Adventure | Bertram's Blog

Past the Coyote Den

November 29, 2017 — Pat Bertram

Yesterday was such a lovely day — cool temperatures, warm sun — that I decided to ramble in the desert. A friend who’d seen one of my previous posts told me about a place where water, perhaps from the Mojave River, had made its way to the surface, and I wanted to see this miracle. Supposedly, a few cactus grow around the guzzler, so I figured I shouldn’t have trouble finding a spot of green in all that taupe. Since I didn’t like the sound of her directions — go past the coyote den, and then leave the trail and climb a snake-infested hill — I decided the best thing was to ascend the highest hill and search for anything growing.

All I found were a few scrawny creosote bushes and gorgeous views.

And boulders. Lots of boulders.

I started to descend one hill, then stopped and looked around, enjoying the solitude, and I saw a sign that stunned me.

Can’t read the sign? Here is a blow-up.

Active firing range? Yikes. I knew the gun club was far below me — I’d been there a couple of times to participate in their Women on Target program, and besides, I could often hear the pop of guns when I was out roaming the desert — but I didn’t know it could be dangerous so high up. I scurried on down the path away from the sign and up to another hilltop where I had a good view of the desert across the street from where I’ve been staying. Although the knoll looks like an elongated pyramid from this view, from where I sit at the moment, it looks like a lot of rocks and jagged peaks.

Since the hardest part of my recent hikes have been the mile-long return trip on city streets, I decided to pick my way around a gated community (the houses the far left of the pyramid photo toward the bottom), across the pyramid, and then down. There wasn’t a path as such — mostly I had to make my own trail through bushes and over rocks. (Not something I would ever do in snake season!) But I did manage to escape that long tarmac trek. When I exited the desert I simply walked across the street and up the driveway.

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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, life, photography. Tags: coyote den, danger sign, guzzler, hike in the desert, lovely day, Mojave River. 4 Comments »

Re-Summer

November 25, 2017 — Pat Bertram

I went hiking in the desert again, not wanting to waste the last couple of days left from this halcyon summer rerun before colder temperatures set in once more.

(The warming trend after the first frost used to be called Indian Summer, but I suppose that name has become anathema along with all the rest of the terms being restructured for political reasons, and I have not yet heard the new term for this re-summertime. Not that the season cares what we call it — it simply is. And besides, in the desert, the summer was never this lovely, so perhaps the current mild weather isn’t a rerun at all, but the real thing, no matter what the calendar says.)

The trails I took today were a lot easier than the previous ones, mostly because they were wide enough I could chug uphill on the smoother parts and zigzag my way down on the steeper slopes.

I wasn’t the only one making use of the fine day, but I don’t want to ruin the experience by mentioning all the boys of all ages with their noisy vehicular toys zooming along the trails. (Oops. Do you see what I did? I mentioned the noise after all!) I really shouldn’t complain about the motorized toys — after all, if it weren’t for vehicles, most of the trails in the desert would be as treacherous as the one I climbed the last time I was there.

The hardest parts were balancing me, my trekking poles, and my phone so I could take photos. Usually, photos seem more vibrant than the natural subject, but for some reason, these photos don’t pop the way the real scenery did, maybe because there is nothing to show the scope of the slopes. (I suppose I could have done a selfie or two, but that’s not my style. I prefer to be outside the photo looking in, rather than inside the photo looking out.)

Still, the photos are good enough to show the beauty of my walk without showing all that isn’t beautiful, such as the roads carved into the desert floor by the ATVs and the garbage strewn everywhere. But let’s not talk about those things, and remember only the intermittent silence and the beauty.

Posted in Adventure, life, photography. Tags: boys with noisy toys, fall warming trend, hiking in the desert, indian summer, zizzagging downhill. Leave a Comment »

When You Can’t Go Forward and You Can’t Go Back

November 24, 2017 — Pat Bertram

After my success hiking in the small part of the desert across the street, yesterday I decided to go further afield. Beyond these two hills is what I used to call “my desert,” the area I used to ramble when I stayed with my father.

The view was different from I remembered, but then, I was further south than the trails I used to walk, and was looking at the hills from a different direction.

