Utah the home of magnificent canyons, snow capped peaks, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and more dead car skeletons per capita than anywhere in the USA.

Utah May 2010

Utah is a spectacularly beautiful state. I have enjoyed its natural wonders and skiing its light fresh powder. But please, does every small town here have to have an automobile and truck graveyard that is always visible to the main road?!! In New Zealand I am told there are 100 sheep per capita, in Utah the same ratio exists between its residents and dead cars. At least there is something soothing about looking at a heard of sheep .. not dead rusted cars. Perhaps it is against the law to destroy a car in Utah, or there are no scrap metal dealers. . Can any of my Utah readers (it there are any) enlighten me on the subject?

A word about Hatch Utah ..we stay here for two nights

For those of my readers who have visited this bustling metropolis, you can skip this part.

Hatch is about two hours north of the Arizona border in Western Utah in the middle of a green valley at about 7,000 feet. Like most of the towns along route 89 Hatch was settled by the Mormons in the later 1800s. Blink and you will pass it. But Hatch has its bright spots, clean air, vistas that go on forever and the charm of the little cabins we have booked for two days. If you ever want to experience a slice of Americana Utah style, visit Hatch or Panguich or any of the little towns that follow route 89 from the Arizona border till it intersects with interstate 70. Don’t expect great food or posh accommodations, but at least the prices are right and the people are very friendly. And, by the way, if you are looking for a great rock store, there is one just south of Hatch. Look for the fake dinosaur out front. Everything is always on sale.

Man with Bionic Knee hikes to Angels Landing!

Thursday May 28th

Allan Warshawsky, that famous Israeli explorer and financial planner wins the Moshe Wesley Powell award today for perseverance. In spite of his bad knees, Allan's gave an admirable performance hiking the five miles and thirteen hundred vertical feet to Angels Landing above Zion Canyon. What a guy!

I have been to Zion several times and the place never disappoints. Sandstone cliff rise above the canyon floor nearly 2000 feet straight up with all sorts of geological layers of different colors. We were told by the ranger driving the shuttle bus into the canyon that Zion was formed 250 million years ago. Zion has evolved in unique geological ways, creating the varied and fascinating landscape that captivates park visitors at this particular instant in geologic time.

The Virgin River is the primary sculptor in the formation of Zion Canyon. But the river has been aided by other erosional forces, creating the spectacular vistas.

Lacking a geologist guide, I decided to buy a book “Water, Rocks, and Time” and now I will become an expert on this place! Note: Two pages into the book, I can now tell my readers that Mother Nature has sculpted this deep canyon over millions of years, but only 12-15 inches every THOUSAND YEARS. therefore, I do not advise looking for any changes in the depth of the canyon if you come back to visit every few years or so.

We arrive in the park for our trek to the top of Angels Landing around mid-morning. The air is crisp with only a few puffy clouds above. This is my second trip up to Angels Landing and this time it was surprisingly easy. Perhaps all the hiking I have done lately has made me better prepared, but it was probably because last time the temperatures in the canyon were well over 90 degrees. Along the hike we meet lots of interesting people, mostly from abroad. One British couple, with three young children, was especially interesting. He had a media company that he sold and now they were taking off two years to travel the world. Wow!

At the summit the view is breathtaking (see pic) and you cannot believe how great a peanut butter and jelly sandwich can taste at the top of Angels Landing. Actually it is almond butter, and it is my “go to” food for any hike longer than three hours. Trader Joe’s brand gets my recommendation.

This trip as it unfolds is a series of “OH MY GOD” moments for our Israeli cousins. It seems we can’t go for anymore than a few minutes in the car or on a hike when those words come out of their mouths and describe another breathtaking view, or even a beautiful wildflower which all seem to be in bloom this time of year. Although I have been in most of these places several times before, it is great to experience them again through their eyes. Allan and Sheila genuinely enjoy nature and the beauty of the Southwest. This is a long way from Newark New Jersey where Sheila's dad and his sister, my mom, immigrated to from Russia in the 1920s. I wonder if they are looking down on us and experiencing an "oh my god" moment of their own!

