From Texas, and LouisianaMississippiAlabamaTennesseeKentuckyWestVirginiaMaryland, to Virginia! - Pt 2 AlabamaTennesseeKentuckyWestVirginia

Last time we talked about the beginning of the trip - Louisiana and Mississippi, leaving off with Moss Point, MS on the Gulf Coast...

We crossed through Mobile (which has the COOLEST tunnel under their port.... or so I thought until I drove under Baltimore's bay in the COOLEST tunnel ever!) and headed up to Montgomery, or Birmingham (i don't remember) to crash for the night at a campground. This was back in the day when I needed showers and flush toilets and was willing to pay for them, like a CHUMP, at a private campground. Nowadays I am willing to forgo those niceties for a FREE campground :-).

The next day we headed up to Lynchburg, TN to visit the Jack Daniels Distillery. Neither R or myself is in to whiskey but why not visit anyway. The distillery is set in the hills and is a gorgeous ride... much like the Maker's Mark Distillery visit of my youth. It was a great way to be introduced to the Appalachians. After that stop, we continued north to visit Mammoth Cave National Park. On a previous road trip, R and I went to Carlsbad Caverns National Park, and we liked it so much, we decided to check out another one. This cave was very very different from Carlsbad. No huge rooms like "the Big Room", but with over 300 miles of underground riverway, there was plenty to explore.

We chose to hit a ranger-guided tour that involved a bus ride to a more remote part of the cave. There, in a wooded dirt parking lot, was a pad-locked metal doorway into the side of a small hill. Only slightly creepy. The guide warned us that there were over 100 metal steps to go down right at the beginning to get into the main chambers, and they were slippery. Slightly more creepy. He failed to mention the THOUSANDS of SPIDERS that were living at the entrance on the roof overhead, waiting for the door to open and admit the tiniest amount of light. Once they see the light, they begin to bounce. OMG way more creepy!
(If you need a refresher on my history with spiders.... here, and here.) And you can't run, NO, not with the slippery steps of death or the line of 30 people who all want to run with you. NO! I spent the whole walk down the steps alternatively pushing the old man in front of me and squealing "get them off of me!". In actuality, there were no spiders on me. It's a mind-fuck.

Once we got down to the bottom, everyone chilled out. The place was cool and damp, dark and long. Its not overly decorated like Carlsbad but it has some fantastic history. The locals used it as a tuberculosis ward back during the Civil War and up to the turn of the century. Awesome! Survive the spiders to die by TB...

We did survive, and drove on up to Louisville and headed west to West Virginia. In all honesty, I don't remember West Virginia on that trip.... sorry West Virginians. Here - interesting fact to make up for lack of being memorable - If you ironed West Virginia flat, it'd be larger than Texas.

Ok, moving on to Maryland and Baltimore next time!

*If you took nothing else away from this piece, remember to always ask if there will be spiders on your cave tours....

Vacationing in Northern New Mexico... part 3 - Campfires and Pecos history

ok... so we left off with camping and freezing, right?

We drove up into the mountains just outside million dollar homes overlooking Santa Fe, arriving at a gorgeous pine-scented forest service campground with the BEST campsites I've ever seen on public land. At 9,000 feet and with an afternoon storm blowing in (I'm completely convinced that it dumped snow somewhere nearby), it got cold pretty quickly. M went off in search of water (all the spigots were still shut off due to impending May snow), and I quickly put on layers... a long underwear layer, followed by a thermal layer, followed by a fleece skintight layer, followed by a fleece vest layer. To top off my ensemble, I pulled Lennox's Mexican blanket out of the car and wrapped it around me baby-burrito style.

I'm clearly more of a 'sun' person.

When M came back and saw me, he simply laughed and announced that he was heading out into the woods for firewood.... To keep moving, and keep warm, I worked on putting up the tent.

My man and his fire, keeping my feet warm

Reheating his BBQ sandwich from earlier in the day

We spent several hours warming by the fire, reading and talking, while unknown birds made foreign noises above us. M was in charge of keeping the home fires burning while I was in charge of discovering how awesome burning pine cones look. :-) I had leftover cake for dinner - using the theory that Eskimos eat whale blubber and Iditarod dudes eat sticks of butter to keep warm. Denial.... or Genius.....?

Finally the sun went down and I had to add a final layer to my very bulky frame.

