Fodor's Complete Guide to the Soviet Union - 1988-2025

In 1948, English author George Orwell authored his dystopian novel and cautionary tale, “1984.” Thematically, it focuses on the consequences of totalitarianism, mass surveillance, and repression of people and behaviors within society. Set in the future thirty-six years hence, it presaged conditions in the Soviet Union, which was then only twenty-two years old. In the Stalinist era, which lasted until 1953, every horror of Orwell’s imagination had come true for the citizens of the Soviet Union (USSR).

The Berlin Wall, a symbol of the Cold War, fell in November 1989. By 1991, the old Soviet Union was in complete collapse. The German Democratic Republic, also known as Eastern Germany, also demised. The Federal Republic of Germany then took full control over both West and East Germany. In Russia, there was an incipient spate democracy. An opening to western ideas, institutions and trade gave great hope to the people of the former Soviet republics. There was a rapid rise in health, wealth, and the general standard of living throughout the former Soviet Union.

On December 31, 1999, following the resignation of President Boris Yeltsin, Vladimir Putin became Acting President. He was first elected President of Russia on March 26, 2000, and then re-elected in 2004, 2012, 2018, and 2024. In 2005, Putin told his nation that the collapse of the Soviet empire “was the greatest geopolitical catastrophe of the century.” Secretly and then more openly as time passed, he sought to reconstitute Russia as a world power. His plan was to regain hegemony over all lands that had ever been under Russian control. Under his direction, Russia conducted warfare in Chechnya, Georgia, and Syria, to name a few.

In February 2014, Russia invaded the Crimean Peninsula, then and now an internationally recognized region of Ukraine. In March 2014, Russia officially annexed Crimea. Eight years later, on February 24, 2022, Russia invaded Ukraine, proper, with the goal of reintegrating the entire country as part of Russia. By November of 2024, Russia had gained significant territory, but had lost almost 750,000 men, killed, wounded, or captured. Some analysts put the casualty total closer to one million. The Russian economy was in tatters, with the exchange rate between the Russian ruble and the U.S. dollar falling below one hundred to one. In other words, the Russian ruble was worth less than one U.S. cent.

On June 27, 2024, the U.S. State Department, issued a travel advisory, which said, in part, “Do not travel to Russia due to the consequences of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine by Russian military forces. U.S. citizens may face harassment or detention by Russian security officials, arbitrary enforcement of local laws, limited flights into and out of Russia, and the possibility of terrorism. The U.S. Embassy has limited ability to assist U.S. citizens in Russia.”

Ironically, well before the 1989 fall of the Soviet Union, travel to many parts of the USSR were open to U.S. and European travelers. Although the Beatles never played in the Soviet Union, Elton John received a visa and became the first “out-and-out rock artist” to play there. Sir Elton’s 1985 album, “Ice on Fire” featured the song, Nikita. In the accompanying video, English athlete, actor, and model Anya Major played the role of a beautiful female Russian soldier.

Wearing white tank-top and red shorts it is Major who hammer-throws the sledgehammer into the screen of Big Brother in Apple's famous 1984 Macintosh commercial. The unidentified “Big Brother” in the Ridley Scott directed commercial was not the Soviet Union. Rather, it was tech entrepreneur Bill Gates. His company, Microsoft, then held the dominant operating system in the emerging personal computer field. Steve Jobs of Apple fame had commissioned the television commercial as a rallying cry against the perceived tyranny of Microsoft. Orwell, himself died in 1950, so no one knows what he might have thought about themes in his seminal book appearing as black comedy in a later television commercial. My guess is that he would have appreciated the irony.

The travel guide known as Fodor’s issued its “Fodor’s Soviet Union 1988” in English, targeted toward Western travelers. Among other sections, it featured “Ukraine and Moldova – Breadbasket of the USSR.” and “The Crimea and the Black Sea – From Odessa to Batumi.” One example of travel opportunities available to Westerners in 1988, included Ukraine’s regional capital of Kherson. In 1988, Fodor’s said, “Kherson is your final stop on the Dnieper River. Founded as a fortress in 1788, it is both a river and a seaport. From here you can visit the new town of Novaya Lakovka and see the Kakhovka Dam and its hydraulic power plant. This is where you leave the Dnieper River, but you can take a 300-seat hydrofoil to Odessa, which is only two hours’ ride.”

In 1991, Ukraine declared independence from the USSR. Although uncontested at that time, in 1996 Ukraine agreed to return its entire nuclear arsenal to Russia, including an estimated 1,900 strategic warheads, 176 intercontinental ballistic missiles, and forty-four strategic bombers. In exchange for receiving the third most potent nuclear arsenal in the world, Russia offered debt forgiveness, plus economic and security assurances to Ukraine.

