Going Where the Wind Blows

February 25, 2016 — Pat Bertram

As I was loading my car in preparation for leaving Chiricahua National Monument, an older couple approached me, said they too were road hippies (whatever that is), said that my car and I were very cute, then asked where I was headed next. I said I thought I’d go to Rockhound State Park in New Mexico. They said to go to Rock City State Park instead, that it was a much better park. Since I am going where the wind blows, I decided to take their advice. “Going where the wind blows” was supposed to be a figure of speech, but it turned out to be the truth since I had to drive through fierce winds all across southern New Mexico. Cold fierce winds. I didn’t get to the park until about four, and except for a large stand of rocks that from a distance looked like a city skyline, I didn’t see anything except miles of flat land. And all I felt were those bitter winds that could only get colder when the sun set.

So those winds blew me on down the highway.

I had to laugh at myself for all my plans of just driving a couple of hours a day, of stopping early enough so there wouldn’t be a problem about finding a place to stay, and there I was, driving after the sun set. But of course, the early stops were to ensure that I would have time to find an alternative solution if my plans didn’t work out, and that’s what happened.

I drove to Las Cruces and rented a motel room for the night. And oh, did that cheap place feel as luxurious as an upscale spa! Warmth. No wind. No setting up a tent and a makeshift bed. No securing food and scented items from bears. My own bathroom. And a tub to soak my aching bones. Add to that a lovely breakfast buffet with make-your-own waffles, and I felt pampered.

Now I am sitting in the sun in historic Mesilla City, listening to the church chimes.

I feel good. Rested. (Though I don’t look rested. I look like I’ve aged a decade in the last two weeks, but luckily, I don’t see many mirrors.)

My next sort-of-planned stop is a campsite in the Guadalupe Mountains, though I don’t think I’ll make it there today. Do I care?

Absolutely not.

***

(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.”)

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Beyond Awesome

February 24, 2016 — Pat Bertram

Sometimes I think someone like me — out of shape, inexperienced, un-surefooted — has no business on the obstacle courses we call hiking trails, but then I think, “Why the heck not? So what if it takes me seven hours to hike a trail the goat children can do in four?” (Many young people, and even some old, skip up and down even the most treacherous trail as if they were half mountain goat, which is why I think of them as goat children.) It’s a wonderful privilege to have such an opportunity, and getting back safe is what matters, not how long it takes or how gracefully it’s done. Anyway, I do try to be extra careful to make up for my shortcomings.

And, oh, I am so glad that I take the chance! At Chiricahua National Monument, I went on a seven mile round trip hike in Rhyolite Canyon that’s considered a strenuous hike because at one point, there is an 800-foot elevation gain in less than a mile. To me, the strenuousness came from the at times ridiculously difficult trail itself. In the photos below, the rivers of white stones are the trail. Still, it’s an astonishingly scenic hike among rock pinnacles of rhyolite (a gray rock formed from volcanic ash), and culminating in what felt like a sacred place — the beyond awesome area near the balanced rock.

I took a much-needed break at the rock, and in the silence, I could get a sense the pilgrimage I am on. In a way, though so much less impossible than the epic thru-hike I dreamed of, this journey is giving me at least part of what I wanted from a long backpacking trip — a better sense of this great world we live in and perhaps eventually a deeper sense of my connection to it.

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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.”)

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The Thing Is, I’m Feeling Blessed

February 23, 2016 — Pat Bertram

Before I left Tucson, I felt a bit of trepidation about continuing my quest, but as soon as I got on the road, the worry left me. Still, I didn’t feel quite easy, but the uneasiness had nothing to do with my journey. (My books were republished, and certain issues showed up in Grief: The Great Yearning which upset me because as I’m sure you know, that book is very personal to me.)

Since there is nothing I can do about the book now, I tried to get it out of my mind by playing tourist. All along the highway to Benson were billboards screaming, “What’s the Thing?” One billboard claimed that the thing was a mystery of the desert, so I stopped at the tourist trap (a real trap — although the stuff in the store looked like it could be native artifacts and crafts, almost everything was made in China) and paid my dollar to see the thing.

The exhibit certainly didn’t improve my mood. There were several buildings of dusty antiques, a car purported to be one Hitler rode in, bizarre driftwood and tree root sculptures, and a hand carved life-sized tableau of people being tortured.

And then there was the thing. I don’t know if it was real, don’t know why it is a mystery, don’t even know what the poor thing is doing on display, but it looked like a mummified woman with long limbs and a small head clutching a baby.

I started crying for the poor thing (though if it’s some sort of hoax, my tears were absurd) and walked away without photographing the exhibit, but eventually I went back and took a picture because what is one more indignity added to so many?

