Second attempt up Sage peak

A lot of things went wrong today and most of it is my fault.

I met the hiking group at the designated meet-up place south of town. One of the guys brought a classmate he didn't tell me about, a spunky woman with a loud voice. She was a real sweetheart but she also turned out to be out of shape.

So, instead of five we had six people driving the route to the Chiricahuas, an almost two-hour drive. A stop for gas and a stop to park one car in Elfriday cost us 30 minutes. We didn't even get to the trailhead until 9:20am, 20 minutes later than planned...

Our second attempt up Sage peak

I've organized a hike for tomorrow morning up Sage Peak. Six others from the club showed an interest in this. So this may end up being a good group hike! No rain is forecasted, and temps will be in the upper 80s.

Sage Peak (well, almost!)

What a strange day.

At 4am I was awakened by noises in the back yard. Sara darted outside and when she flew outside, so did the others. She didn't bark, but the little foofoo dog across the alley started to bark, which caused Sammy to howl, then Sara, and then Sadie attempted to howl as well. There was something out there that had spooked the dogs, but ten minutes later all was silent.

I had to get up to check around. All I saw was a beautiful black sky lighted up with stars. What planet shined so brightly in the eastern sky?

Two hours later I was up for real, sipping some of that WaWa coffee that Kevin's taken a liking to as well. He's now coughing like I did a few days ago.

The clouds from yesterday were gone as the sun came up an hour later, and I was determined to drive out to the Chiricahuas to explore the Sage Peak trail. After some gardening I was finally out of the house and in the Escape with Sadie, driving east, at 8:40am. I counted ten USBP vans, SUVs, cars, even an SUV towing a horse trailer and another one towing an ATV trailer before I made it to Bisbee.

It's a pretty drive through Bisbee and then the Silver Springs Valley. The ocotillo and pink fairy dusters were in full bloom. Adobe homes dotted the landscape. Even the border with Mexico lookeded calm. I drove on AZ 90 east to Double Adobe Road to USHwy 191, through Elfrida and took that right turn east on Rucker Canyon Road, that doublewide dirt road into the canyon.

But as soon as I made it to the western slopes of the Chiricahua Mountains off Rucker Canyon Road, all I saw ahead of me where dark clouds. Then it began to rain as I drove up to the trailhead. It was 11:30am when I got to the trail head. I sat inside the truck for 40 minutes reading an old copy of Rolling Stone Magazine from April 2009 to idle the time. When the rain subsided, I decided to give the hike a try.

Ah, I thought, what's a little rain? Answer: A lot, especially when the rain jacket didn't repel rain. The drizzle turned into a downpour, then thunder and finally lightning. It was getting hard to see far ahead of me. Sadie was already drenched. A few shakes of her fur and she'd be dry for a few minutes, but the rain seemed to rejuvenate her. Perhaps the enhanced smells of the trail got her energized? The strong essence of juniper and sage had gotten me motivated. Too bad the rain just wouldn't relent.

I turned around at the 2.3 marker, at the Red Rock Springs. It was bone dry. I could no longer see the red rocks ahead of me, opted to turn around, and when I got back to the Escape managed to avoid a second hard downpour. I was now wet and chilled.

The dry washes I had passed going into the mountains were all flooded now with red, muddy, swirling waters churning downhill. I quickly drove through them all. Depressions in the road were also filled up with water.

Once out of the mountains and closer to the town of Elfrida, though, the sun shined. The storm had huddled the peaks but had kept the valley dry. I could see the front of the storm to the south.

I had the heat on since I was still wet and cold; my finger tips were feeling nippy. Ahead to my west were clear skies, which also turned dark once I got into the San Pedro Valley and once again got hit with a rainstorm when I got home at 4pm.

Kevin by now was feeling very sick and went to bed shortly after I got home.

So, what did I accomplished today? Not much. I drove almost two hours each way to hike just over four miles. I didn't even get to see the peak of Sage. But, I will be hiking this trail next Saturday, weather permitting, to the peak. The grade wasn't too bad, as half of the 5.4mile trail (o/w) is an old jeep trail. I would have had an elevation gain of 2654' had I made it to the 8360' peak today, which is not bad considering the five plus miles it takes to get to the peak. I can't wait to do this complete peak under more ideal weather conditions, such as the early fall! It's a quiet, secluded trail hugged by red rocks.

Our monsoon is returning!

The weather forecast for the last three days has been announcing the "return" of the monsoon this weekend. Chances of a heavy storm are very likely. We need the rain. We got a short but intense downpour yesterday afternoon just before I drove into town for my English class.

At 6:20am it's 69F at 62% humidity. This is a good sign.

I already have a lot of reading to do for my classes this weekend, and since I never know when I get called up for work I have to always keep ahead. However, if the rains aren't too bad I may reconnoiter the hike in the Chiricahuas on Sunday. This was the same hike I wanted to check out while on the last day of my road trip. I'm leading a hike up Sage peak next Saturday.

Right now the clouds are looking dark from the South. If it rains today I'll be happy as that saves us from watering the yard. It may also cool down the temperatures and I can walk the dogs later in the afternoon.

