Driving, not riding, but I'll write here anyway. The other night I walked up to a van I hadn't seen in a year and called inside "Scott.. Scott?"
"Huh?"
"Josiah here."
"Josiah?"
"Yeah"
"Hey! Where have you been, traveling the wasteland?"
Pretty much. So I laughed deep from my belly, and then we caught up. I've been driving much of September, working in places, visiting family and friends in others.
Here's a rough map. It ended up being 5555 miles from Sept 4 to Oct 2.
I guess I'm a travel writer. It's only on the road that I journal, and that's pretty much the extent of my writing. I've been a bit written-out over the last year, and my travels have mostly been for work. September could have been more of the same, with a tradeshow in Atlanta and training up in NJ. But with Elise and family on Long Island, and the folks near Chattanooga, I figured I should at least visit a little while nearby. I decided to drive, give myself some flexibility, and not abandon Muki for my travels. Boston - so near NY - has my favorite uncle as well as close friends from school, so I planned to spend time there as well. I got to see all my close family, spend some time, several times catching up and playing cribbage. My nephew and niece grow up fast, both sweet and bright and differently mischievious. It was also good too to see fellow Obies, all of us growing still.
I'm planning on backpacking for a week out at the Grand Canyon, two weeks from now. I decided to take my backpack and camping gear on my road trip. I walked around with water and gear in my pack on a number of occasions, getting my legs and brain ready for the canyon. This afforded me the ability to camp easily on my trip, which I only ended up doing on the drive back. I gave a shout out to some river guide friends who I suspected would be running the Gauley River about now.
Last weekend, I drove all day Saturday from Long Island to the (self-proclaimed) coolest small town in the USA: Fayetteville, WV. I landed at the back parking lot of one rafting company, where at least a hundred people were camped out on maybe three acres. I found Scott, and we went out to hear some bluegrass. The highlight of the Wild Rumpus show was their cover of the theme song from The Jefferson's, bluegrass style. Movin on up...
I spent Sunday hiking around with Muki. We did an easy 5 miles along the rim of the gorge, past Diamond Point two ways on the Endless Wall trail. I checked out climbing routes and river rapids. Rhodie's in the hollows and near the creeks. Pine, fir on the hillsides. Oak and maple beneath the rim, headed down to the river a multitude of species. Diamond Point is a good spot for thinking, overlooking one of the oldest rivers on Earth.
Later, I drove around the area, making a circuit around the Gauley. I stopped at Carnifax Ferry Battlefield to check out Pillow Rock rapids on the Gauley. I see the sign for the overlook, .2 miles left, and decide to just grab binocs and dog. At .2 miles there's a sign in the woods that says something like "This is not a trail. We recommend you do not go this way. Etc." It looked like a trail down to the rapids, matching something of Scott's description. I hiked down, often 50% grade on slick mud and roots, about 5-600' down. Treacherous, in a word.
Muki and I spent an hour watching jumpers, kayakers, and rafters at Pillow Rock. Rafts that went too much left flipped, high side up the rock and then over into the channel. After a while, we were approached by two kayakers carrying their boats, looking for the trail out. Two ladies, one late 20s, the other a teenager. I told them the way, and watched them head out. The teenager was having trouble with her boat on the flats. So I left and carried her boat out. They were a teacher/student pair, and had broken too many paddles to continue down the river.
As we started up the hill, we heard whistles downstream from the rapid. Soon EMT and park workers started coming down the trail, the first with an AED. We paused for each group of rescuers, as we hauled 50 pound boats up 50 stories of muddy stairs. It won't be as hard as hiking out of the Grand.
I had dinner that night with twins I worked with on the Rio Grande, now running treetop zipline tours - part of the monies go to preserving hemlock in the area. Erica had to work the next day, but Erin and her boy Justin offered to take me down lower Gauley the next day. After taking Muki on a hike, after breakfast, we met up where Justin works and waited. Rain drove us into the boathouse. We waited for the trip leader to gather all the customers for the trip. Quiet, introspective, chain-smoking water people. A long bus ride on mountain backroads. Then as we put in, the sun came out.
The lower Gauley is more class IV-V rapids, whereas the upper is V-VI. Most of the danger is from undercut rocks. If you go swimming, in many places you'll be tumbled along the underside of a roughly worn limestone boulder - sized car to house. If you take a good line, you can hit some 6' waves and raft surfing holes. Justin put the boat where he wanted, and Erin and I powered it along. Koontz's Flume, upper and lower Staircase and the Mash rapids were my favorites, as they were each pretty long series of drops. It was also a beautiful sunny day, sometimes a hard breeze, but never cold. The lower section of the river passes several campsites, but it is undeveloped and winds through a lovely gorge. Eye candy between the brain/body candy of the rapids. Yeah, I've got a sweet tooth.
And in the last week, I've been motoring back. I saw my folks again, and my bro Jeremy and his family. I made it back in time for karate yesterday morning, and sensei rewarded me (not that I'm special, he distributes the love evenly) with many pushups, squats, situps in between kata. It's good to be back. I may feel like I work and live in Babylon, but it's not a necessary condition. I have freedom to get away and balance things out in my life, and I love it.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Monday, August 18, 2008
Back and Forth and Back
Well, it's been a while since I've put pen to paper, or finger to keyboard. I don't know about you, but I get a little less excited about reading about these things so removed from the present. Nonetheless, some of you want me to keep up this chronicle, and for my own later reflections I guess I do too. Why do I write? Well, that's a good question. Perhaps better would be "Why don't I write more?"
So, I stopped cycle touring and have gone back and forth across the country by car, something over 7000 miles in a month and a half-ish. I did manage to stop and smell the flowers here and there, see a number of friends, and spend good time with family.
In late June I went out to the Grand Canyon, leaving my puppy behind in Austin. I went out to take a Wilderness First Responder class, run by WMI - part of NOLS. The 11 day class was intense, and the first formal education I've had in years. We spent more time doing role-playing than sitting in lecture. Some lessons began with role-playing, and dealing with symptoms pointing to something we didn't know how to deal with. This hooked me good; I'd pay attention, take notes, and remain engaged in what was going on.
Of the 30 students, maybe 18 of us camped out together at Mather Campground, which made for an outside dorm-like atmosphere. Students had varied backgrounds, part of the reason I took this class and not one offered at a college, which led to both some natural cliquing and a lot of cross-cultural interchange. Not all were experienced campers, which became quite evident in the first day of class. The ravens had a wonderful feast at the camp, tearing into all sorts of goodies left about. My bivvy was left decorated, but undamaged.
Over the week and a half we became more of a coherent camp, cooking for each other and dining together. Meals bring folks together. Playing injured and rescuers again and again and again again also brought us close. We were all helping each other learn, all of us trying to master the material. It's one of the best intensive learning experiences I've had.
At the end of it, Andrea came out to meet me for some backpackings. She had designs on some marathon adventures (ok, so did I), but I was exhausted. Nonetheless, the day after class ended we set out for a rim to rim hike of the Grand Canyon.
I have a special relationship with the canyon; it grabbed me hard the first time I saw it, maybe age 11. During the WFR class, I avoided seeing it until I could go at night. I wanted it free of so many tourists. After a couple of night adventures, I could deal with it surrounded by tens of thousands of people - daily lunch picnics at the rim are a good thing.
So, knowing about tourist patterns, and more importantly forecasts for 120 degrees at the bottom, Andrea and I set out in the evening for an overnight 22 mile hike. I was so worn from marathon class sessions and such, that I was dragging by the time we were at the bottom. Instead of hiking straight through, we stopped at mile 7 for a nap for me, and again at mile 14 for some sleep. Still, we made it through and out in less than a day, down 5500' and up about 6500'.
The canyon is like nothing else. It's hard to fathom; hard to digest. It's best at dusk and dawn, when changing shadows show the shape of features. While there was less to see at night, there were still treats for the senses. The honey mesquite was indeed meliferous. Scorpions skedaddled from our steps. A ringtail nearly walked up to us, curious what was about. The moon rose bright and we crossed raging streams, walls high around us.
And then we went down the road, driving along the Mogollon Rim. We day hiked and swam by Lake Roosevelt, in the Sonoran desert again. We walked through a forest of saguaro, across steep hills dropping to the lake. We dropped in on Catfish and caught up a while. On the road again, we day hiked into the Catalinas, going for a swim in a deep cool creek hole, stained red with tannins. Froglets lined the sides. Again through saguaro, agave sometimes in full bloom, sun high and hot. And then on the road down to the Chiricahuas.
We hiked through most of the amazing rhyolite hoodoos of the park. There's nothing like this place. It's a great natural ruin, columns and partitions and hallways lacking only a roof. The terrain is intricate; wonders abound.
We breezed through Portal, it was on fire near to the South and the town was hopping, organizing. We were back on my bike route, and indeed camped at Pancho Villa State Park in NM, and dined the next morning at the Pancho Villa Cafe. We drove on to Terlingua; it'd been calling me back.
We picked up Sheilita in Alpine and drove through small monsoon onto Terlingua. Over frito pie at the Boathouse we waited through a torrential downpour. It rains in the desert like nowhere else, sideways at first, thick drops smacking into buildings, bending trees over. I've been in calmer hurricanes. Soon the rains pass though, and the creosote-clean smell fills the air. We went out to La Kiva that night, for an awesome open-mic night. With few tourists in town, this was a mostly locals event. Great music, great people, and cheap beer - good times.