A little after heading back down the highway, the rhythm of my journey lulled me into a more pleasing state, and by the time my tent was set up at Chiricahua National Monument (the camp host came and introduced himself, and I inveigled him into helping me with the rainfly), I was feeling peaceful and blessed.

***

(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.”)

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Defining My Life

February 21, 2016 — Pat Bertram

My fortune cookie yesterday told me, “Accept no other definition of your life, accept only your own.”

I’m not sure what the definition of my life is, not sure I need one, but somehow that “fortune” seemed apropos. Today I head out on the road again after a week’s hiatus in Tucson to continue my cross-country quest, a quest that perhaps defines my life right now.

Oddly, I feel nervous. Or maybe it’s not odd. I’ll be leaving familiar terrain, maybe heading into colder temperatures and eventually rain and bugs, and even scarier, I’ll have many days in a row without the protection of solid walls (though there is always the possibility of a motel), but still, this trip is something I have to do. Want to do.

I’ll sit here a few moments gathering my courage, finish packing the car, then continue my eastward journey.

See you on down the road.

***

(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.”)

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Sabino Canyon Adventure

February 19, 2016 — Pat Bertram

Note to self: do not take hiking advice from frail little old ladies at national park visitor centers.

About a half-hour drive from the foothills of the Catalina Mountains where I am staying, is the Sabino Canyon Recreation Area, a part of the Coronado National Forest. I’d seen a picture of the Sabino Canyon Trail, and since it is here (or rather, since I am here), I thought I’d sample the trail.

It seemed such a simple thing — go to the area and start hiking — but there were so many intersecting trails and so many people (I managed to snag the very last parking space in a vast lot) I figured I needed a map.

The aforementioned frail little old lady stood behind a small counter, and asked where I wanted to go. I told her I didn’t know, that I’d never been there before. She seemed to be mentally rubbing her hands together with glee when she responded, “I love when people ask for advice.” Apparently, all those hundreds of people milling about outside knew instinctively this woman couldn’t help, but not me. So I blundered forth with my questions.

It turned out that the Sabino Canyon Trail was at the top of a long shuttle ride, which did not serm inviting to me. People were crammed into those open bus-like contraptions, forced to listen to a narration of what they were seeing. And they paid for the privilege.

Not me. I opted to walk up at least part way. The frail woman showed me a six-mile loop hike on the map, said it was a wide path, no stream crossings, no rocks, and level except for perhaps a quarter of a mile uphill. Sounded good to me, so clutching my map, I thanked her and headed out.

Sure enough, the path was wide, level, well-maintained, with no rocks or other obstructions for the unwary to trip over. For about a tenth of a mile. Then things changed. Became narrow. Slabs of rock to hike across. Small boulders to navigate over. All uphill. Up and up and up.

Still, it was pleasant. Beautiful. Since I walked slowly, everyone else passed me (am I the only one who doesn’t seem to be part mountain goat?), so I only had sporadic sounds of voices to distract me. (I’m learning to accept human noises as sounds of wildlife. Makes it easier.)

Within sight of the acropolis, a huge rock outcropping, I perched on a boulder, nibbled a protein bar for lunch, and changed my socks. Rejuvenated, I headed back down the other part of the loop trail that the woman had told me followed a stream, but had no stream crossings. I went down some steep slippery slopes until I hit the stream bed. And sure enough, the trail followed the stream for more than half a mile. It was cool down there — green vegetation for shade instead of the ever-present saguaro. Since I was sore and exhausted from the long trek, I looked forward to the end of the trail. Unfortunately, the trail did not end at the visitor center, but at the stream. A wide stream. A knee-deep stream.

Realizing I hadn’t seen anyone else since I hit the river bottom, I figured I’d taken a wrong turn. So I retraced my steps. Found the trail marking, and took the other fork. Ended up at the water again. And no visible sign of the trail. So I went back to the trail marking and waited. Finally, a small group showed up, and the man seemed to know what he was doing. Soon another group of men arrived, and we all stood by the water trying to figure out what to do. (The knowledgeable man had already made his way across, just plunged into the water and kept going.)

Considering that my only other choice was to go back to the acropolis and retrace my steps down the mountain, I opted to cross the stream. All the folks who crossed with me had paid for the shuttle, so they waited at the stop for their ride, while I trudged soddenly back to the visitor center.

Oddly, I did fine until I sat down to change into dry socks. When I stood again, I could barely move. Utterly stiff and sore from head to foot. (The hiking poles I use take some of the weight off the leg joints and redistribute it to the shoulders.) The soreness and stiffness lasted the rest of the day, but I’m doing okay today with just a bit of stiffness to remind me of my adventure.