In March 2022, early in the invasion of Ukraine, Kherson fell to Russian forces, without a fight. The fall of Kherson was due to treachery on the part of several local officials. On November 11, 2022, the Armed Forces of Ukraine wrested control and liberated the city of Kherson from Russian control.

In the early hours of June 6, 2023, the Kakhovka Dam failed, causing extensive flooding along the lower Dnieper River. At that time, the dam was under the control of the Russian military, which had seized it in the early days of the conflict. Although Russian authorities have denied the accusation, many experts agree that Russian forces blew up a segment of the dam to hinder a planned Ukrainian counter-offensive. What resulted was an environmental and human disaster. Hundreds were killed, along with the flooding of towns and agricultural fields.

Because of its proximity to the active war front, Kherson remains vulnerable to Russian artillery, drone, and missile attacks. For example, on October 1, 2024, Reuters reported that "six people were killed when Russian forces struck the southern Ukrainian city of Kherson. Another six people were wounded in the artillery strike on a central bus stop, prosecutors said in a statement. Governor Oleksandr Prokudin said the strike also hit a central market while residents were shopping." On December 30, 2024, Russian troops shelled thirty settlements in the Kherson region. One person was killed and four were injured, as reported by Prokudin.

In 1988, westerners could travel to the U.S.S.R without fear of harassment or intimidation, and many did. Although the country was not free by Western standards, it was accessible. After 1989, the country was still not a place of free expression, but western tourism and investment were welcome. Western corporations and banking enterprises flocked to Russia and its former vassal states. With a combined total population of 290 million inhabitants, the importation of Western goods and services set off a period of great economic growth.

In 2014, with the invasion of Crimea, the international political and financial climate soured. Several Russian companies and individuals were sanctioned, but there was no military response from the Western powers. Russian natural gas and oil continued to flow unabated to Western Europe. Until April 2023, contracts between Russian oil companies and their U.S. counterparts allowed Russian oil deliveries to California refineries. U.S. producer Phillips 66 plans to idle its 139-Mb/d Los Angeles Refinery in late 2025. Although unstated in official announcements, loss of crude oil supplies from Russia was a major factor in reduced output and profits at the refinery.

In an unexpected diplomatic turnabout, on July 18, 2019, the Donald J. Trump administration withheld $250 million of U.S. military aid to Ukraine. Seven days later, President Trump conducted a phone call with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, during which he asked Zelensky to collaborate with his then lawyer, Rudy Giuliani, and U.S. Attorney General William Barr. During the call, Trump pressed Zelensky to investigate Ukrainian business dealings of former Vice President Joe Biden and his son Hunter.

By December 2019, after a formal House of Representatives inquiry found that he had solicited foreign interference in the 2020 U.S. presidential election, Donald Trump's first of two impeachments took place. He was accused of seeking Russian help in his re-election bid and then obstructing the inquiry itself by telling his administration officials to ignore subpoenas for documents and testimony.

The February 2022 the Russian “Special Military Operation” intended to take all of Ukraine under Russian control launched with a thirty mile traffic jam of Russian military equipment. According to reports at the time, the operation was expected to last between three and ten days. Today, as I author this article, we have passed the 1,000th day of an all out and illegal war against the country and people of Ukraine.

I think back now to how naive many Westerners were and continue to be about the threat that Russia represents to world order. In 1988, I could have booked flights, hotels, and an excursion on a 300-hundred seat hydrofoil in Soviet dominated Ukraine. Today, U.S. travel and commerce within Russia or a simple tourist visa to Ukraine are not an option. For as long as the current Czar of Russia rules, he will continue his illegal war in Ukraine. The only person for which the war remains necessary is Mr. Putin, himself.

Slava Ukraini.

Email James McGillis

 

Moab Memories - The Gemini Bridges Road 2006

September 26, 2006 - Despite the threat of rain between Dead Horse Point and the La Sal Range in Moab, Utah, we decided to head home via the back-country road past Gemini Bridges. On paper, it would be a shortcut, but in reality, it was a real challenge. In those days, I thought my Nissan Titan truck could tackle any four-wheel drive road. One road was as good as another, or so I thought. I have since learned that nothing could be further from the truth. Some tracks are good for a full-sized truck, others for only a Jeep. As the roughness of a road increases, it takes a specialized rig or even a motorcycle to conquer some paths. As the afternoon wore on into twilight, we learned that this was a road fit for specialized vehicles not for a normal light duty 4X4 truck.

