Arizona and Texas

So as I write this blog entry the events are already a week old; but at least ya'll know what happened. After completing my bicycle tour thru Utah I cleaned myself up and returned to civilization. It was a big transition to be surrounded by people again and to be responsible for more than myself. One the first day of the tour we headed for the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, which is not my favorite because it's seriously overdeveloped. The next day the group hiked down to Phantom Ranch. The pace was slow and the hike took all day. I took a much needed nap by accident and missed the first dinner. Luckily I got stew, but then the ranger didn't show for the talk that night (rumor had it that they hiked out for the World Series). I finally decided to fill in the last five minutes, which shall be noted as my first attempt at the job of interpretive park ranger. The next day we hiked out along the Bright Angel Trail and I really appreciated the Canyon today. The pace was once again very slow, but I amused myself.

The next day we headed South to Sedona. The hike in Oak Creek Canyon was really awesome and the fall colors were still lingering on some trees. We had another two days of hiking and some really excellent food. The scenery was really good, but I honestly would have much preferred to be wandering around Utah alone. After the conclusion of the tour I hung out in Sedona attempting to plan next year's bike tour with the bros.

Then it was on to Texas, my first visit the state. I was really hoping to get a look around Big Bend N.P; the Guadalupe Mountains N.P. would have also been great. Unfortunately I was not traveling alone and so spent a lot of time in San Antonio (I HATE the traffic and driving here). The cycling trip with seven Mexican men was nice, but I really had other things on my mind. It really brought home the fact that I need to learn Spanish. Also wish I was traveling with someone who at least knew something about country music. The music scene was awesome, but we didn't even linger around legendary Luckenbach, Texas. At least the folks from Texas are by far the friendliest people.

After the tour we drove North towards Denver and winter. We passed thru Amarillo (another country song). The next evening we arrived in Denver, unloaded the gear, and I picked up my moving van. I spent the night in Fort Collins and the next morning opened my storage unit and started moving out. In the afternoon I hung out at the Bike Co-op and then spent the evening with friends. The next morning I finished packing, bought a supply of beer, and headed to Denver. After dropping my stuff off at the Amtrak station I headed for the office to drop off some of my spare bikes. Then I returned the van and by 8 p.m. was on the Amtrak headed East. Sound like a logistical nightmare? You would be most correct! So now I'm in Ann Arbor and there's snow on the ground. A week ago I was enjoying 70 degree weather and sunshine! Well, sometimes we must make sacrifices.

Southern Utah Extreme

The face is weather-beaten and unshaved. A thick coat of reddish-brown dirt has enveloped his body. Time has taken its toll and already the smell of dirt, sweat, and sage permeates the air around him. His bicycle is loaded down with gear, but he’s not riding it, forced to push the heavy load thru inches of sand. For miles there is nothing but silence and a beautiful, yet empty, horizon. So began the first day of my cycling tour thru southern Utah and northern Arizona. What follows is just a few of the best highlights.

Having arrived in Denver after a long drive from Kentucky, the next morning found me on the Amtrak train headed for Green River. The train ride was cool; did ya’ll know that you’re allowed alcohol on the train? I arrived after dark and assembled my bike and gear by the light of a lone streetlight before heading out to camp on the outskirts of Green River that night. The next morning I bought a few groceries and then mounted my bicycle, fitted with 1.5 inch cycle-cross tyres. I headed southeast towards Moab along the dirt tracks. Soon the scenery and isolation was causing me to trip out like few times before. The tingling sensation was incredible!! Rock formations were dispersed across the horizon. Sage, cactus, and desert flowers filled in the areas in between along with lots of sand. The road was bumpy at best and the roads were largely unmarked. My one map proved to be lacking in detail, causing a long, but scenic side trip into the dead end Ten Mile Wash. By dusk I had cycled thirty miles and pushed my bike thru ten miles of deep sand, having traversed an area where few people choose to wander. The next day I arrived in Moab, an epicenter of mountain biking, and resupplied for the journey ahead, which included a better set of maps.

Cycling south of Moab the next day I took a wrong turn and ended up scrambling down some steep slickrock with all my gear and bike. Once I reached the wash I still had a few creek crossing to reach the main road again. That night I camped at around 9,500 feet having begun an insanely steep dirt track thru the Abajo Mountains. The next morning I had to push my bike up to the summit thru a bit of packed snow. The long descent into Blanding was slow and rock-strewn. In town I found two Japanese cyclists traveling from Salt Lake City to the southern tip of Argentina, and they had just met each other in Blanding!

A few days later found me sitting comfortably on a ferry across Lake Powell. The historic Burr Trail was my next destination. The views from the road were incredible and once again the road was largely devoid of traffic! Late the next day I arrived in Boulder and shortly began the equally historic Hell’s Backbone scenic backway. After a week of epic cycling I arrived in Escalante, Utah. The grocery stores, along with a lot of other stores were closed, it being Sunday (LDS). So I scrounged groceries at the only open gas station and after stowing my bike, hitched a ride to the Escalante River trailhead. The hike was full of awesome surprises, tons of creek crossings, and a bit of worry. The next evening I arrived back in Escalante with sore muscles and battered feet. It was worth it though.

The next morning I rested up a bit and then headed West. The ride along the Cottonwood Canyon Road south of Cannonville was incredible!! Unfortunately my camera battery died, but I was able to purchase a disposable camera. The colorful cockscomb rock formations and golden cottonwoods added greatly to the allure of the canyon. Plus traffic was scarce. After spending my last night camping in Utah, the next day I cycled thru Page, Arizona, stopping by the controversial Glen Canyon Dam. Although this was the official end of my trip, I still had to cycle the highway to Flagstaff. The road and traffic was miserable after the scenery and isolation of Utah, but I had many great memories. Once again southern Utah had not disappointed, and it totally changed my perspective of bicycle touring; no longer will I be limited to the paved byways. Throughout the past thirteen days I had retraced the routes of the Mormons, John Wesley Powell, and Edward Abbey’s Monkeywrench Gang. Long live Hayduke and the bicycle!

Kentucky and beyond

I've been sooo busy it's hard to keep up. So as I make this post it's already a bit outdated.

So my journey across the Big Muddy was okay. The drive to Kentuckee and back is over 19 hours solid! After all the hype about the hills and dogs of Kentucky I was expecting more. Yes, the horse farms were beautiful and it was amazing how many backroads Kentucky has paved. But the dogs and hills didn't live up to the hype. The cycling days were short and easy; and the dogs were downright lazy! All the history was exciting though. Like Fort Boonesbourg, Constitution Square, the Wilderness Road, Berea College, and the first stomach operation and amputation at the hip; just to name a few. I did get in a great ride after the day into Versailles. I went off route and found an old river road, run down bourbon operation, and got to the outskirts of Frankfurt, Kentucky's capital. I also got to make a suprise visit to my cousin who goes to UK in Lexington, which was awesome.

After returning to Denver on Sunday afternoon I hurridly repacked my bags and the next morning left for a solo cycling trip in Utah. More about that later...

So the news EVERYONE has been asking about....my plans for the future...drumroll please!!

thru Oct 25- continue solo cycling trip in Utah and AZ
Oct 26-31 Guide Grand Canyon/Sedona hike
Nov 1-4 Downtime in AZ/NM/TX
Nov 5-10 Guide cycling trip in Texas hill country
Nov 12-15 Back in Colorado
Nov 15-27 TBD
Nov 28-Jan 8 Back in Michigan-working at the Biv
Jan 10-March Groovy good cycling tour with the bros (itinerary TBD)
April-June More cycling and hiking adventures
July-Oct Guiding cycling/hiking tours for Timberline for a third season
Nov- EVERYONE continues to ask me about my plans... gosh dern

So there ya have it! It took me a while, but ya'll should be amazed about how long this plan stretches into next year. Based on my planning skills, or lack thereof, this is incredible! I hope this answers some questions, BUT I'm sure there will be more ;-0
Cheers ya'll

Canyon Country Cycling

I've been to southern Utah about half a dozen times, but its incredible scenery never ceases to astound me. One of the reasons for living in Colorado is so I can travel to Utah easily. This state has got everything! Mountains, canyons, few people, and at the right places you can buy beer above 3.2%. So naturally I have looking forward to this 10 day tour ever since it appeared on my schedule.

