Friday: Becoming an REI Member

$20 in and 20% off.  Now I’m entitled to all sorts of good stuff.  Hooray!

Saturday: The Pikes Peak Hike, 14,110 ft

Kira and I woke up at 3:30 AM and pushed ourselves over to the lodge where the rest of our nine had gathered, shoved ourselves into the minivan, and zoned out until we arrived at The Craggs trail head at the base of Pikes Peak on the West side.  Dark and cool we lifted one foot in front of the other up the trail in soft whispers and the burgeoning dawn.  Soon the night lifted, the morning broke, and we anticipated the arrival of solar warmth as we watched the shadows recede across the panoramic of the Rocky Mountains toward our trail.  Patches of snow turned icy dotted our route and every pause between steps debuted a glorious one hundred and eighty snowcapped shark-tooth horizon.  It was breathtaking.

Our companions were of various ages.  Twenty-two was the low bar while the oldest hailed from the low altitude of Michigan and celebrated sixty-five years of  vigor.  As our pace was slow and steady and breaks were frequent, several of us had much too much energy in our legs.  However, we maintained our patience.  And as the day wore on and the peak grew closer, our compatriot grew weaker and weaker to the point of anxiety.  As we stepped across fields of ice and tip-toed through small boulder-scapes, we held our breath as steps became harder to take and balance more difficult to maintain.  Water was shared mercifully and snacks were eaten vigorously.  However, the time finally came when, only one more bound from the top, no more than two thousand feet above, that the group split into two, those who would eat lunch in the wind and those who would begin to descend.  Kira and I, being representative of youth and strength, continued on with several others and finding nothing but a heap of boulders leading to the top, scampered quickly from icy rock to snowy hole to glorious cairn pointing the way in the last one hundred meters.

To the delight of all but us hikers, the small two lane road ends here at the peak and atop it rests a restaurant and souvenir stand, a US Army building, a parking lot, view point, and the end of the line for the Cog Mountain Railway.  So as we stood and enjoyed our lack of three hundred and sixty degrees, a group of men dug their raised Ford F-350 out of some ice they’d tried to run through, and an old man threw a snow ball at his grand child, then laughed.  An overweight family fell out of their oversized SUV, and a middle aged hiking couple remotely locked their Subaru.  Several other hikers had ascended with us and had retreated from the wind into the cafeteria, so we followed suit in order to enjoy the relief of sitting in a restroom for a few moments.

After some pictures with the freshly painted “Pikes Peak, 14,110 ft” sign and enjoying a some slices of guda we’d carried up for the occasion, we turned our noses and toses down the hill and began our decent.  It was now close to 3 PM.  We had left the parking lot at 6:30 AM.  It had taken us eight and a half hours to climb the mountain, only to find it heavily populated and significantly lacking any sort of complete view.  There was some serious disappointment as we reengaged the icy rock for our departure.  But as we reemerged on the West side of the mountain, and the panoramic of the Rockies presented it’s self once again, one couldn’t help but smile and keep on trucking.

By 6:30 PM we had reached the cars at the parking lot of The Craggs campground and we easily slipped back into our seats which we had occupied twelve long hours before, celebrated our accomplishment and then went silent.  It was cold and dark again.  What an ordeal.

Sunday: Pikes Peak Road Runners Trail Race, 4.8 miles (Fall Series Race #2)

Kira and I woke up late on Sunday, about 9:30 AM, to the sound of movement upstairs and my mind raced with enthusiasm for the race!  I threw the covers back and then put all my strength into jumping out of bed.  My back screamed and my thighs winced.  My fists clenched and my body threw up the middle finger.  I paused for a good several minutes, standing next to my bed, fearful of the next steps, fearful of the next event, fearful I’d done a terrible thing to my body.  However, with a few stretches and some slow movements I made it to the shower where the warm water medicated my body and soon I was upstairs and energetic.

MORE PHOTOS FROM THE RACE

We drove out to the park where the race was being held and checked in, stretching and doing a bit of a jog I was mentally convinced I was prepared.  I stepped in line behind Christopher for the start and made a deal to never leave his heels.  The pack was tight and keeping up without edging someone out was difficult, but with some ziggs and zaggs and a bit of some pace adjustment I was stuck to him.  After one loop about the grass the trail started, and the group thinned to a manageable density.  Strong and energized as I had started, I stuck with him, however as the hills kept going up and up and as my body began to recognize the endeavors of the previous day I began to slow more and more.  Christopher left my toes and moved forward.  Relentless I managed to change my goal and defend against any other competitor running between us, with the distance between as no object.  Through a few splashy creeks and up a set of stairs my heart was pounding and I felt the drive of collapse catching me, however every moment before I was about to give up, my pace setter slowed his speed and the hills pointed downward and the ground got softer and someone handed me some water and I relished in some sense of relief.  The last portion of the trail contained a set of ropes leading up an embankment, at this sight and with the cheering of a massive crowd I found the energy to leap across the creek and find the rope and with full force and vigor pull myself to the top passing my trail mentor.  With a lunge I was over a small fence and could see the finish only meters away.  However as I put feet in front of feet I found my energy registering a payment due and I slowed myself to a crawl.  Several others passed me, then Christopher reclaimed his position before my nose.  I put some force through, promised myself some rewards, and struck out to the end to enjoy only 3 seconds behind my leader.

Exhausted and satisfied with my weekend’s exercise I devoted the remainder of the day to successful living and a restful night.

RACE RESULTS

3rd of 16 in my age group, 39th of 203 men, 41st of 347 racers

Monday: Root Beer Floats, Hagandaz 5 and Mr. Thomas Kemper

Delicious and rewarding.

Perhaps we’re at the end of our rope, or perhaps we’ve finally found something else to hold on to in life, but Dan and I have begun and maintained a nice streak of extracurricular activities that shy away from visiting various clubs and bars and sucking down the worthless beer of China just for giggles.

Finding great joy in the hills and mountains of Hohhot, this is one place we are finding ourselves on a frequent basis. In the last three weeks, we’ve managed to get out of the city 5 times while still showing up to work and successfully recruited a group of eight in last weeks adventure upward.

In conjunction with these walks into the hills, we’ve also enjoyed a vigor for interacting with our community via good works and lots of smiles. For us our actions are justified through ChinaClown – for the rest of the community, it seems our actions are justified as foreigners. Our most recent endeavor was met with a standing ovation as we serenaded the lonely and bored trinket vendors of the resounding gorges park (a place of sand dunes) with a classically flamenco ukea-john show. Previous interactions were equally welcomed and enjoyed.

On all accounts, our ventures have been duly documented and if not for the untimely dismantling of ChinaClown.com I would be working on and presenting a number of short films in tribute to each of these activities, however as it is, I will be again spending my time building a website.

