Pat Bertram

We’ve Got Spunk

February 18, 2018 — Pat Bertram

This was not just a girls’ night out, but a girls’ weekend away. A friend and I went to a town near the state line of Nevada. We ate, drank, gambled, and were merry. Well, as merry as two quiet women who imbibe tea, cranberry juice, and water can be.

Friday evening was mostly spent standing in line for tickets to the Isley Brother’s concert (the purported reason we were there). Well, she stood in line. I wandered around, checking out the décor, though periodically, I would return to see how she was doing. I got rousted a few times by the security guards at the ticket booth — one barred my way and refused to let me pass, one wouldn’t let me in the door to get back in line, and another wouldn’t let me out again. Not exactly Thelma and Louise, but one takes one’s rebellious moments however they come.

On one of my forays around the casino, I discovered Zoltar, a celebrity from a Tom Hanks movie. Zoltar kept telling me he’d grant a wish, but I figured I’d just as soon grant my own wishes. That way, I’d have less chance of screwing things up and getting Big. Or little. Or some silly thing like that.

Tucked away in a corner, I found Pat’s Saloon. Dirty Pat’s Saloon, but who’s going to read the small print? It’s my kind of place — quiet, even moribund, and the drinks are dry. Literally dry. Not dry as in wine, but dry as in no drinking. Dry as in no liquid.

After breakfast on Saturday, we visited the outlet mall. The stores hadn’t yet opened, but it didn’t matter — I find shopping to be only slightly more appealing than stepping on Mojave green rattlers. Still, it was fun to do something I haven’t done in a very long time — wander around a mall.

The rest of the time, we spent gambling. (That, and eating.)

Playing the slots is not something on my list of things to do, not something I ever think of doing, but the two times I specifically went to Nevada to gamble, this state line trip and my Laughlin Adventure, I got into it. Yesterday, I sampled many different machines, but the Dragon Spin game was the most fun because it was the most active — lots of noisy wins, even more quiet losses. But all things considered, a cheap, and at times riveting, entertainment.

The Isley Brother’s concert was disappointing. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that an old timey band would play in a modern way, but they did — strobe lights, insanely loud volume, heart-stopping bass, skinny dancers that my friend and I (neophyte dancers though we might be) could outdance any day. The worst, though, were the fans. The much younger female in front of me kept standing up to dance, so much of my view was of her back end. Eek. And the very large fellow beside me had an extremely loud whistle he kept blowing. Even worse, he kept dancing in his seat, and with every move, his elbow slammed into me. Luckily, the seat next to her was empty, so we were able to move down a seat (and even more luckily, I remembered to bring ear plugs, which cut down the bass reverberation so I could actually hear the sung words.) Not surprisingly, a large percentage of the audience watched the performance on their phones as they taped the show. It almost seems that nowadays nothing is real unless it is seen on a screen or is recreated in a form that can easily be posted online. (I won’t even mention the vast parade of cleavage visible on so much of the female audience. Whoops. See how I am? I did mention it!)

But the disappointment was a mere blip in the quiet thrill of the weekend. My friend is pleasant to be around, generous, and a good sport. (She’s the first person ever to join me on any of my desert rambles.) That, coupled with a weekend that was far from my normal weekends, made this a perfect vacation for me.

I’d told her about my travel journal, and on the way back, she asked if I’d put our trip into the journal. I said yes, of course — although the journal was given to me for my May trip, I’d already planned to use it for all my 2018 adventures. Of which this was one.

The first thing that will go in the book is the birthday card she gave me: Who needs estrogen when we’ve got spunk? (It’s not my birthday, but we celebrated it anyway.) What an absolutely perfect sentiment for the beginning of my yearly adventures!

Since the card and the record of this adventure would be the first entry into the journal, it made me wonder if I’d forgotten anything, so I checked my web log (this blog) to see what adventures I’d had so far this year, and the only vaguely advendurous thing I’ve been doing is my faux backpacking trips on the weekends.

How boring can one person be?!