We picked up the guests in Las Vegas; my first time there. This tour had two Brits, one Kiwi, and two Michiganders. It's amazing how people adopt British mannerisms when there are Brits around! Wasn't that impressed, especially because like most of Arizona they are draining the nation's aquifers. The cycling began in St. George the next morning, heading for Zion National Park. Cycling into the canyon with only a few cars to contend with was mystical. The colors of southern Utah are just unbelievable! We stayed in Zion Lodge that night and the next morning climbed the switchbacks and chains to the top of Angels Landing. Some people are really petrified of the exposure, but for a Colorado boy, it really ain't that bad. I would really love to do the narrows of Zion sometime, maybe next Spring. Following our hiking excursion, the group cycled up the climb out of Zion along the eastern entrance. Had some great views loading the bikes on top of the van near the rim of the canyon (bikes aren't allowed in the mile-long tunnel). I really would have loved to do the steep 3-mile climb, but I can't ride everyday.

After a night in Mt. Carmel Junction (2 hotels, 2 restaurants, 2 gas stations) we headed for Bryce. After a long gradual climb we picked up an awesome tailwind and gradual downhill and simply flew into Hatch. That afternoon we cycled thru one of my favorite places, Red Canyon in Dixie National Forest. It has the colors and scenery of Bryce Canyon, but on a smaller scale and without all the tour buses. It's a darn charming place! Rudy's Inn and Restaurant was a huge complex. The food was good, but the place has the appeal of a busy truck stop. All was forgotten as we arose early and droved to Sunrise Point in the Park for the sunrise over the canyon. It was crowded, but beautiful! After breakfast some of the group hiked Fairyland Loop, which descends into the canyon and then returns along the rim. It's a scenic hike and not too crowded. The following day we road into Escalante, Utah. This is a really groovy town with great pizza and Mexican food. I really dig this place and really need to explore Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument a whole lot more! We did squeeze in a short hike in the beautiful Escalante Canyon. The trail criss-crossed the river so many times, but with my Chacos all was good, until I sprained my big toe. Thus began my kick on Ibuprofen.

The ride to Boulder was thru the heart of canyon country and included a mile of 13% grade. This area is so incredible! I need my mountain bike for Hell's Backbone and the Burr Trail backcountry byways. After a great lunch to lull us all into nap mode Boulder Mountain began with a vengeance, and kept going and going ;-) We all made it to Torrey; I decided to take a side trip to Teasdale (not much there). That night at Cafe Diablo we experienced some wonderful southwest cuisine. The next day we explored the Grand Wash in Capital Reef National Park and toured other sites of interest. Returning to the bikes after a 'rest' day, the guests road from Loa to Panguitch. This 90 mile stretch has beautiful sagebrush valleys and canyons. Crossed paths with a Colorado couple touring for a week on recumbents and got some good route info. We also began our roulette game with rain and some hail. We lost today and the next two days, but each started out beautifully.

After a night in the small, but quaint town of Panguitch, I was happy to be cycling to Brian Head ski resort along UT-143. This scenic byway has incredible falls Aspen colors and 4,000 feet in elevation gain, topping off at 10,430 feet. I climbed with the strongest rider and my toe hurt pretty bad. More Ibuprofen please! It also dropped 30 degrees in an hour and a half; loved the climbing though. The descent into Brian Head was fast and steep and after cleaning the guests' bikes I descended to Parowan. On the way back the last two miles were 10-13%, simply brutal! We enjoyed our final dinner together and after 70 miles and 8,000 feet in elevation gain I need it. I finally managed to stress my climbing legs. The next morning we cycled thru Cedar Breaks National Monument and got some great views. Then the cold rainy descent into Cedar City began (I was dry in the van). Everyone was chilled from the descent and I hurriedly loaded bikes on the van and we all head for Sullivan's Cafe. Next was the three hour drive to Vegas (the Arizona strip thru the canyon is short, but incredible). After dropping them all off, repacking the van, we headed back to St. George and the next morning on to Denver.

So after two days off, including a great time with an awesome friend in Fort Collins I have somewhat managed to catch up with my life. I'm actually getting close to deciding on my Fall and Winter plans, but what's the hurry, I still have a week or so left ;-)

Long miles, long climbs, and long on adventure

Coming off the last hiking tour I was exhausted. So with some time off I decided to head of on a cycling tour of my own. It would give me a chance to "rest up" and get back on the bike after two weeks off. I left from Denver and began climbing into the Rocky Mountains. I continued climbing until the end of the day, having done 70 miles. The next day I visited the charming town of Fairplay (also known as South Park). Then it was up and over my third mountain of the day and into Buena Vista, where I visited my favorite gear shop.

The next day the new terrain began as I began my list. Cottonwood Pass was brutal and beautiful at over 12,000 feet. After enjoying the view from the top I began the long descent on hardpacked dirt. Met some bicycle tourists from Crested Butte coming up the climb. Got some great info. Later that afternoon I raced the weather into Gunnison, where I styled my bike with blue bar tap to help with the road shocks. Later that evening I began climbing into the San Juans Mountains of southern Colorado, 80 miles done. It rained that night and I didn't sleep will. Awaking the next morning I was tired and sore. It began to rain, I began to ride, I began to suffer. My mind worked extremely hard to convince my tired body that I could climb the long rolling hills into Lake City, destination #2. This is where Peter and Barbra Jenkins spent a wonderful winter at the Vicker's Ranch during they're walk across America (Walk Across America is my favorite book). I got a bowl of chili at the diner and the sun came out. Then it was over Slumgullion Pass and I suffered some more. Then after a short climb to another pass I enjoyed the run in towards Creede.

The night was cold and there was a thick layer of frost on my tarp. Five miles of cycling brought me into Creede, a cool historic mining town buried in the heart of the San Juans. Destination #3, which I really liked. After a day of good winds and great scenery I passed through Saguche, destination #4, and recently rated by Mountain Gazzette as a "Town where you can still get you're arse kicked. I found a dead town scene, but friendly people. The next day it was back thru Buena Vista, where I stuffed my face. Then I battled killer headwinds into Twin Lakes. The next day I reached destination #5,6,& 7. Finally climbing the beautiful and high (12,000) mountain pass, Aspen, and the irresistable Maroon Bells. Aspen is high brow and everybody was wearing designer cloths. Didn't did the town much, but the Maroon Bells were incredible. Unfortunately I missed Lance Armstrong mountain biking in Snowmass by one day. That afternoon I dragged my body back over Independence Pass. 100 miles and around 10,000 feet of climbing. Epic day.

The next morning I was tired, but made it into Leadville, one of my all time favorite towns of all time (destination #8). Got a greasy burger and fries, ran into some old friends and enjoyed myself. I planned for this to be my "recovery day". By the end of the day I had done an 11,000 and 12,000 mountain pass, climbed another 6 miles towards Mt Evans in the dark and cycled 110 miles! So this became my infamous "recovery/rest day" ;-) I ate the remainder of my food and climbed up to Echo Lake. Then I couldn't resist the temptation to climb Mt Evans (destination #9)(14,123 feet- the highest auto road in N. America). The last 6 miles were climbed to cars and except for a bit of snow, I had the road to myself. The weather at the top was incredible! the descent, basically all the way into Denver was marvelous (I don't think I could have done anymore climbing)! It took me three hours to reach the office on the far side of Denver (90 miles). Luckily a fellow guide was there and we enjoyed Chipotle burritos over beers. In all I cycled through some of the most beautiful country in Colorado, accomplished so many things, gained some fitness, and cycled over 850 miles over 12 mountain passes. It was exhausting, but incredible. The next day we pulled gear for our 10-day cycling tour in Southern tour, and early the next morning left for St. George. So now my eating has stabilized and my fitness is better. Good times ;-)

Yellowstone and the Tetons

After around two months of tours with Timberline I have finally completed my first hiking tour. The six day hiking extranvaganze began in Yellowstone. While staying in the Old Faithful area lodges we hike the waterfalls, geysers, Mt Washburn, and the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. It was coldddd! On the second day of hiking we had short spurts of rain, snow, and hail! Plus my fellow guide drove way to close to a bison who was walking along the road (the often do this in early morning because it is the path of least resistance), and dispite my repeated warnings that he was way to close (like 5 feet way) he didn't move over. The bison got aggitated and made a move towards the van to express his feelings. After that scare the guide gave the bison plenty of run.

