Hoover of the Damned

I don't think pictures really capture the enormity of the Hoover Dam.

It's just not possible.  

I know nothing of engineering.  I'm sure that if I did, the mystique would not be lost.  If anything, I'm sure that I would be more wowed.  

Viewed from the perfectly placed Pat Tillman Bridge is the only place where you can grasp the scale of it.  

Although I would recommend going early in the morning if you don't want the bridge's shadow in all your shots.  Alas, Ansel Adams I am not.

The Dam was constructed 2 years ahead of schedule, during the Great Depression.  It's 720 feet high and 660 feet wide at the base.  

On the Nevada side, the pathway to the Dam is marked by two identical Deco-style bronzes.  

Giving the statue's peds a rub is said to be lucky.  The bronze has worn smooth from the millions of newly lucky visitors.   

Over 100 workers died during the construction.  Apparently, none of them are actually entombed in the dam's concrete.  

The chalky white line around the canyons of Lake Mead is a 30-year old high water mark. Confusing:  Arizona doesn't have daylight saving, so for half the year you will be an hour behind yourself just for crossing the bridge.  Both sets of the intake towers has a clock letting you know what time it is in that state.



A nice dose of pure Americana to make my imminent departure all the more bitter sweet.

Soleri

Ages ago, I worked on a really big conference down in Scottsdale. Thousands of people to get in and out of sessions, lots of VIPs, and really no end to the stress and the hours of work that went into it. At the end of the event, I was gifted a small bronze bell by one of the slave drivers who brought me down there to work. The bell was a funky, lumpy affair but I loved the tone of the chime and the patina. I brought it home and hung it on my East Village fire escape, where it was promptly stolen and probably sold as scrap metal.



Lucky for me, I tracked down Paolo Soleri at his workshop Cosanti. He is in his 90's now and a highly respected architectural genius, and he and his elves still hand-make all the bells. It's a lovely place- all the structures on the sprawling property are hand-made, organic designs and blend nicely with the desert surroundings. There are shady paths and gardens to stroll around, and so many bells. So. Many. Bells. Bronze and ceramic and brass. Small bells, enormous bells, clusters of bells. When a nice breeze blows through the compound, the sound is just incredible. It's magic.



The grounds are open to the public. Oddly enough, we encountered no one person locally who knew about this place. Even if you aren't that into bells, it's lovely to meander around and drink in the peace.













This time, I'll be hanging my new bell up with a heavy duty padlock and chain. Just in case.