Look for posts to come regarding:
- Fishing with Neighbors
- Sand Dunes & Camel Races
- Hiking & Caving with Friends
- A Ride into the Hills and Back
as well as many more songs and videos…

Until then, be safe.

First of all, let me send a large Thank You to Coconino Search and Rescue, Chad, Jon Clark *clap *clap, Steph, the U of A TSO, Pat & his mom, Family, Friends, everyone… & thank you to everyone who’s put themselves out this past week thinking of Kira and I. We don’t think we can thank you enough and we deeply apologize for the anxiety and fear that we caused, whether you saw that we were safe or you were the first to notice that Kira didn’t show up to her finals or work.

Kira and I have enjoyed a number of requests for information and for the ‘whole’ story. I’m going to try and do my best to give it here, trying perhaps not to cook it up too much. Now, let me try to begin to clarify this whole mess….

Day 0: Pre-departure preparation.

Early in the week I was enthusiastic about my last weekend before the holiday. Having traveled about for the last few months, it was kind of my routine to disappear. Little did I know this disappearing act would become a national spectacle. In this act I was intent on seeing more of Arizona’s beautiful landscape while spending some time away from people and practicing my fly fishing. I pulled up Google Earth and begun my search. I had spoken with an acquaintance about a recommendation for a nice hike in the state and he suggested a place out near Sedona, so I started there. Driving my cursor around the greater Sedona area I found little in the way of water, limiting my ability to accomplish my third goal, so I began moving East, closer to Flagstaff. I passed over mormon lake and slowly moved south into a highly wooded area of Arizona. This began to look quite appealing. Water, trees, and dirt roads all seem to add into an ideal springtime weekend trip. It was December. I checked online for some suggested Arizona routes, took a look at sections of the Arizona Trail, and I returned to Google Earth. I felt good about the information I was slowly collecting and felt that I’d soon have a good plan. Honing in on the Forest Lakes area off the Mongollon Rim I wikied a couple of lakes in the area and again enjoyed some reviews of the area. Bear Canyon Lake was the one. It looked great. Secluded, it was an Angler lake where boat access was highly limited. That would be where I started the hike.

A non-official map of routes, review, and a general outline I was able to look at during planning:

I felt comfortable with my choice so I began to solidify the plan looking at websites for the region and the adjoining ranger stations. I called Payson and asked about trails, “Which rim trails exist?” “240, 290, 390, 30, 143, 292, 184, 185″ “Are they all passable?” “Yes.” “Are there any issues with any of them?” “Nope.” “Are there any issues with fires this time of the year? Can I collect dead wood and burn it for small camp fires.” “Yes.” “What do you know about getting from Knoll Lake to Bear Canyon Lake?” “Not much, give SItgreves a call, here’s their number.” I hung up and called Sitgreves. “You should just walk the road, it’s nice and quick. Don’t worry about trails up there. Otherwise you’ll be all set.” “Thanks,” I said and then hung up the phone. I felt confident, the plan was coming together.

Next I pulled out my AZ USGS quadrant map, identified the maps I’d need for better planning of the hike, jumped on my bike and rode to Tucson Map and Flag Center, one of my favorite stores in town where I presented my list of likely necessary maps. The list grew to 6 maps large and I was sold on the National Geographic TOPO! software, $100 and I get two states, one by mail, where I could print the whole state to my heart’s content… and it fit into my backpack better for the ride home. Excited about the new software I took it straight to Ike’s Coffee, installed it, and began planning my hike. I drew lines in red, blue, black, yellow. I planned hikes for the next three years. I was wired on new toys and several cups of GREAT coffee and boy was I having fun and wanted to show everyone and couldn’t keep my self from smiling to myself and from keeping myself from smiling about smiling about myself and … phew, I shouldn’t have had that coffee.

I had planned on a 10-15 mile hike over three days. I felt that was appropriate for Kira and I and anyone else who was interested to hike. When I finally got home I showed Chad my new toy and routes. The hikes ranged up to 50 miles. I didn’t keep those as serious routes. I kept the 20 mile loop. I figured we were tough and had plenty of time. I spent the rest of the night perfecting three possible routes and then enjoyed reading more about the area. I checked the weather for Strawberry and Payson. Things, while cold, seemed good. It was Monday.

Kira eventually came over, I gave her the plan and she conceded that it sounded perfect and she was excited to pickup a new pair of boots for the trip. It seemed like we were already on our way. A few days later I checked the weather again. It called for wind on Saturday and precipitation at 40% Sunday & Monday. I still wasn’t intimidated, I packed differently.

Thursday arrived, I pulled out my gear and packed my bag, picked up the food that fit our menu, and waited for Kira to arrive with her things. We repacked, got rid of redundancies, looked for gaps and got on our way, being sure to include one last stop for chocolate bars. Kira made sure we had at least one for each day, plus an extra ‘just in case.’

Our pre-trip plan, designed on National Geographic’s TOPO! (C). Three routes were plotted: Blue, Red, and Black Dotted Line. This is the map of routes from which Chad and Jon communicated to SAR our intent and promoted our quick recovery:

Day one, Thursday, December 11th. The drive was a bit long. It was late. I was tired. From what, I don’t know, but driving just makes you tired. I thought about the return drive and stopped, I didn’t look forward to it. I began thinking of all the ways I could convince Kira to drive home. I didn’t come up with much that didn’t make me feel like a jerk. We pulled off the 17 at Camp Verde, filled up with fuel, changed into warm clothes and headed East. Pulling onto the 87 our driving slowed as my mind became confused. We passed a shadow and I said to Kira, “ummm… ahhh…. Kira? I think.. I think I just passed a llama, but that doesn’t make any sense, so I think I’m a bit tired or crazy.” I starred at each passing tree thinking that perhaps I saw a tree and a shadow and they fit together just right. My eyes are not that good and things like that happened often. I then moved my foot off the gas and put it hard on the brake. Kira was clearly now awake. There was that llama, some ten feet tall, big brown chest, tan body, legs up to my shoulders, a giant set of antlers, and a slow pompous stride that took it from left lane to right lane to shoulder and then the shadows. Evidently the Arizona Llama is very similar to elk. I was amazed. That was cool. That was really cool… I’m glad I didn’t destroy the car and the elk, and that was cool. I started the motor up and as soon as I got to fourth-gear I geared right back down and slowed for the next crossing and then back up to 45. I would have really appreciated some organization within this elk’s lodge. I had no problem stopping or slowing, but before the up hill? come on. and 15 times? Really? Paint some lines, get a sign, all cross together. It was obsessive. By the time we reached Forest Road 300 I was ready to purchase my license.