Fortunately when we arrived in the Grand Tetons we discovered the mountains had a snowy mist on their peaks. We hiked through Death Canyon and spotted tons of bear scat. The identification and discussion of scat would last throughout the remainder of the trip. The view from the top was incredible and we had the place to ourselves. The next day we awoke very early and took the short boat ride across Jenny Lake. We then presceded to hike up to Lake Solitude, which is in the heart of Grand Tetons National Park. The views along the trail and at the Lake were amazing! I got to hang out there for over 40 minutes before heading down. On the way back to the boat dock we saw lots of marmots (even two black ones) and four moose. The sixth and final day we hike Taggart and Bradely Lakes, which were a comfortable six mile stroll through the woods. Then after dropping the guests and the other guide off in Jackson Hole I began driving back to Colorado. I was exhausted!! I worked my posteir region off on this trip doing all the lunch prep and a lot of the logistics. I made it to Rawlins, Wyoming where I drank some brews and watched some tv. The following day I droving over Snowy Pass in the Medicine Bow Mountains, with flurries in the air.

I spent the rest of the day running errands (developing film, visiting my storage unit, getting the van's oil changed, and doing laundry). Finally I was done and able to enjoy the massive Tour de Fat party at New Belgium Brewery. Imagine lots and lots of bikes, lots of beer, and a great party atmosphere. If ya ever get the chance to go to a Tour de Fat (the rotate cities throughout the West mostly) ya difentely have to go. It's so much fun and the costumes are great! That night I had dinner with a friend and then headed for Denver. I slept that night in the van after unpacking and repacking all the gear. The next morning I cycled out of Denver for a solo trip in the Rocky Mountains.

Tour de Washington 2

Surpise! I'm actually in Fort Collins hanging around until Saturday. My last tour in Washington was good, but also had a few bumps. I took my time heading out there. Tracked down my brother, Mark in Winter Park, Colorado. There we plans to hike three 14ers, but the weather wasn't good. We ended up walking around the Frisco Art Festival. Lots of cool sculptures and awesome photograhpy. On a chance we picked up the local paper and saw that the Leadville 100 Mountain Bike Race was happening. So we decided to head up there. We saw the winner, David Weins, finish. We also saw this guy named Lance Armstrong finish. Ya'll should have seen the crowds go wild, but ya didn't, and we did. After an awesome pizza from High Mountain Pies we bike the loop around Leadville. Wow! is it ever great to visit this place.

Then it was off to Washington, via the scenic route. Picked up a 60 year-old guy section hiking the Pacific Crest Trail and he talked my ear off for about 40 minutes (don't all hikes do that). After scouting the route and spending too many hours reworking the route in libraries I was planning to head to the Olympic Pennisula, but I ended up hanging around Mt Rainier instead. Enjoyed excellent weather and saw Rainer from the East for the first time, although I've been here three times. Certainly one of my top 5 camping spots of all time on the crest of the Cascades! The next day I was planning to ride up to Paradise and back, but my front tire came dangerously close to blowing out, so I had to abandon my plans half way through. Huge bummer, but Specialized gave me a new tire, and they certainly owed me big-time!

Then the 8 day tour began. The first two days I was the only guide and luckily the guests were veterans and helped me out. It was a bit stressful though. The rest of the tour was basically a repeat of the last, but in reverse. Although there was one huge bump in the road that required exstensive laundering to remove. Fortunately the ride to the top of Old Blewett Pass was quiet possible the best riding of the summer. 12 miles of descent pavement, great scenery, and only one car. It was magical!! The dinner at the Summit Cafe atop Crystal Mountain also provided wonderful views of the whole Cascade Range. And then the pranks began!

Saw some of my Seattle friends again. Stopped by Missoula to pick up rental bikes and eat another awesome Griz burger at Iron Horse Brew & Pub. We also stopped at Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument (Custer and Sitting Bull) for a few hours. So Saturday I'll be heading up to Grand Teton & Yellowstone National Parks for my first hiking trip of the season. I'm also attempting to make my Fall plans. Ha ha.

Glacier Again

After taking the scenic route back thru Washington we arrived back in Montana. Had a fun evening hanging out in Missoula with some of the locals of the female variety. And for the record, although Sean Kelly's Public House has excellent cheesy chips, they are not fries. The next morning began a lazy day hanging out in Kalispell. The next day we picked up all 2o guests for a custom tour. At dinner we began to discover how rowdy a bunch we had on our hands. Picture 60 year-olds chugging car booms! Two days later we began our ride to the top of Logan's Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road. Unfortunately we didn't beat the water truck so the dirt section splattered our bodies and bikes. My camera battery ran out and so I simply charged (to use the term loosely) to the top of the climb. Soon after the descent the group of three I was riding with decided to pass two loaded tandem bikes. It's was crazy, going about 25 miles on the flat with a tailwind. Got chased by Eddie's little brother (American Flyer movie reference) and had to sprint over 20 mph to ward off the 6 inch high pug guarding his turf. 

The next day into Canada I had the pleasure of witnessing a very special moment. Having already reached the summit of a 6 mile climb a group of ten cyclists descended to pace the slowest cyclist up the climb, who was a cancer survivor. Watching the group slowly climbing in mass together was a moving scene indeed.  A few awesome descents into Waterton Lakes National Park awaited the group. That night the hot tub was just what the doctor order. The morning of the last day was spent on a boat tour to Goat Haunt. That afternoon we drove back to Kalispell. By 7 pm my fellow guide and I had said our fond farewells and were blazing a trail back to Denver. After driving almost straight thru we arrived in Denver by 3pm the next day. Only to find out there was a necessary last minute change of plans. As a result I've been in Denver for today and we begin heading back to Washington tomorrow to do another tour there. It will be a exciting, but somewhat challenging experience. 

Washington, Rainier, and the Mist

The air outside was damp and chilly. Although we were surrounded by beautiful views, a dense mist had moved in during the night. As we began riding our bikes down from Paradise, our descent was through a tunnel of foggy mist. Although the views were hidden the tourist traffic was gone and we had Mount Rainier National Park to ourselves. Such is the magic involved with bicycle touring. Eventually we left the Park and immediately enter Gifford Pinchot National Forest (named after the founder of the US Forest Service). The fog continued to hang above us as we began are ascent to the crest of White Pass. As the climb began to steepen we shed layers of clothing quickly, even then we were all sweating from exertion. Approaching the top the sun broke through the mist and we were treated to an amazing panoramic view of the Cascade Mountains of Washington. After a few minutes to enjoy the view we began the last sixty miles of our century ride into Yakima.

