Trip Date: January 16, 2015
Find this SpotNo two trips are created equal. They are all born differently, and grow differently, and develop uniquely. This trip was the second at about this time of year – the first trip of the year. Last year, Bob, Steve, and I headed to Carrizo Plain National Monument for what turned out to be a fantastic trip. This year, Tom joined the three of us to come down Highway 5 to just about the same spot in the South, but this time, we turned left and headed East. We headed up Highway 58, over Tehachapi Pass, and dropped into the Northwest corner of the Mojave Desert.
Bob and Steve had left early in the morning and headed down 395, a spectacular trip any time of year, especially if the weather cooperates. In the midst of the warming trend we are in, they didn’t have a cloud in the sky to worry about, let alone any weather, wind, or snow. They arrived at our agreed upon meeting place, Red Rock Canyon State Park, a few miles North of the town of Mojave, on Highway 14 on Thursday afternoon. They picked out an excellent campsite and set up shop.
Tom and I had to work half a day so we were a few hours behind. A stop for In-N-Out burger in Stockton and to buy a grill since I forgot this item (yes, again), and we blasted down Interstate 5 as quickly as possible. We were up and over Tehachapi before sunset and almost got to the campground before darkness. Neither our message to Bob and Steve nor their message to us got through during the drive down, but as we turned into Ricardo campground and headed around the loop, the second camp site we passed had some suspicious looking characters in it. We had arrived.
All in all, it took us about 6 and a half hours to get here. The driving was pretty easy and fast, moving in and out of the big rigs for entertainment. We had a very quick stop in Bakersfield for gas and that was the last stop before arriving. I had thought about having dinner in Tehachapi, a town famous for its Tehachapi Loop and Railroad Depot Railroad Museum, and maybe checking out a sight or two, but we were making great time and my burger and chocolate shake still had me burning along, so we just powered through.
We were excited when we arrived to be sure, but the long eventful day caught up to me a little. I did not want to unpack; I did not want to set up my tent; I did not want to do anything but sit around the fire and eat and drink. But, duty called, so we mixed it in little by little. A little food, a little beverage, a little fire, throw a few things out of the truck, repeat. I got my second wind and after my tent was up, essentials out of the truck, non-essentials somewhat organized, I kicked back for a spell with the boys.
Tom was a little short-lived and Bob wasn’t far behind, leaving Steve and I to talk around the fire and be blown away by the stars every time we lifted our eyes skyward. Perhaps only Death Valley stars beat this evening. It was really clear and calm and not warm but not at all cold. It really felt good. While I do not like at all coming into an area at night, it adds to the excitement of the morning as you see the place for the first time and for the first time, you get your bearings. Prior to that I feel a tad unsettled; which way are the directions, what is behind us? What is in front of us? What is the terrain like? I just feel better once I have a feel for the place.
Steve and I sat up fairly late – quite late for me, but it wasn’t hard; I didn’t have to try or work at it. I just felt good. The stars were extraordinary – super clear and sparkly. The Milky Way was screaming. The sky was a million shades of blue and teal until it was black. It felt great to sit by the fire and then walk back a little away from the firelight to gaze at the brilliant sky. Then shuffle back to the fire and its glow and comfort.
And I felt good crawling into my tent too. Away from the fire it certainly was cooler. The night air was getting damp too – adding a little texture to the cold. I had a great bed set up though – my inflatable pad, my dad’s old sleeping bag, then my good bag, an old threadbare white blanket then another good bag opened up like a bedspread over the top. My, my – sleep was excellent.
Bob already had the fire going and the coffee a brewin’ when I got up. The East had some low clouds and so the sun was not so intense, but it was big and bright. I had to get used to the idea of being in a campground, and while I did head out East to the back of our site, which was also the back of the campground to pee, I decided not to push my luck, and instead waddled down to the outhouse. I chose the longer walk down the road to the day use area, theorizing that less use would equate to less of everything an outhouse has to offer. Fortunately this theory o’ mine proved true and the entire experience was none too dreadful.
I was struggling a bit with the campground scene so I decided not to walk the road back but to head out into the desert landscape on the back side of the small formation that separated our site from the others towards the entrance. As small a trick this was to my tiny brain, it worked comprehensively. I was instantly transformed to a small boy investigating every nook and cranny in the strange rock/sandstone formations, tripping on the erosion caused by the recent heavy rain (relatively of course, but that one storm a couple days before we came delivered almost the entire average annual rainfall the area gets), so the impacts were significant and easily recognizable.