Identified on maps as the Gemini Bridges Road, those romantic sounding land-forms became the object of our attention. The road down from the high plateau at Dead Horse Point started smooth enough. The easy trail lulled us into thinking that this would be an easy jaunt. Soon enough, we spotted signs identifying the Gemini Bridges, just a bit to the east of our dirt track. As we approached the bridges, we could see that rampant use of four-wheel drive vehicles and motorcycles had torn up the land and created a dead zone of denuded rock. All safety barriers and informational signage had fallen prey to marauders.

In the wild, an arch is a continuous sweep of stone that allows passage beneath. A bridge is similar, but requires that a watercourse, either seasonal or permanent, flow beneath the land-form. The twin rock bridges (hence the moniker Gemini) are hard to photograph from up top, where the trail led us. In the accompanying photo, I am standing on the first bridge, shooting down through the arch of the second bridge and the dry watercourse below. If you visit there, watch your step.

After visiting the bridges, we realized that the light was fading, and that rain threatened. Still, the topography was so fascinating; we stopped often to capture photos in the late afternoon light. Strange, anthropomorphic shapes seemed to arise from the rocks. Far below us, standing in the late afternoon sunlight, was an enormous stone bird, standing erect by the trail. In the photo below, you can see it standing out against the landscape. More about "him" soon.

Guarding the lower reaches of the canyon was a cold-blooded looking serpent. Standing vertically against one wall of the canyon into which we were descending, it stood as a warning of the rough road ahead. By that time, we were traveling downstream in a long dry wash. Having heard stories of thunderstorms above creating flash floods in such canyons, we began to hurry along. Hurrying there was a relative term, since the terrain became rockier and harder to pass.

Soon we came upon what we later learned is “Gooney Bird Rock.” He, for I assumed it was a “he” himself, guarded the lower canyon. In all my research no one has mentioned how tall the Bird is, but he appears to be about 150 feet tall. Later, I learned that it is legal to climb this iconic piece of Wingate sandstone. With the over-climbed demise of the once famous Cobra, farther up the Colorado River, I am amazed that Gooney Bird Rock has not received proper protection from hordes of climbers.

Regardless of erosion and lack of protection, Gooney Bird Rock was a remarkable sight. As the late September sun shone upon its full height, the colors of the sandstone and the filtered light of the sun combined to make him glow in ethereal tones. Realizing that our own light would soon fail, we headed down the trail toward the highway far below.

As I have said before, scale is hard to judge in the canyons. As the Sun set, three Jeeps roared by, heading up canyon. Here, in the adjacent photo, the first Jeep is climbing the roughest and the steepest part of the road. To our astonishment, the Jeeps headed up trail as if on a Sunday drive. In 2006, Jeeps were smaller and simpler than the ones we now see in 2024. Those earlier models could easily glide over rough terrain and the small obstacles of the Gemini Bridges Road. In fact, Moab has been the proving grounds for new Jeep models for many years.

When the Sun finally set, the canyons became dark, and photography became secondary to getting safely down to the highway. Near the end of the trail, the road hugged the side of a rocky mountainside, clinging to a narrow rock-ledge. When I say “rock,” there was not a spec of soil or sand to drive upon. Only the shape of a single-track trail was discernible in the headlights of my truck. Since there was no turnout, we hoped not to meet any late arrivals traveling up canyon.

After an arduous end to what we thought would be a simple jaunt, we finally approached the gathering point near the railroad tracks at Seven Mile Canyon. By then, twilight had faded behind the massive redrocks canyon walls. By the time we started on the short highway trip back to the Moab Rim CamPark in Moab, nightfall surrounded us.

In those days, the Moab Pile was yet untouched by a massive removal project we now know as UMTRA. As such it completely hid the lights of Moab from our view. In 2024, the removal of the Moab Pile has once again created a full view of Moab as one passes by the entrance to Arches National Park.

From the red rock canyons near Moab, Utah in the year 2006, the Gooney Bird says, “Bye, bye.”

This is Part Two of a two-part article. To read Part One, click HERE.

Email James McGillis

 

Moab Memories - Dead Horse Point 2006

In the late summer of 2006, I moved my travel trailer from Kanab, Utah to Moab, Utah for a three month stay. At the time, Moab remained “undiscovered” by the hordes of motorized enthusiasts that now tear its out-lands asunder for the sheer pleasure of throwing dust, dirt, and plant life into the air. At that time, most visitors were hikers or bicyclists, with a lesser number of Jeep enthusiasts.