Andrea and I spent the next several days hiking up in the Chisos. Rain showers in the mountain Basin had clouds pouring over the saddles between peaks, and then provided us with a fine double rainbow in front of Casa Grande. This is indeed the place where rainbows wait for rain, and mountains float in the sky. Hiking the next day, I saw my first mountain lion in the wild as we approached the South Rim. Andrea chased after it, having missed my sighting, she wanted to see it. It's hard to find a cat that wants to hide. The South Rim was still nothing less than spectacular, with huge views in so many directions, over desert, mountains, down to the river, into Mexico, and out to the ridges in the distance. Redtails played in the air, probably some mating display, wrestling in the sky. Peregrines tore past, ripping through the air, driving away vultures. Nearly stepping on my first rattlesnake of the year, we hiked up Emory peak in growing clouds. Then down in a hail storm. It wasn't cold if we kept moving, through and out of the mixed oak juniper pinyon madrone forest back to the Basin. Back to Terlingua, I got to reconnect with a handful of folks, and then it was on the road again to Austin. There Andrea's tour through the SW ended.
I spent most of July in Austin, practicing karate again at the dojo, mountain biking with friends, and catching up with Christine. It was odd to spend so much time with one ex and then another, and gave me a bit of perspective on where I've been and how I value my friendships. I got to get back to my puppy again, guilty of leaving her for travels for a month. I made quality time for the dog on a daily basis, tugging her around with sockey games, trail running in a number of Austin parks, hiking and swimming in state parks in the Hill Country, and throwing the frisbee for her many days. Muki especially liked spending time with sensei's dog, so she'd come with me to karate, and recognized my preparations for such. Christine's geriatric ward, three thirteen year old bitches, was a bit oppressive for her, and she liked time with other playful younguns.
I got all of my things sorted out in Austin, having shipped it all ahead about 9 months before. I got rid of much, but still feel burdened by what I put in storage. I took care of some administrivia after so much time traveling, but still feel burdened by what I left undone. Such is life. I don't sweat it much, and soon it was time to move on.
I'm writing now from my sister's house. I've been here the last several weeks, spending time with Elise and Kevin, and Rhys and Sylvie. My folks were here a week with my as well, though we didn't seem to have much time together. Assisting in nannying is demanding of time and attention, but more than that it's mentally taxing insofar as there's a lot to do and little to think about. Still, I wouldn't trade this time for anything, as Rhys and Sylvie will only be this old once. They're both precious - Sylvie full of smiles and Rhys full of imagination. Muki likes the dogs here too, she can chew on Zoe and even play with Milo sometimes.
And now I somewhat like I'm marking time. I'm ready to get back to Texas and stop traveling far and wide and sink in a bit. I feel ready to for more bike tourings, with a dog in tow. So that's what I'll go and do.
So, I stopped cycle touring and have gone back and forth across the country by car, something over 7000 miles in a month and a half-ish. I did manage to stop and smell the flowers here and there, see a number of friends, and spend good time with family.
In late June I went out to the Grand Canyon, leaving my puppy behind in Austin. I went out to take a Wilderness First Responder class, run by WMI - part of NOLS. The 11 day class was intense, and the first formal education I've had in years. We spent more time doing role-playing than sitting in lecture. Some lessons began with role-playing, and dealing with symptoms pointing to something we didn't know how to deal with. This hooked me good; I'd pay attention, take notes, and remain engaged in what was going on.
Of the 30 students, maybe 18 of us camped out together at Mather Campground, which made for an outside dorm-like atmosphere. Students had varied backgrounds, part of the reason I took this class and not one offered at a college, which led to both some natural cliquing and a lot of cross-cultural interchange. Not all were experienced campers, which became quite evident in the first day of class. The ravens had a wonderful feast at the camp, tearing into all sorts of goodies left about. My bivvy was left decorated, but undamaged.
Over the week and a half we became more of a coherent camp, cooking for each other and dining together. Meals bring folks together. Playing injured and rescuers again and again and again again also brought us close. We were all helping each other learn, all of us trying to master the material. It's one of the best intensive learning experiences I've had.
At the end of it, Andrea came out to meet me for some backpackings. She had designs on some marathon adventures (ok, so did I), but I was exhausted. Nonetheless, the day after class ended we set out for a rim to rim hike of the Grand Canyon.
I have a special relationship with the canyon; it grabbed me hard the first time I saw it, maybe age 11. During the WFR class, I avoided seeing it until I could go at night. I wanted it free of so many tourists. After a couple of night adventures, I could deal with it surrounded by tens of thousands of people - daily lunch picnics at the rim are a good thing.
So, knowing about tourist patterns, and more importantly forecasts for 120 degrees at the bottom, Andrea and I set out in the evening for an overnight 22 mile hike. I was so worn from marathon class sessions and such, that I was dragging by the time we were at the bottom. Instead of hiking straight through, we stopped at mile 7 for a nap for me, and again at mile 14 for some sleep. Still, we made it through and out in less than a day, down 5500' and up about 6500'.
The canyon is like nothing else. It's hard to fathom; hard to digest. It's best at dusk and dawn, when changing shadows show the shape of features. While there was less to see at night, there were still treats for the senses. The honey mesquite was indeed meliferous. Scorpions skedaddled from our steps. A ringtail nearly walked up to us, curious what was about. The moon rose bright and we crossed raging streams, walls high around us.
And then we went down the road, driving along the Mogollon Rim. We day hiked and swam by Lake Roosevelt, in the Sonoran desert again. We walked through a forest of saguaro, across steep hills dropping to the lake. We dropped in on Catfish and caught up a while. On the road again, we day hiked into the Catalinas, going for a swim in a deep cool creek hole, stained red with tannins. Froglets lined the sides. Again through saguaro, agave sometimes in full bloom, sun high and hot. And then on the road down to the Chiricahuas.
We hiked through most of the amazing rhyolite hoodoos of the park. There's nothing like this place. It's a great natural ruin, columns and partitions and hallways lacking only a roof. The terrain is intricate; wonders abound.
We breezed through Portal, it was on fire near to the South and the town was hopping, organizing. We were back on my bike route, and indeed camped at Pancho Villa State Park in NM, and dined the next morning at the Pancho Villa Cafe. We drove on to Terlingua; it'd been calling me back.
We picked up Sheilita in Alpine and drove through small monsoon onto Terlingua. Over frito pie at the Boathouse we waited through a torrential downpour. It rains in the desert like nowhere else, sideways at first, thick drops smacking into buildings, bending trees over. I've been in calmer hurricanes. Soon the rains pass though, and the creosote-clean smell fills the air. We went out to La Kiva that night, for an awesome open-mic night. With few tourists in town, this was a mostly locals event. Great music, great people, and cheap beer - good times.
Andrea and I spent the next several days hiking up in the Chisos. Rain showers in the mountain Basin had clouds pouring over the saddles between peaks, and then provided us with a fine double rainbow in front of Casa Grande. This is indeed the place where rainbows wait for rain, and mountains float in the sky. Hiking the next day, I saw my first mountain lion in the wild as we approached the South Rim. Andrea chased after it, having missed my sighting, she wanted to see it. It's hard to find a cat that wants to hide. The South Rim was still nothing less than spectacular, with huge views in so many directions, over desert, mountains, down to the river, into Mexico, and out to the ridges in the distance. Redtails played in the air, probably some mating display, wrestling in the sky. Peregrines tore past, ripping through the air, driving away vultures. Nearly stepping on my first rattlesnake of the year, we hiked up Emory peak in growing clouds. Then down in a hail storm. It wasn't cold if we kept moving, through and out of the mixed oak juniper pinyon madrone forest back to the Basin. Back to Terlingua, I got to reconnect with a handful of folks, and then it was on the road again to Austin. There Andrea's tour through the SW ended.
I spent most of July in Austin, practicing karate again at the dojo, mountain biking with friends, and catching up with Christine. It was odd to spend so much time with one ex and then another, and gave me a bit of perspective on where I've been and how I value my friendships. I got to get back to my puppy again, guilty of leaving her for travels for a month. I made quality time for the dog on a daily basis, tugging her around with sockey games, trail running in a number of Austin parks, hiking and swimming in state parks in the Hill Country, and throwing the frisbee for her many days. Muki especially liked spending time with sensei's dog, so she'd come with me to karate, and recognized my preparations for such. Christine's geriatric ward, three thirteen year old bitches, was a bit oppressive for her, and she liked time with other playful younguns.
I got all of my things sorted out in Austin, having shipped it all ahead about 9 months before. I got rid of much, but still feel burdened by what I put in storage. I took care of some administrivia after so much time traveling, but still feel burdened by what I left undone. Such is life. I don't sweat it much, and soon it was time to move on.
I'm writing now from my sister's house. I've been here the last several weeks, spending time with Elise and Kevin, and Rhys and Sylvie. My folks were here a week with my as well, though we didn't seem to have much time together. Assisting in nannying is demanding of time and attention, but more than that it's mentally taxing insofar as there's a lot to do and little to think about. Still, I wouldn't trade this time for anything, as Rhys and Sylvie will only be this old once. They're both precious - Sylvie full of smiles and Rhys full of imagination. Muki likes the dogs here too, she can chew on Zoe and even play with Milo sometimes.
And now I somewhat like I'm marking time. I'm ready to get back to Texas and stop traveling far and wide and sink in a bit. I feel ready to for more bike tourings, with a dog in tow. So that's what I'll go and do.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Late Spring in Tenessee
I got to Austin with a day to take care of things - vet, mail, packing - and then flew on to Chattanooga after a long night of drinking with John and Jon and Stefan, passed out on the front porch at 3am when the cab arrived. But I made it out with all I needed and then some. It was the first time I enjoyed airports, because I wasn't at all stressed or concerned and could just walk and walk and take in the sights.