The small washes, rivulets, and depressions that the water made as it ran off the steeper slopes and onto the desert floor were fascinating. As the wash slows on the flatter ground, the depression gets shallower and broadens out and braids into a rainbow of light browns and grays. It is truly an apron effect from hillside to flattened desert floor. On the backside of the formation, someone had burnt a collection of materials and left behind a few bed or seat springs. I gathered them up and brought them back to the boys at the site, much satisfied with my off-road excursion.
The boys were still sprawled about in their chairs around the small morning fire, but they were getting antsy to explore. We began to mosey about, cleaning up from breakfast and organizing food, beverages, and gear for a day trip. Some amount of personal hygiene was attempted, but the results were mixed. We loaded up the rig and headed towards California City. I’m not sure how or where and when or why, but I had some familiarity with this town and wanted to check it out.
Bob as usual was serving as a trusted and valued co-pilot choosing any and all side roads to eventually get to our destination; the smaller the better. Heading South on 14, we were paralleling the Southernmost shoulder of the Sierra Nevada Range – a very peculiar thought. They did not look like the Sierra’s we knew up North. These were fairly low rounded mounds of innocuous desert landscape – no trees, very few scattered and scraggly shrubs. Everything looking rough and blistered, having withstood the extremes of heat, wind, and aridity. We turned onto Neuralia Road and headed due South towards California City. Having pulled awy from the Southernmost tip of the Sierra’s, we were looking at the very tip – somewhere out there, the very end. It could be a tip of Barren Ridge, it could be the shoulder of Chuckwalla Mountain or Stewart Peak, but some point we were looking at was it – the end – the last tip of the Sierra’s – it was a pretty cool thought.
We traversed a massive flat open treeless valley – Fremont Valley named after John C and his exploits in these parts; crisscrossed with dirt tracks of all shapes and sizes. A very few houses, trailers, structures, or shacks dotted the expanse from time to time to break up the monotony and give us something to look at. Most structures had long been abandoned and many were partially or almost completely covered by the sand regularly being blown up against it. It was quite a sight to see entire houses and large buses and equipment all but submerged in sand.
The horizon soon was broken by scattered dots, that became bigger dots, and then finally large structures that ultimately were recognizable as home, a subdivision of sorts, one you might have seen in Mexico, Baja anyway came to mind for me. Road after road, some paved some barely visible laid out in a typical cross section. But very little concrete and only a scattering of tired, beaten homes, far more broken down and abandoned vehicles littered about. As we progressed toward what we imagined was the town center, the structures got denser, but no better looking. There were more trees now, having been planted by the neighborhood association or the developer in far better times. Everything and everyone we saw had a sort of bleak, faded, tattered appearance.
This was California City – at last! It was so very bizarre, I was flustered. There were big, wide streets and street lights and signs and businesses, some giving the appearance of being open and operating, but I didn’t know how to drive or where to go. I felt like a bad actor on a Twilight Zone episode – the tourist coming into the town frozen in time that should have been a glistening recreational resort. I was lost. Fortunately Bob reminded us that he needed a quart of oil for his truck, so now we had a purpose and I somewhat regained focus.
I drove about looking for a store that was open and might have a quart of oil on the shelf. We circled back to the gas station/mini mart where we first came into town and pulled in. Bob got his oil and Tom came out with a black plastic bag. Oh my. What could this be? Tom had treated us all to a Mickey’s Big Mouth – yes, it was that kind of place. Off we went across town and through what seemed to be the nicer part of town, with a golf course, park, lots of green space, and some larger homes in better condition. And that was that. This end of town quickly petered out into a vast expanse of desert just as the other side had evolved into a town from the desert an hour before.
We headed northeast out of town on the Randsburg-Mojave Road; one that I’m sure has many tales to tell. This trip was uneventful, but provided spectacular scenery. As we rose above the valley floor, we could see for miles. A slight film of haze was filling the valley from the south – Palmdale and Lancaster way. This haze created a sort of lake effect, filling the valley and covering the surface, setting the few rock formations and promontories afloat on the inland seas. It was fairly mystical. Thank god for air pollution.
