SNOW ON THE MOUNTAIN

Wow, did I accidentally order this up?

It was there when we first stepped outside last Thursday morning: snow! Earlier, before the sun had risen over the mountain, I had seen a fine gray cloud lingering near the top of Lobo Peak and thought little of it. But this time instead of drizzle there had been snow, now quite startling in the full sunlight. The mountain's multi-colored patchwork of yellow-gold aspens, dark green conifers, and reddish-brown oaks was capped by a brilliant white dusting, yet where I stood the air was cool and comfortable. I couldn't get over it: October 7 and I was outside, in my shirtsleeves, looking up at what I used to call White Death back East. . .snow!

What a kick. Too bad things would start to get exciting just as we were packing the truck for a three week trip back to Maryland to empty out our still unsold house and buy some dynamite -- the useless mortgage payments were burning a hole in my head and had to be stopped! (That wimpy hurricane had only flooded the basement and ruined a few ceiling tiles.) Maybe cleaning the place out, taking our pictures and mementos off the walls, would help. Besides, I needed my guitars and stereo equipment. And we both were going to need our winter clothes.

If only my iBook had arrived while we were still in New Mexico! My Internet work required a reliable, reasonably fast Mac, and the aging PowerBook 540c, nice as it is, has a habit of doing very peculiar things at just the wrong moment. This meant I was compelled to pack up the 8600, monitor and all, just in case. . .

It was hard to blame Apple for my predicament, though the impulse was there. When Mother Earth twitches her back and creates chaos on the Pacific Rim, there isn't much you can do about it. Besides, Apple Computer always reminded me of myself: introducing a wonderful grand new plan or idea months in advance, talking about it till everyone was sick of hearing all the hype, and then not being quite able to follow through. Oh, the general thrust would be there, the inspired good intentions, the Big Plan, but by the time September rolled around, I hadn't finished packing in Maryland (or even started), and the iBooks weren't in the channel.

Okey-dokey, fine: off to the Southwest we would go, intending to return for final disposal of our goods in the fall (now). In the meantime Apple would get its act together, the iBook would arrive in San Cristobal, I'd just toss it in the front seat and off we'd go!

The days rolled by. MacZone's anticipated iBook delivery date of September 15 did too, replaced by September 30, then October 15, then (at last check) October 22, nearly 3 months after I had put my fingers on its shiny little keyboard in New York. That was about as much time as I had wasted this summer avoiding cleaning out my garage, studio, attic, and basement, not to mention the rest of the house, so I figured Apple and I were even in the karma department -- my repayment to the universe required lugging a PowerMac and 17" Sony monitor back and forth across America. Apple took a big hit in the price of the company's stock. So far, so good.

The last five weeks in the mountains had been like a lifetime in terms of how much emotion and energy was compressed within their boundaries. It seemed as if everything was exaggerated: the ups, the downs, the weather, the scenery, the dreams, the insights. Having no television to watch was a major change, too. I'd always been a willing teevee addict and the withdrawal was traumatic at first. Nothing to watch, what would I do? How could I eat my evening meal without watching people getting hacked to death in East Timor or being pulled from flaming British train wrecks?? How could I sleep without being told what to worry about by overpaid toupéed glamour boys???

Well, you might be surprised. The usual answer to those questions involves reading a book instead of watching the tube, and in fact I did rediscover the joys of reading. (This transformation was so complete that I resented television's pull when I saw it again the other day, but more on that later.) Reading! There were books, and I did have my computer, after all. Before you knew it, I was having my evening raisin bran snack in front of the Sony monitor while I read the daily papers on the Internet. No, it wasn't quite as satisfying or convenient, but at least my hands didn't get dirty.

At dinnertime I rediscovered my wife! Damn, what a beautiful, intelligent, and insightful person I was living with. And what a sense of style: she'd arrange the candles in a certain pattern, we'd have our own little rituals, then eat our meals watching the sunset colors change or the shadows climbing up the face of the mountain.

After dinner, instead of watching reruns of sitcoms while waiting for something "good" to come on, I'd walk the quarter mile from the house up to the main road to catch the last light illuminating the ridgetops and listen to the quiet: no traffic sounds, no neighbors mowing their yards, no muffled laugh tracks emanating from nearby living rooms. (No nearby living rooms, for that matter.) On the way back I'd stop and keep still for long periods, hoping to hear a rustling in the brush or catch a glimpse of some exotic beast. What I would usually see would be a black and white magpie cruising by in the twilight, or a rabbit or two.

If the more cynical among you are reaching for your barf bags at this point, be advised that I've left out the fact that this all took place within the context of being able to see 40 or 50 miles north into Colorado or 70-some miles west to God knows where. I've also left out the sharp chill as the temperature plummets after sundown and the recent double murder less than ten miles away. I've left out the dust, the rocky road, and the searing sunlight that must be given its due. I've left out the poverty and the rich idiots. I've left out how expensive everything is. But my God, is this country with its nearby wilderness ever exciting! Waiting for a rabbit to appear isn't so smarmy as you might think, considering what else could show up!

So to hell with teevee. Bah, humbug. Screw it all.