Apparently, I need more adventures, especially pleasant ones like this state line trip.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Posted in Adventure, culture, life. Tags: dragon spin, girls' night out, Isley Brothers concert, Nevada state line, spunk, state line gambling, zoltar. 4 Comments »

Having Fun Would be Fun

February 17, 2018 — Pat Bertram

Lately, I seem to have problems getting along with people. It seems that I’ve gone from attracting people to actually repelling them. Or it could be me needing to get away from life in the slow lane and moving into an even slower lane.

I still have a couple of months before I take off on my Pacific Northwest trip to see my sisters. I’ll be camping along the way — and hiking — so I should have plenty of time to deal with no one but me. Until then? I don’t know. Bite my tongue, I guess.

Luckily, I will be able to get away for a while this weekend. It’s not much of a getaway, actually — just a concert, shopping, and gambling. (Big gambler that I am, I might even spend five whole dollars!) But it is a change. I’ll miss my faux backpacking trips, but it’s probably a good idea to give my body a rest.

One thing I’m hoping from this change of pace is a mental reset. When I came back from my cross-country trip, I’d planned to finish all my works in progress. I did finish two, but the third one sits moribund. In my defense, after I finished the first two books, I fell and pulverized my wrist, destroyed my elbow, and broke my arm in dozens of places. The resulting surgeries, drugs, and continuing recuperation have taken a toll on my creativity.

Despite what I wrote yesterday about still being a writer whether I finish that last work in progress or not, I really would like to finish it. It would be good not to have it in the back of my mind (not that it’s much of an inconvenience, because if it were truly nagging at me, I’d be writing it).

Unfortunately, when it’s done, I’ll have to decide what to do with it, which could be a large part of my motivation for not writing. I’d like to find a publisher who would actually help me promote, but that seems to be a dying breed. And to me, just posting a book on Amazon is not my idea of being published. (Besides, I truly do not like how much control they have of the book market.) Nowadays, though, there is no way around dealing with them unless I register the book with the copyright office and then just give it away as a download on my website.

But first, I have to finish writing the book, and to do that, I have to get my creativity switched on.

It seems like a lot to ask from one quick weekend getaway — reset my life so I can a) stop repelling people: b) get back into the discipline of writing; and c) find the sweet spot of creativity.

But even if all that doesn’t happen, just having fun would be fun.

***

Posted in culture, life, writing. Tags: Amazon and the book business, discipline of writing, finish writing my book, getting away, repelling people, work in progress. 6 Comments »

Still a Writer

February 16, 2018 — Pat Bertram

My publisher sent me a message a while back asking that I continue to write. He said, “You’re a wonderful writer and you do no service to yourself, Literature or anyone by saying you’re not going to write.” I did write after that message — long after. I finished two of my started books — Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare and Unfinished — but I still have one decade-old story that’s languishing. Someday I hope to finish it. Someday I WILL finish it.

I had added “writing” to the list of daily resolutions I’m trying to get a head start on, then I took it off.

Anyone who writes is, of course, a writer, though it used to be that “real writers” were chosen by faceless editors working for megacorporations, but now there are many different roads to publication.

It used to be that money made a writer. If you earned your living by writing, you were a writer. Sometimes it was acclaim by the self-appointed literati that made a writer. And sometimes it was fame that made a writer. But mostly, it was sales. Money.

It still is sales that make a writer . . . to a certain extent. I know many so-called writers who toss out a book they wrote in a month with little editing, and people buy the books for some unfathomable reason. (Unfathomable to me, anyway.) I know other writers — excellent writers who actually have something to say, who work at their craft, and who write the best book possible no matter how long it takes — who have few sales.

So what makes a writer? Since writing is basically a form of communication, perhaps readers make a writer. And I have readers galore — on this blog, anyway. Some of my posts have had more than 10,000 readers. (But, keeping things realistic, some of my best posts had less than 10 views.) Maybe it’s the ability to touch people’s lives through words that make a writer, and that I have done by being willing to open up and tell the truth about my life.

And if telling the truth about one’s life makes you a writer, then simply living until hit by the urge to put that life into words, is also writing.

What it comes down to, then, is I do not need to resolve to write. Whether I write or not in any given day, I am still a writer.