On up the road a pace, into the El Paso Mountains, we came to some of the various BLM land designations. This is an area extremely popular with ATV and off-road enthusiasts, so much of the land is fenced off and access is restricted. Passing a couple access roads that led off into these areas, we finally decided to check one out. Of course, once we got up to the gate and the informational kiosk, it indicated we needed a permit. There was a phone number listed on the sign so we thought we’d call just for kicks. I’ll be gal darned of someone didn’t pick up the phone on the other end and claim to work for BLM. He said we didn’t need no permit and to go right in, or at least that is what I heard. So we did.
We didn’t get too far on our first advance. We were turned back at what appeared to be a massive methamphetamine manufacturing facility – that or a defunct gravel pit. Judging from the massive “Keep Out – Private Property” signs and the somewhat less cordiality than a carnival barker attitude of the mutants driving up to the place, we were not welcome to enter the premises. With a little more purpose and pace than we exhibited on our entrance, we turned about and exited back to the main road. We tried another access road with little more luck than the first, and decided it was time to investigate Randsburg.
The BLM ranger who answered the phone when we called from the trailhead suggested this was worth a look. Our road took us into the back door of Johannesburg, which has much more life than is depicted on the web site. We pretty much drove through as we had Randsburg on our mind and first impressions of Johannesburg were unfavorable. I’m sure it is worth some time and patience and effort, but those were in short supply on this adventure.
One of the best things about Randsburg is that it is a mile or so off Highway 395. It is literally adjacent to Johannesburg, but Johannes is on and actually straddles 395, making it seem like an old and dusty strip mall, rather than the legitimate historic gold town that it is. Rands doesn’t suffer from that situation. It is situated up the hill and in a little bowl, scattered about the hillsides like a classic western movie set. It is quiet and lonely back in there, but it is by no means a ghost town either. The fire crew was active out in front of their house; the museum had some visitors; a vehicle or three passed us by; certainly the dogs were out and about.
We cruised slowly up what appeared to be the main street and looped back high above the town on another street now looking steeply down into the back yards and alleys of “town”. Up here was a little different, more spread out, scattered, tattered, and torn – some bear to the bone. We pulled off into a vacant lot and had a tailgate lunch. We were very impressed with the bird life, lots of varieties but a huge population of Quail, which was very cool to see. Maybe we had overstayed our welcome (imagine that) but an old lady shouted from below to make sure we knew we were on private property and inquiring if we had any guns. I think she was satisfied we were harmless, but we felt our time had come.
It would have been appropriate to ride out of town at a gallop in a cloud of dust a hootin’ and a hollerin’ and shootin’ our guns in the air and making as big a ruckus as we could. But alas, those days are mostly gone too. We had to settle for playing our Barry Manilow music at a fairly high volume and exceeding the 17 MPH speed limit by a good measure. We could have gone a few miles out of our way to have a beverage in Ridgecrest, by far the biggest town in these parts as it is nestled up against China Lake Naval Air Weapons Station. We considered driving out onto the range to offer the fly boys some live target practice, but we are all very near retirement age and those thoughts pass more swiftly these days.
We took a loop home – a little longer but it prevented us from backtracking and we saw a few more sights along the way. We were home just in the nick of time for cocktail hour. Bob got going on his massive salmon filet and Steve warmed up some fantastic pasta. Tom was drawn to his Manhattan’s and we were quickly in full celebration mode. It was strange to be in a campground for sure – with each vehicle passing few feet from us on their trek to a camp site, but the day’s events; the spectacular sandstone wall for which the area was named; the numerous Joshua Trees scattered about; the setting sun; the fellowship and comradery of the fellas; the occasional laughter from across the campground – it all worked.
I set off on a short stroll to commune with the Joshua trees and see what there was to see. The washes were spectacular – large and small; a few inches across and a half centimeter deep to 20 feet across and 8 feet deep. They were still damp from the prior week’s rain and the dampness revealed the colors in the rock that made the gravel that made the sand. I found a few small cacti that made me happy. I saw many little birdies here and there. I scampered up a large formation, 30’ above the wash below and high enough to see into the campground. Unfortunately, it was also high enough to see Highway 14 and all the traffic that we typically could only hear from our site. I had to look away…
It was time to return to camp and begin consuming mass quantities. I was ready. I do not like to cook or eat in the dark, but for winter camping, it is a necessity and a trivial thing really. The boys were in good spirits upon my return and dinner was almost ready. The lighting from sunset and the blues in the sky made me feel like I was at a planetarium to watch a laser show. It was so warm and calm and the desert smelled incredible – still moist from the prior rain. This was a fantastic time to be here.
