In a post a few weeks ago I mentioned a time in my life when I felt “blown about randomly like a tumbleweed.” The truth is, at that point in my life I had no personal experience with tumbleweeds.

I “knew” them through the lens of movie and TV westerns, a lonely, and sometimes ominous, quiet moment where the desiccated, rootless vegetation is blown down the single, dusty street of a few unpainted clapboard buildings, in a town inexorably turning into ghost status; maybe just a camera style to move the viewers’ eyes to a different location. It never occurred to me there might be more than one or two at a time.

My friend and colleague Nick Didlick and I were teaching a Nikon School in San Diego and added a few days onto the trip to do some four-wheeling. We had been following a road of sorts, a slightly rutted track that was a little smoother than the rest, and at some point the sides of the road starting rising, as we moved into a slowly deepening gully. We kept going, assuming since there was still a track in, there would be some route up and out eventually.

And that’s when I lost my tumbleweed virginity, and in a pretty spectacular way. We discovered the great, lost Tumbleweed Graveyard.

Apparently, as the weed is blown along the surface it falls over into the gully, gets trapped, and accumulates. I’m using Nick’s photograph here because I’m driving, while he tries to push them away enough to drive through. The rental car company never did say anything about the scratches.

For more of Bill’s photographs, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index

Timing is everything, no less true for being a cliche.

In January of 2004 I was driving from Phoenix to Denver, trying to hit what natural high points I could along the way, in the 5 days I had to make the trip. I had just finished making some sunrise photographs of the Mittens and was headed north, just crossing into Utah on US 163, when I saw the top scene in my rear view mirror, looking south, back toward Monument Valley.

The road had very recently been resurfaced, with new lane markings, and there was no traffic. I could easily lay down in the middle of the road to take this and not worry about how much time I might need to get back up. If you could see the pavement a couple of feet below the bottom of the photograph, it would be the normal, sun-bleached grayness of so many western roads, like in the bottom image.

Twenty years later, on our “Go West Old Man” tour last year, my friends and I came back through, to find that this rise is now on maps as the Forrest Gump Point. I particularly like the two blue highway signs along the right side of the road. The first says “Scenic View 1000 Feet.” The second says “Scenic View” with an arrow, in case you weren’t sure.

For more of Bill’s photographs, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index

Outtakes from “Go West Old Man” tour

(Silence seems like the best response to a moment like this.)

For more of Bill’s photographs, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index

“Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man
Tryin’ to make a livin’ and doin’ the best I can
And when it’s time for leavin’, I hope you’ll understand
That I was born a ramblin’ man” The Allman Brothers Band

Memories are the refuge of an old man (I’m 78 today), but they are an incomplete, biased, and untrustworthy record of a life, so some skepticism is appropriate. Recalling my early adult life though, I remember it always being interesting. Not always fun, and sometimes I was so broke I survived on bologna sandwiches, but even then, interesting.

I think it not inaccurate to characterize myself at that time as being a “drifter,” blown about randomly like a tumbleweed, with limited direction, and no sense of purpose. Then, 44 years ago, I was teaching a class which included a student named Barbara. Today is our 32nd wedding anniversary.

I will likely always approach life in a “curiosity” mode, a mile wide and an inch deep, but her personality compliments that with a willingness to dig deep. So, after we had enjoyed several bicycle riding trips in recent years, I suggested trying a horseback riding adventure. That was the extent of my contribution. She dug in and spent hours doing research, scouring the web for possibilities, contacting trip packagers, sending emails with specific questions to vendors and facilities.

She found Rancho Las Cascades, a couple of hours north of Mexico City, where the riding is tailored to the skill and comfort level of the individual, through an open range of hills, rivers, and wildflower fields. It is so much more than that, though. There is also an infinity pool and hot tub, yoga, massage, cooking classes, hiking to three waterfalls, tasty breakfasts, filling lunches, four course dinners, and a wonderful staff that accommodate every request with a smile . The self-service bar area includes coffee, tea, an assortment of soft drinks, and a refrigerator full of beer, a complete alcohol selection, lime ice cubes and margarita solution already prepared that you only need to pour into the blender. There’s always a cake platter for a snack. The only thing with an additional cost is the Nespresso machine.

The ranch is the creation of a Swiss woman who worked in tourism and aviation all over the world and then bought the land and built her dream. It is chock-a-block with beautiful regional arts and crafts scattered throughout the buildings and landscape, all selected by her, and the horses–Quarter horses, Appaloosas, Palominos, etc.–are all mixed breeds with some Criollo genes, also all selected by her.

From there to Mexico City, Barbara found Colima 71 Casa de Arte Hotel, another beautiful facility full of arts and crafts, again with a warm and friendly staff that treats you like you are their only guest. It’s in the Roma Norte area, full of restaurants, art galleries, and vintage clothing shops, and jokingly (I think) called “Gringolandia” by one of our taxi drivers.

She has brought a richness to my life that makes me so glad this once I chose to not just move on.

Happy Anniversary Barbara.

For more of Bill’s photographs, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index

“Empty saddles in the old corral
Where do you ride tonight?
Are you rounding up the dogies, the strays of long ago
Are you on the trail of buffalo?
Empty saddles in the old corral
Where do you ride tonight?
Are there rustlers on the border, or a band of Navajo
Are you heading for the Alamo?” The Sons of the Pioneers

Some small part of me will never let go of my childhood dream of being a cowboy. The reality is I have ridden a horse maybe a dozen times, mostly barn-runners on an over worn trail. Today I cantered across open range. Three times. That won’t seem like much of an accomplish to many, but I will be 78 next week and I was thrilled to finally have a little taste of the freedom I always imagined those men had.

More accurately, the horse cantered and I held on, bouncing in the saddle like a trampoline. But I didn’t fall off. As I walked through the wildflowers and past the Ladybug shaped sweat lodge, from the corral back to my room, my heart was so full my eyes were watering.

In a world that seems to be constantly raging at the slightest provocation, I am so grateful for the moments and places like this, where I have felt a complete peace with the universe. Other moments have been sitting outside my tent in the Serengeti staring at a predawn sky full of stars, sitting on a Wyoming mountainside watching the sunrise over Lake Jackson and the Tetons, or sitting with my dog in Washington Square by my home watching twilight blend with street and porch lights, turning my neighborhood into a fairy tale vision.

For more of Bill’s photographs, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index