Once the fire was out and it was officially too cold, I headed to the bathroom one final time. In this super-awesome campground there was only one issue... the bathroom. Bathroom isn't the term to be used. Latrine is more accurate. A pit-toilet in the freezing cold with spiders and beetles watching can only be described as a latrine. I had girl scout camp flashbacks.... (I should totally tell you guys about my experiences at camp. Another time.) I had taken the flashlight and the lantern with me into the outhouse, but was surprised when I opened the door and a motion-detected light came on. I was more surprised when the fucking light went out 70 seconds later, just as I had pulled my pants (all of my pants) down around my ankles and was hovering (NEVER sit...) over the hole! Before the spiders and beetles could attack, I calmly (re. totally freaked out) ran around, still pants around ankles, trying to find my lantern or flashlight that I had turned off in total confidence of the damn light. I kicked the flashlight into beetle territory and was not going to go fishing for it in the dark. I managed to get the lantern on after what felt like 5 hours. As I stood up, I triggered the motion-light and the room was bright once again.

Note To the Dumb-ass Latrine Designer Guys: Point the fucking motion detector at the toilet, not the corner by the door! OR change the timer for 5 minutes! Who pees, or worse, in 70 seconds from pants down to pants up?!

Anyway, after escaping death in the latrine I headed back to camp to tell M all about my experience. Humility is healthy....


M went right to sleep. I did not. I read until my fingers were frozen then burrowed deep into my 20 degree bag, still in all the layers and the coat, under the Mexican blanket. Throughout the night, as i got warmer and more claustrophobic, I pulled off the layers until I was down to just the one super-sexy electric purple long underwear.

The next morning - I really don't remember the next morning. There was no coffee. I remember that. The plan was to drive back down to spring temperatures and find a breakfast spot with cheap food and tons of coffee.

Once appropriately fueled, we headed to Pecos National Historic Site. M had a friend to see there and I had a passport stamp to acquire.

Ever wonder the difference in quality between a really nice digital camera and an iPhone?  Here....

Top: M's camera with a large battery... mine died. Bottom: my iPhone


Pecos was cool - and by that I mean cold, windy, and truly interesting.

An homage to geology?

I'm totally sure that goofing off for cameras is what the scary evil Conquistadors
had in mind when they built this chapel and killed any natives who wouldn't
submit to the lord.... yep, totally accurate.

heathen!

not to be outdone by the Conquistadors, the natives had their own
ceremonial chambers

heathen squirrel....

totally M's camera, my iPhone wouldn't get this awesome

After hanging with M's friend and touring the grounds, we headed back onto the highway and crossed the most boring section of New Mexico ever created. They really should have tested bombs here, and not in the mountains near the Trinity Site. 5 hours and tons of Todd Snider later, we were back home.

The unpacking took days, but the showering off 5 days of grime took minutes. Nothing feels as good as a shower after a long camping trip!

More Proof That I am Not a Botanist

Backyard Mystery Flower

The other day M and I noticed these gorgeous guys blooming in his backyard. I asked M what it was and he answered "a vinca"...  As this vinca was an unknown flower to me, I immediately took a photo so that I could look it up later on my awesome Audubon Flower app.

Cut to yesterday, I've got some downtime at work so I start my search for the mystery flower, inputting the info that I have.

         Color: purple and blue

         Habitat: urban and suburban

         Month: April

         Flower Shape: lobed (after some googling)

And what pops up?! As some of you may have guessed, a damned PERIWINKLE! (Latin Species vinca) Clearly, I am not a botanist.

Stay tuned for more - I'm sure to discover pansies, roses, and friggin' dandelions soon.

(ps - I bet the other Audubon Wildflower users were thrilled to see my periwinkle sighting.)