05/18
Pa and I took his explorer up the Tennesee line, into the Tri-Cities area, by the Virginia and North Carolina borders. We explored golf courses for his later in the week fun, and then went to the cabins he'd rented. Rod was there, geared up for fishing. So we put our waders on, grabbed a couple of cigars, and waded in.
The Watauga is a beautiful river, flowing through limestone, clean. Green trees line the river: white oak, other oak, poplar, elm and locust. It smells green, and tastes good. I slipped in the river, loading my leg waders with 55 degree water - a real shrinker. So I sat out on the bank and watched the fish jump, and nipped at the flask Ron sent for my birthday. O'Dhaniel showed up eventually. Rod's friend Mike showed up with his 4 year old son. We were packed into the cabin and serenaded by the Savage snoring sawmill.
05/19
We took a guided float down the Watauga, OD and I in a boat with Evan. OD caught his first fish on his first trout hunt within an hour. He repeated this feat again and again, catching a grand slam - rainbow, brown and brook - before lunch. I had strikes and ripped the hook free a number of times. These were fiesty fish, fighters, and they didn't like my technique at all.
So I began drinking PBR's. O'Dhaniel caught more fish, and began apologizing each time: "Sorry Jo." I drank more beers and caught more trees and rocks. I was having a good time just being out on the river, but OD was clearly concerned and our guide Evan was getting frustrated. It was a beautiful day on a lovely river; we had cold beer. How could I be upset? I drank more beers and caught a fish. Then three. The more beer I drank, the more fish I caught. I found something approaching technique - I relaxed and the fish took what I had to offer.
05/20
Rainy gray day, and Pa and Rod went out for golf. OD and I stayed around the cabin, and tried wading in the Watauga for trout. We saw no fish, and had no action. We packed it in after a couple of hours, and sat down for marathon Carcasonne. We had a lazy intellectual day, and figured out the game. Others returned, and OD, Mike and I played Carcasonne late into the night.
05/21
We took another guided float, again with Evan. Rod and Pa were with Jason again. OD started on the beers early, and encouraged me to do so. I started catching trout right away, over 8 in (and out) of the boat before lunch. It was another gorgeous day, past 50' cliffs, over small rapids and deep holes. Fishing from the front of the boat was much easier. I only caught O'Dhaniel once, as opposed to the 5 times I hooked him on Monday. Pa and Rod were reelin them in by the dozen. A good time was had by all.
05/22
O'Dhaniel and I took a side trip, as more golf was on the elders' agenda. We went to visit a friend from Oberlin, Darrah, living on the other side of Roan Mountain from Elizabethton. We'd reconnected a year ago at Jordan's wedding, and had a chance to hang out with Zack, Darrah's new hubby. We took the scenic route out, up and over the highest peak in Tennessee. We saw dogwood and chestnut in bloom as we got higher on the mountain. Then, past the fir line, the trees were barely in bloom, the rhoddies barely budded out.
We met up with Darrah and Zack and Zack's friend and fellow blacksmith, Drew. After some North Carolina style pulled pork bbq - delicious - Darrah, OD and I went to check out the school. Darrah'd met Zack at Penland School of Crafts. He's a blacksmith; she's a glass blower etc. Penlandia is on the side of a mountain, looking across the temperate rain forest valley. It's easy to see why artists and artisans (what's the difference) would be attracted to the spot. We toured the different buildings, each devoted to a different craft. Again, I found myself amidst expert tool users in a highly artistic culture. I dig it.
After walking around a bit, we went back to Darrah's, a modest house with a big new barn Darrah just put together, sitting on the bottom of a bit of acreage. After catching up a bit inside, Darrah, OD and I went on a hike, mostly uphill. We had a great time wandering around, taking in the greenyellow lime yellowgreen trees.
Afterwards, we went back in to the school to watch or help Zack and Drew harden a die for the forge in their shop. I sat on the rocking bull, and mostly stayed out of the way. A nordic blacksmith, Tessa, provided me with tasty rollies. OD got to man the water nozzle on the hot metal. Iron got hot, then cold. We made steam, and maybe the die got a little harder. I could stand to do this sort of thing more often.
05/23
O'Dhaniel and I took off early to make a rafting appointment in Erwin, TN. I'd planned to check out the Nolichucky, home river of a guide friend I'd made in Terlingua, Scott. Scott took care of us - put us in the front of an R6, himself steering in back, and only lunch (for 30) and water in between. We'd been warmed up on the ride over the mountain by senior guide Jed, playing the banjo to feel out the crowd, and offering such witticisms as: "A rafting trip is a lot like a Grateful Dead show; the bus might just make it there."
The Nolichucky is like the Watauga, only moreso. It's more remote, with park land and railroad land on each side. It's also a limestone river, but with many more hazards and much more drop. It's technical whitewater, with a nice full 1/4 mile stretch of class 4, even at the low 650cfs we ran on. The river is free flowing, so if Mt Mitchell (highest in the Appalachains) gets rain, the Noli rises.
We had a most excellent time on the river, often pulling ahead to be a safety net for duckeys or other rafts. There was very little in the way of flippage, so rescue was not required. We spent some time in a hole surfing, and I got to drive a while. OD tried to flip us, but I managed to keep us all aboard. Maybe next time...
After we got back, we spent some time at the compound drinking beers and bourbon and throwin shoes. I met the other guides, and folks took both OD and me for guides. We fit right in, easy outdoors with a beer in one hand and a horseshoe in the other. Scott gave us a great day, and so we took him out for Chinese, eating heroic quantities of fried saucey meat. Yum.
05/24 - 05/27
My dad and I headed back early Saturday, having had good times together and apart. O'Dhaniel had a much needed vacation, and I was happy to share in it. We got back to Ootlewah in the afternoon and rested.
Elise arrived the next day, with my nephew and niece in tow. I got to meet Sylvie, bright eyed and smiley. Rhys has more words, more understanding, and is more fun. We've spent the last several days eating meals together, going on walks around the hilly neighboorhood together ("Can you say 'suburban wasteland' Rhys?" Elise asks).
I'm happy I made it out for family time; it's been a while. My one regret on my recent tour was that I wasn't around for the holidays - 30 in a row was pretty good track record, but I wanted to be around for the arrival or newness of Sylvie. I'm over it now, having had some time to hang with dad, mom, and sister. My nephew and niece know me, and to me that means much.
Tomorrow I'm on the road again, headed to the Grand Canyon by way of Austin and Denver. I've got a Wilderness First Responder course to take, so that I can do this guiding thing professionally. Then it's backpacking, rafting, and more travel. I'll keep it posted.
05/18
Pa and I took his explorer up the Tennesee line, into the Tri-Cities area, by the Virginia and North Carolina borders. We explored golf courses for his later in the week fun, and then went to the cabins he'd rented. Rod was there, geared up for fishing. So we put our waders on, grabbed a couple of cigars, and waded in.
The Watauga is a beautiful river, flowing through limestone, clean. Green trees line the river: white oak, other oak, poplar, elm and locust. It smells green, and tastes good. I slipped in the river, loading my leg waders with 55 degree water - a real shrinker. So I sat out on the bank and watched the fish jump, and nipped at the flask Ron sent for my birthday. O'Dhaniel showed up eventually. Rod's friend Mike showed up with his 4 year old son. We were packed into the cabin and serenaded by the Savage snoring sawmill.
05/19
We took a guided float down the Watauga, OD and I in a boat with Evan. OD caught his first fish on his first trout hunt within an hour. He repeated this feat again and again, catching a grand slam - rainbow, brown and brook - before lunch. I had strikes and ripped the hook free a number of times. These were fiesty fish, fighters, and they didn't like my technique at all.
So I began drinking PBR's. O'Dhaniel caught more fish, and began apologizing each time: "Sorry Jo." I drank more beers and caught more trees and rocks. I was having a good time just being out on the river, but OD was clearly concerned and our guide Evan was getting frustrated. It was a beautiful day on a lovely river; we had cold beer. How could I be upset? I drank more beers and caught a fish. Then three. The more beer I drank, the more fish I caught. I found something approaching technique - I relaxed and the fish took what I had to offer.
05/20
Rainy gray day, and Pa and Rod went out for golf. OD and I stayed around the cabin, and tried wading in the Watauga for trout. We saw no fish, and had no action. We packed it in after a couple of hours, and sat down for marathon Carcasonne. We had a lazy intellectual day, and figured out the game. Others returned, and OD, Mike and I played Carcasonne late into the night.
05/21
We took another guided float, again with Evan. Rod and Pa were with Jason again. OD started on the beers early, and encouraged me to do so. I started catching trout right away, over 8 in (and out) of the boat before lunch. It was another gorgeous day, past 50' cliffs, over small rapids and deep holes. Fishing from the front of the boat was much easier. I only caught O'Dhaniel once, as opposed to the 5 times I hooked him on Monday. Pa and Rod were reelin them in by the dozen. A good time was had by all.
05/22
O'Dhaniel and I took a side trip, as more golf was on the elders' agenda. We went to visit a friend from Oberlin, Darrah, living on the other side of Roan Mountain from Elizabethton. We'd reconnected a year ago at Jordan's wedding, and had a chance to hang out with Zack, Darrah's new hubby. We took the scenic route out, up and over the highest peak in Tennessee. We saw dogwood and chestnut in bloom as we got higher on the mountain. Then, past the fir line, the trees were barely in bloom, the rhoddies barely budded out.