Back to Thursday morning, snow on the top of Lobo Peak, and a two thousand-mile road trip in an '87 Ford F-150. First overnight stop, Ogallala, Nebraska. (But first we had to get there!)

We pulled into the little gravel parking lot at the San Cristobal post office to check our mail one last time before hitting the highway. Out over the llano and the gorge to the northwest, something BIG was headed our way: an impossibly huge dark blue mass edged with roiling white clouds, taking up at least half the arc of the horizon and gleaming brilliantly in the morning sun. I could see wide dark-gray bands streaming down from the clouds, their ends dragging over the mesas. Uh-oh!

We reached the paved road and turned north to Colorado. The big 300 cubic inch straight six roared reassuringly and lifted the heavy truck effortlessly over hills that would give lesser engines fits. We rolled into Questa to top off the rear tank and both of us screamed simultaneously! "Aaaaaghhh!!!" The Latir peaks just to the north were blanketed in heavy snow, much thicker and more uniformly white than the dusted peak of Lobo Mountain we had just left. What a difference ten miles and another thousand feet make, I thought. And the weather system observed a few minutes before had now spread across the entire northern horizon where we were headed. Double uh-oh!!

From Questa to San Luis, Colorado the road is relatively flat and curving as it parallels the western slope of the Sangre de Christos. We wouldn't encounter any real mountain driving until we reached Fort Garland and headed over La Veta Pass into Walsenburg. The pass would have its own thrills that day, but the normally genteel run along the valley was the most spectacular and frightening drive I've had in a very long time. Those trailing dark-gray bands were now all around us, literally slashing across the landscape in alternating waves of rain, sleet, hail, and wet snow, accompanied by plenty of cloud-to-ground lightning and thunder. While all this was going on, the sky opened up to the west, and through a massive rent in the gray veil we could see bright sunlight shining on stunning mesas and extinct volcanos maybe 20 miles away. Behind them, far in the distance, ran a dark blue range of jagged peaks topped with brilliant white snow! Ye gods!! Careening down the highway, wipers slapping back and forth sweeping snowy mush off the windshield, with all that splendor off to our left, half the sky a squinty bright blue and the other half trying its best to wash us off the road!

The heavy, driving snow at the summit of La Veta Pass (9,400+ ft.) wasn't sticking to the road, mercifully, and the descent into Walsenburg (and bright sunshine!) would have been a positive anticlimax except for the amazing rear-view mirror images of the storm system colliding with the mountain range we had just driven over. (They don't make weather like this in Delaware, folks.)

All this within 100 miles of leaving our mountain valley in San Cristobal! The weather forecast for that day called for "20 percent chance of showers," by the way. (Nothing to worry about!)

I could easily spend another thousand words describing the rest of the day's drive through eastern Colorado and into Nebraska, and probably I should, because so few of you reading this will ever see the likes of Limon or Punkin Center. The spaces, the spaces! The emptiness, the purity. The brilliant golden yellow of a grove of trees in a faraway wash. The dozen pronghorn antelope standing beside the highway in the slanting late afternoon sun. . .stupendous, simply stupendous. This is the kind of country you want to cross in a pickup truck, wearing a big black hat. Feels more legitimate that way. (The PowerMac in the pickup bed and the Apple sticker on the rear window seemed appropriate too: individuality, potential, creativity and hope! Real cowboys use Macs, don't they? Cowgirls too.)

After all this, pulling onto Interstate 76 outside of beautiful downtown Brush, Colorado was a real downer. Instant so-called civilization: Fast food! Motels! Heavy traffic! I felt dirty and disappointed. Turning on the teevee in our room in Ogallala produced similar feelings of guilt, distraction, and a vague unease. Picking up the latest Newsweek at my inlaws' house in Des Moines did too: Jesse Ventura and Donald Trump were running for president, and instead of laughing them off the face of the earth, Newsweek's editors were taking them seriously. On the cover, no less. ¡Ai, Chihuaha!

Dear God, carry us safely back to to the valley!

Keep my 8600 from shaking itself to bits on cratered urban freeways, and may Ohio's roads suddenly become smooth and navigable without fear. Please drop Jesse, Donald, and Newsweek's editors in the middle of a lonesome wilderness without money, entourage, or television cameras and let us see if Jesse gets religion, Donald learns how to poop in the woods, and Newsweek's editors learn anything at all.

You'll notice I didn't mention Warren Beatty, Lord. He's a bloody inspiration compared to those other bozos. I wouldn't be surprised if he uses a Mac. I'll bet he looks good in a cowboy hat (or anything else, doggone it). He'd probably ride in my truck without complaining, and with him along it'd be easy to pick up girls -- even though they'd probably make me ride in the back. Besides, his sister owns property just down the road.

Please also send me my tangerine iBook as soon as possible, smite all television networks, and whatever you do, don't ever let anyone else move to New Mexico.

John H. Farr has up to this point led a colorful life many would envy and most would fear or at least crticize severely. He also edits the Apple Computer News for Applelinks.com and would most likely answer your email.The Farr Site Archives have links and synopses of all previous Farr Site columns. What a deal!

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January 08, 2009