This was Day 3 of my Timberline tour in Washington. It began near Seattle, where I spent an awesome night camping with two Bivouac friends and others. Good times. The next day we road to the base of Mount Rainier. This is a very sentimental place for me because it was here, back in 2001, where I saw and cycled up my first Western mountain. Time has not dulled my fond memories. The second day we hiked in the Park and then the next few days were spend in the irrigated fruit valleys on the East side of the Cascades. During this time we spent a night in both a Bavarian and Western themed towns. Then on Day 7 we crossed the Cascades along the North Cascades Scenic Highway. The whole day was an extravaganza of monumental proportions for the eyes and legs. I really would have liked to leave the bike behind and hike into the heart of the Cascades. I also got a distant view of the mountain where Jack Kerouac, a Beat Generation author, manned a fire tower during the summer of 1956. That night the waitress never filled our order for Cascade Mountain Oysters, so unfortunately I can’t tell ya’ll how bison testicles taste. The next day it finally rained as we road into Anacortes. The 9th and final day was spent on Lopez Island, part of the San Juan Island chain. For half a day we took a leisurely thirty mile ride around the Island and enjoyed wonderful lunch at Vitas, one of the outstanding chefs of the slow food movement. Then it was a mad dash to the airport for a guest’s early flight. After the guests departed we checked into a hotel room, went out for Mexican food and margaritas, and then clasped exhausted into our comfy hotel beds.

Which leads me to today, which was spent at Pike Place Market, a street bazaar on the seaside wharfs of Seattle. The fresh donuts, Thai food, and warm cookie were excellent! Fortunately I only had to watch the fish tossing ;-) So now we are back on the road headed for Missoula, Montana, on the way to another bike tour in Glacier National Park. I’ll post some pictures in the next few days.

Glacier Galore

Wow!! After two days of driving my fellow guide and I arrived in Kalispell, MT. We watched the 4th of July fireworks on Flathead Lake, the largest freshwater lake in MT), over pizza and beer. The next morning we prepped for our week-long cycling tour. I rode the first day into Glacier NP, but because I lost rock-paper-scissors I didn't get to ride over the Going-to-the-Sun Highway this trip. The views from the climb were awesome and the dirt section, currently under repair, gave the climb and Italian Giro mountain experience. The next day we rode over the border into Canada and stayed in the marvelous Prince of Wales Hotel. The view was spectatular. Decided to do some extra riding; and it was EPIC. Went off-road with my cyclo-cross bike in Waterton Lakes NP. Over a thousand feet of climbing and then I went on some single-track. For the next two hours I explored a lake, bounded over rocks and roots, and went up gnarly grades; all the time making noise to avoid suprising any bears. I saw no one else and the ride and accompanying views were awesome. This was most likely the second most epic ride of my life (see earlier blog for the most)!

From Waterton we retraced our treads south back into the U.S. It was the penultimate day of the trip, with 80 miles of headwinds and climbing, but I didn't get to ride it. Arg!! The next day was a rest day the eight of us (6 guests, 3 couples) did a great hike near Two Medicine Lakes. Incredible views from the mountains to the plains. That afternoon I rode back along the route really testing my form. The climbing and descending was incredible!!! My form is coming along nicely. The next day was a relatively easy ride into West Glacier where great hotel room views of Lake McDonald awaited. Great park lodges and pretty good food all around, except for the biscuits and gravey. Today we dropped off the guests back in Kalispell and I'm frantically running errands. Tomorrow my fellow guide and I are heading back into Glacier for a few days of backpacking. That's the short story. I'll post pictures if I ever get a spare moment. To the open road...

The In Between

It has now been a week since I left Michigan via the Greyhound "special". I am happy to report that I was able to make a quick run to Chicago's Greektown for my gyro fix. What can I say; it was the highlight of my trip! Somewhere in Iowa I transferred to a Black Hills bus, which had the meanest bus driver ever. She was horrible!!! She yelled and grouched at us for nothing and even tried to pick a fight with a hapless departing passenger. She lost a lot of good karma that day; that is if she even had any to begin with.

I arrived in Denver on Wednesday after about 28 hours on the bus, sleeping most of the way. The next day I went to the office and organized my gear. Thursday night was spent at a friend's house near Denver and the next morning we departed for Gunnison, in southwest Colorado. For about 3 days we wandered the backcountry crossing numerous streams, enjoying the views, and swatting tons of mosquitoes (I’m still swatting invisible mosquitoes!). We explored an area around "the castles", which are a prominent geologic feature along a ridgetop in the Elk Mountains Wilderness. Along the hike to Stormy Pass we discovered the sun bleached bones of an elk. Most likely killed by an avalanche, the bone debris field was over fifty yards long. After hiking through a lot of snow, the view from the ridgeline was incredible; only one mark of humanity within miles of massive snowy peaks and forests hiding cascading mountain creeks. I also had the misfortune to fall into a creek, but went dipping el naturale the next day in the freezing cold water. Overall it was a great trip, but surprisingly exhausting. I'll try to post photos from the trip soon.

Returning to Denver on Sunday I returned to the office and once again sorted through my gear. After another evening in Denver I made my way via shuttle to Fort Collins, the closest thing to home. I was happily able to post the remaining images from my photo class (some which I actually like). Also I heard from a good dear friend that her medical issues are not as daunting as first expected, which is awesomely bodacious! So tomorrow, after 2 1/2 days at "home" visiting my cousin, I will be returning to the office in Denver to again repack my bags for my trip to Glacier-Waterton Lakes International Peace Park. Oh, the joy and excitement!!

Homeward Bound

Well, it's been about a month and my visit to Michigan is about to end. I have had the opportunity to reconnect with old friends, plus make some new friends. Some of these old friends I haven't seen in over three years! With a new friend I found a great comrade and running partner. On the 14th we competed in a 5k trail run. It was short, very muddy, and we had a blast. We both won our respective age categories; me at 26, and him at 60. This last Saturday we did a 10K. A new member to our fun, She won her age division despite the fact that it was her very first run. It was awesome! The course was very difficult, through a extravagant subdivision, with little level ground. My pace did not improve and losing my age division by a slim margin was a great disappointment. But I'm not really a runner.

So my plans for the future? Meet a nice girl and travel the world spreading peace and happiness. Yeah, about that. Supposedly planning out my future was what the last month was for. My cycling/hiking guide job lasts until the end of October. Beyond that is a mystery. At least I was able to spruce up the folk's yard and complete some other much needed house projects. So here's to the open road...

Getting Hitched!

Yup, it happened. Last Saturday I actually wore a suit. It was of wool and itched a bit. Then people took lots of pictures and oohed and awed. Oh, and my sis got married. That might explain things. It was a quick and simple ceremony. My brothers and I were all ushers throwing people down the aisle. I also learned that I really, really suck at foozball. The reception was rockin'. Let's just say the dancing was a combination of good and crazy. My brothers were good and I was just crazy. We all had fun though. I'll add some pictures when they become avaliable.
Also the weather, heat and humidity are inducing a suffer fest in Michigan. Missing the dry climate of the West. Soon.

Spring Training

Today marks the 40th anniversary of Robert F. Kennedy's assassination. A sad moment in American history. Yet today we also know the democratic nominee. Good info on NPR.

So work and work around the house has been keeping me busy. Despite a busy schedule I decided to take the opportunity to check something off my life list; the Dexter Ann Arbor half marathon. On my 4th run of the season I decided to test my fitness. Having completed an 11 mile run I registered. Four days later, I did my sixth run of the season last Sunday morning. The weather was ideal and I connected with a new and an old friend. Over an hour and a half after the 8 a.m. start I had sore legs, chaffed armpits, some blisters, and had gagged multiple times on the final climb. Yet I finished. Crossing the finish line my first thought was that I had completed a good run. I started slow and after warming I up sped up and ran my own race. My second thought was of points in the run when I could have shaved off some time. If anyone is interested enough you can see my results at www.dexterannarborrun.com and view photos at www.runphotos.com.

Spring Mayhem

Author's Note: Whereas past blog posts have been bowel movements of the mind, this summer's posts will focus on the bodacious travels of a free man on the open road. I'll try my best to keep ya'll updated with posts and funny pictures, so check back. Ya can always call or email me too. It's a wild ride!

Spring has begun!!
Here’s a quick recap of only the last week.
My classes have ended. Sorry, but I won't be able to post the final prints from my photo class until fall, because they are in storage for the summer (although I do have other images to post soon). I've left Fort Collins for an undetermined period of time. No more hanging out at the Bike Co-op or Eco-Thrift (volunteers needed). No more bicycle rides up Rist Canyon or drinking brews with friends at the local pubs. The closest thing to home is the road and my storage unit.

