<$BlogRSDUrl$>

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Beatlick Travel: Glenwood 

Subject: Beatlick TR: Glenwood
Date: Aug 27, 2009 10:10 AM

Glenwood is this tiny little town once bustling from mining , sawmill, even the early aviation industries, but now a quaint conglomerate with a guest ranch, rustic cabins for rent, goat mile beauty products, an old bible camp, some art galleries, a rock shop, two bars and three restaurants – as far as I could tell.

We settled in at the free Bighorn Campground west of town and right next door to the $18 a night RV park. We had the campground to ourselves and there were about three rigs at the RV park, most looked like they were there on a semi-permanent basis.

I took a yoga class for $5 down at the Community Center taught by a British woman named Cornelia. She arrived in Glenwood seven years ago via London, Africa, and New York City. She and her husband have horses and built a labyrinth which they make available to the public.

At the Blue Front Bar and Café we found out from the locals that a nearby landowner tapped some of the hot springs on their property which they had closed to the public. Then they pumped the hot water up to their residence and set up an exclusive RV park and campground named Sundial Hot Springs. Reservations only. I tried to call the number from a pay phone by the Trading Post, but got an answering machine that said it would call back. Unfortunately cell phones don’t work in the town, so that limited communications.

In the morning we had 25-cent coffee at the Golden Girls Café. Great, I mean great biscuits. In the tiny dining room only one other table was filled. There sat a man and woman with two young children and a baby. Their car roof was covered with about a dozen gym bags of varying proportions all lashed together. One of the back tires looked like it was going to explode at any minute. I wanted to ask, "How far do you think you're going to get on that tire?"I was sure we would see them broken down further down the road. But I guess it is some kind of tribute to them that they could set that problem aside and sit down to a great breakfast.

We’re all carbed up too and ready to press on into the wilderness.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela Hirst

Labels:


Monday, September 07, 2009

Beatlicks: Last Generation of Campers 

Subject: Beatlick TR3: Glenwood here we come
Date: Aug 26, 2009 12:40 PM

Last night Beatlick Joe and I sat outside to watch the sky. It was too dark to see the cow patties but we got lucky and missed most of them. I haven’t really spent that much time looking at the stars since Joe and I took that sailboat trip out of Zihuatanejo to Mazatlan, sailing beneath the Southern Cross. I couldn’t even find the Big Dipper, but in my defense the stars were so numerous that it was lost in the masses.

You know if you look up into the sky long enough you will definitely see something that makes you want to scratch your head. Joe and I both saw a little red star that seemed to pulse and quiver around, not really travel, but definitely move incrementally in all directions. We watched the blinking lights of airplanes traverse the whole horizon and the summer heat lightning illuminate the sky off towards Silver City.

Next morning we pulled out and learned a lot more about the Bubbles at the Ranger Station. The Bubbles don’t exist anymore – dried up years ago. All our information was too old truthfully. We also learned from the rangers that the road to the hot springs was closed because of squatters.

Apparently a small enclave was living there and word got out that an infant had died up there. Upon further investigation it was discovered that the people were poaching long horn sheep for sustenance. They were run out and the road was closed forever.

The young female ranger that came to our campground told me squatting is still a problem. She had a work crew back near the springs to clear brush recently when she discovered an intact “house” that someone had constructed for themselves out there. Now for her own protection she’s not allowed to go back there to work.

She also said the rangers who work in this area do not restore the hot springs after a flood. So maybe the person in that “house” is the one who attempted to restore one of the pools. Or maybe the person whose blanket I now own did it. The smaller pool near that camp was by far the cleanest and best being constructed all out of rocks without mud.

That camper who left the blanket had sustained himself or herself with a twenty-pound bag of organic oatmeal. I know because the bag was left there as trash along with the blanket, pan, backpack and tarp.

So, only problem campers, floods, and a need for constant restoration, it’s easy to see why these campgrounds can be cut from the Federal budget or simply diminished to hiking trails. In this economic climate it’s just a matter of time – especially when there is the pristine Cat Walk hiking experience fifteen miles down the road with only picnic grounds to maintain.

Beatlick Joe says we are probably the last generation of campers.

Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela Hirst

Labels:


Sunday, September 06, 2009

Peace on the Home Front 

[From Bill Harris in response to As the World Turns: America Left Behind (Pacific Free Press, Bellaciao 9/6/09). See his blog “Peace on the Home Front” at http://antinomian-peacenik.blogspot.com.]

Debaters debate the two wars as if Nixon’s civil war on Woodstock Nation didn’t yet run amok. One need not travel to China to find indigenous cultures lacking human rights or to Cuba for political prisoners. America leads the world in percentile behind bars, thanks to ongoing persecution of hippies, radicals, and non-whites under banner of the war on drugs. If we’re all about spreading liberty abroad, then why mix the message at home? Peace on the home front would enhance global credibility.

The drug czar’s Rx for prison fodder costs dearly, as lives are flushed down expensive tubes. There’s trouble on the border. My shaman’s second opinion is that psychoactive plants are God’s gift. God didn’t screw up. Canadian Marc Emery sold seeds that enable American farmers to outcompete cartels with superior domestic herb. He is being extradited to prison, for doing what government wishes it could do, reduce demand for Mexican.

The constitutionality of the CSA (Controlled Substances Act of 1970) derives from an interstate commerce clause. Only by this authority does it reincarnate Al Capone, endanger homeland security, and throw good money after bad. Official policy is to eradicate, not tax, the number-one cash crop in the land. America rejected prohibition, but it’s back. Apparently, SWAT teams don’t need no stinking amendment. Father, forgive those who make it their business to know not what they do.

Nixon promised that the Schafer Commission would support the criminalization of his enemies, but it didn’t. No matter, the witch-hunt was on. No amendments can assure due process under an anti-science law without due process itself. Psychology hailed the breakthrough potential of LSD, until the CSA halted all research and pronounced that marijuana has no medical use, period.

The RFRA (Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1993) allows Native American Church members to eat peyote, which functions like LSD. Americans shouldn’t need a specific church membership to obtain their birthright freedom of religion. Denial of entheogen sacrament to any American, for mediation of communion with his or her maker, precludes free exercise of religious liberty.

Freedom of speech presupposes freedom of thought. The Constitution doesn’t enumerate any governmental power to embargo diverse states of mind. How and when did government usurp this power to coerce conformity? The Mayflower sailed to escape coerced conformity. Legislators who would limit cognitive liberty lack jurisdiction.

Common-law must hold that adults are the legal owners of their own bodies. The Founding Fathers decreed that the right to the pursuit of happiness is inalienable. Socrates said to know your self. Mortal lawmakers should not presume to thwart the intelligent design that molecular keys unlock spiritual doors. Persons who appreciate their own free choice of path in life should tolerate seekers’ self-exploration.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?