We met up with Darrah and Zack and Zack's friend and fellow blacksmith, Drew. After some North Carolina style pulled pork bbq - delicious - Darrah, OD and I went to check out the school. Darrah'd met Zack at Penland School of Crafts. He's a blacksmith; she's a glass blower etc. Penlandia is on the side of a mountain, looking across the temperate rain forest valley. It's easy to see why artists and artisans (what's the difference) would be attracted to the spot. We toured the different buildings, each devoted to a different craft. Again, I found myself amidst expert tool users in a highly artistic culture. I dig it.
After walking around a bit, we went back to Darrah's, a modest house with a big new barn Darrah just put together, sitting on the bottom of a bit of acreage. After catching up a bit inside, Darrah, OD and I went on a hike, mostly uphill. We had a great time wandering around, taking in the greenyellow lime yellowgreen trees.
Afterwards, we went back in to the school to watch or help Zack and Drew harden a die for the forge in their shop. I sat on the rocking bull, and mostly stayed out of the way. A nordic blacksmith, Tessa, provided me with tasty rollies. OD got to man the water nozzle on the hot metal. Iron got hot, then cold. We made steam, and maybe the die got a little harder. I could stand to do this sort of thing more often.
05/23
O'Dhaniel and I took off early to make a rafting appointment in Erwin, TN. I'd planned to check out the Nolichucky, home river of a guide friend I'd made in Terlingua, Scott. Scott took care of us - put us in the front of an R6, himself steering in back, and only lunch (for 30) and water in between. We'd been warmed up on the ride over the mountain by senior guide Jed, playing the banjo to feel out the crowd, and offering such witticisms as: "A rafting trip is a lot like a Grateful Dead show; the bus might just make it there."
The Nolichucky is like the Watauga, only moreso. It's more remote, with park land and railroad land on each side. It's also a limestone river, but with many more hazards and much more drop. It's technical whitewater, with a nice full 1/4 mile stretch of class 4, even at the low 650cfs we ran on. The river is free flowing, so if Mt Mitchell (highest in the Appalachains) gets rain, the Noli rises.
We had a most excellent time on the river, often pulling ahead to be a safety net for duckeys or other rafts. There was very little in the way of flippage, so rescue was not required. We spent some time in a hole surfing, and I got to drive a while. OD tried to flip us, but I managed to keep us all aboard. Maybe next time...
After we got back, we spent some time at the compound drinking beers and bourbon and throwin shoes. I met the other guides, and folks took both OD and me for guides. We fit right in, easy outdoors with a beer in one hand and a horseshoe in the other. Scott gave us a great day, and so we took him out for Chinese, eating heroic quantities of fried saucey meat. Yum.
05/24 - 05/27
My dad and I headed back early Saturday, having had good times together and apart. O'Dhaniel had a much needed vacation, and I was happy to share in it. We got back to Ootlewah in the afternoon and rested.
Elise arrived the next day, with my nephew and niece in tow. I got to meet Sylvie, bright eyed and smiley. Rhys has more words, more understanding, and is more fun. We've spent the last several days eating meals together, going on walks around the hilly neighboorhood together ("Can you say 'suburban wasteland' Rhys?" Elise asks).
I'm happy I made it out for family time; it's been a while. My one regret on my recent tour was that I wasn't around for the holidays - 30 in a row was pretty good track record, but I wanted to be around for the arrival or newness of Sylvie. I'm over it now, having had some time to hang with dad, mom, and sister. My nephew and niece know me, and to me that means much.
Tomorrow I'm on the road again, headed to the Grand Canyon by way of Austin and Denver. I've got a Wilderness First Responder course to take, so that I can do this guiding thing professionally. Then it's backpacking, rafting, and more travel. I'll keep it posted.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Looking Back III: Texafied
After work settled down, I settled in. I got a pickup, a shotgun and a dog. I got a woman, but she won't stay true. Cue the music...
From my first day there, Terlingua smelled like home. I expected to be there a while over the time to come, just not so much so soon. After guiding work dried up at the end of spring break, I found myself with little incentive to move on. The heat drove many away to northern climes, but for me it was deeply satisfying.
I found a truck for sale in town approximating what I'd planned to build up, only much further along. So I bought it, and started fixing it up. These plans stalled due to lack of tools, planning and knowhow. But getting things done isn't really living Terlingua style.
I met a woman, Fanny, whom I became interested in, and vice versa. Of course, this came with some entanglements, as she was the ex of one of my coworkers, Tex. Well, I talked with Tex about it, and he said it was done and over and to do what I would - go ahead. Of course, I did. And Fanny needed more closure with Tex and so on. So I stepped in a mess, as I'm wont to do. No one was hurt, and the road goes on.
I became good friends with some of the locals and a few of my fellow guides. Dan came by bored one day when we hadn't worked in a couple of days, and spotted Tinky Winky - a doll someone had left at the house I was staying. "Tinky Wink must die," he proclaimed. And so we took the doll out for target practice. We shot guns, played chess, and camped around the desert. Dan turned me on to new music and books, and I him. I got a shotgun and we finished off Tinky Winky, in a way that a 22 or 45 just can't do. The shotgun was my planned gift for myself at the end of my ride. I was planning to get it in Austin, but it seemed right in Terlingua. Besides, was I really going to ride to Austin at this point?
Over the first few days in Terlingua, I found myself in the best dog culture I'd encountered. Riding around for supplies, I had a pack of 3 dogs start chasing me. I dismounted, put the bike between us, and then saw the big dog smiles on all their faces. Instead of telling them to go, I yelled at them to get out of the road, and then let them all meet me. Going to the bar later, I found a place where people arrive with unleashed dogs. Silent glances cut across the room as dogs or owners share information. It was like an extra layer of intelligence and communication not found elsewhere.
There are dogs in Terlingua without owners - Brown Dog the quintessential example. He'll lead you through off trail desert paths, once he figures out the direction you're headed. He'll wait in people's cars as they're ready to leave the bar, hitching a ride to whereever he thinks food and rest will be best. Everyone in town knows Brown Dog, and respects him as a survivor. He showed me a thing or two, and linked me up to other groups of people walking out in the desert.
I'd long been thinking of getting a dog, a blue heeler especially. I want a friend that can keep up with my biking, something smart and not too crazy. A friend brought his bitch's litter to the bar - blue heeler australian shepherd mix. It would never be a good time to adopt, so there's no time like the present. So, I got Muki, born 02/05, an auspicious date. Muki got to spend some time with her mother and the runt of the litter, and much time with uncle Brown Dog. And now I won't be as alone on future travels.
I had to get down the road to meet my dad in Tennessee for fly fishing. This had been the plan since January, and I was loathe to miss it. So I got my truck as fixed up as I could, packed my shotgun and loaded Ziggy and Muki and drove out of Terlingua. How do I feel about driving at the end of my bike trip? Didn't I cheat? Wasn't the plan to ride my bike from Seattle to Austin?
Well, I didn't ride the whole way, now did I? I'd hitched rides and rented cars when I wanted along the way. I'm not a fundementalist, and accept changing situations with a smile on my face. I'm still travelling, now in Tennesee, tomorrow in Arkansas and so on. So I feel great, really, about getting here in time to spend a week with my dad on the river.
I did leave Muki behind with a friend in Texas, as weekdays alone in a garage seemed less puppy friendly than a couple of weeks with other dogs. I've got to socialize my baby even when I'm around. I've added a responsibility to my life, and Muki is really the only thing that generates stress for me. On the other hand, spending time with a puppy does so much to make me a child again - how much fun is that?
From my first day there, Terlingua smelled like home. I expected to be there a while over the time to come, just not so much so soon. After guiding work dried up at the end of spring break, I found myself with little incentive to move on. The heat drove many away to northern climes, but for me it was deeply satisfying.
I found a truck for sale in town approximating what I'd planned to build up, only much further along. So I bought it, and started fixing it up. These plans stalled due to lack of tools, planning and knowhow. But getting things done isn't really living Terlingua style.
I met a woman, Fanny, whom I became interested in, and vice versa. Of course, this came with some entanglements, as she was the ex of one of my coworkers, Tex. Well, I talked with Tex about it, and he said it was done and over and to do what I would - go ahead. Of course, I did. And Fanny needed more closure with Tex and so on. So I stepped in a mess, as I'm wont to do. No one was hurt, and the road goes on.
I became good friends with some of the locals and a few of my fellow guides. Dan came by bored one day when we hadn't worked in a couple of days, and spotted Tinky Winky - a doll someone had left at the house I was staying. "Tinky Wink must die," he proclaimed. And so we took the doll out for target practice. We shot guns, played chess, and camped around the desert. Dan turned me on to new music and books, and I him. I got a shotgun and we finished off Tinky Winky, in a way that a 22 or 45 just can't do. The shotgun was my planned gift for myself at the end of my ride. I was planning to get it in Austin, but it seemed right in Terlingua. Besides, was I really going to ride to Austin at this point?
Over the first few days in Terlingua, I found myself in the best dog culture I'd encountered. Riding around for supplies, I had a pack of 3 dogs start chasing me. I dismounted, put the bike between us, and then saw the big dog smiles on all their faces. Instead of telling them to go, I yelled at them to get out of the road, and then let them all meet me. Going to the bar later, I found a place where people arrive with unleashed dogs. Silent glances cut across the room as dogs or owners share information. It was like an extra layer of intelligence and communication not found elsewhere.