“Side by sides” and “quads” were yet to become the off-road vehicles of choice. Person-power prevailed over horsepower. At that time, no one had heard of an electric bicycle. Yes, there was running water, indoor plumbing, and electricity, but looking back eighteen years ago, Moab felt like it belonged at the turn of the twentieth century, not in the first decade of the twenty-first century.

At that time, wireless telephone and data services relied on the 2-G network, with occasional hints of 3-G speed, but only then during the early morning or late at night. Since I was running my executive recruiting business from my travel trailer, I was sensitive to data usage. Each afternoon, as the outdoor enthusiasts returned to Moab and the number of emergency-calls for assistance skyrocketed, my computer wireless data would go from slow to zero connectivity.

After much diagnosis with my mobile phone and data provider, I discovered the truth. The entire City of Moab was running from a single wireless transmission tower, situated above the Sand Flats Recreation Area. Even in that era, before the release of the Apple iPhone in 2007, the use of mobile telephone and data networks was exploding, with the various providers falling far behind.

Additionally, I learned that police and fire agencies took first priority, with mobile telephony in second place and my business lifeblood, mobile data a distant third in priority rankings. With my business connectivity curtailed as each afternoon wore on, I learned to start earlier and to go out and explore the land in the late afternoons.

Following are excerpts of what I wrote about our late afternoon wanderings around the redrocks areas just outside of Moab:

September 26, 2006 - Greetings from Moab Utah… The land of 4-Wheeling and off-road biking. We have been here for about three weeks and there is so much to see and do that we could spend months exploring and not see the same thing twice.

The first weekend, we set off for Dead Horse Point State Park. Legend has it that cowboys in the 19th Century herded wild mustangs there and then culled the herd, taking only the best. The less capable horses remained to die, corralled on a point overlooking the Colorado River, below. In today’s world, one dead horse might be acceptable, but for men to purposely leave herds of horses to die in the blazing hot desert was indeed cruel and unusual punishment.

After taking the turn from U.S. Highway 191, and on to Utah Highway 313, we were still on the way to the park. Looking for anything of interest, the first vista point held a Civil War battle scene. There, standing tall and proud in the desert were two sandstone buttes, resembling the first “ironclads,” the Monitor and the Merrimack (later known as the CSS Virginia). During the opening days of the U.S. Civil War, those two unique ships had fought to a draw in the Battle of Hampton Roads. The two buttes before us aptly conjured that epic battle, one hundred and forty-four years prior.

From Dead Horse Point itself, we could see no remnants of a corral, fencing or of dead horses. Utah has a way of cleaning up its history and prefers to present itself in the most positive historical context, regardless of the carnage that often occurred in its early days. The most egregious conduct occurred before Utah statehood in 1896. Instead of dead horses, we viewed the potash settling ponds far below and adjacent to the Colorado River. In my previous trip to Moab, in 1965, the potash ponds had not yet come to fruition, since in situ mining of potash in the area was then still to come.

The Colorado River itself hid from view in a nondescript trench at the bottom of the Anticline, which encompassed the vast area within our view. In the far distance was the La Sal Range, which remained dry and snow-less in early fall. In less than two weeks, the seasons would change, bringing autumn to canyon country and winter to those mountains.

Turning my camera to the south, you can see the Colorado River in the foreground. It flows to the right of the picture and circles around in what is known as an entrenched meander, or goose-neck. As the river cuts down into the rock, the land itself is uplifting, locking the river into its ever-deepening banks. From there, the river passes to the left in the middle ground of the picture and then again south into Canyonlands National Park. There, at what is known as The Confluence, the Colorado River joins the Green River, which has its origins in Wyoming.

Another shot, to the east, shows the vastness of the river canyon and an interesting pyramid, fooling our eyes, and making us think it was human made. Each layer of strata in this vast area was once an ocean bottom or a an alluvial plain. How, one wonders, could so much material erode from a once great plain and travel down the Colorado River to points south? Did it happen in a million years, or five hundred million years? I like the concept that it happened all in one thunderstorm of proportions unimaginable by today’s standards. As it traveled downstream, such a flood could well indeed cut the entire Grand Canyon in a single episode.

While we were there, a great bird soared by, and I was able to catch it at full telephoto. I then zoomed in on the picture and cropped it to bring it in even closer. Was it a California Condor, far from its release point in the Sespe Condor Sanctuary or was it an Andean Condor on a hunting trip to the Northern Hemisphere? Either way, it was the largest bird I have ever seen on the wing. El Condor pasa.

This is Part One of a two-part article. To read Part Two, click HERE.

