Occupation of Independence

Our latest camp was high over little Jerome AZ, and the grand Verde River valley. This is about as far north as you can go in AZ and still be semi-warm. Winter starts with a vengeance in a couple days, and I don't want to surrender too soon to the moonscape of the Mojave. The red rock cliffs of Sedona glow at sunset. I could enjoy this right from my trailer door: I've never actually visited Sedona. I cling to my geo-bigotries as tightly as the old mining town of Jerome clings to the side of Woodchute Mountain. Jerome wasn't as tourist-kitsch as I feared; only the main buildings along tourist central are over-restored. I took the dogs on a short hike, right from town. I was in a foul mood,  because of van maintenance problems, poor comportment by one of the dogs, and the claustrophobic road layout. If that weren't bad enough, we soon encountered volcanic rubble, my least favorite geologic layer. It had taken four attempts to find this miserable, gnarly road

A reader recently touched one of my hot buttons when he said that he ' should exercise more.' It's ironic that I am writing this when Coffee Girl, my new dog, is not supposed to exercise because she was spayed a couple days ago. Yesterday both dogs and I were restless and irritated. I think we are going to be naughty and have a nice walk today. If only I had a nickel for every time I've heard someone say that they should exercise more. That is the moral equivalent of sitting on the sofa in front of the boob toob and saying 'I really should eat more organic dehydrated alfalfa pellets, washed down with distilled water, instead of this bag of potato chips and ranch dip, but ...' Why do people discuss exercise like they are swallowing bitter medicine? The worst idea of all is to do routine exercise indoors. No wonder people think that making yourself exercise is an exercise in sheer will power. Is there an alternative to this self-defeating s

After pulling into town RVers typically park in the spacious parking lots of big boxes on the edge of town. Let's say you've done so but are still hitched up, and then you see the store you really want just across the street. What do you do: walk or drive? For your sake I hope you drive, as silly as that seems. There is little allowance made for pedestrians on most American streets, except in Oregon or some mountain towns in Colorado. I had a close call walking across the street in western Colorado, recently. Despite the close call, Colorado is quite good in that department. I dreaded returning to culturally backward states like Utah and Arizona.  Since western Colorado is in the gravitational field of Moab, I found a cycling newspaper and read about a tragic accident involving a cycling advocate. I started rolling the tape back over all the cyclists I've known who were smacked by cars. The next day I stopped to help a caterpillar cross the road near the B

North of Gunnison, CO. My little poodle and I hiked up the small "mountain" behind the camper. There was no real trail. We kept traversing the slope so it wouldn't be too steep. Eventually we found a game trail to follow. Then we'd lose it, or at least, it seemed so. This became a game, far more interesting than following a real hiking trail. We found a large spherical mushroom, with a crack. It made me thick of that scene in "Jurassic Park" when they watch the dinosaur egg hatching. The little "mountain" was not tall and we were soon at the top. It proved to be quite flat on top--maybe just a little tipped or domed. Geologists would call this a "laccolith," formed by igneous material intercalating sedimentary stratifications, followed by...you can see why reading geology books is about as much fun as conjugating verbs in Latin. What the geologists would say if someone taught them English is that hot lava under pressure squ

When traveling I try to experience a book, rather than merely read it. With some luck a traveler's location can add something chemical and explosive to the book. This happened to me recently in Leadville, CO. I was camped by a national forest road that was on the race course of two separate races that featured the most amazing athletes. My mind drifted off to Greek Olympic athletes. I picked up a book on Greek mythology, and was amazed to find myself actually interested in that silly nonsense, for the first time. Other things contributed to this chemical reaction, such as monsoon clouds accumulating before their mid-afternoon schedule, and lightning strikes so close to my trailer that they sounded like a shotgun blast outside the trailer door. So I was willing to play along with reading about Zeus the Cloud-Gatherer and Thunderbolt-Thrower. If this seems too whimsical for the reader, remember that your mind and body are the same as the homo sapiens of a few thou