There are dogs in Terlingua without owners - Brown Dog the quintessential example. He'll lead you through off trail desert paths, once he figures out the direction you're headed. He'll wait in people's cars as they're ready to leave the bar, hitching a ride to whereever he thinks food and rest will be best. Everyone in town knows Brown Dog, and respects him as a survivor. He showed me a thing or two, and linked me up to other groups of people walking out in the desert.
I'd long been thinking of getting a dog, a blue heeler especially. I want a friend that can keep up with my biking, something smart and not too crazy. A friend brought his bitch's litter to the bar - blue heeler australian shepherd mix. It would never be a good time to adopt, so there's no time like the present. So, I got Muki, born 02/05, an auspicious date. Muki got to spend some time with her mother and the runt of the litter, and much time with uncle Brown Dog. And now I won't be as alone on future travels.
I had to get down the road to meet my dad in Tennessee for fly fishing. This had been the plan since January, and I was loathe to miss it. So I got my truck as fixed up as I could, packed my shotgun and loaded Ziggy and Muki and drove out of Terlingua. How do I feel about driving at the end of my bike trip? Didn't I cheat? Wasn't the plan to ride my bike from Seattle to Austin?
Well, I didn't ride the whole way, now did I? I'd hitched rides and rented cars when I wanted along the way. I'm not a fundementalist, and accept changing situations with a smile on my face. I'm still travelling, now in Tennesee, tomorrow in Arkansas and so on. So I feel great, really, about getting here in time to spend a week with my dad on the river.
I did leave Muki behind with a friend in Texas, as weekdays alone in a garage seemed less puppy friendly than a couple of weeks with other dogs. I've got to socialize my baby even when I'm around. I've added a responsibility to my life, and Muki is really the only thing that generates stress for me. On the other hand, spending time with a puppy does so much to make me a child again - how much fun is that?
Looking Back II: Learning to Guide
I got a new hat for my trip on the river. Weeks later, at the Rocket Fuel party, someone was pointing someone else out to me. I simply asked: "What hat is he wearing?" "A good question," was the response. A new hat indeed...
I sat shotgun on the way from the office to the put in. I talked easily with my guide, John. He pointed out features and flora to the two couples in the back of the van. I pointed out things to him, and he noted that this was not my first rodeo. Of course, I love the Big Bend, and was excited to see it from a new perspective.
The river trip was awesome - thousand foot cliffs shoot up from the river. After call upon call of canyon wrens, we chanced upon a mated peregrine pair. The parade of birds continued, but I soon ran out of names. After paddling upstream half the day, we lunched and hiked a side canyon in Mexico, and then eased our way back down the Rio.
John began working on me to stay and help guide or shuttle during the spring break rush. I became convinced that this was a good idea, and - after all - why not? I'd been told before by a guide I'd met on my tour that Jan Forte was great to work for. On John's recommendation, she took me without any experience. I asked her to make me a trainee and to put me on the river as much as possible. She didn't let me down.
I started the next day, on an overnight trip down Santa Elena Canyon - covering the upper as yet unseen by me half of the canyon, and the several miles above that. I received instruction from Carmen, hard and fair and an excellent cook. "You're going to feel like you're going from rock to rock, always falling behind. We all go through that." True.
I was blown away by the experience immediately. So long had I been living in relative privation, expedition style gourmet canoe camping was quite a shock. Campfires and propane and dutch ovens and gallons and gallons of water. I'd graduated to camping in style.
I stopped writing and taking pictures. There was too much new to do. Reflection took a way back seat to action. I came back and really met my coworkers. I was clearly the least experienced and most out of place. Travelling alone so long, I'd forgotten how to be in groups my age. I required resocialization.
That'll only really go so far though, coming from where I'd been. Few have travelled alone as I, and few understand the complete rearrangement of my life facts while keeping my essential identity the same. I feel like I'd become who I am, not who I told myself I am. Guiding seemed a natural selection along these lines - teaching and learning and being outdoors and active all the time. Professional camping was easy, but managing interactions took some time.
Most guides percieve a gulf between themselves and tourists. Some even set themselves aside from the locals. I felt one in the same all of these. I feel at home in Terlingua. I can show and tell with the best of 'em. And yet I know myself a traveller, new to so much so much of the time.
Nonetheless, I found myself deeply attached to this new group of people. I treated them like family, maybe with more familiarity than some were comfortable, but certainly closer than coworkers or even new-found friends. This in part came from the openness and trust within the culture. It too came from finding a richer collection of varied experts than I'd ever encountered. Polymaths and panelementalists abound. Tool users and vehicle drivers at exceptional levels, these are also considerate communicators, artists, and seekers. Again, I felt at home.
The next three weeks I had a day or two off. I was on the river all the time. I ate little. I slept little. I socialized much. I balanced as best I could, training hard in my Uechi managing any inner conflict - sanchin with a canoe on my head. I opened my mind to new experiences and drank in the river. Jan put me on each of the three upper canyons, giving me quite a tour of the river. My fellow guides taught me patience, technique, and so on. It was easy, natural. Then I was worn out and business died down and I was on the river less and less.
I've found something that will allow me to continue this nomadic lifestyle with something that looks like purpose. I've got waters to learn, and places to be. I'll even get paid for the pleasure, which seems alright with me. I've made friendships that will last, with people who share my values, pursuing mine own interests. Where else can I find rock climbing mountain biking hanggliding whitewater guiding wisewomen listening to dub music? I'm hooked.
I sat shotgun on the way from the office to the put in. I talked easily with my guide, John. He pointed out features and flora to the two couples in the back of the van. I pointed out things to him, and he noted that this was not my first rodeo. Of course, I love the Big Bend, and was excited to see it from a new perspective.
The river trip was awesome - thousand foot cliffs shoot up from the river. After call upon call of canyon wrens, we chanced upon a mated peregrine pair. The parade of birds continued, but I soon ran out of names. After paddling upstream half the day, we lunched and hiked a side canyon in Mexico, and then eased our way back down the Rio.
John began working on me to stay and help guide or shuttle during the spring break rush. I became convinced that this was a good idea, and - after all - why not? I'd been told before by a guide I'd met on my tour that Jan Forte was great to work for. On John's recommendation, she took me without any experience. I asked her to make me a trainee and to put me on the river as much as possible. She didn't let me down.
I started the next day, on an overnight trip down Santa Elena Canyon - covering the upper as yet unseen by me half of the canyon, and the several miles above that. I received instruction from Carmen, hard and fair and an excellent cook. "You're going to feel like you're going from rock to rock, always falling behind. We all go through that." True.
I was blown away by the experience immediately. So long had I been living in relative privation, expedition style gourmet canoe camping was quite a shock. Campfires and propane and dutch ovens and gallons and gallons of water. I'd graduated to camping in style.
I stopped writing and taking pictures. There was too much new to do. Reflection took a way back seat to action. I came back and really met my coworkers. I was clearly the least experienced and most out of place. Travelling alone so long, I'd forgotten how to be in groups my age. I required resocialization.
That'll only really go so far though, coming from where I'd been. Few have travelled alone as I, and few understand the complete rearrangement of my life facts while keeping my essential identity the same. I feel like I'd become who I am, not who I told myself I am. Guiding seemed a natural selection along these lines - teaching and learning and being outdoors and active all the time. Professional camping was easy, but managing interactions took some time.
Most guides percieve a gulf between themselves and tourists. Some even set themselves aside from the locals. I felt one in the same all of these. I feel at home in Terlingua. I can show and tell with the best of 'em. And yet I know myself a traveller, new to so much so much of the time.
Nonetheless, I found myself deeply attached to this new group of people. I treated them like family, maybe with more familiarity than some were comfortable, but certainly closer than coworkers or even new-found friends. This in part came from the openness and trust within the culture. It too came from finding a richer collection of varied experts than I'd ever encountered. Polymaths and panelementalists abound. Tool users and vehicle drivers at exceptional levels, these are also considerate communicators, artists, and seekers. Again, I felt at home.
The next three weeks I had a day or two off. I was on the river all the time. I ate little. I slept little. I socialized much. I balanced as best I could, training hard in my Uechi managing any inner conflict - sanchin with a canoe on my head. I opened my mind to new experiences and drank in the river. Jan put me on each of the three upper canyons, giving me quite a tour of the river. My fellow guides taught me patience, technique, and so on. It was easy, natural. Then I was worn out and business died down and I was on the river less and less.
I've found something that will allow me to continue this nomadic lifestyle with something that looks like purpose. I've got waters to learn, and places to be. I'll even get paid for the pleasure, which seems alright with me. I've made friendships that will last, with people who share my values, pursuing mine own interests. Where else can I find rock climbing mountain biking hanggliding whitewater guiding wisewomen listening to dub music? I'm hooked.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Looking Back I: Road to Terlingua
Looking back, it's been a while since I've written. Much of the time between then and now, I've been focused on doing. I stowed my journal and camera. Much I've done and learned in the last two months. I'll just back up, pick up where I left off.
2/17
I left Portal and Rodeo many adventures ago. A-bike and light-hearted I hit the open road, on to NM 9 after a mile or so. I left the San Simon Valley, climbing up through Animas Pass, leaving the high desert grasslands behind. Crumbly weathered Peloncillos soon were behind me. So too was the small town of Animas. Across the Animas Valley, creosote and yuccas replaced grasses. I was returning to the desert.
By the time I reached Columbus, NM and Pancho Villa State Park I was certainly in a Chihuahuan way. I'd ridden longer than any previous day, about 85 miles with a chilly dry tailwind at a faster rate than any other day's ride. I met yet another Lonny - this one I call to myself "biker Lonny" - as he stopped twice to tell me what was closed and open in town. We sat down to some tacos together at the deli. Mexican food keeps getting better.