A List of Random Things You May or May Not Know About Me

• I only need about 10 minutes of Justified-watching before my southern accent comes on thicker than cold molasses.
• Speaking of Timothy Olyphant, can we all just agree that he should only ever wear a wife-beater (look it up!) or appear shirtless?
• If I were a water-molecule on a highway, I'd prefer to be run-over by an AquaTread tire.... the idea of shooting down the middle tread like a flume sounds fun.
• I've been named the VOOP... the official Voice-Of-Organ-Pipe. Call Organ Pipe Cactus NM and listen to the voice on the phone tree. That's me!
• My toes are double-jointed..... freaked out my parents when I was young.
• I love those gross late-night surgery shows that are on Discovery Health.
• I guess you've already read how I have an odd belief that bodies are going to float up beneath me when I'm sitting in a body of water. No? Read it here....
• The first bottle of wine I ever opened was tough to get into but I managed to work the corkscrew. Upon showing my parents the fruits of my labor, they laughed and pointed out that it was a screw-top bottle....
• I love period-films but anything involving amputation scenes is unacceptable.
• Severe Roach Phobia
• I enjoy crosswords mainly because it involves placing letters in tiny neatly arranged boxes
• I can't stand to watch, or be watched, people brushing their teeth. The beginning of Stranger Than Fiction was tough for me.
• If I ever have a child, I want it to be a girl so I can name her after my grandma. Little baby Evelyn... I'm sure I'll regret my desire as soon as she hits her pre-teens.
• One year for Christmas I gave my father a box of bat-shit... he's a gardener.
• And then one birthday, I received my father's ponytail in the mail.
• I was a twirler... and was offered a scholarship for it.
• I'm the first born in my family  



my 1st birthday

• My favorite time of the year is Fall. I love the changing colors on the trees and plants; I love the crisp fall air; I love baking fall treats.
• I broke my foot but demanded a walking cast only because I was planning to visit Big Bend NP and wanted to be able to hike.
• I've recently discovered that most of my travels are to the same places as my grandparents. Very odd...
• I took, and taught, photography in college.
• I busted my tooth on my swingset in elementary school

see the pull-up bar on the left...
it will forever have a dent from my tooth!

• I love architecture!
• I've been vegetarian for many years and am embarking on veganism.
• I was the last of 4 grandchildren to get a tattoo.
• I was pretty terrified of everything as a child. Sometime in high school that all changed and my life of adventure began.
• I've taken road trips my entire life; with my family as a child and with friends, or alone, as an adult.
• I've used the excuse "but I'm from out of town" several times after driving the wrong way down a one-way road.
• I'm named after my mother's maiden name, and I share my middle name with her.
• There are 2 people in my family with my exact name - first and last - and spelled exactly the same.
• I have never mowed a lawn... and i hope that will remain true forever.
• I have eaten lichen.
• I've also eaten guinea pig, snails, and frog legs.
• I developed a pork allergy from a tick in the Appalachian Mountains. True story.
• I wish someone would invent some type of garbage disposal for the shower drain. Someone with long hair - go! Invent! Become a millionaire!
• My favorite movie is 50 First Dates.... followed closely by Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I think its partly because Hawaii is so relaxing, and partly because I'm a mushy romantic at heart.
• I have a huge girl-crush on Pink.

Alright, I feel like this post is becoming an exercise in narcissim, but please excuse me because I'm sick and bored on my couch.

Stalking the Wildest Asparagus

This'll be a really short post. Just wanted to tell you internet folk about the time that C and I went in search of wild asparagus.

I guess it started my first year of working at Capitol Reef, when we got so very used to picking our own fruit off the freaking amazing orchards. This park likes to keep it a bit quiet but growing among the canyon walls are acres of apples, peaches, pears, quinces, mulberries, cherries, and apricots.

How easy the ranger makes it look!

We had so much fruit we had potlucks with all-fruit themes. So much fruit the deer were fat and happy. So much fruit that the orchard furrows literally run with apricot brandy (fermented apricot juice). So much fruit that the campground raccoons spent their nights rolling around the grounds, drunk on apricot brandy, drunkenly running into traffic!

So, the second season we were there, I guess we got a little cocky and went in search of the non-NPS sanctioned wild asparagus. A co-worker told us what area to look in, and with the advice "you'll know asparagus when you see asparagus", off we went.

Stalking the Wild Asparagus!

We walked a mile or so to the alleged asparagus location. It was an impromptu walk so I was in flip flops with no water, in the desert, in May. (Read: hot, uncomfortable, and a bit buggy). C and I wandered into an orchard that we'd never explored and split up, stalking for stalks.

Bolstered by our desire for amazing fresh (free) asparagus for dinner, we combed every inch of the weedy furrowed landscape. After 30 minutes or so, C found what she thought was the asparagus and called me over to consult. Since we should have known it when we saw it, I thought we should keep looking since we didn't know what this was and only the wildest guessing was taking place. However, an hour later, seeing no other asparagus-esque foliage, we headed back to the original suspect and began the harvest.