Leaving the Fort, I went to Boulder for my Wilderness First Responder recertification (advanced first aid/CPR). It was great to visit this exciting city once again and I got a great hookup with a free place to stay. It was great hanging out with other outdoor professionals; one hardcore group, including a few NOLS instructors. At 6 pm on Sunday the course ended and by 10 pm I was on the Greyhound bus for a surprise visit to Michigan. Thirty hours on the bus and my family was surprised! I've been busily doing much needed home improvement projects ever since. There is so much to do.

My spring training has begun in earnest. Okay it's just begun, but in earnest. I'm running around the 6 mile block and it's incredible to be running on familiar terrain. There's the same gasping climb onto Cherry Hill Road, and the final uphill surge to the finish. Fortunately I’m not in as bad a shape as I initially thought. I returned to work at Bivouac, the local outdoor gear shop, for the next month. I start my summer cycling and hiking guiding job in July; hopefully beginning with Mt Rainier.

That's my week in summary. I hope ya'll enjoyed the news update. Please check back and let me know that somebody actually is reading these words.

The soft rain during the night has watered the forest and left the tent speckled with raindrops. It is early morning and the eyes are still glazed with drowsiness. As I awaken to the world outside the tent walls I hear the birds chirping as they fly from branch to branch. Listening closer I hear two squirrels chasing each other among the tall pine trees. It’s too early to be up, but I open the door to see what the weather looks like. The seemingly quiet teeth of the zipper shatter the relative silence of the forest, emitting a foreign sound. The view outside is beautifully mystic. The surrounding trees glisten with raindrops and a few wildflowers color the nearby alpine meadow. Straining my neck upwards I see the mountain peaks covered with an early morning mist. The mist seams magical and mysterious, hiding the jagged summits from view.

His Name was Sam

In every person’s life there are moments, people, and experiences that define who they are and who they become. For better or worse these experiences change us. Sometimes the change is easy, other times it is painfully difficult. The one constant of these life experiences are the marks they leave upon our consciousness. I don’t know if the following memory is one of these experiences, but it is something I remember.

In my younger years, early teens perhaps, my family had a golden retriever. He wasn’t the first family dog, but Sam was the first dog that didn’t scare me with an angry bark. I can still picture him laying lazily on the couch in the family room. His hair has as much red as gold and he is skinny, but in a healthy way. His long nose is noticeably narrow and his brown eyes seem to be perpetually making “puppy” eyes at us. Although he was allowed in the house, it was against our parent’s rules to let him into our beds with us. We snuck him in anyways. Many nights were peacefully spent with Sam’s body heat radiating between our snuggled bodies.

Although Sam was the family dog my relationship with him was special because I was the one who was responsible for him. I fed him his meals and as part of my 4-H experience took him to dog obedience courses. It took a lot of time and effort for someone my age, but eventually we both learned. That summer, at the local 4-H fair, our hard work paid off. We won both competitions and received two small trophies. I still have those trophies. These are happy memories, but it is another experience that I recall more vividly. I do not remember the passing of time between that summer and the following events, but I still retained my youthful innocence.

Although Sam was a wonderful dog, whom we all loved, he had a bad habit. Whenever he got outside without a leash, he became so playful that catching him was difficult. He would run around excitedly, come within twenty feet of you, and arch his back with his front half low to the ground; a signal that he wanted to play. Sam’s actions were both gleefully amusing and frustrating. Fortunately we lived in the country and there was little danger in his playful antics.

On this particular day, Sam escaped from the house, and quickly disappeared from view. I followed him along the dusty country road, both frustrated and worried when he did not obey my commands to return. I continued down the road calling his name. After a quarter of a mile I neared the end of the road, which came to a ‘T’ at a busy paved road with speeding cars. It was from this direction that Sam came running towards me. As he had done so many times before he arched his back, bringing his front half low to the ground. My furry friend wanted to play. I wanted him to obey and come with me. Then Sam got up and energetically bounded away. A moment later car tires screeched and I heard a horrible yelp. I knew. I was young and innocent, but I knew.

My mind is unable to recollect all that transpired in the next few hours, but I do remember running to get my Dad. I remember him carrying Sam to the family’s car. Maybe I saw the pain in Sam’s eyes. I was probably crying. Next thing I recall I’m at my Grandma’s vacant house along with some other family members helping to clean it out. The phone on the wall rings. I know who it is and what the call is about. Dad answers it and the conversation is brief. He walks over and tells me that the vet has to put Sam to sleep, but I know he will never awake from this sleep. Maybe I cried, but reflecting back upon this moment, I seem to recall a stoicism unusual for a boy my age. Maybe it was because I already knew, or perhaps I dealt with the loss in some other way.

The next moment in my memory is Sam’s burial. Dad has dug a hole in front of our barn, down the hill from our house. The family has gathered around; my parents, two older sisters, two younger brothers, and myself. Dad places Sam in the hole and says something about him being a good dog. We all cry and he fills in the grave. Over the next few days or weeks I build a cross to mark Sam’s grave. With Dad’s help I cut and stain the wood. Alone, I take a hammer and place the cross atop his resting place. I don’t know if this tragic experience changed or defined me somehow, but many years later I still remember it.

I’ve since grown up and moved to Colorado, to the mountains I love, but every time I go back to Michigan I see his grave and the cross that marks it. If it’s summer I try and tidy up the place, tearing out the grass and spreading some mulch. I also still have his collar. It rests in a drawer along with a few other prized memories. The bright blue is somewhat faded and the identification tag is scratched. Ever so often I take it out and look at it; remembering the beloved dog of my childhood. His name is Sam.
Today is his birthday.

Quotes by the great, unfortunately late Robert F. Kennedy

"The problem of power is how to achieve its responsible use rather than its irresponsible and indulgent use -- of how to get men of power to live for the public rather than off the public."

"Together, we can make ourselves a nation that spends more on books than on bombs, more on hospitals than the terrible tools of war, more on decent houses than military aircraft."

"Our brave young men are dying in the swamps of Southeast Asia. Which of them might have written a poem? Which of them might have cured cancer? Which of them might have played in a World Series or given us the gift of laughter from the stage or helped build a bridge or a university? Which of them would have taught a child to read? It is our responsibility to let these men live....It is indecent if they die because of the empty vanity of their country."

My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He wrote: "In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."

"...and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun."
From Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Excerpt from RFK’s speech commemorating his brother at the Democratic National Convention (1964)

Room of Empty Chairs

Dedicated to all those who have an empty chair to fill.

The following is a tale of tragic proportions that has been told many times before. Each time the tale is told, and each time it is conveniently forgotten, until the tale needs retelling.

Outside there is no lack of people going about their lives. Their numbers include a group of teenage boys off to play a game of baseball at the park, aspiring business men and women in fancy suits, a young mother with child in tow, a middle-aged man walking a small dog, and an older man with graying hair ambling towards his favorite park bench. Each person seems to move with purpose, pursuing their present errand with a sense of immediate urgency, totally absorbed by their own cares. They are so intent upon their own activities that they do not see the house.

This particular house is not unlike any other house with its two car garage, shaded front porch, and small yard. Flower pots planted with geraniums and marigolds add color and warmth to the house. A closer look reveals a welcome mat on the front porch and a front door that is ajar. Inside the house is a long dimly lit hallway. At the far end of the hallway is a room and within this room is darkness. It is empty except for a large number of chairs. At one time each of these chairs had an occupant, but now they are empty. The people who once sat in these chairs have not passed, but they have not returned. Their chair is still here, yet they are not.

In this darkened room is a single figure, a man sitting alone. Only a dim light, which was once very bright, illuminates his figure. His shoulders are slouched, his face tilted downward; he is crying. There is much to know about this person. Who is he? What are his life experiences? What are his hopes and dreams? What are his emotions? What are his beliefs? What does he hold dear? Why does he sit here alone? In this dark and deserted room, filled with empty chairs, he freely speaks the answers to all these questions. Yet the chairs are empty, there is no one to listen. He wishes there was someone, even a single person to share things with, but there is no one. They have come and they have gone.