Finished the day at Zion by joining the National Park Historical Society and dropping a few dollars on pins, sweatshirts and cards for our adopted “kids” in Mexico and India. Looking at all the “stuff” they sell in the parks, I have decided to take a more frugal path to mark my visits. I will buy a US map on the web, put it in my office and place pins in the National Parks I have visited. I think I have been to about thirty or so, but I have about forty or so to go.

So where are all the Antelopes? Antelope Canyon May 26th 2010

Wednesday May 26th 2010

Note: All these pics were taken with my Motorola Droid Google Phone..

Imagine you are a nine year old Navajo girl and you are out for a stroll some eighty years ago. You remember what it was like then. No internet, no Google, no YouTube and of course no face book.

This cute little girl (all Navajo girls are cute in 1930) wanders down a wash and discovers a tiny opening in the red sandstone cliffs on the sides of the wash. In she goes, and like Alice dropping into the rabbit hole, she enters Wonderland. Bright sunlight streams down the sides of the narrow canyon like orange colored lasers illuminating the sandstone and embedded crystals. The fine dust in the air glows. She looks up and the stone above is shaped like orange and red corkscrews reaching the top some fifty feet above. The shapes of the narrow canyon take many forms, a bear, giant hands, and a man with a beard. Would anyone ever believe what she had discovered?

Fast forward almost eighty years and here I am in her canyon, Antelope Canyon, just outside Page Arizona a few miles from Lake Powell.

The trip from Phoenix took nearly four hours but went quickly and was as beautiful as ever. Accompanied by my cousins, Allan and Sheila from Israel, this was an opportunity to share our travels through Navajo Country. I never tire of this ride, the San Francisco Peaks covered with snow outside Flagstaff, the Painted Desert and the Vermillion Cliffs. These five days upcoming through Northern Arizona and Southern Utah will be “eye candy” for all of us.

We arrive in Page Arizona and wait for our Navajo “guide” to take us to the canyon, about twenty minutes outside of town. All shapes and sizes of people are waiting to board our open truck. Most are non American. Understandably, this part of the West has much appeal for those foreign visitors (guests) wanting to see the beauty they have often watched in our movies. It does amaze me, however, that so many Americans choose destinations outside the USA before ever experiencing the natural beauty that we have right here within our borders.

We board this open truck. A few seat belts are there for display. None work. Our driver and our guide is a very pleasant and attractive Navajo woman in her early thirties. By the way she drives however, I am sure she thinks she is Danica Patrick, the famous, beautiful, Indy Race car driver. Sitting in this open truck, with the wind blowing so hard I can hardly open my eyes, it feels like she is going 100 miles an hour. Once we reach the sandstone wash that leads to the canyon she proceeds to put the truck in four wheel drive and we slide and spin our way to the canyon entrance.

Even though you cannot get to the Canyon without a Navajo guide, the place is very busy. We enter the canyon with lots of other people including a contingent of Japanese who are all wearing surgical masks! The canyon is very narrow, in some places as narrow as ten feet across, but even with all the people inside, the place is magical. At one point we enter a “room” where dust is dropping from above in a fine illuminated mist and it covers us with a layer of orange dust. We all experience some bit of anxiety with all the people in this narrow space and a German couple in our group has to turn back because they are feeling so anxious from their feelings of claustrophobia. But we all press on and exit the canyon on the side where the water enters and carves this magnificent natural wonder. This is not a place you want to be in when flash floods race down the wash and enter the canyon with the force that has carved all these openings and shapes in the sandstone.

Returning to the canyon for the walk back to the truck, the crowds have disappeared and it is quiet and peaceful inside. This is clearly the way to experience Antelope Canyon. I stop to imagine what that young Navajo girl might have experienced when she discovered Antelope Canyon so long ago. She must have thought she was in a dream, unless of course, she had read Alice and started looking for a talking rabbit that was late for a very important date!