Sadie has been acting weird ever since I've been back from Baltimore. This morning I woke up and found my Spanish Behind the Wheel CD tapes, part of a self-learning Spanish course I listen to while driving, all over the floor. The cardboard covers were completely chewed through and I'm missing two CDs.

Yesterday she found some vanilla-flavored milk shake mix and got that all over the dining room area. She must have found a hidden stash Kevin put away somewhere in the garage; he has an entire cupboard full of powdered and canned foods there. Those cans and powdered mixes are all part of Kevin's survival stash.

Kevin said she got into some of my powdered coffee creamer when I was gone and licked up the entire contents. She always seems to be hungry and I'm always feeding her, yet she never gains any weight. If I don't supervise Sadie's food the other dogs will finish the food for her.

The bug

I caught some kind of bug while on the flight back from Baltimore. I arrived that night feeling a sore throat coming but didn't think anything of it, but now, two days later, I still have a runny nose, a cough and a headache I treat with two aspirins twice a day.

This means that I have been in a sleepy mode since coming back, resting at home with three canines surrounding me. I can still keep up with the classroom assignments but I nap inbetween.

I hate being under the weather in any way. Sadie looks at me with her desperate plea for a walk and the two older dogs surely feel the same way. Hopefully by this weekend I can make it up to the dogs and get them up in the foothills. I hope to be recovered from this nuisance by then as well.

My US History class started last night, taught by a passionate Bisbeeite who for 2:20 hours gave examples of why the Native Americans were not Savages as the Europeans labeled them. He didn't lecture chronologically, but by the time he got to 1607 (landing of the Mayflower) and 1619 (first landing in the colonies of a slave ship) he had us all convinced that Native Americans were not savages. I knew that anyway, which is why they fascinate me.

He talked about Yellowstone, the Wild Bill Cody museum, Chaco Canyon, Cayon de Chelly and other sites that I saw along my roadtrip. He mentioned Lewis and Clark. Cortez and Coronado flew off his lips. All those visuals I had from this past summer came back to my memory. History and Travel go so well together, but so do photography and good writing skills.

So here I sit, having eaten Kevin's left over donut and contemplating making a hot cup of tea with honey to sooth my throat and head. I've got reading to do for this history class. It's going to be one busy schedule again even with just four classes, three of which are writing intensive.

Back to school tomorrow!

I know my entries are short these last few days. I just wrote enough down to stir my memory for later, when I have more time to devote to writing the rest.

Sadie, according to Kevin, was a real pain in my absence.

"You mean she was a delinquent?"
"Not quite that...but she got into everything!"

I'll get the details tomorrow. I'm tired.

Flying back to Arizona

My cell phone alarm got me up at 4:30am this morning. Fifteeen minutes later I was in the shower, 30 minutes later I was downstairs drinking more gourmet coffee. Iris and Ed in all their morning glory went downstairs to see me off, with another coffee to go in my hand.

Iris gave me perfect directions to the BWI airport. I was there in 30 minutes. This time the counter help at Southwest wasn't nearly as friendly as they normally are. "Trish," the young blonde customer rep, talked condescendingly to me when I complained about the self-service monitor not accepting my imput.

"See? It's not difficult at all!" she exclaimed as she punched in my personal information to get my boarding pass. Why can't airlines just hire real people to do the check-in more effectively?

TSA personnel at this airport were mostly Russian, Haitian and other Third World Immigrants with heavy accents. But at least they were professional.

I kept busy with a book I purchased at the American Indian Museum: "Forgotten Allies," a detailed book about the Oneida Nation's collaboration with American rebels in the Revolutionary War. For their gratitude the US government took more land away from them, eventually forcing many to settle west of the Appalachian Mountains.

My flights back to Arizona were both crowded. My first flight put me in an aisle seat, but once back in Chicago (this time completely avoiding the Superdawg eatery) I got a window seat, and watched how the green fields below slowly gave way to brown, arid hills of the Southwest before we landed in the parched hills of Tucson. The gian open-pit mine of Morenci, AZ was quite visible from the air.

I do like the Tucson airport for its convenience. After grabbing my bag I hopped on the Economy Parking bus shuttle, and by 2:30pm, just 30 minutes after landing, I dropped off my bags of recyclables which sat in my SUV all week, and quickly got to Bookman's on Speedway where I turned in more books for credit, picked up two more.

I finished my stop in Tucson at Chuy's where I arrived just after the start of Happy Hour. I dined on a delicious order of chicken enchiladas that were grilled in sour cream. It was so tasty I ordered two more orders for Kevin for dinner.

After a short stop at the college to confirm the cancellation of one of my history courses (rats, as that means I have to take more history courses in subsequent semesters just to get my major completed!) I was home by 6:30pm.

I was glad to get back home again. As much as I love to travel, the pace of the last week was a bit too fast for me, but that's life on the East Coast. Despite the politics, culture and diversity of the Mid Atlantic, I do appreciate the more slower pace of our Southwest.

Hanging out with my sister

By Monday I was tired of driving and walking around and was quite content to just stay at home with Iris, Ed and the boys. They were on vacation this week and were using Monday as a day to get ready; they would leave early Tuesday morning for their drive to West Virginia where Iris had a week adventure vacation booked.