Leadville, CO. The Benchmark Atlas labeled nearby Mosquito Pass, elevation 13,186 feet, as the "highest auto (jeep) pass in the US." Which of my four bicycles would be best? I smiled thinking of the beginning of the Spaghetti Western, "For a Few Dollars More." The bounty hunter, Lee Van Cleef, has only a few seconds to shoot the bad guy who is getting away. The bounty hunter pulls a string on his saddle, and a leather rack of four guns rolls down the side of the horse: his tools of the trade, for every occasion. The road started smooth and steep, which is my favorite kind of road. It wasn't long before I saw something unusual: a large group of fully-loaded backpackers, who would coalesce and then disperse. It was a church group from Texas, on its way over the pass. We caught up with them at the last mining tower, near tree-line, where you can faintly see the two thousand feet of switchbacks that await these hikers from sea-level homes. Faith can m

Recently the reader caught me preening over my adult attitude regarding "peak bagging" in Colorado. But there are those who disagree, even in my own household. My little poodle has made it clear that he will not forgo any orographic conquests that would redound to his glory. Recently we hiked up the small mountains on the east side of the Arkansas River valley, near Buena Vista, CO. An early start kept us cool in the shade, while off to the west the morning sun warmed a wall of Fourteeners. You have to admire the pluck of a 12-year-old, miniature poodle, who scampered up the short, steep climb like a puppy. At the top he insisted on struggling with the last couple steps before officially signing in at the cairn. Clearly he had no sympathy with accepting old age with quiet resignation. We could read the poetry of William Blake to find inspiration about what happens when men and mountains meet. But that might mislead us into thinking that perspicuity on a mountain p

It is a rare pleasure for me to hike with somebody else, besides the little dog. Recently two RV friends in the area came over for a short hike, right from my trailer door in the national forest. I don't know why it is so satisfying to go on an outing right from the door, but it is. I decided not to take the little dog along, partly for practical reasons; but more importantly, I wanted to honor the occasion of having human companionship for a change. Since the trail was unmarked we started off with low expectations, intending to improvise as best we could. The dirt road up the steep ridge turned into an ATV trail, which finally turned into a single track. The forest had been kept semi-open by selective logging or firewood cutting back in the days when they actually did such things in Colorado national forests, so we had nice views of the valley most of the way up. After two hours of rigorous uphill grinding, we rested and turned around, as was our initial agreement. Th

It didn't rain on the parade, yesterday, the Fourth of July. The hard rain held off until afternoon. When I got back to my trailer in the national forest I was astonished to see that it had literally snowed on the Fourth of July, in New Mexico. (Of course, the campsite was at 10400 feet.) Only a trace remained, but two hours earlier it might have been impressive. But the snow inspired us to do what we had been thinking about: walking from town proper up to the top of the ski mountain, and then riding the ski lift down. I was sure that my little poodle had never ridden a ski lift, and I couldn't even remember if I had. We stopped at the bottom to buy our ticket. Not only was there no charge for the dog, but there was no charge for me either, as long as I walked up and rode down . No chubby, motorized tourist would even consider that option; they did it the other way around.   It was a nice walk up to the top. I've never deliberately sought out ski areas in the

Overdue for a vigorous hike I chose to hike up a cell tower mountain that overlooks Red River, NM. Cell tower mountains almost guarantee you a short steep hike, with a commanding view on top. They are under-rated as hiking opportunities. The hike started in an area logged ten years ago, so there were plenty of stumps to look at, but also lush grass, flowers, and a new generation of trees. I just appreciated the open views while they lasted. Soon we were bushwhacking through a typical forest—opaque and gloomy. Plenty of strawberry vines grew there, but no berries. But the walking was still fairly easy since we walked a ridge line, where trees are less thick. We enjoyed the views at the top, and then put it in reverse. Things went 'downhill' on the way back down, in more ways than one. The GPS stopped working. Apparently it had just barely worked on the way up, but on the descent we had left the ridgeline, so the forest became too thick. What a ridiculous Catch-22: the

Taos, NM. The other day I remarked how odd it is that I never see other mountain bikers on dirt roads in public lands. Years ago, this would have been a complaint, but now I pretty much accept it. No sooner had I written this than four mountain bikers appeared in as many days. But I did appreciate running into someone who appreciates my point: Henry David Thoreau, in  Walking. What he says about walking could apply to mountain biking or travel in general. Here are a few excerpts: “ I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understand the art of walking, that is, of taking walks—who had a genius for sauntering... ...but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all day may be the greatest vagrant of all. We should go forth on the shortest walk in the spirit of undying adventure. We have felt that we almost alone hereabouts practiced this noble art...” The modern image of Thoreau is that of a