So alone he sits, in this dark room filled with empty chairs, welcoming people to enter. Outside there are so many people. There are enough chairs for many, yet no one takes the time to care. One day his chair will be empty. How many will return to remember the man they once sat with in this room? Will they have forgotten or will they only realize him when it no longer matters? How many others sit in an empty room just like this one, alone, yet welcoming people to enter?


In the past few weeks I have added blog entries.
Maybe I will not blog for a while...

Hey Mr. President!!

Hey Mr. President, I am an American and I have something that needs to be said.Seven years ago on a sunny September day I watched as terrorists attacked America and many innocent people lost their lives. Along with many others I listened as you addressed the American people, speaking words of comfort and compassion. I saw and heard the resolve as you promised to avenge these atrocities. With little need for deeper thought I placed my trust in your judgment and integrity. I supported American military retaliation against the Taliban in Afghanistan. Then America invaded Iraq and the “War on Terror” began on another front. Five years have passed and with each passing year I continue to question America’s involvement in Iraq. The more I learn the more disgusted and angry I become at this tragedy.

Hey Mr. President, we the American people were told there was irrefutable evidence that Saddam Hussein possessed weapons of mass destruction. Yet U.N. inspectors had searched for these weapons, without success. Now we’ve learned that this “irrefutable” evidence was gained from a single Iraqi deserter, “Curveball”, who was deemed unreliable by German intelligence. Their fact-checking revealed that he was lying, and they informed American intelligence of their findings. Yet we went to war.

Hey Mr. President, your former Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld, on numerous occasions approved and encouraged the unlawful torture of “enemy combatants”; irrespective of Geneva Conventions and international law. How can we expect our soldiers to be treated with dignity, if we fail to adhere to these rules? Throughout the conflict countless innocent Iraqis civilians have been arrested in their homes, degraded, and tortured. Nakedness, sexual acts, water boarding, and sleep deprivation are just some of the methods used against prisoners. In the very prisons where Saddam’s regime tortured the innocent, we are doing the same. When did women and young children become “enemy combatants”?

Hey Mr. President, vice-president Cheney’s wealth has increased drastically through stock ownership in Halliburton. This military contractor, which was basically nonexistent in 2001, now enjoys virtually noncompetitive status. The crimes committed by this company are infuriating. This company has knowingly provided our troops with contaminated water. Military personnel have been forced to train higher-paid incompetent individuals to take over their jobs. With full knowledge of the extent of the danger, Halliburton sent civilian truck convoys into enemy territory unprotected. They were murdered! Yet this company, through its non-competitive status and monopoly, keeps raking in the profits because the more money they spend the more they receive. They knowingly cheat the American taxpayer out of millions of dollars through corrupt their business practices. Did you not know President Eisenhower warned of the creation of just such a “military industrial complex”?

Hey Mr. President! you told us war with Iraq was necessary because of weapons of mass destruction, but Saddam didn’t have any. Then you told us Iraq harbored terrorists, but this was also false. Now you say that we occupy Iraq in the name of freedom. This seems to be a noble cause, but why Iraq, there are so many other places where the cry for freedom is heard? Why are we spending billions overseas (12 billion each month) while our economy suffers. Why didn’t you invest all this money, which we borrow from China (what about their civil right violations?), in humanitarian programs? Think of the goodwill America could garner by giving food and shelter to starving refugees, fighting the AIDS and malaria epidemic, and other relief efforts?

Even after spending billions overseas there would still be billions remaining for domestic programs like health care, social security, and education. If so many countries and Americans are against this conflict, why are we still fighting? Why is the U.S. government prosecuting an American doctor for ignoring sanctions to bring much needed medicine to the Iraqi people? Why aren’t hospitals in Iraq protected from insurgents? Why do you keep saying that America is safe from terrorist attacks? Aren’t Americans killed with great frequency by terrorists on foreign soil (four thousand to date, not counting thousands of wounded and debilitated)? Aren’t we paying the warlords enough not to fight, while our citizens struggle to make ends meet?

Hey Mr. President! I am an American and I have something that needs to be said. I trusted you, the American people trusted you, but you have betrayed us. America spends billions killing people, while the heroes of 9/11 can’t get medical help for their injuries. You have pursued an unjust war, against the wishes of the greater world community, and propagate an imperialist image of America. Don’t you know what is actually happening? Don’t you remember 1968 and a war called Vietnam? Is America bound to repeat the mistakes of the past? You believe that history will brighten your legacy, but Benedict Arnold is still is a traitor, Vietnam is still a disgrace, and you and your cohorts will still be viewed as war criminals.

Hey Mr. President! I trusted you, America trusted you, but you have betrayed your country. If you value freedom, like the rest of America, end this disgraceful conflict.

Wanderings in Canyon Country: Part II

We decided to establish a basecamp for three days from which to explore the surrounding area. So we headed back to Fruita and filled up with water. By four we were at the Pollack Canyon Bench trailhead. Between us there was at least seven gallons of water; needless to say our backpacks were very heavy. We signed the trail register and carried our burdens for about three sweaty miles. With full packs the descent down the slickrock to the canyon floor was a bit nerve-racking. Then for the next hour we searched for a good campsite. The cryptobiotic soil, which is thousands of years old and is all over the region, made our job a bit more complicated. An hour before dusk I found a site at the top of a rock bench looking deep into Pollack Canyon. Dinner was of the freeze-dried variety and okay. Then tired from our day of activity we retired to our sleeping bags.

The next day began with flavored instant oatmeal and cinnamon raisin bagels. By ten we were hiking towards Rattlesnake Canyon, which contains the highest number of arches in the U.S., outside of Arches National Park. The dirt and rock trail went up, down, and around for a few miles before we rounded the bend and saw the first cluster of arches. The first was shaped like a large open cavern and had a small window at the top. The second had a longer span and provided a view of the sky above. We wandered around taking pictures and exploring. The joy of exploration is so exhilarating! Then we headed down the trail towards the next arch. Somewhere in between Jeff and I became separated. I continued down the trail enjoying the scenery and taking photos. Then I stopped and ate lunch while I waited for Jeff to appear. He came running down the trail in a panic, thinking I had fallen off a cliff. I simply thought he was enjoying a peaceful lunch like me. We sorted things out and walked to the last arch. This arch was probably the most stunning with its wide span hanging free from the adjacent rock face.

After exploring the canyon and arches further we headed back to camp. We were tired and our faces reddened by the hot sun. We rested, reading our books, snacking, and exploring our rock bench. Two hours later we ate a dinner of mashed potatoes and salmon. The potatoes were okay, but I don’t really like fish. As the sun disappeared behind the canyon walls a full moon rose to illuminate the night sky. I crawled into my warm sleeping bag, read my book, and enjoyed some tea before falling off to sleep.

The next day we decided to explore Pollack Canyon. We followed the creek and at a fork followed the western tributary. For the next few hours we hopped rocks and crossed and re-crossed the creek countless times. Towards the end of the canyon we began to look for a way into the other side canyon. We weighed our options and decided to continue deeper into the canyon in hopes of finding an easier crossing. An hour later we reached the canyon’s end, but the route out looked somewhat sketchy so we backtracked. A side creek channel and break in the bench provided a possible crossing point. We slowly made our way uphill as the incline steepened and the wind became stronger. A storm seemed to be moving in, which in canyon country can be dangerous, due to the possibility of flash floods. After about half and hour we reached the top. Before descending into the next canyon we ate lunch.