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Posted in writing. Tags: real writers, real writing, resolving to write, touching people's lives, what makes a writer, writing as communication. 2 Comments »

Una Tiers Interviews Madame ZeeZee

February 15, 2018 — Pat Bertram

Interview by Una Tiers, author of LETTUCE READ WILLS, DOROTHY DAISY, NOT SAFE FOR THE BANK(ER), JUDGE vs NUTS, and DIE JUDGE DIE, available at http://amzn.to/1cOxMz6

I want to introduce you to my fellow writer, Pat Bertram. She has authored several books and is a particularly generous person when it comes to helping authors. Today I’m interviewing one of her most recent characters, from her book, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare.

Welcome, Madame ZeeZee, and thank you for taking time to sit down with us. For those who aren’t familiar with you, you run a successful dance studio where there was a recent murder of one of your students. Since that time, inconsistent stories about you have surfaced. I’m certain you would like to set the record straight.

Inconsistent stories about me? I never heard any. Too busy with my studio, I guess.

We notice that you don’t advertise for new students. How do people find you?

At the beginning, it was word of mouth, but after the murder and all talk on Facebook and Twitter and the local newspaper, I got a lot of new people. Most left after a few classes. People today have no discipline. They think they can come to class and start dancing with the group without even learning the steps.

Madame, rumors are that the dance studio is owned by a reclusive retired movie star who values her privacy. Please give us a hint of who it is.

Retired movie star? No. Retired professional dancer? Yes. You want a hint of who owns the studio? It’s me. And I’m not reclusive. I just like being quiet when I go home after work.

While you’ve always denied being related to Shirley Maclaine, are you sticking to that story?

Of course I’m sticking to that story. It’s the truth. I’ve danced with Shirley, but I’ve danced with a lot of other people, too, like June Allyson and Dick Van Dyke.

You rarely dance with your classes. Do you practice alone or take classes elsewhere?

My dream is to go back to Hollywood and take classes when I retire from my studio, but it’s too long a commute from Peach Valley. I do dance with my classes, especially the more advanced ones. We perform at luaus in the summer and on various other occasions, so if you know anyone who’d like to hire us, let me know.

We understand you’ve been married several times, would you tell us the number or if it is indeed over twelve?

What? You must have me mixed up with another Madame ZeeZee. I’ve only been married twice.

Would you ever relocate for love?

No. I’m happily married. And even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t relocate for love. I’m too independent, I guess. Besides, my house is exactly the way I like it, and I intend to stay there until the end.

How many countries have you lived in as an adult?

As an adult? One. Maybe two depending on how you define “lived in.”

In the book, Pat seemed to blame herself for the deaths of your dancers. Do you blame her, too?

Pat thinks too much. She needs to learn to just let things go. If I blamed her, I’d have to blame myself and all the rest of us who talked about killing Grace, but it wasn’t any of our fault. Well, except for the murderer. She was totally at fault.

If you could choose one author, living or dead, to read about your story, who would it be?

Pat Bertram, of course, but she wouldn’t need to read about my story because she wrote it.

Is there anything you’d like to add?

Yes. Never stop dancing.

Thank you, Madame Zee Zee.

And thank you all for visiting with Madame ZeeZee and Una Tiers. Be sure to check out Interview with Fiona Gavelle, a Character in “Judge vs Nuts” by Una Tiers.

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Posted in books, fiction, writing. Tags: dance murder, Judge vs Nuts, learn to let things go, Madame ZeeZee, Madame ZeeZee's Nightmare, murder mysteries, Una Tiers. 1 Comment »

Presenting . . . Me!

February 14, 2018 — Pat Bertram

I attended a book club meeting yesterday evening. The women had read Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, and they invited me to give a presentation. “Presentation” sounds grandiose when in fact the only thing I present is me. My book club presentations are no more than sitting around chatting with the members. It’s always pleasant (and rare!) for me to get a chance to talk about myself and my books, and I had a great time.