The kitchen was ablaze with activity when I got back; well ablaze in lies and tall tales anyway. The effort put forth for dinner amounted to a mild stirring, but Tom was mixing drinks and preparations began in earnest shortly thereafter.
Salmon, pasta, salad, bread, and a little pumpkin pie for desert. The boys were appalled when I whipped out my whipped cream canister and loaded up my pie. They were grateful it was dark so we wouldn’t be observed with a massive canister of whipped cream – and getting so much enjoyment out of it…
The last thing I remember is the whipped cream as I dozed off to sleep. This day hit me hard and I was early to bed and fast asleep. It had been a fine day. I was having mixed feelings about the push to come down Thursday night. Of course leaving work early was a plus, and having 2 full days to explore was fantastic, but arriving at night in a foreign land meant designating an obvious place to meet – in this case the State Park campground.
As far as campgrounds go, this was a great one – very open, sites spread far apart. We still didn’t have anyone around us as we had the hill on one side and the site on the other side, although not specifically designated as such, appeared to be a HandiMan site as it was graded level and the entire site was concrete pad. But…we could hear Highway 14 and every vehicle entering the campground (and 90% towed trailers of some kind) passed within feet of the site and raised dust and noise and interference with our situation. Some were in conflict with the speed limit – either the posted one or our preferred one.
Nonetheless, this morning was the payoff that made it all worthwhile. Our second full day to enjoy, have fun, and explore. We started the day with more whipped cream, much to the consternation of the boys as now our behavior was visible to the masses in the daylight. And to the tasty little LA snow bunny who walked up the road and asked if we had seen her dog – a tiny hairless Chihuahua type thing. After almost fully containing our snickering, Bob pointed out the obvious – that it was right behind her, that this was the brother of the alleged coyote breakfast snack.
The whipped cream was everywhere – on pie, in the coffee, and free form direct oral application. We formulated a plan to pack up lunch and fire to explore some and then cook some food out in the back country somewhere. I had to take a good long look at the BLM maps I brought to finally get my bearings. On our way in on Highway 14, I knew (or thought I new) that 90% of the park was on the right side of us, to the East, so when we saw the sign for the turn off to the campground, and it said turn left, my brain saw “turn right”, so when the left turn lane came up, I blew right passed it. Tom inquired why I had past up the opportunity to actually go to the campground and meet the fellas after leaving work early and driving 6 hours. I said we needed to turn right so that couldn’t be the turn.
He had plenty of time to convince me that actually was the turn we needed as the next opportunity to turn around was a few miles up the road. But turn around we did. So I was still a little cornfused about the general layout of the place and where we were in relationship to the rest of the State Park and to the surrounding BLM land. This morning I could finally see that indeed, the campground and the “Red Rock” formation that makes this place significant are both on the narrow strip of park land West of 14; everything else is East.
So it was decided that we would head North on 14 to an access and head out East to get beyond the park boundaries (where we couldn’t have a fire) back onto BLM land where we could set up for a spell and BBQ. Bob navigated our course through the Park lands onto a good dirt road that paralleled 14 for a while, then broke East, free of the highway and State property. We were now free to explore and find a cool spot for lunch.
For all the “roads” breaking off this main access road, most of them were motorcycle tracks, wide enough for a vehicle, but real loose and gravelly or sandy, and often up steep hillsides. Kind of rough for the boys’ style. We were paralleling the Sierra’s again, although there was some debate whether they were the lower ridge in the foreground, or the taller one to the West. Nonetheless, it was neat to know they were out there with us, despite our heads being in the Mojave surrounded by Joshua trees.
We stopped at the bottom of a very steep track ripped out of short rise that could give us pretty expansive views if we were to make it up there. Not knowing what it was like up there and the roughness of the scar we would be driving on, I decided to bow from the opportunity. We turned around and headed back to an opening the in Mesquite or Creosote Bush that had an old fire ring. We got out and roamed about. The brush was 5 or 6 feet tall and the hill that we decided not to surmount blocked out view to the West. This would not do.
After a beverage for clarity, we headed further down the road to a intersection. North and West were again too near Highway 14. The right turn climbed a steep and narrow ridge quite a ways up to what appeared to be an excellent vantage point. With improved clarity, and now some needed courage, I slipped us into 4 low and we crawled up the narrow ridgeline. It is always steeper and narrower immediately after you have engaged the challenging course and it is too late to change your mind. But this wasn’t all that bad. An error would be horrendous – probably not good, but not terminal to passengers or vehicle – probably.