Everyone slept in. I got up early to help myself to some of Ed's gourmet coffee. Then I went upstairs to read more of my text book. Life didn't stir in most people until around 10am, when I helped Iris and Ryan take the two dogs to the kennel.

We stopped at a local grocery store for more fixins'. Dinner was a few hours later on the back deck over grilled steaks and turkey fillets.

Museum of the American Indian

I got up early and drove back into DC to visit the museum on Sunday. With an earlier-than-planned arrival at the Mall I opted to walk around the Capitol, letting time pass before the museum opened at 10am. Joggers, walkers and dog strollers were already out in full force. And so was the sun.

I had been to this museum in 2005 when it had opened, but back then just one floor was ready. This time I meandered around all four floors, starting with the 4th floor and circling downward.

I was especially interested in all things American Southwestern. of which there were a few exhibits, but there were so many other tribes that got no recognition: Nez Pierce, Blackfeet and the California tribes.

At 1:30pm I went into the auditorium to watch a 40-minute fictional movie about Native spirits. I left the museum at 3pm, exhausted. I was in no mood to walk some more, so I drove to the White House, found a convenient parking spot across from the WH and walked around the complex, spotting Michelle's Victory garden in the southwestern part of the lawn. Her garden isn't even that big, no more than a 20' x 20' raised bed garden.

The many vehicle barriers made walking cumbersome. I walked around the White House, both front and rear, talked to the No Nukes Widow who, together with her husband William Thomas, had been holding a daily vigil in front of the White House. Just like her husband Tom, she hid partially under the shade of a small tent, with a secret service cop on a bicycle watching her carefully. I remember this couple from the late 1980s.

The heat, the crowds and my fatigue kept me from exploring more. By 5:30pm I was ready to head back to Iris' place, taking the long way there through DC, driving north on Georgia before turning west to hit Connecticut Avenue which took me past the I-495 Beltway into Silver Springs, then on MD29 into Baltimore.

Dave's Wedding in Alexandria, VA

A heavy fog shrouded I-295 as I continued my drive south out of New Jersey. Like Dave told me in Delaware: a thick morning summer fog usually means a hot, humid day.

The highlight of my trip back East was Dave's wedding in Alexandria on Saturday, at a small lawyer's office off Cameron street. I made sure I was there on time, arriving in town at 9am after an early drive from NJ. The wedding was scheduled for 2pm, giving me enough time to walk around and explore.

The weekly Saturday morning Farmer's Market was in full session, with locals selling huge tomatoes, green peppers and other organically-grown produce.

I found a convenient parking spot across the street and walked around town, eating a bland lunch at the marina mall: a bland gyro with soggy fries.

I had been to Alexandria a few times over the years and didn't need to explore much this time. Everything looked just like it did 15 years ago. The fast-paced hike from yesterday still tired my thighs. I was happy to stroll up and down King Street, look at books at Books-a-Million, shop at clearance clothes at the Gap, and return in time for the 2pm showing.

There were a lot of people from Dave's office there, cramped into one narrow and hot back alley. Dave wore a grey suit but Renata looked stunning in her pink top. She was downright elegant with her blonde hair, pink puckered lips and high heels.

She choked while repeating her vows. I choked, too.

And after a short reception in the building, we walked a half block to the King Street Blues Cafe and sat upstairs, all 18 of us along several tables joined together. I sat in a booth with several other women, wives of Dave's co-workers who were just as bored as I was having to listen to the men talk "shop" the entire time. Was there really nothing else to talk about but the latest $24 million defense contract, or the last fun TDY to Puerto Rico?

Luckily I befriended the German wife of one of the men, and another wife of another man. Otherwise I would have felt so left out. Since Dave sat on the far end of the table he had no direct contact to me, but came by twice briefly to chat with me.

But otherwise I probably could have not needed to come if it weren't to witness an old friend of mine get married. The short three-minute ceremony was nicely done.

Two hours later we were all going our separate ways, and since Alexandria held no special bond to me, I drove north into DC and walked the Mall there, visiting the Museum of American History for 90 minutes before it closed at 7pm. I walked around the WWII Memorial, the FDR statue, the Eclipse, around the Jefferson Memorial (where cobwebs hung from Jefferson's head!) back to my car. That was another 2:20 hours of walking in the humidity.

What else was there to do now that I've walked the Mall? Find a hotel, that is. I drove to Falls Church for that, where rates were lower, but the traffic never seemed to ease up. The only advantage of driving around the DC-Balto area is listening to C-SPAN radio. That's all I had on my car radio, with the tuner set to FM 90.1.

New Jersey

It was 12:20pm Friday afternoon when I finally left Jill's house, driving north on I-95. All I remembered of this stretch was that I had to stay far right on I-95 to get on the Delaware Memorial Bridge and then I-295.

Landing on the Jersey side after three minutes seemed anti-climactic. There I was, driving past chemical plants and I was excited to be back in the Garden State?!

And I was. I finally started to remember exits, landmarks, jug handles (left turns from right lanes) and Route 38 past Cherry Hill, Vincenttown, Mount Holly.