It wasn’t until this morning that I realized how often I mentioned Jeff and grief, and for just a moment I felt bad about that. Not that I was maudlin last night, but it’s hard for me to talk about my life and my blog and especially my books without referring to either of those influences. Two of my books (Grief: The Great Yearning and Unfinished) are specifically about grief, and Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare delves more into how the women in Madame ZeeZee’s dance class feel about the murder than most mysteries do. (It’s hard for me to let even fictional deaths go unhonered. Death is such a life-changing event for all concerned, and too often in fiction death becomes an almost casual — and causal — plot point.

Still, I think I presented myself in a pleasant manner. There were only a couple of times I fumbled for words. (Note to self: next time you are asked to speak about your books, memorize the quote that inspired you to write A Spark of Heavenly Fire!)

The most disheartening moment was meeting a woman who hiked with a local group. (Although I know many of the people in that group and had often been invited to hike with them, I have dance class the day they hike and never managed to get to a single one of their outings). Meeting the woman wasn’t disheartening, of course, since she was quite nice. It’s that she destroyed an ankle on one of the hikes and will never be able to hike again, though she does seem to be able to walk okay. (I think it was this very same group where several years ago a man died on the trail.)

I have to admit, her predicament gave me pause. What if I fall out in the wilderness while on a hike? Being with a group does not prevent such a mishap, nor does it make it easier to extract the injured hiker. But I cannot let fear keep me from my mission. Once fear takes hold, it becomes easier to give in to other fears and harder to do anything that involves the slightest bit of risk, which would be paralyzing since simply living (and even living simply) carries an element of risk.

And anyway, of the three major injuries in my life, two were when I was with others, and one — my arm mishap — happened in the city within fifty feet of hundreds of peoples, not one of whom heard me scream.

In light of this hiker’s situation, the women seemed appalled when they found out about my plans for a solo adventure. Not that I blame them considering my own reaction, but I said “Who is there to go with me?” They all looked away because there is no response to that.

I better stop thinking about this experience. The more I reconsider, the more of a downer it seems for that poor book club. I can only hope my bright smile offset some of the unpleasant truths about my life that I foisted on them.

***

Posted in books, culture, life. Tags: book club discussion, book club presentation, hiking injuries, honoring death, life is risky, talking about my books, the influence of grief in my life. 8 Comments »

Weight Shaming

February 13, 2018 — Pat Bertram

I’ve read a lot about ultra lightweight backpacking, and it makes sense — the less weight you have to carry, the easier it will be. Sounds good, right? But ultra lightweight gear is generally absurdly expensive, and in some cases, those who desire to go ultra light end up with gear that seems counterproductive. For example, some ultra lightweight backpacks are ultra lightweight because they leave off the hipbelt (making the shoulders take all the weight) or making the pack a lot smaller. (Small ultra lightweight packs hold as little as 35 liters, which makes me laugh, thinking about the fellow at REI who refused to sell me a 38 liter pack because it wouldn’t hold enough for a long trek.) And some people don’t carry important emergency items in order to make their packs lighter because they don’t think they will ever need them.

The real issue is the weight shaming that so many of these elitist backpackers indulge in. They look down on, and make fun of people who carry a heavier pack. Some go in for body shaming, too, mentioning the absurdity of heavy people trying to cut back the weight of their pack rather than their body weight, but most shaming goes toward the pack base weight. (Pack base weight is the total weight you carry including the pack but minus food, water, and fuel.)

Apparently, the motive for the ultra lightweight hikers is to chew up the miles. Their method is hike, eat, sleep, repeat. That’s it. They seem to believe there is no reason to take anything to read or to write with because they say if you have energy left at the end of the day, you’re not doing it right. (Apparently, although these folks spout the hiker’s mantra, hike your own hike, they don’t mean it.) The latest thing I’ve been hearing is the importance of cutting back on tent weight (for these folks, often a tarp is enough) and sleeping pad. They say it’s better to be comfortable walking than comfortable sleeping.

Even without checking to see who these folks are, I would bet they are youngish males. No older woman would ever consider the idea that being too uncomfortable to sleep is better than carrying a couple of extra pounds in her pack, even if it means she has to go slower.