Trucky is pretty impressive every time I give it the opportunity and we crawled up quite easily and fairly smoothly. No hug pits or boulders; no crashing or thrashing. Up top was a little disappointing. There wasn’t much to it – either in size or interest. I was hoping for a cluster of trees or shrubs we could settle in behind for wind and sun protection. Or a rock formation or an old cabin foundation. But, like the vast majority of this country, it was barren rock, or gravel, or sand, depending upon the extent of the decomposing.
The ridge did offer spectacular views though. Unobstructed 360. The valley of 14 and the Sierra’s to the West. A spectacular valley of color and mines, and an old cabin site tucked down in the ravine to the East. A group of 4 motorcycles riding together on the maze of roads and tracks to the South, and a lone camper in a ravine to the North. It was worth a few moments to listen, and smell, and taste – a beverage? And take it all in. It was just too rough and exposed for a fire and lunch spot. The cabin site down below would be very cool so we agreed to look for the road that would bring us down there. That would have to be our last chance because our fuel was getting low and it was getting a tad late in the day.
Going back down the ridge was a little more exhilarating, but uneventful, and quite gratifying. Back on the main access road, we continued North for a little then turned right on another fairly major access road. We turned right again on the road we thought would lead us to the trailer camped in the ravine that then supposedly continued onto the cabin site. This guy had a real cool set up, with a nice 4 wheel truck, a good sized trailer but not ridiculous, a beautiful restored WWII Jeep, a massive fire ring, nice local views, etc.
We passed by, resisting our outlaw temptations to ransack the place and steal all the valuables. The road took a sharp turn into a creek bed, a steep drop down and climb back up that the Jeep could easily do, and Tom’s shorter wheel base FJ could also probably do, but the truck was a tad long for such sharp angles, so our pursuit of the rock cabin ended here. This wasn’t bad. We were just about directly under the point up on the ridge we crawled up to. We were way down in the ravine, protected from wind and noise. The brush was more scattered, lower, and greener.
It was somewhat of an intersection of very old tracks and trails and gave us a feeling that at one time or another, this could definitely have been a cabin site. It felt pretty good and the boys were hungry and thirsty. This was lunch. An old fire ring was put back into use, wood split, veges sliced, cold beverage served. Fire came quickly and easily and there was much rejoicing. I had forgotten that we didn’t have a big cast iron skillet or pot for my brew of sausage, squash, onion and bell pepper and I cut the bell pepper into small slices. This would prove challenging for Bob and Steve staffing the grill, but they handled it with the usual aplomb. Soon the grill was ablaze with color and our ravine was sweetened by the scent of our sizzling brew. Our pickynic was well under way.
We each strolled about seeing what there was to see – mines, old trails, ravines, debris of one kind or another, a discussion on the origin of a very trippy rock formation and voids created all along its bottom – the inverse image of frozen water lobes along the bottom of a snow bank at the edge of a creek or pond. The eats were excellent, beverages outstanding. I needed a nap and could easily have fallen asleep in the back of the truck, probably falling prey to a young warrior looking for his first scalp.
It was a short drive back to camp, and I was both invigorated by the events of a great middle day, and tired from it. We unloaded and prepped a bit for dinner and cooking later that evening. I was thinking in terms of the last day, so I summoned the energy to take another stroll around the neighborhood.
I grabbed my phone, a beverage, and a water bottle, some important papers and matches, all packed into my ‘80’s fanny pack and off I went. I headed for the back side of the sandstone wall that is the centerpiece of the campground. I followed the wash which led up behind the cliff. This wash was the only place I actually saw standing water. It was still nourishing flowers on the shrubs and some small wildflowers. Just a spectacular treat. The walking was easy and it was no time before I was up top.
It was very cool to be on top; to be where we had been looking up to for the past couple days. It was eerie; that feeling of wanting to jump I usually get on high places. This one especially because the edge was exact, and the face was vertical, and the high point was not at that seam, but a few feet back so that even nearing the edge you felt you were already starting to go over and the sandstone could easily be giving away below you and you wouldn’t notice until the one abrupt failure after which everything is instantly and irrevocably on its way.