FR 300 is a seemingly well graded dirt road, not worthy of my Ducati, but just fine for the Volvo at speeds under 15 mph. It was apparently used by a lot of logging trucks according to the signs and as we approached our Bear Canyon Lake, the fire had damaged a number of trees, clarifying the rational behind the forest clean-up. The road was long and I began to feel my first embarrassment of the trip. I hadn’t known the roads very well and decided to take the most ‘direct’ approach to the lake which involved FR 300 as soon as it intersected the 87, however, this route put us 30 miles from the lake on dirt, whereas if I had driven around through Payson and up the 260 I would have been able to park a) at a lower point on the rim and b) spent only about 15 miles on FR 300’s fine dirt path. Oh well, note that for next time. We finally arrived at the lake. I drove about the simplistic camp site, ignoring signs that indicated I couldn’t ‘camp’ past their location and parked the Volvo as close to the lake as possible. The whole place was empty. I didn’t anticipate harassment for at least 10 days had I parked there. I used the rest room and we crashed in the back of the car. We were there, our first day was over. I was excited.

Day two, Friday. Ah Friday. I slept in until the sun made sure I couldn’t any longer, about nine. I figured I blew my chance to catch any fish, but woke up in the cold morning and prepared my gear anyway. I really wanted to use my license while it was still good, plus, who knows, maybe I’d catch something and really be a hero. I walked down and Kira followed behind. Forty minutes later I was done. It was windy and I wasn’t putting my fly into the water well. Maybe I was grumpy from the cold air, who knows. We got back to the car and packed our gear. We drove to the top of the camp site, made breakfast, and then closed the car for the weekend. I considered placing an itinerary on the dashboard but decided it would be better for Kira to carry the extra map. We were on the trail, it was eleven.

A short while later we showed up at the See Spring trail head and adjust things before our decent. A loud truck drove past us as we inspected the signs… you’ll never regret taking time to read every sign. We took a few steps down the trail and the truck painted dull green with the US Forest badge on the side pulled up. A young man stepped out and smiled. We turned around. A ranger is kind of like a sign, you never know when information you’ll get from them. He introduced himself as Patrick and we talked about our route, down to Ridgeline and over to Horton, perhaps out to Tonto. He said Horton wasn’t a very good trail out, but along the creek it was well traveled during the summer and should be in really good condition, in general we should have a lot of fun. He suggested a route East that was about 8-miles long and might be nice and showed me on his large map at the car. I forgot his name and had to ask a second time. I asked him about the weather report and he noted they expected the storm I had seen in the report and said it was due to hit hard Wednesday… or end Wednesday… we thanked him and I told him where we were parked and what in. Told him if he saw any bears driving my car around to give me a call and take a picture. About ten minutes later I regarded that statement as pretty dumb and wished I hadn’t said it to him. Kira mentioned that she was surprised he didn’t comment on whether or not we SHOULD continue our hike, just that he gave us info and let us go. I appreciated his laissez-faire governance and the first half mile of the walk melted away with a discussion about responsible government systems and politics. I think she’s a communist. HA!

We enjoyed the hike, paused for a much enjoyed first lunch on a cold rock, re-adjusted our packs and set off again. Finally expecting the darkness to hit soon we set up shop at the intersection of See Spring and Christopher Creek. It was picturesque, complete with the sound of running water all night long. We were high enough where I expected a rise in water level to miss our camp, though I stayed a bit anxious of it. We ate dinner, had a fire, drank some tea, hung our food and tucked in for the night. I felt we were both pleased with the spot. I feel a light first day always makes for a great weekend.
Day three, Saturday, December… 12th? no 13th. I was far enough removed from society before hiking that the weekend did nothing but distance me further from my calendar. All I could remember was that I had a dentist appointment on the 16th. Tuesday? Plenty of time. We were up at nine and prepared a nice hot breakfast of oatmeal which we ate together from the bowl to save on cleaning. After a handful of nuts I was content with breakfast and we packed up and got on the trial again.
I had been letting Kira lead the way in order to get some familiarity with paving trail and orienteering our route. At one point the previous day we had ended up without a trail in the midst of very spiny bushes. We dropped our packs, walked up to the last point of known trail and reconnected ourselves. This morning again she took the lead and we came into some grass where we stopped to differentiate between rabbit trails and forest trail. We talked about what to look for, about cairns, about tree marks, about signs, about basic trail wear. We continued along and about thirty minutes later we intersected the Highline trail at Christopher Creek. There was a restroom and we stopped to enjoy it and then continued along our way. We were finally on our way West, hooray. Though we were slow moving, I was enjoying the hike. The rim was beautiful and the pace was perfect to enjoy it. We took lunch on a warm south facing rock and enjoyed lunch. I didn’t want to get up again. It was so beautiful and I was so comfortable. I put my pack back on and continued walking behind Kira, but couldn’t stop thinking about that spot for the rest of the day. This was GREAT!

Eager to make our goal for the day, Kira kicked herself into high gear and we walked hard with infrequent stops for the second half of the day. We purposefully passed the Horton TH left turn we had charted on our route and then I noticed the Promontory Point TH, a steep ascent that I had considered using but decided against. Clouds had moved in over us and the day was dark earlier than the previous night, I urged Kira to pick from several options for a campsite and we picked one next to a creaking tree. Kira set up the tent again while I prepared dinner and made a small fire. I put the tarp up with Kira’s trekking poles and snow began to fall. A bit earlier than I had anticipated, but it was light and I didn’t see any frustration from it. We packed up for the night and the tree continued to creek. I was scared it was going to crush us, but hell, there are too many people in the world already, right? I left it up for fate and fell asleep.

Day four didn’t begin, so much as it creeped up on us. Awaking every 40 minutes to the sound of a heavy doses of snow falling atop Kira’s three season tent. She didn’t sleep a bit. I ignored the situation. At six Kira had me up and awake. I mocked her anxiety in a vulgar attempt to calm her. It didn’t work. She unzipped the tent door and I slowly pulled my head out of my bag, adjusting my eyes to the bitter grey morning light. A bright white environment pulled us out of the tent. HA-HA! this was radd. The whole forest was dusted with snow, a perfect 2-inch layer lay across everything. Best of all, my simple winward-wing shelter had worked perfectly. A brown square sat, like a shadow, beneath it and within it our gear was dry and unmoved. I took some pictures and smiled a lot. This too was beautiful. I was really enjoying this trip. The sky was clear and I felt no sense of panic. Kira was still anxious and we set out quickly. In front of me Kira kept her pace. She had a map which I made her check often and knew where she wanted to be by night fall, out of the rim. I followed behind taking pictures and gawking at the white lined pine and rock and animal tracks. Small openings in the forest presented a valley of green and white. I would pause and Kira would keep walking. I smiled a lot that morning.