I didn’t want to overtire myself the second day out, so I rounded the hills and headed back. In the distance, I saw an interesting rock formation jutting above a hill, and since I wasn’t at all tired, I took a short detour to check it out. Such a lovely mini canyon!

By then, I’d climbed a rocky trail that had been easy to walk up, but seemed too dangerous to walk down, so I kept going. The trail ahead of me seemed steep but easy enough.

Oh, my! Most of it was okay, but parts of it were so steep I simply could not hike any further. Perhaps if my damaged arm and wrist were stronger, I could have hauled myself up using the trekking poles. Perhaps. As it was, I could only stand there, legs shaking, body trembling with adrenaline.

So, what does one do when one can’t hike up and can’t hike down? You toss the poles ahead of you to free your arms and crawl on your hands and knees. At least, that’s what I did. I had to laugh at myself — I’ve been dreaming again of a long distance hike, something epic and life changing, and there I was, in what certainly could have been a life-changing situation, especially when I encountered not one, not two, but three such spots, each more dangerous than the last. But finally . . . finally . . . I got to the top of the hill.

When I was safe, I glanced back and couldn’t believe those innocent-looking hills held such beauty and treachery.

You know what the worst part of the hike was? Yep, you guessed it — not the hard part of the trail, but what should have been the easiest — the long paved city mile back to the house. After two hours hiking I was exhausted!!

Posted in Adventure, life, photography. Tags: crawling up a hill, desert hills, hiking in the desert, my desert. 2 Comments »

Pat’s Big Adventure

November 22, 2017 — Pat Bertram

In April, when I moved into my current rented room, the desert across the street called to me, especially the trail I could see in the distance, but I had to ignore the siren’s song. I’d just had surgery on my hand, multiple drugs had been pumped into me, and I had a hard time finding my equilibrium. Even worse, the thought of falling panicked me.

Today, finally, I followed the trail over the hill. It wasn’t much of an adventure as compared to climbing Mt. Everest, but it was a huge milestone for me.

As it turns out, it was a good thing I waited. I needed to use both hiking poles (which I couldn’t have done six months ago) because the trail was rocky, and in some places, I had to pick my way carefully through narrow rocky paths.

At the best of times, I’m not much of a hiker — I’ve seen people clambering hills as sure-footed as a mountain goat, but not me. Still, slow and steady keeps me going and gets me home safely. Despite some briefly treacherous places, the worst thing was entering a gated community from the back side, and not being able to get out. Luckily, I only had to wait about ten minutes until someone drove through the gate. I had to scurry to get through before the gate closed, but I managed to exit the neighborhood.

One great thing about getting out in the wilds, even if it’s only the wilds across the street, is being able to get a different perspective on life. For example, in this final photo, the city between the boulders in the foreground and the hills in the background looks like just another field of scattered rocks.

Posted in Adventure, life, photography. Tags: city of scattered rocks, desert hike, leaving a gated community, using hiking poles. 6 Comments »

Dipping My Toe Into Wanderlust Again

April 14, 2017 — Pat Bertram

Facebook has a feature where they show us our memories — the pictures or articles we had posted on this day a year or more ago. Today Facebook reminded me of a blog post I wrote two years ago called “Dipping My Toe Into Wanderlust,” which I found synchronous because today, once again, I dipped my toe into wanderlust.

Sounds exciting, doesn’t it? And, in its way, it is very exciting. I drove today! I’ve only driven twice since I fell on November 19, once to the hospital with my wrist wrapped in the glittery veil from my dance costume, and once very carefully when I moved to my new place. Both times I knew the danger of driving a standard transmission one handed, so I’ve been keeping my car packed away. I knew eventually I would have to start driving again, maybe in another week or two, but my erstwhile occupational therapist stopped by to visit with me yesterday (such a treat to see her!), and she thought I should start driving as part of my physical therapy.

She expressed dismay at the surgeon’s disinclination to prescribe therapy yet, but I am okay with his decision. I am doing what I can, taking myself to the edge of tolerable pain, and that is enough for now. At least that is what I tell myself.

Apparently though, I am doing okay for one who is a mere two weeks past surgery and a week past having the soft cast removed. I drove for a couple of hours today — perhaps foolishly, but it felt so good to be on the road that I didn’t want to come back. (And the poor, long-suffering bug needed exercise.) Although my hand is still too swollen to make a tight fist, I was able to get a good grip on the steering wheel. I had no problem at all, not even backing up or making tight turns, even though my ultra-basic car has no power steering.