At the bottom Jeff decided to head back to camp and I decided to explore this new canyon. A hundred yards South the canyon narrowed into steep black rock walls with a cascading series of waterfalls. For hours I clambered over waterfalls, jumped rocks across the creek, and explored the territory. I saw no evidence of any other humans. The sense freedom and discovery spurred me even deeper into Pollack Canyon. There were countless waterfalls of varying heights. At one I took off my shoes, rolled up my pants, waded into the muddy water, and clung to the rock to get a picture of a winding waterfall. Nearby was an arch perched on the rock bench. Its surroundings were similar to the famous Delicate Arch in Arches National Park. I followed the creek until it forked again and disappeared around a bend in the canyon. It was getting late and I was forced to turn back towards camp. On the way back I followed a faint trail created by bighorn sheep and explored an historic homestead. Back in camp I ate and rested before enjoying the beautiful sunset.

The next day we packed up camp. With only two liters of water apiece our packs were much lighter. With reluctance we walked out of the canyon, but I convinced Jeff to take the long way. There is simply so much to see and do, and civilization can wait. We split up again and I explored Flume Canyon alone while Jeff continued along the bench. It was beautiful, but not quite as splendid as the other canyons.

Back at the trailhead I washed off some of the dirt and grim with a wet bandana and changed into fresh clothes. Then we got into the car and headed into Fruita. Although I’ve passed by this town at least half a dozen times I’ve never seen the historic downtown so I tricked Jeff into driving through it; it took a whole minute. Fortunately we found the Hot Tomato Café, a great pizza joint, in downtown Fruita. We each drank a refreshing brew and between us consumed a whole eighteen inch pizza. We were hungry and the pizza was good. Then we headed back to our “civilized” lives back in Fort Collins, fortunate to have enjoyed another wonderful Spring Break experience in the backcountry.

Wanderings in Canyon Country: Part I

Just West of Grand Junction, Colorado begins a wide expanse of canyon country that stretches throughout western Colorado, southern Utah and northern Arizona. Encompassed within this broad area is some of the America’s most spectacular scenery including Bryce Canyon, Capital Reef, Glen Canyon, Grand Staircase-Escalante, Zion, and the Grand Canyon. This is also the stumping grounds of Edward Abbey’s infamously controversial Monkey Wrench Gang; ‘Seldom Seen’ Slim, Dr. Sarvis, Bonnie Abbzug, and George Hayduke; strident defenders of Mother Earth. Roughly tracing the path of the mighty Colorado River, the canyons twist and turn, narrow and deepen to the forceful whim of the river. Contained within these rock mazes are scraggly sagebrush, numerous varieties of cactus, creekside cottonwood trees; along with mule deer, big horn sheep, scorpions, and rattlesnakes. On the canyon floor ones’ world becomes limited to the colorful walls of the canyon. To travel within these deep cracks in the Earth’s crust is to step back in geologic time. The canyons amaze one with their silence, colors, and beautiful harshness.

Unfortunately, most tourists simply give canyon country a fleeting glance from interstate highways, speeding by at seventy miles per hour. A few may visit overlooks crowded with other noisy tourists. A quick photograph and they are back in their metal cages. They are unaware of the harsh beauty this landscape contains. This is not the experience that I sought. Thus for this year’s Spring Break I decided to avoid Moab, which in recent years has become a hub of canyon country, and a great place I’ve visited many times before. My friend Jeff and I decided to explore Black Ridge Canyon, a more remote and less-traveled area just South of Fruita, Colorado. It sounded beautiful and remote, just what I wanted. It was a place to escape the face-paced stressful life of civilization; where one is able to contemplate the simpler things in life.

We left Fort Collins on Monday afternoon amid a whirl of last minute preparations. It had been snowing since the night before and we desperately sought some warmer weather. Crossing over the Rocky Mountains, deep snow still held the high country in its winter grasp. We spent the night at the house of one of Jeff’s friends in Grand Junction and the next morning headed for the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) office to get information on Black Ridge Canyon. For the next hour we collected maps, talked with the staff, and asked natural resource questions. These people are trying to manage the land in the right manner, irregardless of the Bush administration and lack of funding due to Iraq. How long must Americans and the World endure these disastrous debacles? Yet, I digress. Loaded with maps and information we ate breakfast at McDonalds and attempted to establish a plan of action. It was mid-morning and we simply decided to start with a hike of Devils Canyon.

We drove to the trailhead, grabbed our packs, and hit the trail. The sky was a cloudless blue, the temperature in the 60s, and the scenery kept improving. The trail began winding through a plain of sagebrush and then entered the wide expanse of the canyon. We passed colorful rocks, steep spires, and sheer cliff faces. No one else was in sight. The path forked and we followed it up a creek through a shallow canyon; its walls limiting our view of the world above. We passed an old mine shaft littered with a rabbit’s foot and the remnants of a campfire, complete with pots and pans. The sense of exploration was exhilarating and my cameras’ shutters snapped with great rapidity. Every colorful and unique rock formation, cacti, ancient snag, and vista brought a sense of awe. At the end of the loop trail was an historic cabin. Stepping inside I discovered a bunk bed, wood burning stove, and other basic amenities. It was a pleasant surprise and reading through the journals entries of past visitors was enjoyable. A few hours later we were back at the car, with the first hike under our belts.

Gift from the Mountains

Breath came in fighting gasps. My body struggled to supply the lungs with oxygen while the legs churned onwards. As the grade began to lessen my breathing returned to a normal rhythm, at least for eleven thousand feet. The dirt trail meandered towards a distant mountain pass in the midst of Colorado’s Rocky Mountains. The cascading water of a small creek could be heard through the scraggly pinyon pines scattered around the opening in the forest. As I ran onwards the trees thinned out and more rocky outcrops began to appear. The grade became steeper and then I emerged out of the trees, having reached treeline, the altitude at which trees can no longer grow. High above Mummy Pass loomed over the next rise. Even in late June patches of snow still rested on the mountainsides. At the very first snowfield I lost the trail and simply headed up. The sun-softened snow found its way into my shoes, chilling my feet. Eventually I found the trail and continued running.

Cresting the top of the Pass I paused to take in the grandeur of the scene. At high altitude life is harsh, but beauty abounds. Before me was an expansive alpine meadow filled with short grasses and colorful flowers of every variety. Mountain peaks stretched to the furthest ranges of my vision. I ran through the lush green meadow, skirting the persistent puddles, and descended to an alpine lake; its emerald blue waters ringed by late season snow. On its northern edge a scree field clung to the mountainside. Except for the snow, which revealed the water’s chilling temperature, the lake looked like the perfect place for a cool dip.

I ran further through marshy willow bushes and past another alpine lake. The trail became harder to follow and I was forced to slow to a walk searching for it. Eventually I gave up and simply ran through the alpine terrain wherever my mind and legs desired. I must have explored the area for well over an hour, running freely from one small rise to the next, searching out a new and exciting view. Except for the necessity of food and water I could have run throughout this grand mountain range, but eventually I forced myself to turn back.

Retracing my steps I saw a short incline of snow and decided to scramble up it. Reaching the top I was astonished by what I found. Nestled in a small depression, not more than twenty feet from the trail, was a small shallow lake. It couldn’t have been more than thirty feet across at the widest point. Through the lake’s shimmering emerald water could be seen ancient rocks of various shapes and sizes. It was a most extraordinary surprise! I sat peacefully treasuring the beautiful secluded lake hidden within the mountains.

Then bound by the constraints of a world that functions by the clock I continued running back towards the crest of Mummy Pass. Once again my breath came in gasps and the legs began to burn. Reaching the top I paused to look back on the incredible scene before descending into the valley far below. As I ran through the snowfield, back into the pinyon forest, and along the cascading creek I contemplated this most wonderful experience with nature.

The Grand Act

It is the sound of silence. The wind has died down and left stillness in its place. Even the screech of free-soaring birds can not be heard. It is not often that the total absence of sound exists. When such moments do occur they are to be embraced. To those that listen the silence has a mesmerizing effect. It is something sacred. Along with the silence is the empty barren landscape, virtually untouched except by eons of blowing wind. Miles upon miles of reddish-brown slickrock, with only an occasional patch of sand or scraggly sagebrush, reaches past the horizon.