We arrived at Horton Creek without event, crossed it, and continued along. We found the Horton Creek TH-south sign and looked for the rim sign. We walked back to the creek and then back to the sign. I studied it, looking for interpretative loop holes, something I may have missed, but found nothing. It wasn’t there. The Horton Creek rim trail was missing. Patrick was right, it really as an awful trail. We evaluated the map, our options, and then continued East. At this point Kira’s morning anxiety had not disappeared and standing was not appealing to her. We needed to move. Trying to stay positive, I encouraged her and said “we’re almost there.” Near 11 we saw the power lines, clearly marked on the map, and I stopped Kira. We were both really tired from the hike and the mounting stress of not finding Horton Creek-north. Now we knew where we were and re-evaluated our situation and options. We did this a lot, sometimes for practice, and sometimes for real. It was at this point the hike came to an end and we began our retreat.
Disappointed with my planning ability, I followed behind a very upset Kira whom I did very little to support at that point. I tried to rationalize my arrogant attitude to her to myself but got nowhere. A bit later I tried to make it up to her and made the biggest mistake of the trip. I offered something I couldn’t give, created risk, and gave her all the reason in the world to trust me. I suggested, as she had wanted, a way off the rim. I pointed to a small gap some 800 feet above us to the North-East where trees could be seen all the way to the top of the rim, everywhere else a sheer wall existed, clearly impeding any trail out. I said, “If you really want out of here, if you’re willing to risk it, but if you really want we can consider this…. look here… see there… it’s a big maybe… but maybe we can. Want to try?” She said yes and per my directions we left the trail and started hiking north. Though the day was sunny and clear, I had a deep pit in my stomach that was poisoning myself for allowing this fallacy of hiking. Up, up, up we went. At first through downed trees, then through brush and grass, then through a boulder field and then the dense manzanitas, and finally to the rocks of the rim. We pushed bags onto five-foot rocks and climbed up lifting them onto the next ledge. There we sat.
The sky was beautifully clear, a few clouds dedicated themselves to the art while the rest were on vacation. The sun beat down on the snow covered hill side and we were quite warm on the rocks. We ate a much deserved lunch of a few bites of salami and a couple of nuts and then continued on. Shortly after we arrived at the point which I had devastatingly expected. “Kira, we can’t go any further,” I said. We could see the rim top. We were about a half mile away from it, I checked the GPS and it put us at 7300′. The rocks were now much larger, the cliff wall was a treacherous face and real gear was necessary if we were to move forward. Certainly not a path we should take with 40 lb packs on our backs. “We could perhaps make it,” I said “but one mistake and we’re not delayed or behind, we’re dead. We need to turn around and find another route.” Kira agreed and we took in the panoramic at that height and then moved back down the hill, retracing our steps in the white inkpad. While it took near three hours to get up the hill, we were down it, through the manzanitas, over the boulders, between the downed trees in less than 40 minutes. We found our foot path intersect the Highline Trail and set back East again. Kira was in front once again and she moved swiftly and steadily. The sky was still clear. We arrived a the Horton Creek-S TH and Kira pointed out a small sign hidden under a bush about 3 meters away from the other sign we had inspected for so long. It points North and says “FR 300.” I’m astonished.

We walked to the spring over the hill and put up camp. A beautiful red sunset warms our fears of a short time line and impending doom, sailors delight, right? A short while later after a failed attempt at starting a fire and some dinner we were in the tent warming up and planning in our minds the next day’s move while time and the weather made theirs.

Sunday morning arrived kind of like Saturday. Restless, neither of us do much to sleep, thinking about the next day, timid of what’s to come. Kira kicked me awake at six. As anxious as I am, I’m tired and sore and in general don’t wake up before eight. I woke up anyway and we were almost packed up soon after. I walked to the spring to try and filter some water. Our PUR filter, from waay back, has no pressure. It moves about an ounce of water through the intake tube and then nothing comes out. I took it apart, inspected it, all looked good, I put it together again, and still nothing. I gave up. I filled all bottles with the spring water and walked them back to the camp some 10 meters away, cursing under my breath. I imagined what a day would be like to not have had to carry that heavy and bulky thing. Grumbling I pulled out my MSR Miox filter (the redundancy thing I had talked about earlier is now helpful). The batteries in the device are old, from 2006, so I remove them and replace them with a pair of Duracells I had in the bag, brand new, EXP 2010. Still nothing. No lights, no bubbles, no pop-pop fizz-fizz… I calmly, but quite angrily put both filter and purifier away. I handed the water to Kira to boil. We boiled one and a half liters and gave up on the rest. Now we had some ‘good’ water and some water that tastes just fine, three liters of it.

Earlier in the morning I had exercised some time briefly digging a six-inch hole and sitting on a log when I noticed a reflective tree marker across from my seat. Now that we were ready to go I full anticipated checking both the sign under the bush and this phantom tree marker closer to the spring. We started at the sign. Looking North we could barely figure out where to start. We picked a direction and slowly moved upward, around logs and through brush sticking up in the snow. We walked up and around boulders and stopped every 3 meters to reorient ourselves. About 100 meters later we were stuck, without direction. We could look in all sorts of places and ’see’ trails, lines we mentally drew in the snow with little arrows at the end, but where they went we didn’t know, wether they were correct, we couldn’t tell. We made one strike at a trial that began to ascend up the hill at a steep diagonal, but without a marker it was likely to be a repeat of the previous day’s waste of time, something the current conditions wouldn’t allow this day. We turned back to the Highline and moved to the trail I had seen earlier that morning. At least this time we had some tree markers. Unfortunately about 3 markers later we were back in our old footsteps and without direction. Another long pause looking for a marker and to discuss options.

The sky had closed up, and snow was falling. This encouraged our anxiety and shortened our tempers with the trail. As much as we tried to avoid blame, much of it that did make it out was directed straight at our feet and the ground below it. Again we paused to reflect on our situation and the options at hand; continue up this ‘trail’ in hope that we find the real one, or turn East again and attempt the promontory point trail. I make the final decision and we begin East.

At 10:30, a short while after we pass our campsite where we had enjoyed the first night of snow and a short while later found the Promontory Point trail sign. “Promontory Point, 3/4 mi.” The weather was worsening, wind was blowing, snow was falling, and we started up. This trail was marked entirely by cairns, rock piles top other rocks, on logs, on stumps, on anything obviously hand placed and unnatural.

About halfway up we loose the trail cairns and stop to evaluate our situation. Using our topos, GPS, geography, and orientation to locate ourselves and attempt to move using perceived paths and general sense of direction upward. However, each forged trail ended at downed logs, thick brush, or boulder fields. We descend several times and recross our old tracks in the snow. Our frustration mounts as we become more eager to leave the rim. We return to our last known trail cairn and methodically weigh our options. Knowing, we had a long but good path East along the Highline trail to the See Spring trail we make one last attempt to ascend using last springs trimmed branches, hidden beneath this years growth to identify the path. Then Kira found a cairn hidden beneath the snow and we earned our first confirmation of direction in more than an hour and a half. Slowly, and methodically, we moved up the trail marking each obvious cairn with large Xs in the snow, never distancing ourselves more than 10 meters from the last obvious sign of the trail. Several times we were lead off trail by elk paths, or open clearings, however after serious evaluation and consulting each other we back track and find the trail again. Over and over I am reminded of our vital having a hiking partner is. We each identify mistakes and cairns, working together to effectively gain true altitude.