I ache now of course, but I am at that stage in healing where I almost always ache. If I don’t ache, I use the pain-free interval to do wrist and hand exercises, which returns me to the place of pain. I don’t like pain, I’m certainly no masochist, but I’m learning to appreciate whatever sensations come my way. With as much damage as there was to the elbow, arm, wrist, and hand (although the hand bones were not broken, they had all been pushed close to the thumb), including the breaks in the the bones and the rips and tears in the tendons and ligaments, it’s miraculous that I had no nerve damage. And so, lucky me — truly! — I have full sensory use of my fingers and arm, and if that sensory awareness includes pain, so be it.

But this is not a time to be talking about pain, but to celebrate. I drove today! Can wanderlust be far behind?

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels 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, life. Tags: ache and healing, driving as therapy, driving with a broken wrist, need physical therapy, standard transmission, wanderlust. 7 Comments »

Small Steps and Big Adventures

April 12, 2017 — Pat Bertram

I don’t know if the title of this post should be “Small Steps and Big Adventures” or “Small Adventures and Big Steps.” Nor do I know which are the steps and which the adventures. Perhaps each activity is a bit of both.

Although I have been using speech recognition software for my blogs, today, in the interest of physical therapy, I am typing by hand. Two hands. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

The effort to type probably falls more in the category of masochism rather than a step or an adventure. My real adventure came the day after my “I Have a Secret” post. Not wanting to spend another day dealing with the emotional side effects of my injury, I made plans to meet a friend for ice cream. Normally, this would be a simple and quick pleasure — drive for ten minutes straight down the closest major road to the ice cream shop. But when one is not able to drive — it’s too dangerous to drive one-armed in traffic, especially under the influence of pain pills, and without the pills, I would be in too much pain — the trip is more complicated, involving buses and transfers, and two hours of travel time one way. But I did it! And it was nice. A small adventure and a simple pleasure.

Yesterday a friend took me shopping, which is always wonderful. We stopped for lunch, had a good time, decided to do the thirty-day cleansing diet (no grains, milk products, legumes, or sweeteners of any kind) starting on Monday. And I promised to stop by ballet class for barre work on Tuesday. Both of those (the diet and dance) were major decisions. I haven’t been feeling well — understandable because of the pain, the continued effects of the injury, and my attempts at rehabilitation — but some of my malaise, I am sure, is due to my need for treats and poisons. (Hot dogs, potato chips, and soda. And jellybeans. Oh, my. How low I have fallen!) I hope the stringent diet will help me get back into more sensible eating habits.

The dance class promise is more problematic. I don’t want to go back to class. I feel as if the deformed arm and resulting disability are a direct result from dancing (or indirect, since I was walking out of the theater after a performance when I fell), and though people tell me I can’t feel that way, I can’t help it. Besides, the injury is way too severe to come from something that was supposed to be fun. Even more than that, I am not ready to confront all I have lost — there is too much I can’t do, too much I shouldn’t do, at least not yet. And most of all, I took dance classes to bring me to life after Jeff died, and now here I am, right back where I was — in agony.

But . . . I promised. So I will go. I also said I would try to get to Hawaiian class tomorrow. We’ll see. (I’m using a photo of me in a costume in the hope it would make me feel better about going, but it doesn’t seem to be working.)

The main thing that happened is that I took a shower!!! All by myself!!! The last time I took a shower, I had help. For the past two months, I’ve been washing my hair in the sink and taking one-handed sponge baths, but my new bathroom (private!) came with a shower chair, so today I took the plunge.

A shower should not be such a big deal. I spent decades showering by myself. And yet, today, showering (and typing) are huge steps. Painful steps, but still steps. The hardest part about all these steps and adventures is trying not to look back at what was or forward to what will or won’t be, but taking it from here.

My brother, the mostly sane one, has a golf metaphor about hitting a ball into a sand trap. Once you’re there, you can’t worry about how you got into the mess. You have to assess the situation and go from there.

Well, I assessed this situation and decided I much prefer speech recognition software. It is a lot less painful.