Scottsdale's Mountain Treasure

Irvin McDowell was born in 1818 in Columbus Ohio. McDowell was a career American army officer,and unfortunately for him and those who served under him, became famous for his defeat during the Battle of Bull Run.

For reasons unknown, the mountain range bordering Scottsdale on the northeast has been named after Irvin. We locals call them simply “The McDowells”, although “The Irvins” sounds much cooler. The range is composed of rock deposits left nearly five million years ago during the Miocene geological era. The foothills immediately below the mountains are called a “Bajada”. Bajadas are shallow slopes that lie at the base of rocky hills, where materials accumulate from the weathering of the rocks. They typically have a mixture of boulders, stones, gravel, sand and silt particles, creating a deep and complex soil structure that retains water and supports a rich vegetation. (I am not that brilliant. This came directly from Wikepedia.)

Have I bored all of you except my geologist friends? Have I bored them as well? Anyway , I give you this perspective so you will leave this blog with more information than you started with, and a few more scrabble words.

The McDowells look like sentinels guarding Northeast Scottsdale, rising nearly 3,500 feet above the desert floor. They are chameleons in the desert sun, changing from grey to brown, to red and even my favorite color, purple. They are alive with color. Every so often, the upper peaks are covered with snow.

For years I have watched Scottsdale lose more and more of its desert to development as it has become a Beverly Hills wannabe. Gratefully, about 15 years ago, a group of concerned citizens started a movement to stop the madness. Paula was one of the founders and early organizers of this group, humbly noted. The make-up of the city council was eventually changed due in large part to this movement, and as a result, the new powers in city government, with strong voter support, started buying up lots of land to preserve for future generations.

The result of all this ten years later is the recent opening of Scottsdale’s McDowell Mountain Preserve. The preserve is a gift to ourselves which will keep on giving for generations.

What a place! Just a few miles from downtown, and five minutes from my office, the preserve covers almost 40,000 acres of pristine desert with literally dozens of hiking trails. One can take a leisurely half mile stroll or do the fifteen mile round trip to the McDowell summit at nearly 4,500 feet. There is something for everyone. Once you depart the trail within minutes you are transformed into the Sonoran desert surrounded by all sorts of cactus, trees, washes and unusual rock formations.

I think this John Muir quote best describes my feelings each time I enter the preserve: “I only went out for a walk, and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.”

I have taken to hiking in the preserve several times a week. On weekdays, after work, it’s a good way to decompress. Hiking by myself, with Laura Pausini or Van Morrison accompanying me on my MP3 player, it is rare that I will come across anyone else but a few other hikers. On the weekend, hiking with Paula and friends it is more social, but hardly crowded compared to the Pinnacle Peak Trail where everyone seem to be in a hurry.

Its hard to explain the comfortable feeling I get in the place, especially when I hike alone. I am fascinated by all the different rock formations and minerals surrounding the trail. What are they made of? How old are they? How did they get there? I think I need a geology tutor. Sometimes my mind wanders and I think about the ancient tribes who lived and walked on some of these same trails, or the animals who thrived here millions of years ago.

It’s funny, the older one gets, one begins to realize that finding enjoyment and peace in your life does not necessarily come from what you own or have accumulated or even what you have accomplished. Again, I quote from John Muir and leave my readers with his thoughts:

“Walk away quietly in any direction and taste the freedom . Camp out among the grasses and gentians of glacial meadows, in craggy garden nooks full of nature's darlings. Climb the mountains and get their good tidings, Nature's peace will flow into you as Sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves. As age comes on, one source of enjoyment after another is closed, but nature's sources never fail.”

Free Falling in the Utah Powder

Free Falling

Tom Petty fans, this story has nothing to do with our favorite vocalist, but I think the title is very appropriate for the feeling of skiing in legendary Utah powder.