The real issue with the weight shamers seems to be the same issue that shows up in any other inter-human relationship — the inability to understand that others might have different values than you. They don’t consider that maybe people are out there to do other things besides simply walk. Writers need to write about their experiences while the feeling is fresh. Photographers want to indulge in their artistry. Readers might find comfort in the familiarity of words in the vastness of the night. Aesthetes need time to appreciate. Nature lovers need time to commune with the world around them. Pilgrims have to search for spiritual meaning in the quest.

So many reasons to embark on a long hike. So many reasons to put other considerations before pack weight.

I don’t know what my base weight is since I have not yet gotten to that point, but the weight of my “big three” (pack, tent, sleep system) is a mere ten pounds, though it’s still considered heavy by some. Regardless, that weight is about as light as I can get it unless I want to invest in an ultra lightweight tent and a lighter backpack that together will cost about a thousand dollars. Even so, the most weight I can save by spending all that money is two or three pounds. (I can’t go lighter on my sleep system or there will be no sleep!)

And anyway, my goal is not to hike, eat, sleep, repeat. It’s to experience whatever I can as deeply as I can. And if that means carrying a bit of extra weight in my pack, so be it.

Actually, the biggest weight in anyone’s pack comes from food (some hikers eat four thousand calories a day) and water if there is no water source. (Water weighs a bit more than two pounds a liter, and we need at least that much every day.) If we could learn to get our food and water from the air, just think how light our packs would be!

Something to aim for?

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Posted in culture, life, relationships. Tags: backpacking ultra lightweight or comfort, hike eat sleep repeat, hike your own hike, older women backpackers, pack base weight, reasons for backpacking, ultra lightweight backpacking. 5 Comments »

Climbing Mount Everest

February 12, 2018 — Pat Bertram

I bet you guessed I didn’t really climb Mount Everest today, but it sure felt like it. Dance class was cancelled, so I strapped on my backpack and headed out to the desert despite the strong wind alert. The alert was right — those were very strong winds. Very cold strong winds. But I persevered. If I were on a real backpacking trip, I would have to deal with whatever weather comes my way, and today it was the wind that came.

Once I got to the desert, I did my usual loop, which takes me up a hill and back down and around, and the winds made that hill feel like a very steep mountain. I had to stop several times to catch my breath on the way up, but by the time I crested the hill and felt the full force of those winds, I was sure I’d done something as magnificent as climbing Mount Everest.

Oddly, although sometimes I feel very foolish for thinking about a long trek in the wilderness —after all, I am in no way athletic or outdoorsy — these preparatory hikes never feel foolish. They just are.

And anyway, what is wrong with foolish thinking? The more I contemplate a backpacking trip, the more reasonable it seems. Women’s hips are built for carrying weight. Women’s bodies (mine anyway) are built for storing up fat to prepare for extraordinary times. Odd to think that despite this, men hikers seem to outnumber women.

Although I have a few things going for me (woman’s physiology, determination, desire), my level of unfitness might be against me, but then, that’s what all this tramping around with a backpack is for. Either I will be better prepared to attempt a long hike, or I will have abandoned the whole idea long before I have to hike up a hill even steeper than the one I faced today.

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Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: contemplating a backpacking trip, foolish thinking, long trek in the wilderness, preparatory hike, woman’s physiology, women and backpacking, women are built for backpacking, women hikers. 8 Comments »

A Perfect Thing

February 11, 2018 — Pat Bertram

I used to think ours was a dystopian world, a world where the rich own us; the corporations control us; the alphabet agencies spy on us and perform experiments on us; and the government keeps us in perpetual wars so that we never see the truth of what is being done to us.

Well, I still think that’s true, but now I wonder if we are more like the way Dickens began A Tale of Two Cities: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

It’s possible we are living in the worst of times and living in the best of times. A dystopia for sure, but also a utopia. Our sphere of freedom might be narrowing, but within that narrow sphere, we can still find the freedom to be who we want to be, to think what we want to think, to dream what we want to dream and to try to make those dreams come true.

Notice I say we have the freedom to try to make our dreams come true. Not all things are possible. Sometimes we don’t have the money or the knowledge or the health or the courage or the willingness to sacrifice to make those dreams come true, but we do have the freedom to try.