I stopped at a nursery off Route 38 and asked about tomato plants. "Lady, the garden season is over!" exclaimed the man. Yes, I thought, but not in Arizona! yet I left the nursery empty-handed. I couldn't even buy any heirloom seeds here.

I stopped at the White Dotte ice cream stand further east on NJ38 for a vanilla-orange sherbet swirled corn, just as I liked it years ago. I drove around my old neighborhood in Pemberton, stopped at the Pemberton Historical Society where I chatted with a volunteer manning the old rail road station. A local of Browns Mills, this man had been in the area for 30 years. He followed me around the small building as if he were watching my every move. Did he think I was going to run off with an old rail road tie?

A new WaWa store is now across the museum, a 24-hour gas station that wasn't there before. I would stop at the old, smaller Wawa further north several times a week to get coffee on my way to work when I lived here in 2000 through 2004. WaWa coffee is as good as Dunkin Donuts, but only people from eastern PA, NJ and DE are familiar with WaWa. The new station opened earlier this year. The old WaWa now stands vacant.

I was anxious to see more of the town that once was my home, but I was also interested in hearing this museum volunteer. Through him I learned that Tom Darlington, the grandson of Elizabeth White, had died in 2007. She was the founder of the hybrid Jersey blueberry, and owner of the prestigious Whitesbog blueberry orchards of the area. Tom had hosted the annual blueberry festival every year until he died.

http://www2.scc.rutgers.edu/njh/SciANDTech/Agriculture/blueberry_text.htm

Thinking about blueberries made me long to pick some of the luscious berries myself, if only I got to the old abandoned orchard in time before the Friday night hike. If I left soon and went straight to the orchards, I could pick a small bag of berries and still make it to the 7pm hike.

I walked 1.5 miles out and back along the Pemberton rail trail, stopping at Rancocas creek before turning around. I didn't want to walk too much and then tire myself out before the hike.

The old bog looked the same. After a scary fall into a foot of sugar sand in my rental car which required the help of another local to help dig me out, I made it to the blueberry orchard. Dwayne, my rescuer, was a local man who comes to the bog every week to hike or jog. He used a modified jumper cable set to pull the Aveo from the rear. I was burried in the front digging out the front tires with my hands while he pulled, looking like I had dug a deep grave with my hands.

I walked inside another WaWa to get some bottled water for the hike, knowing well that everyone, even the "Pineys" were looking at me.

I drove to Brendan Byrne State Park were most Fridays I'd meet with the Outdoor Club of New Jersey and hike with Alison, Mike, Bob, Joe and his wife Marge (now wife Liz) and a few other locals anywhere from six to nine miles around the Pine Barrens at a fast pace.

Bob was the first one to show up, parking on the opposite end of the parking lot from me. He recognized me first.

"Connie?"
"Bobby!"

And thus the reunion began. Joe also recognized me, introduced me to his new wife Liz ( Marge and Joe divorced the year after we left NJ) and Mike arrived just at 7pm without Allison. Allison had taken a last-minute flight to see her sister in California. Bummer that I didn't get to see her, but the walk with the guys was fun enough. A new hiker, Steve from Brooklyn, added additional accents.

I was never good at finding my way around the Barrens. All the intersections looked the same. My night vision from the summer haze was also affected, so that I felt like I was walking through a foggy darkness at times. Three meteors from the leftover Perseids flew overhead, and brown bats added to the ambiance.