The state park is an RV park with a nice landscaped hill. Apparently Pancho Villa's troops attacked the town of Columbus and so we sent the army to go camp out in the desert and try out all their new mechanized equipment. Grease skids - among the first built - and an old airstrip remain from 100 years ago. The hill around which ole Pancho's band snuck up on the sleepy little town is filled with cactus, placed by loving hands. The tent camping area is a little patch of grass, cottontail munch turf. As I faded to sleep the bunnies congregated around my tent, slowly forming a ring around me. As they'd edge closer I'd shrug or grunt or fart and scare them off. Then dumb little bunnies would gather again, have a little rabbit talk, and then spread out again round me. This game continued until I fell asleep.
2/18
After a hot shower in the early twilight, I sought Mexican food in town, stopping at the Pancho Villa Cafe. Biker Lonny was there already, and so I sat down with him to breakfast. We talked widely about travelling, Arizona and Washington, and then at length about his out of body experience. Do I tell someone that I generally don't buy what they believe? No, now I listen, and the more I listen the more I wonder. And so we parted ways, Lonny insisting on my tab.
From Columbus to El Paso was one of the emptiest stretches of road I've seen. East of town the ground gradually rose to low hills made of sand. Large stands of grass vanished. After sand came slow rollers through lava rock in barren creosote-filled desert. No sign of man for miles, then a pile of rocks by the road, as if someone who stopped couldn't handle the emptiness - the lack of man. And for several miles then, rock jenga on one side of the road or the other. No traffic, only Border Patrol. And then more cars in the afternoon coming from Texas, and more and more Border Patrol.
And the Franklin Mountains came into view and the long road up through the pass. Soon enough I was dropping into NW El Paso, across the pitiful trickle that is the Rio Grande there, and into Texas. Into Texas at long last, after nearly 4 months of travel. And there off the highway, near my motel, was Rudy's BBQ. And it was good.
2/20
After a day of rest and groceries and even better Mexican food and lazing north of El Paso, I set off early the next morning climbing slowly up and over the Franklin Mountains. My cough from Portal returned, racking me silly on climb up. Not too demanding once I got up there, and a helluva descent, through near-vertical block faulting of old limestoney peaks. Down and down the trans-mountain highway and then huge sweeping beltway around NE El Paso. Highways with marked bicycle lanes are a welcome change. East on 180, through the junkyard heaven of western EP.
In the afternoon, civilization disappearing behind me, I got the second flat of my trip. It was up front, and was an echo of my blowout weeks before. The thin tube up front had worn against the sidewall patch, weakened, and flatted. After a quick swap, pump and snack, I rolled the last 15 miles into Hueco Tanks State Park. I watched the orientation video and dropped gear at my assigned campsite. Mountains, highway, rough roads, flats, dirt roads - none got in the way of a great day's ride.
I wandered over to a nearby campsite with younger campers coming and going. I thereby spent the evening of the lunar eclipse with a group of twentysomething climbers who'd been camped there most of the winter. It was a joy to spend time with folks who'd already figured it out: they were engaged in an activity they loved, respectful of the outdoors and its wonders, and learned along different lines. Conversations rambled into the night, until clouds swallowed the moon reemerged.
2/21
The red dawn let me know that the winds weren't dying, and that I should follow the front to and up the Guadalupes. I bid farewell to newfound friends, and hit the road earlyish. I was coughing the night before, hoping it was just a tickle and not a return to the funk I caught in Portal. I left in gray morning, buffeted by strong crosswinds. I turned onto the highway again, headed East up and over the Hueco Mountains. It wasn't easy, and the canyoney road shifted the winds to most directions but aft. I finally got the expected push as I climbed out of the arroyo and over the pass.
I stopped rarely on the long gradual descent to the foot of Guadalupes. Over 50 miles gradually downhill with a 20-35mph tailwind, I had little inclination to do so. I spent most of my time spinning in gear 14, flying loaded 22-29mph. My lower back hurt all day, and this and hunger inspired a couple of breaks. At the turnoff to Dell City, I stopped at the mini mart for birthday treats for the morrow, and BSed with the proprieter a bit. I dreaded what was to come, and so was adding sugar and caffeine and water and carbs to steel myself for it.
The Guadalupes are an awesome range, the southern end sticking into Texas, providing its tallest peak. The range is an uplifted reef, and hiking the mountains in the past has shown me hundreds and hundreds of fossils. The wind always howls there, providing some of the longest dustiest dawns and dusks I've had the pleasure to see. I was really excited to go camp up there, and lucky to time it for my birthday.
On the other hand, I'd just ridden over 80 miles with all my gear on a rough surface road. My lower back hurt. I was wracked by coughing fits a couple of times so hard I wanted to puke. But here I was, ready for my dragon. After 56 peeled away to the South, 180 started climbing in earnest. I stopped to sugarade-up before the 2000' I had over the last 10 miles.
I turned North and began switchbacks, up impressive grades. I turned the big beat playlist up and got low in the wind and low in gear and spun fast and steady. The wind gusted at me, bouncing off cut walls, pushing me back. I ground hard in gear 2, too proud to kick it down to 1. I turned East again and had a little surge, and managed to stand and dance from time to time in my pedals, in gears 6 and 8. I could feel the end near and the big dirty beats, house music, were carrying me uphill. I still had miles of climbing in the wind, and music again kept me focused, kept me breathing, kept me from breaking down.
When the road leveled off, about 2 miles from the end, I was yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs, crying with joy. I've never been so overcome with emotion at something I'd done. It was my Chariots of Fire moment. I put myself through the crucible and I came out a harder thing.
2/22,23,24
Of course, I broke myself. I was near delirious when the sun set and cold wind came. I managed to make hot gatorade and instant mashed potatoes and fell promptly asleep. I woke up through the night, sick, full of snot, coughing. I worked myself back to sick, and it was the middle of the night for a long time and I was being 31 and not at all disappointed.
I made myself coffee with evaporated milk - glass and canned goods a luxury I'll only carry for my birthday weekend. I lounged around drinking coffee, writing and reading. I visited the Visitor Center. I was wiped out and so I napped. The sun shone and the winds roared against my wee palace. I did some more reading, then went out to meet the local campers.
I met Debbie, out walking her dog. I learned that she was the one with the converted military Thomas/International bus. She works as a database designer and back end programmer, and was easy to talk to. Debbie lives on the road, working remotely as a consultant. Not only could think and talk likewise engineeringly, but also had been bitten sometime by similar desert wanderlust.
Later in the evening I met Clare, another RVer, who asked if I were the cycle tourist. She'd seen me and Ziggy and our camp. I learned that she and husband Bob had done a number of cycle tours together, and more recently many motor miles. We parted that afternoon expecting to see each other around camp in the coming days.
My birthday morning, I made myself coffee with evaporated milk. A rice crispy treat served as cake. I was pretty sick, full of snot, with a wracking cough. But dawn was beautiful, the sun was up, and the wind was moderate. I hung around camp, smoked the bday hooter I'd saved, lounged, read, napped. I spent most of the day not coughing, not moving enough to breathe deeply. It was wonderful, up in the desert mountains, sick or not, proud of how far I've come, looking over the vast dusty dusky desert.
I split cooking with Bob and Clare for my bday dinner. I made them my ziplocful of mac and cheese with vacuum sealed chicken and powdered milk, powdered cholula. They made black eyed peas and collards, both from cans, spices added. We showed off our bicycle camp cooking favorites and talked many hours. They wanted to know what had happened to my generation (and those younger). Why weren't we protesting all the BS currently going on in the world, the US, etc.? Well, having been at a liberal liberal arts college that promotes activism, I'd say that much whining does little good. We saw the hippies all turn into golf playing, SUV driving suburbanite consumers. Or something along those lines. And so we spent a while discussing values, ethics, politics, and history. Bob was very challenging, Clare inquisitive. They shared travel tales from their over 40K miles of cycle touring together. I had a wonderful engaging bday dinner with folks I grok, able to talk to them widely, longly.
I arranged with Debbie to get a lift down to Marfa, as winds were picking up from 30s to 50s mph. On the 24th we left in the early afternoon; Debbie drove down the mountain I'd ridden up, and we proceeded South towards Van Horn. Sad to be moving fast again, trying to take in the terrain at a hurry up. Glad to be out of the wind, able to breathe shallowly, and rest. We talked more in a hour than we had in the previous two days in the campground. We passed Blue Origin and realized our common spacial interests. We drove through the valley between the Sierra Diablo and the Delawares, a volcanic mesa starboard and limestone mountains to port. These petered out into the Apache Mountains and some small range and then Van Horn.
We stopped just South of I-10 at wendy's and had good gross food, at least a little. Frosty's were key, even though it wasn't too warm. I took over the driving, and the terrain changed from desert to high grasslands as we swept Southeast around the Davis Mountains (the Alps of Texas). Many shacks were run down rusted out and abandoned. The town of Valentine was mostly shut down and much deserted. We left the Davis Mountains behind and rolled over a hill into Marfa.
02/25-26
Marfa is growing, with many incoming Austinites. It's trendy and quaint. The best food were tamales from some random Mexican peddling red chile pork corn tastiness by the dozen. Sunsets were amazing, and cribbage with Debbie much fun. I was still sick though, and resenting it. The library allowed for some internetting. It'd been a while, and I missed it. I was still sick, and Debbie was inclined to check out The Big Bend at this point, so we motored on.