After a seemingly all day venture through the mounting storm it’s 2:30 PM and we arrive at the Promontory Point trail head sign and stop for a photo, some pack arrangements, and a quick couple bites of salami. Both of us are ecstatic, but contain ourselves because we know we have a long walk left ahead. At the top of Promontory Point the snow is still falling and the wind blowing and we begin our 6-mile walk North. The snow, initially easy to walk through, but begins to build quickly on the road, covering some recent tire tracks in the snow we are following. By the time we arrive at forest road 300 the snow is calf high at low points and knee deep off the road. Walking is difficult, my pack pinches my hips and I stop to readjust it every 100 meters or rest my pack on my trekking pole. At FR 300 we break briefly and then keep on keeping on. A short while up FR-300 we turn up the last 3-mile walk of our trip up the Bear Canyon Lake road, back to the car.

Kira ploughs through the snow as I try to focus on my foot steps to keep from falling over. Looking up periodically, I get vertigo and when I think about it, I can’t tell if I’m walking up or down hill. I choose down hill because it makes me feel like it’s easier. Kira stops for seconds every mile to rest and look for me behind her before continuing on. I don’t remember the walk being this long. Snow apparently lengthened the road, practically dancing on the way out the first day, today I could barely lift my boots without wincing. Thoughts about our next step were shuffled out of my mind in order to keep peace up there and by 6 PM we saw the Bear Canyon Lake sign and were thrilled. We stopped at the turn and both drank desperately needed water. Three long swigs and we turned toward the now visible car and were safe.

We dropped our packs and attempted to move the car. Back and forth we try and roll it up onto the snow top, but all to no avail. With no chance to drive through the calf to knee deep snow, even if we did move the car, we rest. While our exhaustion is significant, it’s not severe and as our muscles ache and unwind we feel safe. Kira breaks her last IB Profin in half and we each take some. We fall asleep in hope of a morning of new opportunity and energy.

On day six, December 16th, a Tuesday, according to my watch, it was still snowing.

After a restless night of sleeping sideways atop wet cold gear and clothes we woke up and began to evaluate our position and options. I turned on my cell phone in an attempt to get some signal. We were fortunately parked quite close to a clean, dry, covered toilet and we both took a try. Everything worked well. Three rolls of TP all for us. If not for the wind, one could have left the door open for a fresh experience. I handed Kira my phone before she left and she tried finding service out on the road early that morning. We cleared a small path around the car, cleared the roof, hood, and windows of snow and cleared out an area around the back hatch to use as the primary door. I began to ‘cabinize’ the Volvo, created a staging area at the hatch for wet gear, a sleeping area and maintained the front seats for dry gear, paper work. Put the kitchen at the hand brake, stored boots along the seats to dry and then rolled out the sleeping pads and bags and tucked in. Kira and I looked over the maps and learned our route out would be about 15 miles along the Ridgeline road, FR-300 to the 260. We also note the route back down Christopher Creek to the trail head there out to the 260. All other options are extraneous. We see no other buildings on our maps. Our gaze fixes on Payson as if by looking at the words we could transport ourselves there or at least communicate with the good people of the city to mobilize their snow mobiles and plows and happen apon us. It’s clear our only option, at this point, is to stay with the vehicle and wait for rescue or a change in the weather. We sit.

We play on the uke, read, study, play cards. We stare at nothing. We get out and clear the car again. Kira hikes a bit to try the cell phones again. We honk the horn short-long-short, short-long-short, short-long-short. Planes would fly overhead, beyond the clouds of the storm, and we couldn’t hold still. Every roar, or subtle knock on the car from falling snow & debris startled us and we made another attempt to communicate by getting up, honking, clearing the windows of the car. Kira wiped the condensation off the roof to stop the bitter cold drops from getting you in the back of the neck and concluded, “Honey, the house keeping is done.” Kira beat me at the volvo-cabin version of cribbage 220 to 192 and we make bets on when we’ll leave, who’ll be the catalyst, how we’ll get out of here. We enjoy our comfort, warm and fed. We’re content except for the terrible feeling of the unknown. An allegory for life eh?

We smell terrible and keep to our own bags the whole time. Evening rolls in and the snow fall subsides a bit. I got a bit excited, I rolled the window down a crack to keep tabs on the weather and we notice the windows don’t have the snow piles on the any more. I hope for a sunny next day. It’s dark and all the bets for the day are over, we propose a new series of bets for the next day, but never solidify anything. Then I shimmy down and try to fall asleep, but Kira demands I keep a reasonable schedule. I tell her how hard I’ve worked all day. She doesn’t buy it. We decide to eat dinner and in conservation mode, we conclude to save our remaining hot dinners for the following day and move to finish some falafel paste we had made a couple days prior and eat the remainder of a cucumber we had followed by a bit of chocolate. The falafel is good, the cucumber is frozen and tastes terrible… awful.. I never ever want to eat an old frozen cucumber again.. traumatic event aside, it’s terrible, try it. But it’s full of water and we know it’s good for us so I push it down. One pice of chocolate for each of us, then Kira hands me a second. I chastise her and then eat it. Dinner is over and again Kira prevents me from sleeping. I’m okay with it. We study some soils information, talk about soil depletion and pollution and chemistry. I fall asleep and the faint humming of the world keeps me awake.

Our seventh day comes without either of us noticing, it’s December 17th. Half an hour into the day I shoot up, my heart is racing. A faint light reflects off the bits of snow covering our windows and the loud leaf blower sound of a snow mobile is all I hear. Within seconds I’ve popped the hatch and am screaming and whistling with my mouth, waving my hands. The darkness and the storm clearly limit the visibility of the drivers. They’re wearing helmets, white? full snow outfits. There is two of them, they’re about 50 meters away heading down the ‘road’ to the lake. Does the GPS indicate good fishing at this time of night? I’m frantic. Kira is barely awake yet. I can’t contain myself. They stop a moment while I duck back to grab my light. I throw it on and wave it. Seconds later they drive away. My heart is about to burst with fear they’ll never see us. Our car is deeply covered in snow from the night fall and clearly not obvious, or obviously in trouble. Perhaps I shouldn’t have waited to light the spare on fire until tomorrow. I throw on my snow pants, boots, jacket, hat, light, and Storm(TM) whistle knowing I only have a bit of time before they reach the dead end and return back with the possibility to passing right by us, unless their fishing. I jump out of the car and blowing as hard as possible into the whistle, one light on the car flashing and another on my head I move as fast as I can through the thigh high snow to the road. One snow mobile comes up the road and briefly I fear it will pass me. At this point I’ve forgotten about the second and can do nothing but focus on making myself visible to the driver – scare him to death for all I can think, jumping out of the woods at him, whistling and frantically waving my arms I’m five meters away from him when he stops his snow mobile and dismounts. I can’t think of what I’m suppose to do next. I kind of wait for some direction and Kira and I both suffer minor strokes when we here “My name is Scott, I’m with Search and Rescue.” He asks if we’re hurt and while I feel obligated to find some problem we have but I can’t. I tell him we’re both warm, and comfortable, we’re unhurt, and are not hungry or thirsty, we would just like to get out, if he’d help us. He obliges.