We probably should have guessed that since it was 3 feet tall and brushy, it was a few years old. But, cocky and hungry, we tugged the thing out of the ground and walked home.

yummmmy, just like store-bought asparagus

After rinsing sand and grit off our crop, C "prepared" the stalks, which included sawing, yes sawing, the things down so they'd fit into the stock pot. Another clue that things weren't right in asparagus-hunting world. Some of the asparagus was simply too tough to saw so we resorted to chewing it, and to general shenanigans. (Famous for our shenanigans, see our 70s party, or stay tuned for our international adventures)

All good asparagus needs to be gnawed on, right?

We managed to get a few measily stalks into our pot, steam them, and sit down for a lovely toddler-tall asparagus dinner. Perfect... yeah right. What really happened was we steamed the crap outta them hoping they'd soften up and after an hour, we were so invested in making this work that we vowed to eat them any damn way we could.

Here's the mental image I want you to create: C and I sitting at the kitchen table, gnawing on brushy tough steamed asparagus lightly seared with garlic and olive oil. We sucked as much asparagus-ness out of each stem before spitting the husks (they can only be described as "husks") into the trash can. We spent the meal laughing at how ridiculous we, and the situation, were.

It was not a very filling meal, but it was free and we did it all by ourselves.

The next day we learned that our asparagus was possibly several years old, nobody could believe that we'd messed it up that bad, and the good week-old asparagus was in the DITCH next to the orchard. Thank you, coworkers, for leaving out that tidbit....

Where was YouTube when we needed it!

How to Execute a "Controlled-Slick Rock Slide"

*Disclaimer - any bitching or complaining that may occur below is real, however I wouldn't trade this experience for the world!

As all good stories should start, this one begins with an invitation to a secret waterfall location. Now I'm a pretty competent hiker and I knew that going hiking with H would most likely test my abilities.... I had no idea.

This secret waterfall location was so super-secret that the waterfall itself was secret, and our quest (the TOP of said secret waterfall) was a secret upon a secret. (How many times can I use secret in one sentence... has it lost its meaning for you too?)

Most awesome secret waterfall spot... If Backpacker mag
hasn't found it yet, I'm sure it'll happen soon. Our mission
was to get to the top!

Of course I jumped at the chance to go on a super-secret location hike! H said that it'd be a few miles, maybe 6 or 7, and we'd be walking in water all the way there so I'd need river shoes. I actually had to BORROW Chaco sandals. (I can't believe there was a time when I didn't own a pair of Chacos.) Thanks to D, I had a pair of river sandals for the day that were super-comfy and would begin my lifelong love affair with Chacos.

Early in the morning, H and I packed up the car and headed over the mountain to a turn-off marked only by a "weirdly-shaped white splotched rock" which we actually drove by a few times before H saw it.

Super. Super. Secret.

From there we hiked a mile or so up the winding highway before leaving the blacktop and heading down, down, down into a canyon.

We pretty quickly reached the river that would be our guide for the next few hours. It was cool and inviting in the desert summer heat. Even with my walking stick, I slipped a few times on mossy rocks and uneven river bottoms. One time, I slipped on a moss-covered rock, fell on my ass and then slid down the long rock slide to a pool below... not on purpose. My yelp as I fell, and the accompanying scream of glee as I slid, startled H and he came rushing back to help me. I burst out laughing as I hit the pool, which seemed to calm H down.

The next few miles (hours) were serene. Cool breezes raced through the red-rocked canyon, carrying wildflower scents and bird trills along the river corridor. The cool ever-present water kept me refreshed as we walked beneath large cottonwoods. At some point, the water and a sandal strap conspired against me and rubbed my big toe raw. Digging through my daypack for a makeshift bandage (band-aids won't work in the water!) I found an emergency tampon with a plastic wrapper. I figured that would work! The next few miles were hiked with a yellow and white tampon wrapper knotted around my big toe, foiling the sandal's attempt at ruining my hike.

H and I engaged in that halting, stream-of-consciousness style conversation that is common amongst hiking companions. I learned a lot about him, and he about me. All in all, this was shaping up to be a fantastically lovely day.