Email James McGillis

 

Sliding Down Barham Blvd. in a Beetle in 1966

The endless summer was over and we were back in school. One Friday evening in October 1965, a group of friends and I caravanned from Burbank to Hollywood. There, as underage youth, we could buy cigars without showing identification. The Wolf Bros. Crooks brand, with their, “Rum Soaked, Dipped in Wine” motto, were our favorites. With alcohol-soaked tobacco, we pretended that we were drinking and smoking at the same time; only our lack of access to alcohol kept us sober. That night, I rode shotgun in my friend and classmate Phil Plank’s Volkswagen Bug, which he called his “V-dub.”

The only separation from opposing traffic on Barham Boulevard consisted of a double white line. On the downhill ride toward Burbank, the slope ended at an intersection with Forrest Lawn Drive, better known to us as the River Road. On our return trip from Hollywood, the road rose over a hill, and then descended, while acing slowly to the right for about a quarter mile. As Phil held his steering wheel to the right, the camber of the roadway sloped gently to the right, as well.

At Burbank Senior High School, we learned some basic laws of chemistry and physics. For instance, “Oil and water do not mix,” “An object in motion tends to stay in motion,” and “The heavy end of any object will try to lead the parade.” Pushing in the cigarette lighter at the top of the hill, Phil ignored all these laws.

As we crested Barham Boulevard, a slight drizzle began to fall. While waiting for the cigarette lighter to pop out, Phile reached down to tune in the AM radio and activate the windshield wipers. With our friend’s car ahead of us, Phil wanted good music and good visibility for his overtaking maneuver. In his exuberance to overtake, and in steadfast belief in his own immortality, Phil accelerated throughout the long downhill curve. Soon enough, all the laws of chemistry and physics came into play.

After months of a Southern California drought, oil on the roadway glistened colorfully in the headlights of oncoming vehicles. The emulsion of oil and water on the roadway provided friction like a sheet of ice. As the tires lost traction on the road, I found myself looking straight into the headlights of an oncoming car. With its rear engine design, the V-dub tried to swap ends and thus lead the way with its engine-heavy tail. In a vain attempt to slow down, Phil slammed his foot down on the brake pedal.

As we swung once again towards oncoming traffic, I saw my Maker. Who would believe that God drove a 1958 Cadillac? With unwavering speed, the heavy Caddy struck our little Bug, making contact aft of our driver’s side door. Mercifully, the impact sent us back to our own side of the road. According to one witness, we swung around three times as we descended the hill. Facing uphill, windshield wipers still thumping, we stopped just short of the intersection at Forest Lawn Drive. Less than half a mile from our final resting place that night lay the largest cemetery in Los Angeles.

Staring straight ahead, with both of his hands still clutching the steering wheel, Phil sat in shock. A telltale splatter of blood on the windshield told me that the impact had caused his nose to hit the steering wheel. Still gripping the grab handle on the passenger side of the dashboard, I exclaimed, “Phil, we f---ed your whole car.” When I received nothing more than a blank stare from Phil, I got out and helped direct traffic around Phil and his badly broken Beetle.

The whole event took less than a minute. Although my life did not flash before my eyes, as events unfolded, I knew that my life might end at any moment. That I survived uninjured gave me a startling clarity that only such near-death experiences seem to bring. I was seventeen years old and blessed to be alive.

Excerpted from the 2018 Book, “True Tales of Burbank,” by Wesley H. Clark and the late Michael B. McDaniel (1956-2024). Both authors are Burbank High alumni.

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Finding The Long Lost Moab Burro in Cisco, Utah 2020

In May 2013, I discovered a strange beast resting on a railroad siding at Seven Mile, near the intersection of U.S. Highway 191 and Utah State Route 313. The location was just a few miles north of the infamous Moab Pile, the adjacent Colorado River and the City of Moab itself. The beast was a dusky yellow in color and had an enormously long snout. Since the Moab Giants Dinosaur Park did not yet exist, I knew that the beast could not be from there or the Jurassic Period.

Later, I discovered that the beast was not a cold-blooded animal, but a genetically engineered hybrid. In the 1950s, whoever or whatever created the beast had crossed the DNA of a burro and a crane. With its proximity to the highly radioactive Moab Pile, I suspected that radionuclides might have enhanced the new animal with enormous strength and power.

After some extensive research, I discovered that the beast now featured a diesel engine and a lattice-boom crane, which could include a powerful electromagnet. Its creators had branded the beast on its stern with the words, “Burro Crane.” This version of the beast was a Model 40, originally created by the Cullen Friestedt Company near Chicago, Illinois. Enthralled by the nature of the beast, I knew that I needed more information.