This is how I remember the Pine Barrens, and it was worth coming back for. My clothes were completely wet from the humidity when we got back to the cars at 10:20pm, hiking 9.2 miles according to Mike's calculations. Cicadas were buzzing in the treetops but the whip-o-wills were silent.


```More later

Iris and Jill

Iris had an early surgery to tend to but then came back at 9am, as scheduled, and together we went out to a six-hour breakfast at a nearby bagel place.

I didn't think we would sit there in the shade THAT long but one topic led to the next. It was the kind of sisterly conversation we didn't have during the Lake Powell reunion, simply because of all the other stress factors. Mom, men, our kids were the primary topics.

We'd take small breaks when her phone went off and she had to answer the hospital's questions. She was on call, dressed in her scrubs, but never had to go in. I probably would have just left and driven north to Newark. We'd refill our cups with soda and coffee as we chatted.

Time flew by. I had to get going by 3pm to meet Jill 70 miles north in Newark DE. Finding the proper exit from Iris' I-795 wasn't easy and I didn't have a good map to guide me. When I landed at a Johns Hopkins satellite campus with a directional sign to I-695 I felt better oriented.

The traffic, however, all over the I-95 corridor is just too much for me. I got off at the first Newark, DE exit, which got me to town, but then where was Jill's exit near a railroad bridge? I ended up wandering like Moses all over agricultural roads, coming close to town but nothing seemed familiar. I wanted to call Jill as soon as I saw a landmark, but at 5:20pm she beat me to it.

She and Dave got on their computer's Google Earth and guided me, taking me from the south of town on DE73 to her area. As soon as I came across the town's old Paper Mill, I recognized the neighborhood.

Again I sat in their kitchen and we chatted about everything. Jill had lost 40 pounds and was proud of that, but I had never known her to be heavy. If she gained 40 pounds after we last saw eachother, perhaps, but those pounds aren't coming back. She swears by eating all organic foods and adding probiotics to her diet.

She, too is now talking again with her sister Lynda, who's back in Oregon.

We were up until 11pm before I finally went to bed, still a little jet lagged and exhausted.

Friday morning Jill was up early, but I didn't crawl out of bed until almost 8am. She had a chiro appointment at 9am and Dave had an appointment to get his hair cut, so I walked around the Newark reservoir that Jill helped design, walking through the Redd Park that meandered through a small forest patch.

The reservoir stands at 320 feet above ground, which for Delaware is high. I could see into town. When I left NJ in 2004 the reservoir had been dug but for a while there was a stand-still with the final project; something to do with the contractor getting sued for not following the blueprint.

Now, however, the reservoir is full and used as a recreational area for the nearby residents.
People were walking their dogs, pushing strollers or jogging around the one-mile body of water.

I got back to Jill's house in 1:20 hours, a little longer than planned. We had a lunch of all-organic sandwiches of turkey and cheese and sourdough bread before I drove off at noon. Jill and Dave were gettign ready for their sailing weekend in the C-bay and left shortly after I took off.

It was easier for me to drive out of town than it was getting into it.

Familiar Skies

Our departure from Chicago was somehow delayed as we sat waiting for take-off in the warm plane. I was engrossed in my book. A wasp had flown up to my window and groomed itself for a while before flying off to more pleasant smells.

"FWEE PWANES, MOMMY! I SEE FWEE BWO PWANES!" Little Bub behind me shouted with glee as he pointed at three blue Southwest planes parked nearby. Bud was an energetic, loquacious five-year-old towhead behind me.

"Are they going to other airpawts, too?" he added. Bud's Mom was busy tending to her two children. Bud's loud enthusiasm awakened me from my trance. Bud's entire world for the 30 minutes we waited to take off evolved around all the in- and out-going planes; where they all going to the same place, how many more planes where there?

It took us nine minutes to fly from Chicago-Midway to Crown Point, IN, a distance of about 35 miles and 45 minutes by car. I saw the Chicago skyline rise up over the haze, then fade away as with it the circular Indiana shoreline came to view with its many oil refineries and steel mills. I could even see the famed Michican City steel mill in the distance, toward the horizon where Michian's shoreline takes an abrupt turn to the north. I could see the entire southern portion of Lake Michigan as the plane quickly turned south. This area was the area of my early childhood, before my life took an abrupt change for the restless vagabond I still seem to be.

I saw the outlines of Crown Point, Hebron and Lake Shafer before those, too disappeared. I saw the wind farm of Kerland. After that the towns were unrecognizable in the grid pattern of square miles and lush green farm fields. It was just three months ago that I drove those roads below me. Even from the air Indiana looks serene.

The flight path followed I-65 into Indianapolis where many passengers deplaned. Bud and his family stayed on, and another woman sat between me and the Dutch man.

Once we resumed our final leg into Baltimore the hills of Appalachia weren't too far behind. The sun was dropping low now and details blurred into dusk, but I managed to see the Alleghenies of Pennsylvania/West Virginia and Maryland come to life, those uniquely north-south running ridgelines interspersed with flat-topped mountains, roads, paths, and rivers snaking through the vallies. What was brown and tan back in the Southwest was now green, black and sprinkled with meandering waterways.

These are my beloved hills of the Appalachian trail, the trail that Kevin and I together would hike on long weekends. By the time we had left New Jersey in 2004, we had hiked from central Virginia to central Massachusetts. That passion had taken us three years.


Memories.

I didn't want the sun to set any further until I was safely on the ground. The Chesapeake Bay came into view, then the Harbor and then I was at the airport in a gentle drizzle. It was 7:20 when I stood at the baggage claim trying to call my sister but my cell phone received no reception. How was I going to find my way to her place, north of town? And where was everything inside the airport? All those times I was at BWI it was to drop off people, and not to fly in or out myself.

