells possibly the worst burritos in the country (trust me, I keep track), a skeevie motel, and, to top it off, it's in maybe the only dry county in California - so you can't even buy a beer in Ludlow (that's the blues). The data sheet on the city says it has a population of about 10 ... about 10. You'd think for a town with a population you could add up without even taking your shoes off it would be pretty easy to come up with a precise number. Apparently not - so it's about 10. (By the way, the above shot of Main Street in Ludlow, which technically is a part of the old Route 66, also includes our truck, in case you hadn't noticed.)

So, what follows is another of my little photo essays - this one entitled Ludlow Blues. The photo above is what's left of Ludlow's Mercantile building (why Ludlow ever needed a Mercantile building is beyond me). After that I'll let you decide what the buildings were for...post office, residence, brothel? Who knows? I included the photo of the old car radio I found in the middle of the Ludlow dirt patch just because I liked the look of it. And, for some reason, somebody seemed to be real concerned that people were going to do a lot of trespassing in Ludlow, so I included a couple of the many warning signs I found.

I also left the photo of the town plaque at the end just in case you're interested. Other than the pretty modern Dairy Queen, the plaque is probably the nicest looking thing in town. Rock on Ludlow, may you live long and prosper.

JR's Bar

I'm pretty glad I have photos for this post. I'd like to think I'm good enough to make this up (for those of you who know me read: full of shit enough to make this up), but without photos I'm not sure anyone would believe this story even if it was told by the Pope (or, Frankie - he likes it when I call him that). But, I have photos and Wikipedia, and we all know photos and the Internet cannot lie.

OK, so a little over three years ago we're driving west along on I-90 in western South Dakota, which by-the-by, was the last of the 48 contiguous states we had been to together, and we were looking for a place to stop and switch drivers. And, lo and behold, we see the sign above (or, more accurately, the 1.5 signs above). Another mile or so later we see a sign for the same place and it also has the magic words "Truck Parking." Beth was driving, and for those of you who know Beth, her thinking was "we just have to check this place out." Decision made.

This is it, the fabulous JR's Bar and Grill - Food*Drink*Fun - a pole building with a dirt parking lot that was was indeed big enough for a couple of tractor-trailers and a bunch of cars. When we arrived there was only one car out front with a door open and a person passed-out in the back seat. "An excellent start," we though to ourselves.

Now, before we go inside, a little background. Belvidere (population 57 as of the 2010 census) is near the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation (population 15,521) in southwest South Dakota. It also sits in Jackson County, one of the poorest counties in the country. The Reservation is made up of mostly Oglala Lakota Native Americans and is part of the Sioux Nation. For those of you who don't know much about this storied area, this place is near where the Wounded Knee Massacre took place some 125 years ago, and it was also frequented by Chief Crazy Horse* and Chief Gall - both disciples of Sitting Bull - who led the Sioux, Northern Cheyenne and Arapaho at the infamous Battle of Little Big Horn.

Belvidere also is the site of JR's Bar and Grill - and JR himself, shown here standing behind the bar. He was actually a pretty interesting guy. He's a retired civil engineer of some sort, and married to a woman 20-25 years younger who is still actively working as a county auditor. This place is JR's retirement - and as you can see from the photos, you simply can't make stuff like this

up and expect people to believe you. 

When we arrived, there was a group of young Native Americans sitting in the booth by the pool table on the right side of this photo. Apparently, the guy passed out in the car was originally part of this group. After a while, the only woman in the group came over and tried to get Beth to buy her a shot. JR was not amused. He explained to us that begging for drinks by locals from the reservation was a ongoing problem for which he had no patience. Shortly thereafter, the group bought a case of Bud Light and left.

A little while later, a couple of "cowboys" came in and sat at the Bar. I asked JR if I could get my camera and take some photos of the place, and he said he didn't mind. So, here is a look at perhaps the most eclectic/eccentric watering hole I have ever been in - along with some commentary we heard from JR.
 