My quest for the white fluffy stuff has been frustrating at best. Year after year has gone by as Matt Jon and I have trekked off to Utah and found lots of snow, but alas, packed powder and groomed conditions. Would I ever experience the feeling of floating through the snow, powder over my knees, only seeing my ski tips occasionally and best of all having the light flakes spraying my face as I glided down the mountain?

My ski ability is far short of sons Matthew and Jonathan, but I am good enough to maneuver in the deep stuff without killing myself. Some would say skiing in powder is an orgasmic experience; I cannot entirely agree with that but I can ski for hours. Enough said on that subject.

On a scale of one to ten, the ski conditions were eleven! It snowed most of the time we were on the mountain, and the times we were not. In all we must have had four feet of new snow for our entire stay!

The trip out was not exactly what we had planned however. We never have weather problems in Phoenix so when I saw a major storm coming in from the Pacific, I was more concerned with getting to Salt Lake and out to the mountains than with getting out of Phoenix. Wrong! While all of our party of eight coming from Vermont, New York, Seattle and Portland had no difficulty getting to SLC and the mountain, we were grounded in Phoenix for a day as a vicious storm closed the airport and delayed out trip till the next morning. Giga (married to my niece, making him a what?) had the mis-fortune of booking his flight from NYC through Phoenix and was stuck with us for a night.

No worry, Jon and I took an early flight and were on the slopes of Powder Mountain by noon the next day. Giga arrived a few hours later. I hit the slopes immediately and paid the consequences by skiing poorly, being winded and generally making a mess of the day. Brother-in-law Mitchell convinced me to take a powder lesson with him and John the Ski Guide. Another bad choice, but in spite of my tiredness and poor form, I did have some fun being out on the slopes again.

A word about of Powder Mountain, it is not Vail or Park City, not shi shi at all. But it is a skier’s paradise. Nothing fancy, but if you are there to ski your brains out, this is the place. Powder Mountain is never crowded, lift tickets 40% less than most areas, acres of untouched powder that take days to get skied out and lots of laid back people not out to impress anyone with their ski garb.

So after an afternoon of skiing (a full day for the rest of the crew) we headed down the mountain to our posh ski house. The journey down was but 5 miles. It took about an hour. It seemed longer. It was snowing hard from the time we arrived at 11AM and the steep road down the mountain was not being plowed for another hour. So we carefully navigated our way down the mountain, hoping and praying we would stay on the road and not slide into the nearby creek. Finally arrived in one piece. Tomorrow we go up in the shuttle bus with chains.

We are in this house with six bedrooms, five baths, an outdoor Jacuzzi and a home theater with a huge projection TV. Eight guys, no women, ready to do real men stuff, whatever that is! And to be truthful..We never were into the real men stuff anyway. Skiing, eating, some R rated banter.. That’s enough for me.

Son Matthew has arrived from Seattle with a major cache of new ski equipment and slightly used hand-me –downs, gifts for all from his part-time job at REI. Nephew Jesse has arrived from Portland looking under the weather and a dead ringer for Cat Stevens (Yusuf Islam). BIL Mitchell is in from Philly playing with his new toy, a Droid cell phone. Mitchell has actually entered the twentieth century and is now using e-mail! BIL Peter from Vermont is in fine form with his scotch and dry wit. Brooklyn-guy, via Serbia, Giga is the only snow boarder in the group. Nephew Ethan, from somewhere not memorable in upstate New York, is balancing his skiing with installing software remotely on his grandparent’s computer. And son, Chef Jon, is managing the dinner product inventory and preparation for the evening feast. What a fine group.

Day two is a truly “epic” powder day. The ski conditions today were about as good as anyone can remember. The powder hounds, those with the young legs, have hired John the ski guide for a full day of exploring the mountain where fresh track skiing abounds. Mitch, Giga and I are content to ski in the powder on the more conventional trails. I gave up on the black runs after I had the hardware surgically placed in my ankle five years ago.