By 2015, the Moab Burro, as I had dubbed it, had disappeared from its former location on the siding at Seven Mile. Over the following five years, I worked incessantly toward a PhD in Burro Crane Studies at the University of Google. My doctoral thesis hypothesized that Burro Cranes had obtained the ability to shape-shift from large to small and to dematerialize and rematerialize in different locations. Although the Google elite had accepted my concepts as entirely possible, they suggested that I obtain physical evidence before conferring the honor of a PhD on me.

In the year 2020, I embarked on a research expedition to Moab, Utah. There, I was hoping to find the erstwhile and long-lost Moab Burro. If I could find the Moab Burro Crane, I could prove my thesis and obtain my long sought after Google PhD. When I pulled into Seven Mile, the siding was still there, but the Moab Burro was, once again, nowhere in sight. Having brought Coney, the Traffic Cone and Plush Kokopelli with me for our long-awaited reunion with the Moab Burro, you can imagine how disappointed each of us were.

With nothing to see at Seven Mile, we decided to return toward Moab on Highway 191. Having heard that various republicans had repeatedly shut down Arches National Park, just for spite, Coney, Kokopelli and I decided to turn in at the Arches National Park entrance and see for ourselves. Once again, uncaring politicians had closed the park for no good reason. When we stopped for a photo opportunity, a group of tourists showed up right behind us. With the speed of a flash mob, Kokopelli led them into some Monkey Wrench action, all in the best spirit of Edward Abbey. Before we knew it the tourists had opened Arches National Park... for the people.

Almost immediately, we found ourselves coughing through a nuclear dust cloud emanating from the remnants of the Moab Pile. As the dust cleared, we crossed the river on the “new” Colorado River Bridge. Once we were across the bridge, we turned left at the remnants of Old Lion’s Club Park. The original park stood on the spot where the 1855 Elk Mountain Mission first camped on the Moab-side of what was then called the Grand River. Stately cottonwood trees that may have shaded the Mormon missionaries at their first campground disappeared on March 31, 2015. Instead, uncaring souls who gave not a hoot for history or the park had transformed the quaint old park into an overheated series of concrete paths and bunker-shaped buildings. So much for progress, I thought.

Continuing our journey up the Colorado Riverway, I soon came to another historical location, which had signs reading “William Grandstaff Trailhead.” To an uninitiated visitor in 2020, the name was colorless, and not descriptive in any way. For those who know their Moab history, the place had once been known as “Negro Bill Trailhead” for many decades. William Granstaff, AKA Negro Bill was one of the early pioneers at Moab. Bill ran cattle in the box canyon that later bore his name. On September 27, 2016, the all-knowing BLM Moab Field Office “pulled a fast one”. In the grand tradition of destroying old Lion’s Club Park, the BLM made a stealthy move. Overnight, and without warning, the BLM changed out the historical “Negro Bill Trailhead” signage and all the road signs referencing the site. Goodbye Negro Bill. Hello William Grandstaff.

By that time, Coney, Plush Kokopelli and I were all feeling uneasy. If the authorities in and around Moab could hide, disguise, or make history disappear so easily, how might we ever find the missing Moab Burro? Although Coney has uttered a few words, Plush Kokopelli has never said a word in all his 2,000 years of existence. Respecting that tradition, we drove silently, with Cisco, Utah as our destination.

Along the way, we spotted the remains of the old Dewey Bridge, once the longest continuous single span between St. Louis and San Francisco. Although replaced with a newer concrete bridge over the river, the historic Dewey Bridge stood proud for over a century, until it was destroyed by fire in April 2008. That happened during a classic case of a child playing with matches nearby. His “science project” got away from him and rapidly burned the wooden bridge-deck of the old suspension bridge. Once a treasure on the National Register of Historic Places, passing by we could see the support cables dangling in the sky, with no bridge-deck to support.

After traversing that long and winding road known as Highway 128, we transitioned to The Old Cisco Highway and into Cisco, itself. We were not prepared for what had happened in town since our last visit in 2008. In those days, Cisco was a ghost town, without a single operating business and only a few aging cottages showing signs of life. Derelict mining and drilling equipment, some dating back to the uranium boom days of the 1950s lay abandoned all around the place. The shell of a long-abandoned aluminum house trailer still shone in the desert sun.

And then we saw it. There before us was the Moab Burro, with the number B-47 painted on its fading yellow sides. In shock, we saw that the Moab Burro was chained to an unused railroad siding near the old highway. Immediately, we jumped out of my truck and ran for a visit with our old friend, the Moab Burro. From its former resting place on the Potash Branch at Seven Mile to its 2020 home was a rail journey of about forty miles. How long had the Moab Burro been at the old Cisco siding, we wondered? How long would it be in Cisco until it rode the rails to a new destination or transported itself through other dimensions to wherever it pleased?