When I left the terminal for the rental car agency the sweltering humidity overcame me. Yes, I was definitely back East! The sun was ready to set low over the hills, quickly disappearing in the grey clouds.

The rental car agency was fast and efficient, although the customer representative, Lauren, was almost too sweet. I opted for the cheapest car --cheapest being relative with all the add-ons the company mounted on the final bill. My result was an Aveo with no CD player, which made the Spanish tapes I brought with me to listen to useless. "Compact" was it. The car was so small that more than my two carry-ons would have made the car cluttered.

I managed to quickly get on I-695 northbound. Although by now the skies were dark I had a sense of where I was going. Sedans in four lanes on either side of me all passed me going much faster, weaving in and out of lanes. This was typical East Coast traffic: people driving fast cars, driving recklessly, just to get to their destinations faster. This sort of driving never bothered me before, in fact, I found it infectious when I was here years ago, but now I've realized I'm more comfortable with overmedicated seniors driving RVs slowly in the fast lane. The angst of New Jersey had left me several years ago.

I have become a Southwestener.

Lauren was right: I would make it to Owings Mills, where my sister lives, in 30 minutes. A light drizzle fell as I drove around town. The town's mall was still open but few cars remained in the parking lot. Sidewalks were dark and void of human presence.

She was still at work but gave me directions to her house via cell phone, where her boyfriend was waiting for me. After all these years I finally got to meet the man in her life, Ed. Her house, a typical three-story townhouse, towered high with all the other townhouses squeezed into small plots. What grows vertically on the East grows horizontally out West. I prefer smaller homes on large plots, for gardens and orchards rather than furniture and structure.

Ed and I chatted for the entire time until Iris came home shortly afterwards. We talked the standard stuff; family affairs from years gone by. "You are so much like your sister!" he told me, which I hope was a compliment. The rescued yellow Lab Lucky whom they found injured in town a few years ago with a cracked jaw and broken leg, licked me on my face while the more spastic Corgi Baxter was more interested in sniffing me out.

But, despite all the joy of finally being back East, the three-hour time difference meant it was approaching midnight and both Ed and Iris needed to get up for work the next day. We promised to resume our visit on Monday, the day I'm back in the area after a weekend in DC. We will spend the time together all day before we all depart for different points early Tuesday morning.

Leo the black cat slept with me all night, purring and pawing me for "more hand." I was up late updating this blog and didn't get to sleep until almost 3am. Thunder rumbled in the distance and a soft rain fell. A good sleep would get me caught up with the time zone. Despite the hectic arrival it's nice to be back here.

Ellen

Kevin and I left the house at the same time, he for his office and I for the Tucson airport and the Southwest Airlines terminal. The dogs had no time to figure out what was going on; I could very well have left for a day of teaching.

This was the first time in a long time that I didn’t feel anxious about leaving on a trip. I had slept well the night before and got up promptly at 4:45am to shower and drink some coffee. I didn't even grow tired on the highway.

Nor did I have the urge to pee before getting to the airport after two large cups of sweet coffee.

I made it to the airport at 7:20am. I walked through security with two small carry-ons. In my haste this morning to leave early enough I had completely forgotten about the TSA rules of no liquids, gels or paste larger than 3.4 ounces in carry-on luggage.

I had packed a wine bottle, some mouth wash and my large toothpaste tube in my carry-on. All three were contrabands. Shit. The federal rules were even displayed at the front of the check-in counter. I had failed to read and heed.

The TSA agent made me go back and declare my second carry-on. In her defense she treated me professionally; in Philadelphia I would have been body-slammed against the wall for all to see and finger-searched by a 300-pound pageant drop-out. It was my experiences at the Philadelphia airport after 911 that completely turned me off to flying.

The Southwest agent made me purchase bubble-wrap for the wine for $5. “This way we won’t need to clean up a mess should that bottle break and get over other peoples’ luggage” said the young man.

“So you mean you can’t guarantee me that this wine bottle won’t break?”
“No.”
“Will I get reimbursed if it breaks?”
“No.”

With my wine, toothpaste and mouthwash now safely in my checked luggage and any doubts that I may be a potential terrorist plotting a bomb attack using wine, toothpaste and mouth wash as the active ingredients, I entered the secure zone. With 30 minutes before boarding I managed to log-online from the free WiFi hotspot and read email before boarding.

Shortly after 9am we were in the air, and not a second past wheel lift did my seatmate to my left, Ellen, start a conversation with me. When people start a conversation with me as soon as I sit down, I get suspicious.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

I showed her the book I chose as reading material for this short trip: “The Multi-Cultural Southwest” a reader compiled by four editors. This book is required for my Humanities course “Cultural Heritage of the Southwest”

One question led to the next and within an hour I knew all of Ellen’s life’s highs and lows. In her 70s and sporting a short blondish-grey page-boy, she travels between Tucson and Chicago every summer. She and her husband have a lakefront home in Chicago. This past summer she’s flown to Chicago three times already for two-week stays. I could tell Ellen was a woman of wealth and prestige. She was no crumbling cookie.

“I absolutely love Chicago!” she admitted. But this time she was flying to Chicago to visit her ailing 98-year-old father who just this past weekend was given days to live until he awoke from his coma yesterday.

“He just woke up this past weekend and started bossing everyone around him. He’s ready to sue the entire hospital.! It was better off when he wasn’t aware of his surroundings!“