We walk back to the car where Kira is now awake and excited. Scott gets on his radio, notifies some female voice where he has found us, tells us the snow cat will show up shortly and keeps us company until then. We pack as much as we can into our bags, which as it turns out is almost everything. Save a pair of shoes, food I didn’t care to repack, our maps, and a couple pieces of clothes, the car is clean and empty and we’re ready to go. The cat shows up, we pop in. Everyone is just as nice as Scott. We’re amazed at the energy and enthusiasm of every volunteer. Deb hops into the back of the cat with us and keeps us company as we soak in our previous predicament and new found freedom and safety. She’s nice. She keeps a blog of each event. I think about comparing stories with her after. Here’s her address. http://debssarstories.blogspot.com/ . We’re offered a pile of donated energy bar snacks in a box on the floor. Deb tells us about her favorite snack, some fruit gummies. I start to look for them to offer them to her when I’m caught by another volunteer who notes how hungry I look with boxes of food bars in my hand seemingly searching for more.

Deb talks with us for the length of the ride. Kira and I are surprised at how lively everyone is. Deb tells us about her other experiences and how excited she was to get out and snowshoe. We kind of ruined their whole search plan by being at the first place they looked. Sorry. After a couple of refuelings of the cat and two hours we’re at the highway 260 where there is a slew of vehicles waiting for us. Unhurt we pop out of the cat back into the cold stormy night to meet the rest of the crew, now in the veil of bright flood lights. Still, the whole team is energetic and nice. Illuminated our transport is clearly visible and quite impressive. Two monster treads span the whole length of the truck. The body is a big red can, simple in shape, but space efficient. On the side are the words “Search & Rescue, Coconino County.” We are offered a spot in the Sheriff’s truck to sit and we take a few pictures with some of the group. Now I really feel like a hinderance. I’m not even pulling my weight helping them get the gear put back together. Kira and I sit in the truck and watch as they load the snow mobiles and the cat back onto trailers from Flagstaff. We’re startled by a volunteer who offers us some NutterButters. I’m delighted, but not really hungry. How do you pass up NutterButters? I graciously accept and eat a few, but my stomach warns me not to eat anymore.

A bit after things seem to be wrapped up around us, Aaron steps into the car and says we’re all set and we begin the drive, along a ploughed highway, into Payson. Briefed on all the things we can look forward to in the coming few hours and days we arrive at Denny’s near 5 AM and sit down for a breakfast with the team where the whole event seamlessly melts into just another normal day.

The whole team is really neat, we talk about everything from gear to making mistakes. Finally I’m asked point blank, “Did you even look at the weather?” and I get to start practicing my answer. Breakfast ends and Kira and I move to a corner booth where we enjoy some hot tea and some stardom from the locals. Mom picks us up around 8:30, I get a nice long hung and a smile. We throw our gear into her Volvo, Mom turns the car on the highway South and finally I take my boots off. …

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In the end here was our (estimated) true route:
(Red is our in route, Blue is our out route. Bear lake is off the map to the north where the car was parked. Compare to the initial plan map at the top of the page.)

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While this video may seem a bit silly and dramatic – it is – but I would also say fairly accurate. I’d still like to enjoy a barbecue with friends. (video contains profanity)

Sweat was dripping into my eyes again. I think my eyebrows were broken, I don’t sweat this much from my face. At about 5,800 feet Ryan and I had finally reached a flat portion of trail, ascending from the creek below which sits at approximately 3800 feet according to my Topo. Quietly we walked over yesterdays muddy trail. It was cracked and fissured and you could see where other hikers had scrapped the sticky muck off their soles. I sucked down water from my cammelpak about ever 20 feet with my head down concentrating on putting one foot before the other. It was about 2:00 PM and I think we were both thinking about the past eight hours as we were periodically interrupted by the burning soles of our feet, or a pain in our shoulders. Tired already and we still had some miles to go.

It was just this morning that I woke up at 5:45 to my alarm clock, rolled over to push my face back into my pillow when there was a knock on the door. Impossibly Ryan had arrived 15 min early and at the exact same time the alarm had gone off. That jerk! The drive started quietly, but Ryan was insistent on conversation, which was good, so by the time we were in Phoenix I was wide awake and able to hold not only conversation, but thoughts in my own head.
Pulling down the dusty, washboard of a trail just outside of Camp Verde in central Arizona, we parked at the trail head, lathered our selves with sun screen, arranged our packs, and put on our hiking shoes. As all hikers know this is your last chance for it all. Do I unload a little from my already heavy pack, or do I put a little more into my under-prepared pack? Do I bring a cell phone, do I have a flash light? Will I need a light? Where are we going again? Is this really a good idea? I left behind an extra pair of socks for fear of the heat on my feet, as well as my book, while Ryan left behind his third litre of water. Then we signed the register and walked.

I’d never been to this park – The Coconino National Forrest, more specifically Clear Water Creek – and therefore I was heavily intrigued by the land scape partially because it was full of red rock and green trees, desert cactus, and little critters, and partly because it was foreign and I wanted to make sure that ITEOE (in the event of emergency) I would be fairly familiar with where I was, where I had been, and the general direction of where I’m going.

The beginnings of any hike are fairly similar, especially when your trail and destination are unknown. When you first start out, you pace varies in form. Sometimes quickly paced, because you’ve got all the energy in the world, to slow and deliberate because of your fascination with the smallest rock and the slowest bug. Today was no exception to this rule. We moved quickly, talked a lot, missed the trail and would have to back track after running into a wall of cactus, and finally found “the Toilet Bowl,” a small pool of water that exits to the river by slicing between two rocks causing a small eddy and a deep slide. Hikers would walk themselves into the pool to just up stream of the water’s exit. Then they’d sit down and let the current suck them between the rocks and “deep,” about two feet, underwater and down stream by about eight feet. It was fun enough I imagine, especially in the hot Arizona sun. We told ourselves we’d jump in on our way back to the car.