Now, in August 2024, having achieved my Google PhD in Burro Crane studies, I am planning another visit to Moab and Cisco, Utah in October 2024. Recently, I used the powers of Google maps to look at that railroad siding in Cisco. According to the most rent aerial mapping of the area, the Moab Burro is gone. Only its tender car remained on the siding where the Moab Burro lay in 2020. Stay tuned to find out if and where we might soon find the elusive Moab Burro.

To read the full story of the Moab Burro, click HERE.

Email James McGillis

 

A Time of Solace and Solitude in the Panamint Valley

In May of 2020, at the height of the pandemic, there were no vaccines in the immediate offing. Tired of sitting at home, I headed out with my RV to Panamint Springs Resort, which is a private enclave surrounded by Death Valley National Park. As seen in the adjacent photo, Death Valley National Park was closed to all visitors. Highway 190 was still open through the park, but even stopping along the way to take a picture could have netted you a $1,000 fine. No one understood how, when or where the virus could be transmitted, but the National Park Service was not taking any chances, one way or the other.

Since the resort is private and needed to stay in business, they were open for camping and cabin accommodations. Taking advantage of that and being completely self-contained, I booked a full hookup RV spot for several days. When I arrived, the clerk in the general store wore no mask. He indicated that they would be barbecuing ribs at the restaurant that night and that I should attend. "Not on your life," I thought to myself. Although I was largely confined to the resort property, I went on to enjoy the solitude and splendor of spending time in the Panamint Valley.

Three and one half years later, I was in the process of finishing up another trip to Death Valley and Panamint Springs. On December 10, 2023, there were high winds predicted for the southern Mojave Desert. With the stress of having recently spent time entertaining my friends in the desert, I was too tired to break camp and head home in a windstorm. Instead, I opted for a quiet day in camp at the Panamint Springs Resort. As I have often said, there usually are no crowds in Death Valley National Park between Thanksgiving and New Years. This year was no exception.

When I travel with my fifth wheel, I always bring provisions for several extra days. If I experience a breakdown or any other form of delay, my fridge and freezer always have enough food to get me by. In this case, my full RV hookup made it easy to extend my stay for one more day. Access to water, propane, electricity and sewer allowed for luxury camping in one of the most remote and previously inhospitable places in all of the United States.

On December 11, 2023 I broke camp and prepared to leave for home. On my return trip I was able to avoid the delays associated with road repair between Panamint Springs and Lone Pine. As it turned out, the Panamint Valley Road to Trona and Mojave beyond was fully open and free of construction delays. If I had known that on my way into Panamint Springs at the beginning of my journey, I could have saved hours of detours and delays. As it stood, my return trip home to Simi Valley took less than five hours. That reminded me of why I like to visit Panamint Springs every fall, winter, and spring. In less than a day, I can transport myself from the city to life in the nearby wilderness.

Panamint Valley may not be as famous as its sister, Death Valley, but it has trails to explore, sand dunes to climb, off-road tracks for four-wheeling and a sense of solitude that you will not find at Furnace Creek, Stovepipe Wells or Badwater. In the off-season, it is my favorite place for kicking back and enjoying life, just as it might have been almost one hundred years ago. For those who require instant and constant connectivity, either bring your Starlink satellite system or just enjoy being beyond the fringe of connection to the smartphone world. I do suggest bringing a Zoleo satellite communicator, but that device is for text messaging only.

Although I do everything I can to promote visiting the Panamint Valley during its extreme off season, I do not expect there to be big crowds in early December 2024, when once again, I shall seek solace in the Panamint Valley. If enough people read this blog and decide to visit, perhaps I will see one or two of you there at that time of year.

This is Part Seven of a Seven Part article. To return to Part One, click HERE.

Email James McGillis

 

A Polestar 3 Electric Vehicle at Panamint Springs Resort - December 2023

On December 9, 2023, I walked from the RV Park to the Panamint Springs General Store to call home. The evening before, there had been a lot of commotion at the Panamint Springs Resort. The owner and his helping hand had repaired the RV sewer line, which connects the ten RV spaces to the leach field, farther downhill. Weeks earlier, at the beginning of the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, it  became clogged by Tamarisk tree roots.

Early that evening, a taco truck had pulled into the RV Park and plugged into one of the RV shore-power pedestals. The truck, with its crossed up wiring immediately shut down the electrical to that pedestal.  Next the truck owner ran an extension cord to another pedestal and shut down the electricity to the entire RV portion of the resort. To complete the chaos, the resort Panamint Springs, t owner was in his backhoe, dragging away the ancient derelict airplane from its spot near the fuel station.