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Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: broken wrist, emotional side effects of broken limbs, emotional side effects of injuries, golf metaphor, hitting a ball into a sand trap, shower chair, speech recognition software, thirty-day cleansing diet. 12 Comments »

Once Upon a Time Under the Sonoran Stars

March 22, 2017 — Pat Bertram

A little more than a year ago, I stopped at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument on my way across the country. It was a fantastic experience, like living in a southwestern botanical garden. It seemed such a magical spot that I stayed a day longer than I’d planned.

One of the special moments of my stay at the park was hiking with a couple of fellow campers. After we returned to our tents and rested a bit, one of the hikers, a guy who was exploring the south and west on his motorcycle, brought a bottle of Grand Marnier to my campsite. He and I sat under the bright stars with the glow of Mexico to the south and sipped our drinks.

I just got an email from the fellow. Once again he is camping at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, sipping Grand Marnier under the stars, and oh! How I wish I were there. I often think about that monumental park, especially now that I am homebound, and I dream of going back and spending more than just a couple of days.

My fixator will come off in exactly 13 days. (But who’s counting.) Planning new adventures and a replay of previous adventures will give me courage during the arduous months of physical therapy.

And maybe, one day, I will be back in my tent under the sonoran stars.

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Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: Grand Marnier, Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, sonoran desert, southwestern botanical garden, traveling cross country. 19 Comments »

There is Magic

July 31, 2016 — Pat Bertram

When I was younger, I always wanted to have a special gift — ESP, maybe, or an ability to see ghosts. Or perhaps to have a touch of magic at my fingertips.

Now I am just as glad not to be special, glad to be mostly down-to-earth and pragmatic. I prefer to see the truth in the everyday world, though that never stops me from trying to become more than I currently am — to see further, to know more, to understand deeper.

Would I want to know what the future holds? Only if that future revolves around winning lottery numbers. I would love to win the lottery, to buy houses all over the country for the women I know who need a place to live, who want a bit of adventure but not much, so they could stay in whatever house they wanted for as long as they wanted before moving to another. Other than that, I don’t particularly care to know what will happen. I do know there will be good and bad. (Except that I don’t really believe in good and bad. It’s all life. All experience. All opportunity for growth.) Besides, I know what the future holds in the end, the same as it holds for all of us. Death. The getting there is the fun, or the not-fun. Either way, it should be interesting. (Grief wasn’t fun at all, but it sure was all-consuming, the most intense and life-changing emotional experience I’ve had besides falling in love.)

I certainly wouldn’t want the responsibility of seeing other people’s futures. What if I saw that something bad would happen? Would I be obligated to try to stop it? And if so, would it be the right thing to do? Maybe the bad thing would turn out to be good, and my interpretation of it was bad. And even if I saw it correctly, maybe changing the bad thing would create a vacuum for a worse thing to happen. Who needs that sort of pressure? Not me!

Would I want a touch of magic? Only if I could magic my books to bestsellerdom. Other than that, I wouldn’t know what to do with magic. To give myself what I want, first I need to know what I want, and that has been my problem for the past few years. I haven’t a clue what I want, don’t have any idea how I would like to shape my life. And anyway, I’m tired of trying to figure out what I want. It’s making me question everything I do, and that makes it harder to like anything.

Magic realism author Malcolm R. Campbell (who gave me the idea for this post) suggested I could use magic to wish for happiness and contentment, but I wouldn’t waste magic on such a paltry wish. I never thought happiness was all that important (other things are more important to me such as truth, experiencing, learning.) Even if I were so inclined to happiness, finding happiness and contentment on my own would make it all the sweeter. And anyway, today I am happy and content. I get to start a new life tomorrow. Technically, it’s just a new place to stay awhile, but who knows? Anything can happen. And there is magic in that.

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Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: ESP, finding happiness and contentment, magic at my fingertips, special gift, what the future holds. 9 Comments »

Refreshment

July 21, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I had a great day yesterday, but then, I always have an especially good time when hiking. Hiking is my therapy, my peace, my freedom. And when I have the perfect companion, hiking is bliss, even when the temperature hits a hundred or more.