When we all got together that evening all agreed it was a day that will always be remembered.

Off to Snow Basin the next day. A very posh place compared to Powder Mountain but more crowded. Snow Basin was the site of the Olympic Downhill event during the Salt Lake Winter Games. Skiing here was excellent as well but not comparable to Powder Mountain. The sun actually came out briefly and for a while it was the perfect confluence of sunshine and powder. I did have one unpleasant experience of getting to the summit and finding myself in such dense fog that it was difficult to see even five feet in front of you. But Mitch and I managed to work our way down following the guide posts till we came out of the dense clouds.. Whew! Not fun at all.

On Monday our group dispersed to fly home to various parts of the USA and I sent an e-mail to Bob, the owner of the house, letting him know we would like the place again next year just a few weeks later.

Our group was one member short this year, nephew Dan from DC. Dan, if you are reading this blog you better manage your priorities right next year and be there. We missed your wit and we especially missed not having you to abuse.

More Pics from Rose Bowl

OK OK...all three of my blog fans (four including me) are asking for more pics. So here they are, including a few of yours truly. I had an Ohio State fan take the one of P and I outside the the entrance to the Rose Bowl. Nice guy and he took several. But he still managed to have the palm tree growing out of the top of my head. Perhaps he was just startled by seeing palm trees!

Rose Bowling

Almost Heaven Pasadena! California Dreamin!

With due respect to John Denver, the great state of West Virginia, Brian Love and all three loyal fans of my blog, I am back with my tale of Rose Bowl Week-End 2010.

Everybody has a “bucket list”, whether formal or not, we all have a list of things to do and places to see before we depart this planet. These should be achievable experiences like, seeing Machu Pichu, skydiving, and climbing Mt Rainer etc. Sorry, a date with with Brittany Spears or a lunch with Rush Limbaugh should not be on your bucket list. If they are, stop reading this immediately and go to GlennBeck.com.

The Rose Bowl has been on my bucket list since I was a teenager growing up on the East Coast. With testosterone mixing with my love of football, how could I not be charmed watching the game and cheerleaders while I froze my ass off on New Year’s Day?

The warm California sun, the energy of 100,000 fans in a filled Rose Bowl, the bright uniforms, the mountains, the tanned and beautiful girls of UCLA and USC were an irresistible combination to this teenager. “Please Mom and Dad let me apply to UCLA?” Of course this was not to be, and I had to settle for North Philadelphia and Temple University. Have you ever seen the beautiful mountains surrounding Broad Street in downtown Philly? Keep looking!

I finally got to Southern California in the late seventies and it was indeed a beautiful paradise. Things have changed greatly in So Cal over the years and it is no longer a favorite place for me to visit or work. BUT the Rose Bowl, that’s another story.

Ever since Chef Jon went to the University of Oregon, I have been hooked on Duck Football. It looked like the Ducks would finally get to the Rose Bowl in 2002 and play Miami for the National Championship but the BCS computers put Nebraska ahead of the Ducks and we had to settle for the Fiesta Bowl where Oregon crushed Colorado 38-16. Colorado had beaten Nebraska a few weeks before. Nebraska lost 37-14 to Miami in the Rose Bowl.

Fast forward to this fall and when the Ducks won their last game in a thriller against Oregon State, the Rose Bowl was a finally a reality. The Ohio State Buckeyes would be their opponent on New Year’s Day. California here we come! And GO DUCKS!!

Ducks? Why in the world would anyone pick a mascot name “Ducks”? Why not “Mighty Ducks” or “Battling Ducks” or the dreaded “Wounded Ducks”? But if you know Oregon, the people and their love of the outdoors, the respect for the environment and their land, the name is a perfect fit. “Oregon Ducks “rolls off your tongue like one word.. It is a state of mind. You have to experience it to appreciate it. Entering the Rose Bowl a couple of Buckeye fans were trying to taunt some of the Oregon fans calling them “Tree Huggers”. They don’t get it, calling someone from Oregon a “Tree Hugger” is not an insult, but a compliment! Ha! More on the Buckeye fans later.