My dream, the impossible dream that has me in its clutches, makes ours seem not such a dystopian world after all (as long as I stay away from political rants on Facebook, anyway).

Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail is not an impossible dream for many people — they have the strength, the money, the knowledge, the courage. For some, such as recent college graduates, it isn’t even much of a sacrifice because they don’t have spouses and children to leave behind.

In my case, even though I might have the time, the money (at least temporarily), and maybe even the courage, I have doubts about my fitness level even for a long section hike. To make the logistics work, I’d have to be able to hike at least ten miles a day carrying a pack, and I simply don’t know if that would ever be possible. And I don’t know if I have mental stamina. Last night before I fell asleep, a feeling of horror came over me. “You’re thinking of doing what?” I screeched to myself. “Are you out of your mind?”

Whether it’s an impossible utopian dream or a dystopian nightmare waiting to happen, a long saunter on the Pacific Crest Trail has truly captured my imagination.

The PCT is such a perfect thing in and of itself. As Danny DeVito said in Other People’s Money, “It don’t care whether I’m good or not. It don’t care whether I snore or not. It don’t care which God I pray to.” He was talking about money, of course (money and donuts were his two obsessions), but the trail doesn’t care. It doesn’t care who trods its soil, doesn’t care how fat you are, doesn’t care how slow you go, doesn’t care about anything at all. It just is.

Think of it. A viable walking path that extends all the way from Mexico to Canada. Isn’t that utterly amazing? The Appalachian Trail starts in Georgia, the Continental Divide Trail has not yet been completed, though experienced hikers do manage to find their way from top to bottom. But the Pacific Crest Trail is completed, and even neophytes can (and do) attempt to hike the whole thing. And we each, individually, own it. Or at least, we own the bit of land we happen to be standing on at any given moment. We own the dreams the trail engenders. We own the views we can claim. We own the experience of a wilderness that is still mostly pristine.

Sounds to me like utopia, a utopia that is available to anyone who wishes to escape the dystopia the media consistently foists on us.

Interestingly, in the past couple of days, I have found inspiration from two separate sources — and on Facebook of all places.

John Smith, a LASHer (Long A** Section Hiker) responded to my concerns about how PCT thru hikers treat those who don’t fit the usual mold of hikers. He wrote:

You are likely to find your ‘trail family’ out there but I have to be honest, you might not. Receive the gifts you find on the trail in those you meet, the sights you see, and the challenges you overcome. Add to the peace and joy of others as you connect with them and as you disconnect as well. In all that you do, on the trail or off, grow and stretch and grasp for the next life-altering experience. It will be challenging, hard, uplifting and at times tear you apart inside but as you close your eyes each night you can reflect on the growth of the day and the strength you can bring to the world around you.

I found those words so beautiful I asked permission to post them here, and luckily for all of us, John agreed.

The second thing that moved me is the image attached to this article, a gift from my dear and so very wise friend Nanna Murakami.

Whether I ever actually go backpacking on the Pacific Crest Trail seems unimportant right now. What is important is that I walk with love in my steps and receive the gifts that each of those steps bring.

There is more than a bit of utopia in that.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: dystopian nightmare, gifts of the trail, It don't care whether I'm good or not, Other People's Money, overcome the challenges of the trail, Pacific Crest Trail, Utopian dream, walk with love in our steps. 8 Comments »

Adventure? Or a Boring Walk in the Park?

February 10, 2018 — Pat Bertram

A friend commented the other day that the trails that call to her are the Grand Canyon and Bryce, and it struck me that although I’ve always lived within a two-day road trip from both, I’ve never been to either. So much to see!

I need more adventures.

If I can’t get fit enough to do a long backpacking trip, I can always drive to those legendary places, camp in a campground, and then do day hikes. (In the back of my mind, a little voice is telling me that the Grand Canyon is part of the Arizona National Scenic Trail. Does it sound like I’m obsessed with trails?)

In my favor, I am up to carrying twenty-six pounds for five miles, which means at the very least, I can do dispersed camping trips to get me into the back country.