From here it became more obvious that we were indeed on a hiking trail and not simply in an area where folks came for the day to lie about in pools. The trail crossed over Clear Water Creek a number of times and moved back and forth and up and down. It made me think, “who designs these trials.. and why does it go up, just to go down!? Those jerks.” We heard Hawks screeching and birds fluttering away, and to my excitement we heard and saw a small group of Javolina. One scurried across the trail and away as we approached, another stood in the shade of a small bush, while a third and fourth, skittish as they were, made vicious noises and then as I approached would hustle to the next farthest away bush where upon they’d make more noise to intimidate. The hike was pleasant, peaceful, and had just enough to it to make us feel good about the work out, the training. Our down fall came when we passed some folks on horse back.

They passed us during one of our slow, deliberate, and dry river crossings and we then passed them several minutes later. At 12:30 we stopped for lunch after our last crossing the riders parked and took a break for some swimming. The lead rider was apparently quite familiar with the trail and seemingly excited to share any information he had regarding it to us ‘first timers from Tucson.’ Earlier, during one of our other encounters on the trail, he had suggested that we do the loop, hiking out of the canyon and along the ridge back and then dropping back down to the trail head instead of simply hiking up and hiking back. It sounded like the kind of hiking I prefer. We both agreed that backtracking is awful and makes you feel like you accomplished nothing that day. At this brief meeting he offered to show us the map of what he suggested now that he was down off his mount. I was eager to see the map, given we had none of our own and again, I’m sometimes focused on knowing where I am, perhaps that’s a hiking with Mom and Dad thing or a Boy Scout thing.. who knows, it’s what I do. The map showed us about in the middle of the river portion of the hike, then a trail leading up, out of the canyon, and then along the ridge where it met up with a road for about a mile where it then turned back down to the trail head and thus our car. What I forgot to do was really read the map, count the lines, look for elevation, or simply look at where we were and where we had to get sans map. Neither Ryan nor I had any concept of what “hiking out of the canyon” entailed. Several hours later, with our heads down and our feet sore and dragging atop the ridge, we were well aware of what it entailed.

After lunch – two peanut butter and honey sandwiches, a hand full of almonds, and an orange – we proceeded with the plan, hike the loop. About a mile later the creek was now below us and we were along a small ridge about 100 feet above. We were feeling good, the climb was subtle, and the sun was not too demanding. My water was still relatively cool as it came out of the tube and Ryan and I kept a good pace. We were deceived by our apparent climb in elevation and concluded that the remainder of the hike would be similar, this out of the canyon business isn’t so bad.

We were soon corrected. Talking and walking still, the trail made a steady shift to the canyon side putting us onto a hill where we became victim to the afternoon sun. Our breaths became heavier, our feet dragged, and conversation was frequently interrupted by catching breath or gulps of water. The climb was now at hand. We still moved along the river but now in a manner of determination, the trail climbed quickly and we responded with pace. Striking us how the trail had changed, Ryan in mid-sentence made note of the of the wicked climb and we became aware of our challenge at hand. Conversation stopped and we became focused on breathing and climbing. The trail didn’t switch back or even out it just went up and up. Some steps where at the height of my knee and cactus, Palo Verde, Mesquite, and anything else with thorns lined the trail and spilled over onto it. I was determined to finish solid. We both marched up the hill huffing and hurting. Finally Ryan asked to break in the shade. From here the breaks were regular and drawn out. At each stop I would catch my breath, drink some water, and reflect.

This was the first time I’d put my feet into boots since our climb in Ecuador and before that.. I couldn’t remember. My feet had begun to burn about an hour into the hike, around the same time we were first past by the horsemen. I knew I was blistering but I needed this warm up. I needed to punish my feet for being so weak. My intentions were to start doing some heavy backbacking in the following weeks and if I couldn’t do a little day hike, how was I ever going to pack 30 miles? As it turns out punishment was delivered. It was delivered not only to my feet, but to my shoulders, knees, neck, lungs, heart, and brain. I was out of shape, horribly out of shape. I was glad we had chosen a difficult trail. Ryan seemed to be in a different state of mind. He began to have difficult seeing straight, his legs started to cramp, and his needed rest became almost crippling to his climb. At one point rest stops were separated by the distance between shade and lasted twenty minutes. I began to think to myself how I could signal for help if we became debilitated. However, every time Ryan would sit soon after he would get up and continue on with the hike just as determined and fresh as he was before, and help was never necessary.

To someone who exercises all you have to tell them is “I knew I was out of shape” and they’ll understand the exact pains you’re talking about, but to someone who has never pushed their limit, or worked themselves to a crawl it difficult to convey just how determined you are to make yourself hurt, to drive your body into the ground, to really end up at the end of the day exhausted and with no ability to fight off a bear if it so happened to want to take your hat (this was something I had thought about during one of our frequent rest stops).

We walked for and hour and a half up hill, cursing the land, cursing the trail blazers, cursing the horseman who gave us directions, cursing our selves for not staying at the creek and just swimming all day. At one point the trail dipped back down causing us to loose close to two hundred feet in altitude and evoking internal rage, the kind of frustration that comes from walking up an escalator that only moves down – yeah, it’s that silly. However, soon after this decent the trail progressed back up and we felt close to reaching the rim. Easing it’s self out, the trail had no place to go but down, looking through the vegetation we could see the horizon and save one small peak to our left, sky was all there was left to climb.

The crest was so gentle that we didn’t stop to celebrate or to take pictures the trail had become flat and there was no cornice or edge to jump off and so we marched on knowing we had three and a half more miles to go before reaching the comfort of the river again. The trail emptied into a small campsite and then to a bumpy, poorly maintained access road. And so we concentrated on putting one foot before the other, sucking down water about ever 20 feet and began to question my eyebrows and permission graned to the sweat rolling into my eyes at about 5,800 feet.

Rocky and pitted, the road required constant attention and when it finally emptied onto the main gravel road a mile later, I was pleased to ignore my footing. Regardless of the diminished difficulty of the hike, discussion was distant and we walked quietly. Another mile later the road presented a trail head and exchanging a “is this it?” “yeah,” Ryan and I turned down yet another poorly maintained jeep road which ended at a small trail that descended. We were confident of our eminent arrival home.