As we were hiking, the rock strata around us was changing. We began to enter into the white Navajo layer (my favorite geological layer) that would later be the key to the Controlled Slick Rock Slide. The canyon walls began to fall away, widening out as the river grew narrower, deeper, and faster. We were nearing the top of the most awesome secret waterfall. Luckily the top of this tall fall was surrounded by rocks and there was little worry about being washed over the edge. There was however a great chance of getting stuck in large human-sized potholes. How do I know this?....

Look below! Seems like some hikers found the secret waterfall...

In order to see over the edge of the fall and get this shot, I had to cross some very large and deep potholes. Going down to get to this shot was easy, coming back I got stuck. Picture me boob-deep in a water-filled pothole that's lined with slick moss that ensures I'll never climb out.

H held on to my camera and daypack as I spent a half hour or so trying in vain to get the hell outta the hole. I tried climbing; I tried chimneying; I tried climbing onto H as he held onto some rocks for support. Nothing. Finally, using a combination of chimneying, jumping, grasping for H, and general anxiety-ridden strength, I got out. I was tired and ready for a serene walk back up the water to the car.

But no! H said the quickest way back was to climb straight up the side of the sloping Navajo sandstone. The car was straight above us "only 1,500 feet up or so". (true story) As I gazed straight up the side of this sandstone wall, calculating the slope versus my borrowed sandals ability to cling to slickrock, I began to rationalize a 6 mile walk back in the river in the dark. Most of the slope was slick and straight up. We'd have to literally run up it to maintain enough speed and traction. All in all, this was not looking good. Luckily, there were some ridges that were a few inches wide to rest on higher up. If only I could reach them...

H took off running up the side of the canyon, leaving me to follow along. A few hundred feet up, I slowed down just enough to lose my footing and start sliding back. My first instinct was to lay flat out against the rock, like a lizard. This only worked to slow down the slide, not stop it.

So there I am, laying flat against hot white sandstone, solid ground a few hundred feet below, sliding (falling) uncontrollably. I looked up the wall, screaming for H as my fingers frantically scrambled for anything to grab. Even a quarter inch of protruding rock would have been welcomed. Nothing...

H comes running (falling) down the rock wall to me, grabbing my hands to stop me from gaining speed. As he grabs my hands, I realize all of this sliding down super-rough sandstone has pulled the front of my rapidly disappearing t-shirt up, up, up around my neck. I stopped sliding just as my bra began to go with the shirt! Once I quit moving and caught my breath, I began laughing at the absurdity of my situation.... abrasions on my stomach, bra and t-shirt dangerously up around my neck, my supervisor holding my arms in an attempt to keep me from plummeting into a canyon. This shit could only happen in Utah, and possibly only to me.

After I decided to sidestep my way to a less-steep section, clinging desperately to the wall, I was on my way up again. Some running, some climbing, sweating constantly. 1,000 feet in elevation later, I met up with H and stopped for a snack, surveying the trek below. H took a photo of me to commemorate my first lesson in "controlled slickrock sliding".

You can't see the abrasions on the right side of my face but trust me, they're
there! Check out the green trees down in the canyon. Only a few hours earlier
they were offering us shade.

Only a few more feet to go and we'd be on the highway. This part was also extremely steep and had us literally clinging to plants to pull ourselves up. Of course, H was ahead of me. I watched as he reached his hand up to the lip of the highway to grab ahold and hoist himself out of this canyon. Just as his hand hit the tarmac, right on the yellow line, a car flew by. I'm surprised they didn't wreck! Imagine driving on a road cut at the top of a ridge, thousands of feet drop away just inches from your tire, and seeing a dirty hand come up out of nowhere! Zombies!!

We did manage to get out of the canyon and onto the road, after looking both ways. The rest of our hike was back along the highway a half mile to the car. I decided if H could teach me a new trick, I'd teach him one too. He learned to finger-twirl my hiking stick like a baton as we walked back to the car. That night I surveyed the damage... abrasions on my stomach, knees, ankles, toes, elbows, face, forearms and fingers, and a sunburn. I washed the blood off the borrowed sandals and threw away my shirt due to the holes rubbed into it. Spoils of a great adventure.

It was a fantastic and terrifying adventure, but we set out to get to the top of the waterfall and we did (without loss of life or limb), so it was a success!

A year later I was driving along the road with my parents, who had heard
the saga, and thought they'd like to see where this all took place. Right
where my finger is lies the slope we came up...