Day one: Driving to Beverly Hills with the Mona Lisa:

Off we go to Sister Susan’s place in Beverly Hills for New Year’s Eve. Susan is off at some friend’s ranch and my nieces are in Telluride with friends whose parents wrote the “Wonder Years” and several other hit TV shows. So it’s just us two Duck Fans in Beverly Hills 90210..

So what’s the deal with the Mona Lisa Shel? She is our entertainment for the trip, or rather the CD book, “Vanished Smile”, is.. What a great listen. It’s the story of the scheme and scandal around robbery of the Mona Lisa from the Louvre in 1911. It is very well written and the reader is excellent. It weaves the story of DaVinci and his famous portrait, tracing its travels and ownership over the centuries. Interesting fact: Did you know that DaVinci painted her with no eyebrows. A beautiful woman without eyebrows, how about that!

Driving to So Cal is always such a treat-NOT. Not much in the way of scenery and Quartzite Arizona and Blythe California on the way are not exactly Venice and Florence. I suppose the windmills above Palm Springs are an interesting site but there is no confusing them with those in Bruges. And of course, the freeway traffic starts about 90 miles outside of downtown LA. This is so different from the California I remember visiting so long ago. Paradise lost for sure, unless you admire the imagery of Taco Bell, Denny’s , McDonalds, Home Depot and Best Buy. I am sorry to say that Phoenix is well on its way to becoming So Cal in this regard as well.

After arriving and a quick walk to explore the neighborhood. It’s off to Pasadena to experience New Year’s Eve with the street people waiting on the curb for the following morning’s Rose Parade. The trip to Pasadena from Beverly Hills is about 15 miles. It takes us more than an hour to get there ..Got to love the LA traffic.

Game Day/Parade Day

Where do they get all those flowers?

Up before dawn and off to Pasadena for the Parade. No problem finding a spot on the sidewalk for a good view. We show up and start talking to the people around us, mostly Hispanic, and everyone is excited for the parade to start. One problem, two little girls in front of us are too short to see over this very fancy and tall white lady. The mom (Hispanic) tells us she asked the tall woman if her girls could stand or sit in front of her. No is her response. Paula will have none of that and intervenes. Don’t mess with her when she is in her photographer mode and never dismiss two small Hispanic girls in front of her. She supports three poor girls living near Jalisco Mexico through Children International. Problem is quickly solved.

The girls are happy, the fancy lady is not!

I have often seen the Rose Parade on TV and it is really beautiful, but seeing it in person is really special. The floats are not as large as I imagined but are so vibrant with so many colors and textures. The Grand Marshall of the Parade was “Sully Sullivan” the pilot who safely landed the US Air flight into the Hudson. After about an hour or so it was time to head down the hill to the Rose Bowl. Put the Rose Parade into the bucket. I give it a 10.

I will start by saying that 99.9 percent of the fans attending the game were not even born when the stadium opened in 1923. The stadium itself sucks by today’s standards. No seats, just benches, no shade from the sun, and very difficult to get into and out down very narrow entry/exit tunnels. The Rose Bowl sits in a valley surrounded by two golf courses which serve as parking lots and it takes forever to get in and out.

But the Rose Bowl is truly a special place, one that should be treasured by all football fans. Driving into the valley and approaching the Rose Bowl, surrounded by the magnificent San Gabriel Mountains my heart began to race. Walking into the stadium took my breath away as I almost started crying. It was a feeling reminiscent of the first time my Dad took me to the original Yankee Stadium. I was about seven years old. Things like that stick in your memory forever. Yankee Stadium was built around the time the Rose Bowl was opened. Yankee Stadium has been torn down, replaced with a modern marvel, minus the memories. I hope the Rose Bowl does not suffer the same fate. Let it stand (but better preserved) like that ancient Coliseum in Rome where Maximus, or was it Russell Crowe made his last stand. HA!