In the middle of this vastness is a man. His soot black hair is dirty and disheveled. A scruffy beard hides a weathered face and piercing black eyes. Atop his mop of hair rests a beaten and battered straw hat that droops down over his eyes. On his back is a tattered flannel shirt; an unappealing puke brown color. It smells worse than it looks. Blue jeans, frayed from overuse add to his attire. Finally shoes, to use the term loosely, and a large well-used knife complete his shabby attire. He bought the whole outfit for five bucks at a Salvation Army thrift store. Left behind are the fancy suits, large house in suburbia, flourishing high-paying career, and a growing circle of friends. All his money is gone, and along with it all the other definitions of success.

In the midst of this barren landscape he seems to wander freely and aimlessly. Approaching a small pockmark filled with water he stoops and drinks. Droplets of water fall from his sodden beard. After drinking he dunks his head and then shakes it from side to side; like a dog ridding itself of moisture. As the sun and dry heat beat down, he walks among the rocks, leaving no footprints. Eventually he reaches an uncrossable precipice and gazes at the green water far below. He stands there on the ledge, a solitary figure amid the rugged beauty of this harsh land. Except for the occasional sagebrush, jackrabbit, and rattlesnake there is not another living thing for miles. The only sense of time is the passing of the clouds overhead. He sits down and contemplates the silent emptiness around him. Ever so slowly the sky becomes darker. Rich shades of burning red begin to appear in the sky and is reflected on the grainy rocks. Each moment the land is transformed. There he sits, silently watching, his body silhouetted against the sky. Emotions flow freely and tears are shed. With the grand act almost complete he simply gets up, and with the hint of a smile, walks onward.

The Walk

It’s Friday night in anywhere and everywhere America. This moment in time finds him sitting in an old well-worn chair on the front porch. His body appears relaxed, but the face alludes to some other state. His brow is somewhat furrowed, the eyes have a glazed intensity to them, and the mind is in overdrive. He’s thinking, searching, and not finding the answer. There he sits, dwelling on the question that has often puzzled him.

Slowly he gets out of the chair and starts walking, seeking the answer to his thoughts. He passes by the corner grocer, gazes into the local liquor store, crosses the street while the “do not cross” signal is flashing. The quiet movements of his worn and tattered sandals mark his progress. He walks on looking but not seeing, listening but not hearing. Finding the answer is the single focus of his absentmindedness.

Arriving at the gigantic cinema he crosses the bustling parking lot. Boisterous high-schoolers, love-struck couples, and the middle-aged emerge from their cars. He goes inside. After buying a ticket to the latest blockbuster he finds a seat in the crowded theater. The mingling of butter saturated popcorn and slurp of sugary sodas identifies this place. A piece of gum has attached itself to his shoe. He watches the movie searching for the answer. The film contains all the necessary tears and triumphs, love and loss, life and death. The movie ends. He walks out in silence. Outside the wind brings fresh air. The cinema did not contain the answer.

A few dollars poorer and a bit deafer he wanders onward. In the distance a train whistle blows. At the next corner he looks first to the left and then to the right, or was it first to the right and then to the left? For no reason he starts walking to the left. He passes some nondescript modern art sculpture and pauses at a streetlight to read the posters. A few minutes later he is walking up the marble steps of the local library. As he enters the librarians look up from their reading; it’s uncommon to find someone in the library on a Friday night. He walks past the long tall stacks of science-fiction, self-help, Westerns, and religious books. At the back of the library he browses through literature in its truest and most revered form, the classics. He turns the pages of Dickens, Shakespeare, Allcot, Vern, and many others. They all write about interesting things in interesting ways, but it is not what he is seeking. The intercom announces the library is closing. He walks out empty-handed, his question still unanswered.

The night outside has taken on a slight chill and he raises the collar of his jacket against the cold. Except for a few passing cars the streets are quiet. Through the drawn curtains of the houses he passes can be seen the dull blue glow of televisions; the people inside watching some manufactured reality until they become tired and go to bed. An ambulance speeds past, its siren blaring. He hears music coming from a bar and steps inside. The bar has the familiar mix of stall beer, cigarette smoke, and sweat. The atmosphere is loud and energized. After a few minutes he has a glass of overpriced cheap beer. Some band is playing and he makes his way towards the stage. Around him the young and pushing middle-age sit or stand in small clusters. Bits of their beer-altered-state sentences reach his ears. Most of it doesn’t make sense and all of it is meaningless. He finds an empty seat. It’s not difficult to find a single seat anyplace these days. The band is good, but not great. He finishes his beer and orders another from the scantily clad waitress; less clothing equals better tips. The music stops and another band begins their set. Their music is more slow and sultry. The dancers begin to swing and sway with the rhythm. A girl turns and begins to talk to him. She is mildly attractive and they talk. He orders two shots and another round of beers. He’s getting buzzed and she’s drunk. In her alcohol induced state she thinks he’s sweet and sensitive. She communicates this through touch. After a few more rounds she suggests they go back to her place for a “wild fun time”. He leaves, but alone. Bars and romance don’t contain the answer to his question.

It’s early in the morning and he’s drunk. He walks on a bit unsteadily. He passes by a quaint stone chapel. He goes up to the door, opens it, looks in, and turns away. In a roundabout way he begins to make his way back to the chair on the porch. His route passes through upper-class neighborhoods, nondescript subdivisions, and rundown trailer parks. A dark forest lies ahead. He enters it along a small dirt path that leads to a small grassy meadow. He’s no longer sure if this is the way back. Drunk and tired he lies down beside a creek. His head falls back and his body sprawls out on the dewy grass. His alcohol glazed eyes gaze into the starry night sky. Beside him the movement of water over rocks creates a rippling sound. Except for these things the night is dark and silent.

Beside the rippling creek in the quiet grassy meadow, staring into the starry sky, his tired mind and body continue to search for the answer. He has been asking the question for a long time and has not found the answer. He may never find the answer. He does not know what he is looking for. As he lays there, his intoxicated body sprawled out on the dew soaked grass, he finds the answer. He finds what he has been searching for. No one else is around. He can not share the answer with all the others who search for the answer. He simply lays there.

Childhood Lost

For most of us childhood memories have many threads of commonality. During nostalgic moments of remembrance we think of simpler times; playing in the park with youthful energy, acting out childhood heroes, hearing our mother call us in for supper, enjoying ice cream or watermelon on a hot summer night, frolicking in the winter snow, and catching fireflies at night. We had few cares to think of and were adored by countless strangers. We were the stars of our own shows, the prince or princess in our domain. Life was full of happiness.

As we grew older we enjoyed sleepovers at friends’ houses; finally falling asleep in the early morning hours, the sense of freedom our first bicycle provided, and maybe even had a childhood sweetheart. Some of us helped care for a younger brother or sister. With each passing year came more independence and new experiences, some possibly happier than others. Childhood was our time of comfort and safety.

But at some point, for some sooner than others, things changed. There was a fall from grace, a loss of innocence. We suddenly became aware of bad things, distressing things. The sadness became sadder, the loneliness more lonely, and the happiness more tempered. It was a troubling time as we struggled to adjust to this new reality. Maybe we encountered a bully, the loss of a childhood friend, or even death. Although the details of each person’s story may differ, the feeling of loss is universal. A line has been crossed, a corner has been turned, and there is no turning back. Our childhood has ended.

As the years pass by we encounter more and more of this new world. We experience things in a whole new way. Sadness becomes for real, joy becomes more fleeting, responsibility becomes more burdensome, and life simply becomes more complicated. No longer is there an obvious right or wrong; now there are shades of gray. Yet no matter how much we wish to return to the simpler times of our childhood, we can not, it is gone forever.

As children we spent a few short years wishing to be older and bigger, only to spend the rest of our lives wishing to be younger and smaller. As children some may have dreamed of changing the world, yet many discover that it is the world that changes us. Our childhood is gone and before us is a scary new world. Shall we embrace it? Will it embrace us?