What was a taco truck was doing in Panamint Springs? Why was the resort owner dragging an airplane away from the scene? After I reported the electrical issue, the exasperated owner drove to the taco truck scene and his helping hand roared up in a pickup truck. After admonishing the taco truck driver to unplug his ersatz rig from the pedestal, the power miraculously came back on at my coach. That was enough excitement for one evening, so I chalked it up to another strange happening in the desert.

In the morning, I limped over to the general store, nursing my injured left hip. There, while making my Wi-Fi call home I discovered a full Hollywood-style film shoot wrapping up after three days in the desert. Rumors, which were later confirmed by several people, indicated that it was a Swedish film crew associated with the car maker Volvo. So that it would not be in the photo shoot of an electric vehicle approaching the gas pumps, the owner of the Panamint Springs Resort had dragged the old airplane away and behind the general store.

Why an electric vehicle would need to approach gas pumps implies that there will be some form of irony in the TV commercial that results from this shoot. The current scene included the film crew, support trucks, a high-tech Pursuit Systems camera car, passenger cars and three California Highway Patrol vehicles. When I arrived on the scene, everyone in the crew was finishing their lunch. That, at least explained what a taco truck was doing in the middle of the Mojave Desert.

According to one low ranking crew member, many of the crew came here from Sweden. “We spent three days filming near Badwater in Death Valley and here in the Panamint Valley today. It was amazing to be escorted across the desert at dawn by Highway Patrol with lights flashing.” About then, the crew boss came up and broke up our conversation. Lunch was over and the crew member said the whole encampment would be gone in three hours.

As I watched, two California Highway Patrol vehicles, the camera car and a white Polestar 3 prototype, which was sporting Swedish license plates headed out on to Highway 190. They had planned for some “B-Roll” filming on their way back toward Los Angeles.

As of this writing, the Polestar 3 is open for orders, but is yet undelivered. U.S. prices on the Volvo-created vehicle range from $83,995 to over $100,000, if fully optioned. In February 2024, just two months after this expensive international junket from Sweden to Death Valley, Volvo announced that it was selling the majority of its stake in Polestar to its Chinese partner, Geely. Already Volvo's largest shareholder, Geely's takeover of Polestar is a complex international transfer of ownership, benefiting many of the respective companies legacy shareholders.

As the striking white vehicle pull soundlessly away, I wondered how the Polestar crew was able to keep such a high-performance electric vehicle charged up and ready to roll across three days of desert driving. Was it the “long range” version, or did it secretly sport an internal combustion engine in addition to an electric drive motor? With collapsing sales of pure EV power-trains, perhaps it was an unannounced hybrid or plugin hybrid electric vehicle. My guess is that we will never know. The Polestar 3, designed in Sweden, manufactured in Chengdu, China and then plying the desolate roads of Death Valley National Park certainly was an oddity.

Just after the Polestar 3 entourage hit the highway, about a dozen Harley Davidson motorcycles roared past the remaining CHP car and prepared to pump gas for their rides. The scene was one of controlled chaos, reminiscent of Marlin Brando leading an outlaw motorcycle gang in the takeover of a small town in the 1953 movie, The Wild One. Now, seventy years later, there was lots of noise and fury, but I saw no lawlessness or destruction.

By then, the Pursuit Camera vehicle and the Polestar 3 were well down the highway. That camera car can follow the live action of any vehicle within its viewfinder. If the subject vehicle passes the camera, the camera boom and lens will follow it and keep it within the frame. The camera system itself was like nothing I had ever seen. It was installed on a long, fully gimballed boom and was computer controlled from inside the Pursuit vehicle.

All of this strangeness reminded me of several early Twilight Zone television episodes filmed in or around Death Valley. The whole scene raised several questions in my mind. As mentioned before, how did they charge the battery pack on an electric vehicle in the middle of nowhere? Why would a Swedish crew spend so much money filming a commercial in the unforgiving Mojave Desert? Why would a Polestar 3 television commercial feature a lonely gas station in the desert? I can hardly wait to find out the answers to my questions, if I ever will.

True to the old Twilight Zone conceit, when I returned to the area three hours later there was no trace of the film crew or their temporary encampment. There is an old adage that goes, "If a tree fell in a forest and no one was there, did it make a sound?" Likewise, "If a Polestar 3 drove in the desert and no one saw it, was it really there?"

This is Part Six of a Seven Part article. To read Part Seven, Click HERE. To return to Part One, click HERE.

Email James McGillis