We met Jon in the parking lot (golf course) tailgating before the game. He had arrived that morning having worked the night before and took a cab from the Burbank Airport. He was operating on about 3 hours sleep but no matter. We hooked up with several of his old Eugene buddies before the game. Unfortunately, best friend Joe was under the weather but everyone else was in a festive mood and the beer was flowing.

Walking to the stadium and inside I noticed a decided difference between Oregon and Ohio State fans. I had heard the stories from my neighbors who also live in Ann Arbor and a friend who teaches at OSU that Ohio State fans border on the cave-man side. My guess is that they reserve their venom for Michigan and other Mid-West rivals like Notre Dame. With few exceptions, they seemed pretty well behaved and civil. I don’t think they knew how to react to the Oregon fans. Oregon fans love their team, they love their State but they are way laid back. This is, no doubt, very confusing to an OSU fan I think. Yet, I found it rather odd that the Oregon fans stood for game except for the time outs, the Buckeye fans sat except for the big plays. I suspect when you have a team that is always in the hunt for the National Title like OSU you take the game in stride.

The Game

The less said here the better. Oregon was favored , Oregon lost. They played like dog-dung. Give Ohio State credit, they were the better team that day and their Quarterback, Terrell Pryor, looked like Vince Young of Texas when they beat USC here a few years ago for the National Title. All year Oregon was making big plays to win games, today that was not the case. Disappointed and deflated we left the stadium. I think Paula shocked a couple of Buckeye fans leaving the game as she congratulated them on their team’s win. I gather this does not happen much in Ohio or Michigan or Indiana. After they recovered from the shock, they said that Pryor played the best game of his life past or future. Thanks! Our luck!

One other thing, I had the good fortune (NOT) of having an old hippie Duck Fan standing next to me who probably consumed about 18 beers, no kidding. By the end of the game he was sleeping, sometimes on my shoulder or another fan. Fortunately, he was there with his daughter so he had a way to find his car and ride home. Otherwise, who knows he might have wound up in Tijuana.

After Game

Too bad, no tailgate party into the night. Only searching for Jonathan on a mostly dark golf course. Eventually I found him and we shared our misery, but all agreed that, win or lose, this day was one to be remembered for the rest of our lives. What fun to be part of an event that has been going on each January 1 for nearly 100 years. Surprisingly, there was no excessive celebrating by the Buckeye fans and no great despondence among the Duck fans. I believe all were grateful to have been here, enjoying a special time in a special place.

A week later, in the night, in this same Rose Bowl Alabama beat Texas for the National Title. Watching it on TV, it was just not the same. This game, this place, is meant to be experienced during the day and at dusk. There is something magical about being in the sun-drenched stadium filled with Buckeye Red and Oregon Green and Yellow. And when the sun begins to drop, the San Gabriel Mountains are a site to behold.

College Football today is as much a business as it is sport. But on this day, at least, it was college sport at its best. I am not an Ohio State fan for sure, but watching their great band spell out the word Ohio and then having one of their members dot the “I” to the cheers of their fans, I could not but think about what a great tradition this is. It put a big smile on my face. .

It took us forever to get out of that valley but we spent the time talking to fans from both sides, no one was in a hurry to leave, we were all savoring the events of the day.

I am a sucker for sports, always have been, always will be. I got this from my Dad and have passed it on to P and the boys. Ask me to name my favorite movies of all time and three of the top five are sports movies. Hoosiers, with Gene Hackman, Remember the Titans with Denzell and Field of Dreams with Kevin Costner..In case you are interested.

Will I ever come back here? Does Elmer Fudd have twoble saying his “Rs”? Does a bear sh-t in the woods? If the Ducks come back, I come back. Only this time I don’t drive a RED car to the game!