3 Wild and Crazy Girls Decide to Throw a Party....

When you live in the middle of nowhere, you have to make your own fun, and oh hell yes, we have made our own fun! I have never partied quite as much as when I lived in a certain desert park. We threw parties for EVERYTHING! Hey, my neighbor bought a coconut bra! Jimmy Buffet Party! or Hey, its Thursday and we have extra beer. Karaoke! but my personal favorite was Hey, I lost a bet and now have to throw a kick ass party as payback. Why not make it my 29th birthday party and the theme will be 1978?!

Yes, I had a 70s basement party, complete with Tab, PBR, Disco, (fake) illegal party favors, and Hunter S. Thompson. One thing I'll say about rangers... they know how to party.

So three wild and crazy girls set out to make this the best party of the season, or my payback on the bet wouldn't work. D, C and I each had a role to play. D was in charge of decorations and awards. You can't have a 70s party without a costume competition. She made Loser buttons for people who didn't dress up. These buttons were modeled after official campaign buttons by the politicians who lost the presidential races in the 70s. (Um, sorry to those politician guys but none of you looked familiar. Losers)

C and I were in charge of food, music and learning 70s dance routines. Basically, we watched that episode of That 70s show where they all dance at a disco, over and over again until we had it down!

As I Googled 70s party food, much to my delight I discovered that all the hors dourves that my mother and grandmother had been serving for years was 70s food! I knew exactly how to make this stuff.  Now if only the liquor procurement had gone as easily. Being as we lived in Utah, we would have to look far and wide for a liquor selection. Luckily one of our neighbors was heading to Colorado and after some sweet talking, he brought back the makings for White Russians. (I love them, they are 70s, and I'll probably never be able to drink them again. More on that later.)

Someone actually found Tab at a local store.... not that surprising in our neck of the woods. Some of the food on the grocery shelves was older than me!

Yeah, we were all stoked about the Tab. That stuff is horrible!

Now I must confess that the idea behind this party came a few months before when, at a thrift shop, C found an outfit that she couldn't pass up, but couldn't wear anywhere else.... I had a bridesmaid dress that would fit in and D decided she would come as Mrs. Robinson.

70s Bridesmaid, Mrs Robinson, and Disco Queen - the
masterminds behind the party

The entire park pitched in to help decorate. We had Christmas lights, a disco ball, extra basement furniture, lava lamp, even a mirror to keep in the bathroom for the powdered sugar lines... There was easy cheese, pigs-n-blankets, Tab, White Russians, and more.

Once the sun went down, the disco ball was lit up and as the music blared, the strangest costumes began walking into my house.

C's man showed up. Digging the chains and the shoes!

Smarmy Chuck brought Wonder Woman

Hunter S Thompson, Best Costume Award
He stayed in character all night, shouting at bats, staring into the
disco ball, spending way too much time with the lines in the bathroom....

The hippies did the Time Warp.

Disco Diva

We danced all night. The YMCA, the Hustle, and yes, C and I did our 70s Show routine. Awards were handed out for most authentic costume (Hunter ST), most original (Mrs. Robinson) and of course, the Loser buttons. Someone even got a Pet Rock for an award. C made me an awesome cake and there were birthday candles and singing. There was also lots of drinking. Everyone lives within walking distance so as long as people could walk up the stairs, they were free to go. For those of us living in my house, we drank a bit too much. I do remember perilously making my way up the stairs to mix 2 more jugs of White Russians... 1 for me, and 1 for C. I even found straws to make drinking from the jugs possible. This was NOT a good idea. This was the one and only time that I've ever blacked out from drinking. (It won't be happening again. A few days later, someone told me that I'd run out of cream so the 2nd jug was just milky vodka.... ew.)

While I was blacked out, and God-knows where, the party took a turn. Hunter S Thompson started playing Broomtar (broomstick as guitar) to Sister Christian with Disco Diva clawing at his feet. Smarmy Chuck might have snorted some powdered sugar in the bathroom. Eventually Wonder Woman apprehended Hunter ST for trying to kill too many imaginary bats. Smarmy Chuck lost his Jeri Curl wig, and his chest hair. Some time later, Hunter would be seen wearing the wig and giving his best come hither looks for the camera. Yes, my neighbors were cool enough to capture all of this on camera for me so I wouldn't miss a thing. I'm not posting those because I'm pretty sure everyone was pretty wasted.