About a hundred feet down the trail I took the last draw of water from my tube, it then seized, refused service, and I got a little panicky. I was out of water. I focused on the third of a bottle of hot Gatorade I had waiting for me in the car. I moved rapidly, partly to keep myself occupied an to see if I still had the ability to keep footing at a rate of falling, partly because I wanted to make sure we beat the storm to the car, but mostly because I was thirsty. All the while keeping an eye on Ryan’s progress, I essentially skied down the trail on my feet in my anxiety. Beneath my feet dust turned to red rock and clay, which turned to blue slate, then to black pea gravel, to deep red pumice, and then slate again. The geology of the canyon was spectacular and as varied as any science project should be. Layers were prominent and rock specimens prevalent. All this made it that much more difficult to focus on and predict my footing, alas no accident occurred. At one point I waited for Ryan and when he caught up we took a short break. I still had no water every second I stood there I thought of nothing but how thirsty I was so I reverted to taking pictures to distract me. I looked up at the ominous clouds that had been approaching all afternoon. A dark bank now filled the northern sky and hung about the other side of the canyon. I could see them move and curl and I became fascinated with how quickly they were transforming and spinning about in the sky. I took a few pictures of the distant lightening and then did a quick scan of the local cliffs and hills. To my astonishment the canyon wall directly across from us, where the thunder storm loomed over head, was also moving and spinning. I put my camera away and became more concerned for myself and my hydration. I needed to sit down and drink some water. I told Ryan nothing and pulled out an orange to attempt to quench my thirst and yet again distract my thoughts, but this only proved that rapid decent is not as effective, nor feasible while peeling and eating an orange, so I gave Ryan half and resumed my pace.

For the second glorious time today, the trail leveled out and we had reached a calm point in the trek, this time it was the bottom of the canyon and we were less than a quarter mile from the car. The sky was dark and the thunder boomed loud. Flashes of lightening illuminated the sky overhead, but we didn’t see any local bolts and felt no rain, so our concern was sufficiently low. Back at the car Ryan stripped down and sat in the river while I unlaced my boots at the car and exposed my blistered feet to daylight. While sucking down my last of Gatorade tea, I found a pile of ants attacking a caterpillar to watch and concluded my day in nature. During the car ride home I opened my eyes once at a gas station in Anthem, then again when we arrived at In-N-Out for dinner, and lastly to watch a spectacular battle between Zeus and Thor in the western skies between Tucson and Phoenix where bolts of lightening spread a good thirty degrees of the sky. At home I set my boots and bag down and plummeted face first into my pillow – the exact position I had misplaced when Ryan had arrived sixteen hours earlier.

Google Map of the hike

The United States played at 8 AM on Thursday. The books have been written, the United States Soccer team simply isn’t a contender for the World Cup, at least not yet. Even my all American McDonalds Egg McMuffin breakfast didn’t help them win and it certainly didn’t help me win.

After the game Jon and I went to his house to adjust and fix his parents back yard fence.. easy. We were done within two hours. We anticipated leaving for Vegas that day doing some camping that night and then rolling into Vegas Friday – it’d be a nice way to warm up to the time I’d spend away from home, away from Tucson.

I cleaned house and gave Sean the hi sign, expecting to see him in Vegas, the good bye was short. I never saw him in Vegas and he’s moving out next weekend.. tear. I suppose I’ve got to find a roommate soon, eh?

Jon, Austin, and I got in the car and made one last Tucson stop before leaving. To the Map Store! I love this store, it’s just full of maps and flags. It feels like it’s a throw back to the past, a travel center for kings, or the headquarters of the great explorers. The fellas who work behind the counter are the most knowledgeable individuals about maps and the such I’ve ever met. This store helps me to appreciate my high school geography classes and even more so the folks who may study geography as a life long passion.. it’s quite universal and I appreciate people who can help me get to where I want to go.

(Hoover Dam)
I had some ideas on where I wanted to hike. A place called West Clear Water Creek up East of Sedona, Arizona. To my dissatisfaction, and I’m sure of many others, there is a horribly vicious raging fire in the whole of Coconino County the area where most of the hikes and trees are in Arizona. Camping there was now out of the question. Spending a good hour looking at maps and talking to our new found map expert about some options, we landed on the idea we’d drive to Vegas that night and camp outside of the city at Mt. Charleston. The plan was solid, the route was easy, the drive was long.. it made sense. I bought some maps of New Mexico for my future travels and NOW we were on the road. To Vegas and BEYOND – for real.

(Mt. Charleston, Las Vegas (N.W.))
The lights of The Strip began to blend with the Vegas city lights and then it looked no different than any other blip on the map. The sign told us to turn left, so I did. The sign said go 55, so I went 65. The signs didn’t talk about the dirt road I turned onto, but I took it anyway. Up a small hill onto a bluff I practiced power sliding around each curve. Austin was not pleased, Jon tried to sleep in the back seat. Neither of them were in the mood for fun – I can’t blame them. About 8 hours later we were within 10 min of sleep and here I was messing around, getting dust in their mouth on a cliff. Their attitude made sense, but hell, I wanted to practice using the E-brake.. I finally landed and nestled the Volvo into a spot among some shrubs and unpacked my things to on top of the car while Austin and Jon set up their blanket on the ground atop gravel and rocks. The woke up uncomfortable, while I woke up to a brilliant sunrise and then later the sun in my eyes and my bag 10 degrees too hot. It was 6:30 and time for breakfast. Vegas was beckoning our arrival.

The daily round of World Cup started at 8 AM so we had plenty of time to get to the bar to see the game – still we missed the first one. Driving down off the hill we first stopped into Albertsons for some pop tarts, a jug of milk, cereal, and spoons and milk. We ate on the sidewalk and quickly fell asleep where we were. Apparently none of us got the kind of sleep we had anticipated the night previous. Across form Good Will we stopped in for a peek and and sprinted to the Wynn, our place of residence for the weekend. Too early for check-in we planted ourselves in the sports book and placed bets on the upcoming game. I don’t know that I like sports betting too much, it raises my anxiety too much, takes away from the fun, from the game it’s self. I feel obligated to hate the other team because they’re going to cost me 10 dollars… it’s just not fun.

Jon, Austin, and I were the first to the hotel, first to our rooms and first to gamble out of the group of 18. We felt privledged, at least I did. The group slowly arrived and the weekend began. We went clubbing Friday night with free admission, woke up late, ate a free buffet, met some ladies, hit up the pool, gambled, partied with the ladies, woke up late, gambled, met some other ladies, gambled, walked about, met some other ladies, gambled, woke up late.. watched soccer. It was Vegas – what is there to talk about.

(Austin’s Bum – for all of Las Vegas)
I learned that in general, Vegas is boreing and people there make you feel insignificant. So when you’re there you drink enough to make yourself forget how bored you are and to make yourself feel better about the people who could care less about your well being.

(Take a Guess What Floor We’re On)
When you’ve drank and smoked enough to make your self forget all the bad then you just feel worse because your body rejects all the garbage your putting into your system, you’re hung over, you can’t taste anything, you smell horrid, and perhaps you wake up in your own vomit, smiling like you a three year old. But hey, at least you may have had a good time last night, if only you could remember.

(Billy…)
I suppose that’s the Vegas allure – we go there not to win money, but to tell people we won money, we go there not to have a good time, but to tell people about the good time we had. And if we have to we lie. I was happy to leave Monday – sad to leave Jon, Austin, and Billy behind, but glad to be on my way home to see family. 4 hours later I was in Laguna Beach, an hour later in Mission Viejo eating dinner with Mom. Phew, I barely made it out of that place.