While Ellen talked I’d glance out the window to the clear landscape below. Within an hour we were already flying over Albuquerque and the greening hills, a distance that would take me most of a day by car. Weather was clear for most of the flight.

But the real issue, I quickly learned, was that Ellen’s dad had been bossy and cantankerous for the past ten years, after his wife died and he felt his independence slip away. Her younger sister died when she was still young so Ellen de facto is an only child to an aging widowed parent.

“When people get old, they turn on their own children!” Ellen confessed . To Ellen “old” meant someone in their 90s. To my daughter “old” is someone my age.

“I have lawyer friends who say old people come into their offices all the time wanting to take their kids out of their will!” she went on, “and they have to counsel these people that that is not always the best thing to do.”

The conversation took so many twists, all which I let happen. Ellen clearly was guiding the topics, from her dislike for Hillary and Bill Clinton to Barack Obama. “I do not agree with their policies but they are all very smart people”

Topics like illegal immigration, mounting tension between Israel and Iran, health care reform all flowed from her lips in rapid-fire succession.

She was animated when she spoke, gesturing with her eyes and hands to emphasize importance to her message. She didn’t come across as a woman who sits still for long or who stays quiet for long. For an older woman she undoubtedly makes many younger women breathless with her energy.

So it was no surprise that I learned that Ellen takes Humanities courses through the University of Arizona’s non-credit courses. She’s taken courses on Spanish Film, Venetian art, etc. “I have friends who come to Tucson every year just to attend the Humanities programs at UA!”

She was a life-long student of life, just like me. I had found a likeness of me. But because of Ellen’s high-speed dialogue I mostly listened and sat back, watching the topics unfold. After learning about her father’s ailing health and the poor health of her own husband, I knew that my presence and our similarities was a means for Ellen to unload; the stress of traveling between Tucson and Chicago these last few months have taken their toll on Ellen’s emotional health.

The screaming baby behind us didn’t help matters. The little girl, 8-month-old Emily, screamed, pushed her legs against our seat backs, cried, fussed and made her mother uncomfortable.

“Can’t you get up and walk her for half an hour!” Ellen asked the woman behind us. Oh my god, I thought, I am witnessing a fight between two frustrated strangers and I am in the middle. I wanted to best slide down my seat and hide.

“Why don’t you just find another seat?” said the disgusted father. That would have been impossible in the crowded plane. We had no place to go. Even a flight attendant asked the parents if they could give the screaming baby a bottle

“Give her a bottle so she has something to suck on!“ Ellen fired back.

The tension started getting to me. “The little baby can’t help it, the pressure is hurting her!” I said. Another baby in the front of the plane was also crying. My ears were hurting from the pressure, too.

When Emily finally quieted down, both Ellen and I were engrossed in our own books. When we landed at 2pm local time we quickly wished each other a good trip and much luck for each other’s families. I was relieved that the situation between Ellen and Emily didn’t escalate to more than a few heated remarks. I sympathized with everyone: for the child in pain, the frustrated parents, and the elderly woman next to me who wanted her peace.

I like Chicago-Midway. The last time I flew into Midway was during my Iraq leave in June 2007. This time I wasn’t walking the aisles in a desert camouflage uniform. I didn’t have much free time before my second flight leg departing at 3:05pm. That was just enough time to grab a Chicago hotdog at Superdawgs. I ordered the works without the hot peppers and got a small dog in a soggy bun with green tomatoes, diced onions, mustard and runny orange cheese. The fries were heavily dusted with celery salt. Was this supposed to be a Chicago-style hotdog? I didn’t care, I was hungry.

The B terminal was hot and crowded. Why did I expect traveling midweek would evade the crowd? My only consolation was that I didn’t have to wait very long to board my next flight. I hadn’t even started eating my dog when I was already in my new seat, this time against the window in the far rear of the plane. A man dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt, black pants and socks and shoes, sat in the aisle seat near me and opened up a book bearing Dutch words; something about soccer. His stance told me he was here to read, to be left alone and to hurry on to his destination. I knew then that this second leg of my flight would be a quiet one.

Leaving Sadie behind...

Early Wednesday I am taking off for Baltimore. An old army pal of mine is getting married this Saturday and I want to take the time off to visit my sister in Baltimore, and friends Jill and Ali in both Delaware and New Jersey. I haven't seen Jill since 2004 when we lived in NJ and I haven't seen Ali since my trip to DC in late 2005. Together we will hike the Pine Barrens Friday night.

It's going to be the first time I have been separated from Sadie since she came into our lives last summer. Will we both survive the separation?

I will be back on the 18th and will jump right into my new fall semester.

Lost hiker in our woods

I read this and thought "Hmm, what if that had been us? We were in that general area." What would frighten me would be all the night-time activity of border crossers sneaking across.

___

County Search and Rescue helps hiker lost at night in the mountains
Published: Tuesday, August 11, 2009 2:16 AM MST

An exhausted hiker was rescued from the Huachuca Mountains late Saturday.

Cochise County Search and Rescue received a 911 call from a woman late Saturday night, SAR spokesman Raul Limon said. The tired hiker stated she was not sure of her location and she did not have a flashlight. She told rescuers she could see lights and had seen a pond before nightfall.

U.S. Border Patrol agents assisted the team and searched the Brown Canyon overlook, Pomona Mine trail and Fort Huachuca’s South Range.

Search and Rescue teams focused their search in the Ramsey Canyon area and made voice contact with her in the Ramsey Canyon Preserve area. Rescuers were able to triangulate her position. The woman was eventually rescued from a ridge between Ramsey and Brown canyons.

Sawmill Trail