The drive from Marfa to Presidio is flat grasslands at first. Then the terrain drops. And rises. And shrubby desert plants appear again: creosote, then ocotillo and cacti. The Chinati Mountains loom large and show green of trees or juniper on top. The town of Shafter sits at a turn in Cibolo Creek, beautifully sculpted desert hills backdrop for the old mining town. And we pull into the motel in Presidio. Smog hangs above OJ in MX. And I rest, 'cause I'm sick.
02/27-28
I rode Ziggy out of Presidio, unloaded, but with snack and 1.5L water and toolbag for the 35 mile ride out to the Saucedo in Big Bend Ranch State Park. I rode the ten or so miles on the road, tired. I then turned onto the dirtroad to the park, and really had to work. Hacking convulsions returned. Suck. Try to find a good speed that's slow enough to breath but fast enough to post over washboard. I stopped at the shade shelter at the park welcome sign, and waited for Debbie.
We drove into the Bofecillos, offroad in a schoolbus. Lava rock loomed high, and lush desert surrounded us. There was an incredible variety of species: lechugilla - telling us we're here in the Chihuahua, creosote, strawberry cactus, pitaya, ocotillo, guayacan, barrel cacti, and more types of prickly pear than I could care about. In nooks and crannies grew bright green cottonwoods. Newly greening mesquite lined arroyos. This desert was very lush, impermiable lava rocks trapping water in hundreds of places across the hundreds of thousands of park acres.
We stayed two nights in the park, camping near the Sauceda and then nearer the entrance at Rancho Viejo. The first night, after dinner and cribbage in the bus, we had to scare two javelina away from my bivvy. I rode my bike during the day some each day, and it hurt my chest. We ate well, as Debbie had supplies but loathed cooking. I enjoy cooking, and was happy to have an audience again. At Rancho Viejo, the old windmill whined and whirred all night. I really wanted to ride the river road out, but knew I couldn't do it.
02/29
Along el Camino del Rio I drove the bus. This is a fantastic road, beautiful. By tall cornflower bluebonnets and yellow to green canebrake, up and down, winding into desert and down to the river. We got out of the bus near Colorado Canyon, and it smelled like home in some outdoor-is-familiar sort-of-way. Driving on, the view opened up at the top of BIG HILL and I saw the Chisos again, the river pointing the way -> green for miles. Soon we made it into Terlingua, and decamped at the Easter Egg.
There we met Mark and Christina, just arrived. A couple about my age, they were on their first camping vacation away from the kids. The four of Debbie, Mark, Christina and I went out to Rio Bravo for some Mexican. Mark BOOBeer, havin' thunk ahead. We talked about the world and people and places and values and life and enjoyed company all around. Guac' was good too.
03/01
I spent much of the day reading Texas I'd had to bail on going out to la Kiva for music, still tired from sick. The four of us had breakfast burrito's at Kathy's, best breakfast ambience in town. Mark and Christina left to go up into the mountains. Debbie worked some. I slept some. We went out for Mexican again, not branching out, kinda travelled out. As usual, talk was easy and good with Debbie. We've both got engineering minds, and so we like to focus on minutiae and fill the converstation stack up with new topics and tangents.
03/02
Debbie left in the morning, and it wasn't sad much, because we're both travellers, online, and believe we'll see each other down the road. Debbie aided me immensely in continuing my trip and allowing my convalesence. Camping and cribbage and computers and so on were good times. And we saw such beautiful country between there and here: deserts, river and mountains, plains and sunred skies.
Mark and Christina returned, fleeing cold weather. We went out to the Long Draw pizza house and had a Pancho Villa and a few pitchers of Shiner. It's good to be in Texas. These are folks I so easily relate with, genuine fun loving adults concerned about making the world better. They read and write and have kids and do healthcare and love this place like I do. We get along well.
Today I scheduled a river trip for tomorrow. I want to get down to Santa Elena and actually see the canyon where the water is, not just look from the edge at the mouth. I went to Big Bend River Tours, having met a guide along the way who worked for them. Now I go into the park in a whole new way.
2/17
I left Portal and Rodeo many adventures ago. A-bike and light-hearted I hit the open road, on to NM 9 after a mile or so. I left the San Simon Valley, climbing up through Animas Pass, leaving the high desert grasslands behind. Crumbly weathered Peloncillos soon were behind me. So too was the small town of Animas. Across the Animas Valley, creosote and yuccas replaced grasses. I was returning to the desert.
By the time I reached Columbus, NM and Pancho Villa State Park I was certainly in a Chihuahuan way. I'd ridden longer than any previous day, about 85 miles with a chilly dry tailwind at a faster rate than any other day's ride. I met yet another Lonny - this one I call to myself "biker Lonny" - as he stopped twice to tell me what was closed and open in town. We sat down to some tacos together at the deli. Mexican food keeps getting better.
The state park is an RV park with a nice landscaped hill. Apparently Pancho Villa's troops attacked the town of Columbus and so we sent the army to go camp out in the desert and try out all their new mechanized equipment. Grease skids - among the first built - and an old airstrip remain from 100 years ago. The hill around which ole Pancho's band snuck up on the sleepy little town is filled with cactus, placed by loving hands. The tent camping area is a little patch of grass, cottontail munch turf. As I faded to sleep the bunnies congregated around my tent, slowly forming a ring around me. As they'd edge closer I'd shrug or grunt or fart and scare them off. Then dumb little bunnies would gather again, have a little rabbit talk, and then spread out again round me. This game continued until I fell asleep.
2/18
After a hot shower in the early twilight, I sought Mexican food in town, stopping at the Pancho Villa Cafe. Biker Lonny was there already, and so I sat down with him to breakfast. We talked widely about travelling, Arizona and Washington, and then at length about his out of body experience. Do I tell someone that I generally don't buy what they believe? No, now I listen, and the more I listen the more I wonder. And so we parted ways, Lonny insisting on my tab.
From Columbus to El Paso was one of the emptiest stretches of road I've seen. East of town the ground gradually rose to low hills made of sand. Large stands of grass vanished. After sand came slow rollers through lava rock in barren creosote-filled desert. No sign of man for miles, then a pile of rocks by the road, as if someone who stopped couldn't handle the emptiness - the lack of man. And for several miles then, rock jenga on one side of the road or the other. No traffic, only Border Patrol. And then more cars in the afternoon coming from Texas, and more and more Border Patrol.
And the Franklin Mountains came into view and the long road up through the pass. Soon enough I was dropping into NW El Paso, across the pitiful trickle that is the Rio Grande there, and into Texas. Into Texas at long last, after nearly 4 months of travel. And there off the highway, near my motel, was Rudy's BBQ. And it was good.
2/20
After a day of rest and groceries and even better Mexican food and lazing north of El Paso, I set off early the next morning climbing slowly up and over the Franklin Mountains. My cough from Portal returned, racking me silly on climb up. Not too demanding once I got up there, and a helluva descent, through near-vertical block faulting of old limestoney peaks. Down and down the trans-mountain highway and then huge sweeping beltway around NE El Paso. Highways with marked bicycle lanes are a welcome change. East on 180, through the junkyard heaven of western EP.
In the afternoon, civilization disappearing behind me, I got the second flat of my trip. It was up front, and was an echo of my blowout weeks before. The thin tube up front had worn against the sidewall patch, weakened, and flatted. After a quick swap, pump and snack, I rolled the last 15 miles into Hueco Tanks State Park. I watched the orientation video and dropped gear at my assigned campsite. Mountains, highway, rough roads, flats, dirt roads - none got in the way of a great day's ride.
I wandered over to a nearby campsite with younger campers coming and going. I thereby spent the evening of the lunar eclipse with a group of twentysomething climbers who'd been camped there most of the winter. It was a joy to spend time with folks who'd already figured it out: they were engaged in an activity they loved, respectful of the outdoors and its wonders, and learned along different lines. Conversations rambled into the night, until clouds swallowed the moon reemerged.
2/21
The red dawn let me know that the winds weren't dying, and that I should follow the front to and up the Guadalupes. I bid farewell to newfound friends, and hit the road earlyish. I was coughing the night before, hoping it was just a tickle and not a return to the funk I caught in Portal. I left in gray morning, buffeted by strong crosswinds. I turned onto the highway again, headed East up and over the Hueco Mountains. It wasn't easy, and the canyoney road shifted the winds to most directions but aft. I finally got the expected push as I climbed out of the arroyo and over the pass.
I stopped rarely on the long gradual descent to the foot of Guadalupes. Over 50 miles gradually downhill with a 20-35mph tailwind, I had little inclination to do so. I spent most of my time spinning in gear 14, flying loaded 22-29mph. My lower back hurt all day, and this and hunger inspired a couple of breaks. At the turnoff to Dell City, I stopped at the mini mart for birthday treats for the morrow, and BSed with the proprieter a bit. I dreaded what was to come, and so was adding sugar and caffeine and water and carbs to steel myself for it.
The Guadalupes are an awesome range, the southern end sticking into Texas, providing its tallest peak. The range is an uplifted reef, and hiking the mountains in the past has shown me hundreds and hundreds of fossils. The wind always howls there, providing some of the longest dustiest dawns and dusks I've had the pleasure to see. I was really excited to go camp up there, and lucky to time it for my birthday.
On the other hand, I'd just ridden over 80 miles with all my gear on a rough surface road. My lower back hurt. I was wracked by coughing fits a couple of times so hard I wanted to puke. But here I was, ready for my dragon. After 56 peeled away to the South, 180 started climbing in earnest. I stopped to sugarade-up before the 2000' I had over the last 10 miles.