That’s not bad. Maybe not a thru-hike, but it’s more than simply sitting and staring at a computer. And I have to admit, I do spend a lot of time on the computer, not just because of this blog, but also researching the trails and such.

During one such search, I found a discussion about the best way of preparing for a thru hike. A hiker suggested doing a lot of hiking, and at least one day a week, hike for nine hours. Not nine miles. Nine hours! I don’t want to do anything for nine hours. Not even read. Or sit at the computer. Or sleep, apparently, since I am now in the habit of waking several times during the night.

But this made me think — parts of the trail are dangerous if you aren’t paying attention, and who can possibly keep themselves focused for nine hours? Among the recent college graduates who make up the bulk of the trail population, there is a good bit of drinking and drugs, and there don’t seem to be a lot of folks falling off cliffs. So perhaps the trail isn’t as dangerous at all. Maybe it truly is a walk in the park.

A boring walk in the park. In my post “Pretending”, I mentioned that one of the reasons people quit the trail is boredom, and I wonder if it’s a more prevalent reason than people are willing to admit. I remember one woman a long time ago saying she got tired of staring at dirt, and that’s the truth of it. Unless you saunter, as I do, and stop every few minutes to look around, all you see is the ground in front of you. Even out in the desert near here, where the trails I walk are wide enough for off-road vehicles, one misstep could cause an injury. So I see a whole heck of a lot of dirt and sand.

But seeing dirt and sand is still seeing, right? And if all I see is dirt, it would still be nice to see dirt of different colors.

Yep. More adventures.

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Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: Arizona National Scenic Trail, I never saw the Grand Canyon, long backpacking trip, need more adventures, preparing for a backpacking trip, spending too much time on the computer, why hiking is boring. 6 Comments »

Washington Retrip

February 9, 2018 — Pat Bertram

I haven’t even taken my first trip to Washington, and I’m already considering a retrip later this year. There are parts of the Washington section of the Pacific Coast Trail that seem perfect for a fall saunter, and I’m not sure I want to wait another year to set foot on the trail. (Perfect because of weather. Perfect because of available water. Not having to carry as much water as in the desert would make a trek so much easier.)

By having to cut my trip short and come back before Memorial Day (I promised my dance teacher I’d try to be back to do a belly dance performance at the local college, the same place where I destroyed my arm), I will miss out on a second Washington backpacking trip. The original plan was a night or two in the wilderness to make sure it’s what I want to do, and then a longer trip the following week for a wilder adventure. It’s that second trip I still want to take, so if I head back to Washington in the fall, I will get another chance at a “supported” hike.

Presently, because I live not far from the trail, I could take a taxi to the nearest trailhead (assuming, of course, I could get a taxi to take me out that far) and then with no further ado, just start hiking. Not that I want to hike with anyone, but heading out like that on a backpacking trip seems sad. And lonely. (I have to laugh at myself sometimes — I talk about a 2,700 mile hike, and yet balk at a hike that barely makes a blip on the PCT map.)

On the other hand, if I take a train up to Washington, maybe my sister and brother-in-law would be willing to drive me to the trail and even walk a mile or so with me. And meet me at road junctions with food resupply boxes. And pick me up at the end or even in the middle if I have difficulties. (The scariest part of any long hike is the hitchhiking that seems so much a part of the culture. Eek.)

I’d still have plenty of time to do the King’s Canyon National Park trip with my friend who’d be flying in from Texas. We’d get together before or after Washington (since besides lots of trees, she wants to see snow covered mountains, after would make more sense, but either way would work). Which gives me two adventures to plan for! Well, three since I still haven’t taken my May trip.

I feel like such an armchair traveler, talking about things I’m not yet doing. I have to remind myself that I have done things — two months of day hikes in Northern California, a twelve-thousand-mile cross-country trip. But those things now seem long in the past, and one day, these trips (or the planning, anyway) will also be long in the past.

Meantime, there is today. I just got back from five miles in the desert (dripping wet, and not from rain but from the heat and carrying twenty-six pounds), so I better go eat or else I won’t have the strength to go anywhere.

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