Today was my first real hike since coming home from my road trip, a group hike with club members into our own Huachuca Mountains.

It was a butt-kicker of a hike! Despite the easy elevation of 6200-8700' the heat kicked my butt and Sadie's too. Despite my whining I am glad I didn't have to drive far for this high-elevation hike. I'm still not recovered from that roadtrip.

There were five of us on this hike, all diehards from the hiking club: Brenda, Gordon, Rod, Paul and I. Sadie and Chalita warmed up quickly to each other and soon became playmates and wrestling mates.

The trailhead is on Fort Huachuca, which was 14 miles into the post and the back roads, driving Garden Canyon to the end where just a few years ago a Boy Scout's hut still lay. The hut is now gone, victim of an attempted arson a few years ago. The only other people we saw at the trail head were birders in a van, loaded with binoculars and bird guides. We had the trail to ourselves.

Brenda and I started the hike up front, with the "boys" behind us. We talked about school, our college plans, and future hikes in the Arizona-New Mexico area. We were so busy we never saw a ridge-nose rattle snake off the trail. The "boys" behind us had seen it after we had walked past it. No doubt with the hot, dry weather lately we would be likely to come across a few snakes today. After that news of the snake my eyes were fixed on the ground.

The trail started out easy for the first half mile, but it soon narrowed and got steeper as it meandered around Ponderosa pine, Alligator Junipers, oaks, thornbrush and various other desert flora to the Crest Trail a 8300.' There hadn't been much rain up here in a while.

And that mid-morning sun wouldn't relent. We took water breaks after every mile.

The Sawmill Springs was still running, albeit not with full force. It was the only water source along the entire route, and a godsend for Sadie as without this spring to refill the water jugs, we would have been hurting.

Brenda, the hike leader, wanted to take us on a loop hike but when we reached the Sheelite Canyon trail Rod suggested we try bushwhacking up Ramsey Peak and then down to Paloma Mine. I had never done either, and it wasn't that far away. The trails were "illegal" trails, trails that Mexican border crossers have etched into the landscape over time. These trails tend to be steep, hidden, and full of trash. Today's trail was also full of poison ivy. Wild onion grew abundantly on the northern slopes.

However, Rod's GPS wasn't working well and we ended up on the wrong ridge. With little water left for the dogs, we had no option now but to backtrack where we came.

The views from our vantage point where quite pretty, though, as we were in the middle of the mountain range. We could see both the town of Sierra Vista to the north as well as Sonora, Mexico to our south. Mount Wrightson to our northwest was also visible. A high meadow full of large yellow wildflowers grew amid a forest of tall pines.

Skies were partly clouded and a cool breeze blew over the ridge. I can't complain about the scenery as I saw routes I've never seen before. What was a little risky was the loose trail and overgrown roots that caused a few of us to lose our hold a few times. Even I fell and got a superficial cut in my right hand.

Sadie burned out after only five miles, victim to the heat despite the shade. When we got back to Sawmill springs the second time we all rested, and the dogs slobbered up a lot of water while the rest of us rested our legs. We had gone up and down quite a few hills today and hiked just 8.3 miles. I was exhausted.

We never came across other hikers until we were less than a mile from our cars.

I treated the group to some Montana and New Mexican beers before we all departed. I didn't get home until almost 5pm. Kevin had chicken and beef fajitas ready for us. Sadie crashed on the floor next to me. I was so tired, even after a filling meal that I went to bed at 8:30pm. (When was the last time I went to bed before 10pm?) Even Sadie slept soundly next to me.

Back to school

"It's so good to see you again!" said Ms Mead, my anthropology instructor last semester who inspired me to go back to school full-time. She was in the testing office, where she works during the summer months. I had gone into that building to check on CLEP test dates for Spanish.

We chatted for a while. I told her about my road trip, how I visited several Indian reservations, talked to Lakota, and how kind they were to let me spend the night on their land to watch the sun rise over Wounded Knee.

"The Lakota were so much more willing to talk to me than the Apache! [Ndeh]" I explained, referring to my visit last spring to the San Carlos Apache Indian reservation to interview the locals and describe the towns. She sat back and listened with awe.

And as I talked, the old road trip replayed in my mind. Although I'll never remember on what date I was where because all the days ran into one another, the one date I remember is 25 June because that was when I was at Little Big Horn battle site, on the battle's anniversary. (That was also the day Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died). I had just crossed the Yellowstone River east of Bozeman when Jackson's death came over the radio.

I am taking a full load this semester, first one since my undergrad days. And I went ahead and declared a history major, using the education courses last semester as electives. If all works out, I will also take as many English classes as well.

I dropped off my official transcripts as well. Hopefully the college will give me credit for all those required courses I took years ago, like ENG101. I really don't want to take ENG102 if I can get credit for the other English courses.

Another class that looks interesting is "Cultural Heritage of the Southwest" with an emphasis on Hispanic and Native American events and literature. This course may inspire me to take other road trips next year.

One thing that I was not able to take were Spanish courses. I may have to do all that catching up next summer, taking intensive Spanish 101 and 102. Although I should get college credit for the French and German courses of years gone by, it's Spanish that is essential here in Arizona. State workers pretty much are hired on their competence in both English and Spanish.

There's a swim-hike this weekend that Brenda is leading, nearby in the Dragoons. Kevin may come along. That will be a first in a long time. It's going to be fun seeing everyone again in three months. I've been rather sedentary since arriving back home; it's hard to get motivated when temperatures hover around 100F.