In the morning, I awoke with a pretty bad hangover. Luckily, my friends had stayed after everyone else left and we danced (sweated) out most of our liquor. I made my way down the hall, I realized our house was now the scene of the Apocalypse. Blue sequins were everywhere, trash and cups littered the basement, dirty dishes were piled in the sink, and we still had a 12-pack of Tab to drink. But, I had paid back my lost wager, had a fantastic birthday party, and haven't drank a White Russian since!

YiiiiMCA!

PS.... I've moved 7 times since this party and I STILL find those damned turquoise sequins around my house. I lovingly refer to them as Corree-sequins.

The cheapest, and hardest, spa therapy I've ever had... or How I Shrunk My Leather Boots

Sometimes you wanna hike trails, with a map, trail guide, and difficulty ratings. Other times you just wanna start walking across untrodden soil, letting the landscape tell you its own story. This post is about something in between.... something the park service calls "routes". Those are my favorite.

A route is an unmaintained trail that enough people have walked and survived to pass on the information. I like these trails because I typically have it to myself, or may encounter a few people but they are cool hiker-types like myself.  :-)

One such hiking adventure started on a typical gorgeous morning living in the Waterpocket Fold. A friend, J, was visiting and we decided to hook up with another friend, R, for a day of route-hiking. We had a topo map (don't worry mom, I was well-prepared) and recommendations from friends on the particular route we'd be walking. This route was a canyon that parralleled the highway. Hard to get lost, by hard to get out of. We kinda of knew where to park, and we kinda knew where we'd come out of the canyon but the 7 miles in between, not so sure.

Me and J hiking through the Waterpocket Fold. See, no trail here.... this is a route.

The first half of our journey was great, gorgeous and fun. We were completely entrenched in a rock canyon, with no way out but to walk east. Every now and then we'd find a game trail along the side of a ravine. It got a little sketchy but R was great at keeping me calm. (I freak out easy if the ground I'm walking on isn't solid.) I guess I should mention that it was monsoon season so those 7 miles needed to be walked by noon. Catching yourself in a canyon during a rainstorm can be deadly and tourists die every year making this mistake. So yeah, I was a bit on edge.

Anyway.... we were seeing lots of birds, some deer, even scared some quail who couldn't fly and just kept running ahead of us for a mile! After a few hours, it began to sprinkle but nothing to worry about. Just enough to make us walk faster. I guess I was moving a bit too fast because as I was about to leap over a giant mud puddle, I slipped and fell in! The falling in mud part wasn't so bad, it was the getting stuck part that got me.  I had slipped into a puddle of wet betonite clay, the most slippery substance I've come across. My hiking boot and leg had been wedged down into the clay and I couldn't get out! J began to freak out a bit, yelling for R who was lagging behind. All I heard from her was "oh no! OH NO!" and then she asked if I was ok. I was, I just wasn't going anywhere. R came up behind me, grabbed the loops on my backpack and began tugging. With a great sucking sound, my leg and boot popped out. J, who had decided if I was laughing, life was ok, began taking photos... Here is my favorite...

This mud is spa-worthy. Afterwards, my leg was smooth and my pores never smaller!

and another....

and then this one...

I got chilly being stuck in a mud pit.... and it was raining...
hence the rain poncho. Go Aggies!

The rest of the trip, my leg mud dried as we walked through the most beautiful canyon I've ever seen. (yeah, even you, Grand Canyon!) The mud flaked off my leg and my boot, leaving both tighter and firmer.... some people pay lots of money for that treatment! At the very end of the trail, in order to get back to the highway, we had to wade through a pretty nasty, agriculture run-offy river and then bushwack our way through tamarask. After reaching the highway and realizing we had no idea where the car was, J and I took off east while R took off west with the keys. Glad he found the car first and came to pick us up. Another part of route hiking are the unforeseen adventures!

After I got home and showered, I cleaned my boots and wrapped them in newspaper to dry out. A few days later, they were clean and gorgeous, and 2 sizes smaller! So I gave them to a friend and bought some new ones. At least they could live to see another trail on another day.

All in all, a great day. What I remember most when I look back on that hike is this...

Take the trail less traveled and you shall be rewarded

Take My Advice.... NEVER Get Into A Canoe With Your Parents

As a continuation of last month's boating hijinks, I thought I'd tell ya'll about canoing with my parents. Sounds like a good idea right? Wrong!

