"Stories are compasses...we navigate by them, build our sanctuaries and prisons out of them. To be without a story is to be lost in the vastness of a world that spreads in all directions like arctic tundra..." The Faraway Nearby, by Rebecca Solnit
Box Canyon Blog.com
"We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us." C. Bukowski
NOTE: Open post and then Single Click On first Post Photo to view an album in a more detailed, larger format...
Wednesday, June 20, 2018
Monday, June 18, 2018
Sunday, June 10, 2018
Friday, June 1, 2018
Thursday, May 31, 2018
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
Bobbie had to work yesterday so I would be flying solo. I was in desperate need of a summit and not just any summit would do. No, I needed a mind-blowing, Land of Oz, come to sweet Jesus and weep kind of summit.
Monday, May 28, 2018
So I'm sitting in my faux leather hearthside chair. It's early of a morning and my abused, aching legs are gently propped on a padded footstool. I'm half crippled from vigorous back to back days on the trail.
My iPhone pings; a short text from Leon reads: "Log Hill?" Ugh...
Thursday, May 24, 2018
Saturday, May 19, 2018
Wednesday, May 16, 2018
Since being roped into the Black Canyon Ascent by my 1% body fat biking/hiking/swimming/running pal, Leon, ten days ago, I’ve been “cramming” like it’s finals week back at SMSU. Yes, just like those nightmarish party-now/study-later days of youthful lore, I stand before you naked and afraid and unprepared for a "test" I got wrangled into whilst heavily sedated with I-can-do-anything endorphins following a silly little bike race up Log Hill.
Sunday, May 13, 2018
In order to race up Log Hill, Leon and I must first ride 16 miles of county backroads—from Ouray, through Ridgway and beyond, to a brightly labeled "Danger: Natural Gas Line" post that serves as a makeshift starting line at the base of "the Hill."
Sunday, May 6, 2018
Saturday, April 28, 2018
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Sunday, April 15, 2018
''Wherever we look there is but a wilderness of rock,'' wrote Maj. John Wesley Powell, the Colorado River pioneer and one of the first "whites" to gaze upon Moab's labyrinth of canyons. ''Deep gorges, where rivers get lost below cliffs and towers and pinnacles—ten thousand strangely carved forms in every direction—and beyond them, mountains blending with clouds.''
Thursday, April 12, 2018
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
The night after Bobbie traded me for her "hearth" in Lovely Ouray, I nursed a lusty, menopausal male notion to reprise "Alaska," a favorite circumferential loop in Klondike's Hills. I knew my body was't yet conditioned for the "marathon-ish" four-plus hours of uphill grinds and "vice-grip" descents, but, assisted by 3 cups of dark roast "liquid courage" the next morning, I figured the best way to get in shape for "Alaska's" nether-lands is to ride Alaska's nether-lands. You'd think there'd be laws regarding Old men and caffeine...especially in Utah.
Wednesday, April 4, 2018
6 AM, 20 some miles north of Moab, a bachelor in paradise waits on sun and temps to rise enough to straddle his Bad Habit Cannondale and put in some single-track time. Bobbie’s home in Lovely Ouray, working on her second cup of coffee, snug as a bug by the hearth.
Sunday, March 11, 2018
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Thursday, February 22, 2018
"It's a beautiful day," I screech in the worst "Bono" imitation ever, then proceed to butcher U2's lyrics like slaughterhouse sheep. My felicity is boundless on Hangover Trail. I've got the sun's warmth on my face, a cool breeze at my back, and views to die for. "It's a beautiful day."
Friday, February 16, 2018
Wistful Reminisce in Jerome (revised due to a dropped paragraph that explains Bobbie's connection to Jerome)
I'm in the mountainside town of Jerome, Arizona, casting a reminiscing gaze over the expansive Verde Valley. Bound by snowcapped San Francisco Peaks to the north, familiar vermillion cliffs to the east, and Mingus Mountain to the west, Verde Valley holds a hoard of memories that range from happy to sad. But I've been coming to this area since before I can remember, and it feels as comfortable as a pair of old cotton sweats.
Sunday, February 11, 2018
"Everywhere he looked, he could see the most vibrant world of life that had no need of him...that would not think for a moment of his vanishing...have no memory of him...would go on without him. He began to fear his imminent death, not because he would die but because he sensed that he had never really lived as he wished. The Narrow Road to the Deep North, Richard Flanagan.
Tuesday, January 30, 2018
This belated Havasu post comes to you from just north of Phoenix, on the shore of Lake Pleasant, where it's less than "pleasant." Temps soar into the 80's under skies that aren't cloudy all day. Yes. It's tying or breaking records here and the extended forecast shows no relief in sight. "Might as well go home," Bobbie mutters, a trail of sweat trickling from her brow. "Goldie doesn't do 80's very well neither do I."
Friday, January 26, 2018
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
Sunday, January 21, 2018
Ever notice how the grass is always greener on the other side of the lake? After only one day at Catherine's Landing we surrendered to wanton roving eyes and a desire for new territory...someplace where the peaks are taller, mountains more rugged and mysterious, and canyons run wild and woolly into wilderness.
Friday, January 19, 2018
I've been to places of incomprehensible beauty...in driving snow when flashes of lightning shuddered the atmosphere...quiet nights perched below immaculate stars. At such times, wonder saturates every cell in my body, provides me with a deep well of energy and an infinite capacity to love. It changes who I am. As much as I have transformed I am still a kid, full of curiosity about the world, chasing dreams and summits. "The Push," Tommy Caldwell