They did, from time to time, have live music and dancing, and used the stage you see here. Why the area is cluttered with a wagon, a hand truck, a kid's bike, a 4-foot Budweiser blimp, etc., is pretty hard to imagine. The place was full of curiosities like this, and as you can see there was a Juke Box and several games of chance. Also (mercifully not pictured here) the bathrooms looked like they might have been almost an afterthought, and the commode areas were little more than roughed in wooden stalls that had curtains instead of doors which you could draw closed for privacy. That part seemed a little creepy, particularly if you envision a big crowd on a weekend night.
Speaking of big crowds, JR had  his biggest money making weekends when several times a year the folks on the reservation held fast-pitch softball tournaments. Evidently, they take their softball very seriously, and drink a lot of Budweiser in the process. On those weekends he would have a steady stream of people in the bar, and every few hours a group of players would show up and buy several cases of beer. He would have to stock as many as an extra 150 cases of Bud to get through the weekend, and even then he would sometimes run out.

 
Which brings us to the Grill side of Bar and Grill. I'm not sure I saw a real grill. I mean, I don't remember specifically looking for one at the time, but I didn't see any. I ordered a hamburger and some onion rings; pretty safe bet in a bar, right? Well, I don't know if this was typical, after all we were there in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, and things might have been very different during the evening hours, or on weekends, but the burger and bun came out of the refrigerator in a little pre-packaged clear envelope that had to be torn open, and the onion rings came out of a box in the freezer. Both were subsequently microwaved. Mmmmmm, yummy. That's what I'm talkin' bout...me and you, JR.

Well, as you can see, our making South Dakota the last of the lower forty-eight states to visit was well worth the wait. And, if you ever find yourself driving across I-90 in South Dakota, take exit 163 and look for the Little Bar and Grill on the Prairie. And, ask for JR.

*Awesome Crazy Horse fact: He and his spouse, Black Shawl, had a kid named "They Are Afraid of Her."

Once Somebody's Dream

We get to see so many cool things out here that it's easy to forget about the other side, the side that just makes you sad. I'm a pretty optimistic person, and generally a fairly happy guy, and I tend to shy away from writing about stuff that gives me the blues. My emotions tend to be a little too close to the surface and...well, anyway, this post is about the sadder side of what we see.

This photo of the old Michigan Central Train Station was taken several years ago as we were returning from Canada, about half way across the Ambassador Bridge. Yeah, you can see right through it. There was a time when it was the face of Detroit (my hometown for those of you who have not been paying attention). There are rumors it's going to rise again, but given the recent $$ problems Detroit is having, I wouldn't hold my breath on it ever approaching its former greatness (when it was completed in 1913-14 it was the tallest train station in the world).

It was 1920s-30s-40s gorgeous. It was Detroit's Grand Central Station...marble, crazy busy, enormous and unnecessary crystal chandeliers, opulence, decadence, several sets of tracks, a Terminal Diner (RIP George Carlin - if you don't get the reference, look it up), and international trade and commerce in a city that was in its heyday. I last saw the inside of it in the 1970s and it was still awesome. At the moment, it's a footnote.

But that's only the most visible symbol of what I'm talking about in this post. I have taken a lot of photos of buildings that are in serious decay. I can't help but try to picture some woman or man standing there, looking out over a piece of ground and saying to him or herself: "I see a building that needs to be there." They believed what they thought, and then made it happen. And then many years later, some guy in a truck came by and took a photo of what was once their dream, but is now a structure that deserves only the dignity of being burned down. [sigh]

I have been fascinated for a long time now about older houses and barns. They have character, they have a life of their own, they breathe a uniqueness, and in their own special way, they make me sad. Well, maybe sad isn't quite the right word - how about melancholy. Anyway: here are some photos of places that are way past their prime. Places that were once somebody's dream, but are now something far less than that. I have stories in my head about these places, and stories about who lived there, and what their lives were like. I invite you to make up stories of your own....