So first off, I don't have a ton of canoing experience.  A few weeks each year at scout camp, a few days canoing the "target" boat while my brother shot, no, LAUNCHED water balloons at me, and then my summer working on the Canadian border in Minnesota. Several years later I'd go urban canoing.

Canoing the northern lakes is usually peaceful. Lots of pine trees and bald eagles, water lillies and loons.

Typical peaceful lake, complete with water lily

mother and baby loon... they let me get pretty close!

Canoing with others is also usually peaceful.

So when my parents came to visit, I thought it'd be a great idea to go canoing! The plan was to head a short distance into a small enclosed area with calm waters. I forgot that canoing with others means teamwork and a clearly defined leader, as well as understanding your center of gravity.

We loaded up, my dad in the back, mom in the middle and me in the front. As we made our way out into open waters, it quickly became apparent that we were not a well-functioning team. I was giving directions up front and paddling; dad was in the back, paddling to his own beat and leaning from side to side to rock the boat and piss off the rest of us; mom was in the middle trying not to fall out. The canoe meandered like it was being paddled by a crew of drunken toddlers; side to side, this way and that, even stopping on occassion. The 5 minute paddle across the channel turned into a 20-minute fight. We were dodging houseboats (probably actually driven by drunken toddlers) and speedboats, both creating awesome wakes that threatened to tip us over.

I guess now is a good time to mention my intense fear of deep open water. This fear developed at a young age as I'd tube (inner tube floating on water) under a bridge on the Comal River. I was convinced that people would jump off the bridge, plunge to their deaths in the river and their bodies never recovered... until I floated along and then they would surface and pop up around me.  Like this....

This fear of the deep never went away, so its safe to say that if the canoe overturned, I'd most likely have a massive anxiety attack and drown. This was less than desirable! We FINALLY made it across the channel, drowning-free, and into the quiet of Lost Lake.

Survived the crossing and into the quiet!

Lost Lake was glorious!  We saw bald eagles, I think we saw some loons, and we were able to maneuver around in our own drunken style. I think my parents were happy we went. Of course, all of this gloriousness was a bit lost on me because I was anticipating the crossing back to the cabin. The horror!!

Soon enough it was time to make the crossing back across the channel.  There was more traffic this time, big boats, bigger wakes.  Oh and to make the crossing all the more pleasant, a storm was approaching. I turned around to face the parents and gave them the talk... we needed to work as a team and get across quickly!

Off we went, trying to avoid the big boats and the bigger wakes. The current and wind had picked up due to the storm, making it unbelievably hard for 3 people, working independently, to paddle across. Somehow we drifted away from our goal and my idea (as lead, I'm allowed to have the ideas!) was to aim for the nearest small island, use it for shelter and work our way around to calmer waters where we could then hug the shoreline all the way home.

This wonderful idea only kind of worked. The canoe was listing to one side, meaning that somebody in the canoe was leaning! This made fighting the wakes that much harder and tipping over that much easier. Mom was beginning to yell, (I guess panicking?) mostly at my father who thought it was funny to tease the ladies in the boat. It wasn't. We made it, frazzled and worn out, to the small island, where I then decided to cut the trip short and head for the nearest dock. I'm pretty sure I had complete support from mom, and nothing but sarcasm from dad. (and you wonder where I get it from?)

So I leave my parents at the canoe landing, and walk up the hill to the closest visitor center.  One of my canoing partners, E, was working and I was hoping she'd help me get the canoe back to the cabin. After bringing my sopping wet and muddy parents up to the visitor center (i knew the pity-factor would get them a ride back!), E and I loaded up and headed for the cabin.  It pretty much instantly began to rain on us, but better us than my parents.  As we approached the dock, there was my dad, waving and laughing and taking pictures and video of our "canoe rescue".

Canoe Rescue!

I guess overall we had a good time, even though mom declared her canoing days were over and I learned that we were NOT a very good team! In the future, I'll stick with canoing with friends and capable strangers.

Another canoe trip where I was able to drink and relax!
Any drunken weavings were from actual drinking.

me and J, proving that the right crew is
sometimes also the craziest

I learned that I prefer to kayak over canoe, others
may join but not in my craft!

I found a better way for my parents to enjoy all the lake had to offer...

In a motorized boat with a real captain!