I turned North and began switchbacks, up impressive grades. I turned the big beat playlist up and got low in the wind and low in gear and spun fast and steady. The wind gusted at me, bouncing off cut walls, pushing me back. I ground hard in gear 2, too proud to kick it down to 1. I turned East again and had a little surge, and managed to stand and dance from time to time in my pedals, in gears 6 and 8. I could feel the end near and the big dirty beats, house music, were carrying me uphill. I still had miles of climbing in the wind, and music again kept me focused, kept me breathing, kept me from breaking down.
When the road leveled off, about 2 miles from the end, I was yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs, crying with joy. I've never been so overcome with emotion at something I'd done. It was my Chariots of Fire moment. I put myself through the crucible and I came out a harder thing.
2/22,23,24
Of course, I broke myself. I was near delirious when the sun set and cold wind came. I managed to make hot gatorade and instant mashed potatoes and fell promptly asleep. I woke up through the night, sick, full of snot, coughing. I worked myself back to sick, and it was the middle of the night for a long time and I was being 31 and not at all disappointed.
I made myself coffee with evaporated milk - glass and canned goods a luxury I'll only carry for my birthday weekend. I lounged around drinking coffee, writing and reading. I visited the Visitor Center. I was wiped out and so I napped. The sun shone and the winds roared against my wee palace. I did some more reading, then went out to meet the local campers.
I met Debbie, out walking her dog. I learned that she was the one with the converted military Thomas/International bus. She works as a database designer and back end programmer, and was easy to talk to. Debbie lives on the road, working remotely as a consultant. Not only could think and talk likewise engineeringly, but also had been bitten sometime by similar desert wanderlust.
Later in the evening I met Clare, another RVer, who asked if I were the cycle tourist. She'd seen me and Ziggy and our camp. I learned that she and husband Bob had done a number of cycle tours together, and more recently many motor miles. We parted that afternoon expecting to see each other around camp in the coming days.
My birthday morning, I made myself coffee with evaporated milk. A rice crispy treat served as cake. I was pretty sick, full of snot, with a wracking cough. But dawn was beautiful, the sun was up, and the wind was moderate. I hung around camp, smoked the bday hooter I'd saved, lounged, read, napped. I spent most of the day not coughing, not moving enough to breathe deeply. It was wonderful, up in the desert mountains, sick or not, proud of how far I've come, looking over the vast dusty dusky desert.
I split cooking with Bob and Clare for my bday dinner. I made them my ziplocful of mac and cheese with vacuum sealed chicken and powdered milk, powdered cholula. They made black eyed peas and collards, both from cans, spices added. We showed off our bicycle camp cooking favorites and talked many hours. They wanted to know what had happened to my generation (and those younger). Why weren't we protesting all the BS currently going on in the world, the US, etc.? Well, having been at a liberal liberal arts college that promotes activism, I'd say that much whining does little good. We saw the hippies all turn into golf playing, SUV driving suburbanite consumers. Or something along those lines. And so we spent a while discussing values, ethics, politics, and history. Bob was very challenging, Clare inquisitive. They shared travel tales from their over 40K miles of cycle touring together. I had a wonderful engaging bday dinner with folks I grok, able to talk to them widely, longly.
I arranged with Debbie to get a lift down to Marfa, as winds were picking up from 30s to 50s mph. On the 24th we left in the early afternoon; Debbie drove down the mountain I'd ridden up, and we proceeded South towards Van Horn. Sad to be moving fast again, trying to take in the terrain at a hurry up. Glad to be out of the wind, able to breathe shallowly, and rest. We talked more in a hour than we had in the previous two days in the campground. We passed Blue Origin and realized our common spacial interests. We drove through the valley between the Sierra Diablo and the Delawares, a volcanic mesa starboard and limestone mountains to port. These petered out into the Apache Mountains and some small range and then Van Horn.
We stopped just South of I-10 at wendy's and had good gross food, at least a little. Frosty's were key, even though it wasn't too warm. I took over the driving, and the terrain changed from desert to high grasslands as we swept Southeast around the Davis Mountains (the Alps of Texas). Many shacks were run down rusted out and abandoned. The town of Valentine was mostly shut down and much deserted. We left the Davis Mountains behind and rolled over a hill into Marfa.
02/25-26
Marfa is growing, with many incoming Austinites. It's trendy and quaint. The best food were tamales from some random Mexican peddling red chile pork corn tastiness by the dozen. Sunsets were amazing, and cribbage with Debbie much fun. I was still sick though, and resenting it. The library allowed for some internetting. It'd been a while, and I missed it. I was still sick, and Debbie was inclined to check out The Big Bend at this point, so we motored on.
The drive from Marfa to Presidio is flat grasslands at first. Then the terrain drops. And rises. And shrubby desert plants appear again: creosote, then ocotillo and cacti. The Chinati Mountains loom large and show green of trees or juniper on top. The town of Shafter sits at a turn in Cibolo Creek, beautifully sculpted desert hills backdrop for the old mining town. And we pull into the motel in Presidio. Smog hangs above OJ in MX. And I rest, 'cause I'm sick.
02/27-28
I rode Ziggy out of Presidio, unloaded, but with snack and 1.5L water and toolbag for the 35 mile ride out to the Saucedo in Big Bend Ranch State Park. I rode the ten or so miles on the road, tired. I then turned onto the dirtroad to the park, and really had to work. Hacking convulsions returned. Suck. Try to find a good speed that's slow enough to breath but fast enough to post over washboard. I stopped at the shade shelter at the park welcome sign, and waited for Debbie.
We drove into the Bofecillos, offroad in a schoolbus. Lava rock loomed high, and lush desert surrounded us. There was an incredible variety of species: lechugilla - telling us we're here in the Chihuahua, creosote, strawberry cactus, pitaya, ocotillo, guayacan, barrel cacti, and more types of prickly pear than I could care about. In nooks and crannies grew bright green cottonwoods. Newly greening mesquite lined arroyos. This desert was very lush, impermiable lava rocks trapping water in hundreds of places across the hundreds of thousands of park acres.
We stayed two nights in the park, camping near the Sauceda and then nearer the entrance at Rancho Viejo. The first night, after dinner and cribbage in the bus, we had to scare two javelina away from my bivvy. I rode my bike during the day some each day, and it hurt my chest. We ate well, as Debbie had supplies but loathed cooking. I enjoy cooking, and was happy to have an audience again. At Rancho Viejo, the old windmill whined and whirred all night. I really wanted to ride the river road out, but knew I couldn't do it.
02/29
Along el Camino del Rio I drove the bus. This is a fantastic road, beautiful. By tall cornflower bluebonnets and yellow to green canebrake, up and down, winding into desert and down to the river. We got out of the bus near Colorado Canyon, and it smelled like home in some outdoor-is-familiar sort-of-way. Driving on, the view opened up at the top of BIG HILL and I saw the Chisos again, the river pointing the way -> green for miles. Soon we made it into Terlingua, and decamped at the Easter Egg.
There we met Mark and Christina, just arrived. A couple about my age, they were on their first camping vacation away from the kids. The four of Debbie, Mark, Christina and I went out to Rio Bravo for some Mexican. Mark BOOBeer, havin' thunk ahead. We talked about the world and people and places and values and life and enjoyed company all around. Guac' was good too.
03/01
I spent much of the day reading Texas I'd had to bail on going out to la Kiva for music, still tired from sick. The four of us had breakfast burrito's at Kathy's, best breakfast ambience in town. Mark and Christina left to go up into the mountains. Debbie worked some. I slept some. We went out for Mexican again, not branching out, kinda travelled out. As usual, talk was easy and good with Debbie. We've both got engineering minds, and so we like to focus on minutiae and fill the converstation stack up with new topics and tangents.
03/02
Debbie left in the morning, and it wasn't sad much, because we're both travellers, online, and believe we'll see each other down the road. Debbie aided me immensely in continuing my trip and allowing my convalesence. Camping and cribbage and computers and so on were good times. And we saw such beautiful country between there and here: deserts, river and mountains, plains and sunred skies.
Mark and Christina returned, fleeing cold weather. We went out to the Long Draw pizza house and had a Pancho Villa and a few pitchers of Shiner. It's good to be in Texas. These are folks I so easily relate with, genuine fun loving adults concerned about making the world better. They read and write and have kids and do healthcare and love this place like I do. We get along well.
Today I scheduled a river trip for tomorrow. I want to get down to Santa Elena and actually see the canyon where the water is, not just look from the edge at the mouth. I went to Big Bend River Tours, having met a guide along the way who worked for them. Now I go into the park in a whole new way.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Liminal Spaces
Dawn to dusk: black purple pink orange blue all day orange pink purple black,
Edges of clouds provide contrast;
Firelit shadows fade to stars.
Current to eddy: water, wind, rock flow through canyons to floodplains.
Fluid dynamics describes the shapes.
Winter sleeps, then spring enervates.
Awake, dreaming, asleep, dreaming -
Working, playing, paddling, patonking...
Training, resting, learning, teaching;
I've come to Terlingua,
Where the desert meets the mountains, sky and river.
Edges of clouds provide contrast;
Firelit shadows fade to stars.
Current to eddy: water, wind, rock flow through canyons to floodplains.
Fluid dynamics describes the shapes.
Winter sleeps, then spring enervates.
Awake, dreaming, asleep, dreaming -
Working, playing, paddling, patonking...
Training, resting, learning, teaching;
I've come to Terlingua,
Where the desert meets the mountains, sky and river.
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