OK, confession, the last photo, JR's place, still exists as a functioning Bar/Grill. We've been there, it's in Belvidere, South Dakota (yes, that spelling is correct), not far from an Indian reservation. And, we actually met JR himself - that's another post coming soon to a computer or smartphone near you. It also has a campground right next to it, as the 1/2 -sign might suggest (but I'm not sure I'd ever camp there, unless it was with a small contingent of Marines).

Utah

I've started this particular post several times now. The original intent was to poke fun at the state - it's a large, slow-moving target particularly in terms of its predominant religion and its often downright scary conservative politics. But that's too easy. Besides, the South Park guys have already done a masterful job of that with The Book of Mormon.

Every state (at least 48 that I know) has its own personality - so much so that sometimes you can tell when you've crossed into a new state just by looking at the terrain. You don't always need a map. This is pretty much true for Utah just about anywhere you enter the state. In terms of raw, rugged, inhospitable beauty, it's very hard to outdo Utah. So I figure Utah deserves photos - it's a visual feast.

This shot of Devil's Slide is my favorite. It's not far from Ogden, and it's a bizarre limestone protrusion that's about 25 feet wide and runs up the side of a mountain for several hundred feet - almost straight up and down. It certainly looks like it would be a trip you'd only make once.

The photo immediately below is Ghost Rock, near Moab. The rest of the photos were taken either at roadside rest areas, or hanging out of the side of the truck - I'll let them speak for themselves...

By the way, just in case you've made it this far, I highly recommend a trip to Utah. No photography is going to do the state justice. You have to see it for yourself. That's just the way it is...

Yeah, I Got Yer Global Warming Right Here...

I'm not a climate scientist, but I'll be glad to explain Ebola to you, and enlighten you as to exactly why the second amendment is sacred but the 14th amendment is not. And, ya know, a snowball on the floor of the Senate is worth more than the credibility of a committee chairmanship. But you knew that.

Ha! And don't even get me started on how July 2015 was the warmest month recorded since the Big Bang, which by the way was about 5,700 years ago (I can't be exact since I am not a scientist, but I do have some well-thought-out opinions on whether or not we should actually listen to this new Pope). And, I'm pretty sure there are photographs of Adam and Eve with dinosaurs...the timing seems right.

And, this Ice thing. It's such a total offset. Get this: we are already moving coastal Alaskan villages inland because rising water levels that aren't actually happening are flooding stuff we're not ready to admit to. Jeez, what's next. And, just in case you weren't paying attention, people that live in Alaska are Americans (there's that whole 14th amendment thing again)...and damn, I'll bet there are some laws out there somewhere that say we gotta take care of them (and, come to think of it, we should probably drug test them, too). 

So let's get back to this ice thing. If we let this slide, then according to conventional wisdom, we're gonna have to deal with voter fraud...again. And that bites. They (that ubiquitous they) are gonna start with that .003 percent of Americans that feel compelled to vote twice, or find it necessary to hang those chads just to force us to use math (and, I believe you have to be a scientist to use math). It's pretty sinister. 

The reality of it all is that there is really no reality any more - we have to stage that according to the average of several polls produced from data from people who actually still answer their phone. So if you really want to be real these days, you need to be at least in the top ten (or eleven now) of that 5% of the 25% that still have land lines and will talk to strangers. This is why we need to leave math to the scientists. Really.

But I digress...  Anyway: now the Boss wants to buy more heavy Arctic ice-breakers so we can not only keep up with the Russians (Joneskis?), but we can also be ready to break up all those glaciers that are turning into non-ice, which, I believe, is still water. But, according to one leading congressman (who also admits to not being a scientist) when the ice in your glass finally melts, your glass does not overflow, which is a big relief (at least until Charles and David Koch decide to fund a definitive scientific study that shows your glass really does overflow).

But it's all good because we're going to get the next President we deserve, and we can all breathe that collective sigh of relief that comes with knowing that we voted for her/him on purpose.  I can hardly wait until we can put all of this in our collective rear view mirrors, which undoubtedly will require some scraping because of this whole damn global warming thing.