Although my cross-country road trip was supposed to include a lot of hiking, I wrenched my hip at ballet class shortly before I left. And driving — all that sitting — only exacerbated the matter. I still managed a few good hikes along the way, but often the pain kept me from long treks. It was only after I figured out that the pain came not from the sciatic nerve but the accompanying piriformis muscle that I was able to find the proper stretches to help heal the muscle. And now, finally, I can hike again.

When a neighbor invited me to go on a hike with her on the nearby Pacific Crest Trail, I jumped at the chance. And oh, how sublime! The part of the trail we walked was fairly easy with no severe elevation changes and only a couple of treacherous spots where the trail had degraded. We ended up at a lovely tree-shaded spot by the golden Deep Creek where we lazed so long, I missed my dance class. But a hike, a new friend, easy conversation, and a creekside idyll were things not to be missed.

The hike back seemed even easier because we were prepared for the bad spots.

Although it can be dangerous hiking in the desert heat, which is why I always carry plenty of water, there is one factor besides the obvious joy of being out in nature that comes from such a trek — the feeling of deep and abiding inside-out cleanliness and freshness that results when one finally gets a chance to shower away the sweat.

Refreshment. Means a whole lot more than just the simple snack we enjoyed beneath the trees by the side of the creek.

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Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: Deep Creek, hiking with a friend, Pacific Crest Trail, piriformis muscle, refreshment. 5 Comments »

Happy or Sad — It’s All Part of the Adventure

July 19, 2016 — Pat Bertram

Sometimes I wonder if it’s time for me to stop talking about the ups and downs of my life, just stick with . . . I don’t know . . . upbeat thoughts, perhaps. I won’t, though. I do not believe it is either healthy or wise to always put on a smiling face. Life is good, but it is also cruel. Life is happy, but it is also sad. Life is easy, but it is also hard. How can we ignore the parts of life that might not be comfortable?

The truth is, although I can handle the downs of my life, the emotion lows, most other people can’t. It makes them uncomfortable. And rightly so. People who are smug in their couplehood don’t want to have to think of being the one left behind. People who own houses do not want to admit that some people might be homeless (not in a disfunctional sort of way, but in simply a roofless and rootless sort of way) through no fault of their own. People who are surrounded by family don’t want to know what it is like to be a generation of one.

Perhaps oddly, I have never considered happiness something to pursue. It seems more of a hindsight sort of thing, realizing after the fact that one was happy, which makes happiness a thing of the past, not the present, and therefore irrelevant. Being unhappy at times in the present is not a crime. Sometimes not being particularly happy is a proper response. Most reasonable people, in a hurricane, try to get out of the wind, not revel in the devastation. And above all, I am reasonable.

It is not just the loss of the brother closest to me in age ten years ago, the loss of my mother nine years ago, the loss of my life mate/soul mate six years ago, the loss to mental illness of my older brother two and a half years ago, and the loss of my father one and a half years ago. It’s also the loss of my livelihood (my life mate and I were in business together; although I am a writer, I am not one of the lucky ones who make a living at it). The loss of my home — twice (once six years ago when I came to the desert to take care of my dad, and then again a year and a half ago when my dad died.) And the loss of the feeling of purposefulness more times than I can count. (Lost the feeling of purposefulness that came from building a coupled relationship, from taking care of the sick and the dying, from grieving.)

Considering all that pain and loss, I do not think it is unreasonable to still have times of sadness. To still have times when death makes me cry. (I ran over a snake this morning, couldn’t stop in time, and I cried over the pain and eventual loss of that beautiful creature.)

I do not need to be cured. Happy or sad, I am perfectly fine. Happy is easier, of course, but why does life have to be easy?

I often mention my difficulty finding a place to live, but it only bothers me sporadically. Like when the outside temperature is over 100, and I am exhausted. Then life gets daunting. Meantime, I am staying in an incredible part of the desert, at the foot of the Ord Mountains. I have to drive the worst road imaginable, but I have made new friends, hiked some glorious terrains (and gloriously hot terrains), will go hiking tomorrow with a woman who can show me hidden trails. I am negotiating with a fellow for a room in his house for next month (and space in his garage!). And if that falls apart, I will stay here on the road from hell another month. And if that becomes impossible? Well, something else will come along. Or not.

Happy or sad. Comfortable or uncomfortable. Easy or hard. It’s all part of the adventure.

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