Not even getting too close or leaning over, I could look straight down at the people at the base of the cliff in their camp sites. I watched a group of young boys throwing an ax at a large log – laughing and teasing each other. I looked out across the camp to our site. I wanted the boys to see me; to hoot and holler to them – something I might do if we were alone, but certainly not in a crowded campground. I wanted to remain invisible. I stepped back, careful not to kick any sand or pebbles over the edge to give away my presence.
I was able to walk along the edge for several hundred yards; stopping occasionally to set my feet, get my balance before looking around in all directions to soak it in. I found a good spot to sit and had my beverage. I listened to all the camp sounds and enjoyed the view from up here. I absorbed as much as I could. As I scrambled down the back side where the rock wall was little more than a jumble of boulders and eventually just the sand of the desert floor, I saw a great little grove of Joshua trees up in one of the myriad of side canyons and washes. I headed up into it and sat for an hour or so it seemed, just sitting quietly, letting my mind wonder to the past and to the future. It was a great spot.
Eventually the future needed to include some food and beverage, so I headed back to camp. Some excellent crackers and cheese were out. The fire going, an excellent bed of coals, the boys lounging about. We needed a little tuneage for the evening proceedings so Steve hooked up his tunes to my truck and we enjoyed some great music; careful with the volume as not to interfere with our neighbors. Tom got to BBQing his steaks to perfection, Brussels sprouts in butter and garlic in tin foil, garlic bread (light on the garlic for my delicate system) and another outstanding meal was consumed to the fullest.
We got a great fire going after dinner and sat about. Tom was early to bed this night but the three of us sat up a bit. We had turned off our music at some point and were listening for someone else who might be enjoying some music of their own. Sure enough, the couple up the street played a few Chicago, CCR, and maybe a Van Morrison or two. It was great to hear her laugh and sing horribly and just have fun like no one was looking. She was dancing with her honey and they were having a great ol time and that was all that mattered. The music, and especially the Van Morrison brought back some great memories which stirred a conversation or two.
I can’t remember if we walked first or had pie, but we definitely had some of the pumpkin pie warmed on the fire and smothered, covertly of course, in mounds of whipped cream. It was outstanding again! We decided to walk the loop of the campground. It was overcast tonight so the stars were not spectacular, but it was a great, brisk, calm, sweet, night, and this was the last of our trip, and a walk sounded extraordinary.
We passed the mirth makers site just up from ours and all was quiet. We passed some beautiful pop-up trailers, and few lingering fires or possibly just orange embers. We passed two camps still going strong – huge groups, possibly a tent trailer club or some such thing and another group of old timers playing cards and offering their laughter and joy off the cliff wall and up to the gods. Much to my surprise, one loop did not satisfy us and we quickly embarked on a second. It was extraordinary.
Bob turned in shortly after our return and Steve and I again hung by the fire. This was the first evening the Handiman site next/above us was occupied and we observed an adult man, an adult female and a female child. The man had a very nice telescope set up and the ladies just seemed to come and go and make the best of it. About this time with just Steve and I sitting about the fire, perhaps it was eleven o’clock, they packed up their entire camp and left. It was rather odd.
The skies were undoubtedly less than ideal for stargazing and the it must have been a huge disappointment to have the telescope set up with such a poor night with all the cloud cover, but to pack up and leave was very queer to us. Why not enjoy a night camping in the desert and perhaps an outstanding morning. Not this night. They were up and gone. My time had come too.
Again, this morn could not have been better. Massive sky, calm, clear, warm; perhaps the warmest of the 3. It wasn’t particularly early when I got up and we didn’t move exceptionally briskly, but we did pack up and prepare to leave nonetheless. We decided to go back Highway 99 rather than I-5 and I think that was maybe an hour shorter. The trip was also made significantly shorter as we listened to the Seahawks/Packers game on the radio. It was a great game with the Pack choking in epic portions coughing up a huge lead, giving up a late TD, then a 2 point conversion, then an on-side kick, then a TD, then an instant TD in OT. My oh my.
We were home by 5:00 or so, in time to get cleaned up and watch the Patriots destroy the Colts in the AFC game, prior to beating or winning the Super Bowl, on an even more epic choke by the Seahawks with 2nd and goal from the 1 yard line with 20 seconds left to play in the game. They choose to pass and it gets picked – you lose! Epic Fail! I hope I talk to my son soon.
Find this Spot
Red Rock Canyon Photo Gallery