And oh my. Such an adventure!

***

(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.”)

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A Foot in the Foothills

February 16, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I’m staying with a friend at the foot of the Catalina Mountains. The past couple of days, I’ve been driving to work with her and walking back, which is a treat since I only have to walk one way and I can swing along without worrying about treacherous trails with unsettling footing. These walks also give me a feel for the area. I can see why my friend is contented here, but when Sunday comes, I’ll be more than ready to move along.

So far, the trip has had an easy rhythm. I drove three or four hours (five with breaks), then set up camp. I spent the next day hiking, and the following day breaking camp and driving to a friend’s house. But now reality has hit — before my next house visit, I will have several times where after I break camp and drive for a while, I will have to set up camp again. It’s hard enough to set up one day and break down another without having to do both on the same day.

I do have options, though. I might be able to find camp sites within an hour or two of each other so I don’t get exhausted driving. I could forget the big tent occasionally and use the tiny backpacking tent, which is a lot easier to set up, though a lot less convenient. Or I could stay in a motel occasionally. (My least favorite option.)

I still have several days before I have to worry about such things, and who knows — it might not be a problem. I am getting more familiar with setting up the tent and I am finding ways to pack the car more efficiently, so both those things help. And I will be heading into cooler, albeit wilder, weather, which might also help if it doesn’t hinder.

Meantime, I’m enjoying the slow pace of this week. Enjoying “camping in” (instead of camping out). Enjoying getting to know again my once-long-lost friend.

***

(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.”)

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Luck and Labyrinths

February 15, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I left Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument feeling lucky, grateful, and blessed to be on such a magical journey. I bought gas at a station on a reservation near Why, and while I sipped a drink, I wandered into the casino and talked to a fellow who looked and sounded like Fisher Stevens in Short Circuit.

I asked if there was a quarter machine, and he ushered me to a bewildering device that only took dollar bills, no coins. He showed me where to put the bill, explained that I could play one quarter at a time, or all four at once. Since I only wanted to push the button once for luck, I opted for the four-in-one chance to win. I pushed the button, and the machine lit up and made some jingly noises. I asked Fisher what that meant, and he said I’d won 34 quarters. I waited for the thrill of all those quarters cascading into my hands, but after a few seconds, the machine pinged, and spit out a voucher for $8.50. Quite an anticlimax, but see? Lucky!

I proceeded to Tucson to meet up with a once-long-lost friend. We had a lovely dinner Saturday night, then yesterday she took me on a tour of some of her favorite places. First we visited the Mission San Xavier del Bac, nicknamed the “white dove of the desert,” because of its shining presence in the arid expanse. (The west tower was struck by lightning in 1939, and restoration continues when funds allow.) Then we drove through Saguaro National Park, and on the way back, we stopped at the Redemptorist Renewal Center on Picture Rocks Road.

I wandered the beautiful grounds, marvelled at the ancient petroglyphs, and made the holy walk through the labyrinth to the center, a symbol of life’s path

I sat on a rock in the center of the labyrinth, feeling blessed, feeling the rightness of this quest I am on. I don’t know what I want from my journey, don’t know if I will ever know the totality of what it will give me, but for once in my life, as with the labyrinth, I am willing to follow the path without understanding and let life make of me what it will.

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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.”)

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Magic in the Sonora Desert

February 14, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I signed up for a hike here in Organ Pipe Cactus National Park. Or rather I should say I signed up for a shuttle ride to the trail head. As I was walking toward the meeting place with a backpack full of emergency supples and a gallon of water (at that time, I was the only one signed up for the shuttle, and I wanted to be prepared for a long solo hike in the heat), a guy on a bicycle stopped and asked if I were going on a hike. I explained about the shuttle, and he asked if there would be room for him. At my assent, he pedaled off, and a few minutes later met up at the rendezvous point. He was a nice fellow, a born again Christian who prayed for me whenever I faltered. The amazing thing to me, though, is that before he knew anything about me, he said it was his mission in life to help the fatherless widows. Well, that’s me, though why fatherless widows are mentioned in the bible as needing help, I haven’t a clue.

At 4.5 miles, we stopped to rest in a small patch of shade at a crossroads so I could catch my breath and change my socks because I felt a blister coming on. A fellow came down the side path and stopped to talk. For some reason the two guys got on the subject of motorcycles, and we all ended up walking back to the campground together. The new fellow, Roger, even volunteered to carry my pack, which he thought was laughably light.

Later that evening, Roger brought a bottle of Grand Marnier to my camp site, and we sat under the stars, talked, and sipped the liqueur. (Is it a liqueur? I’m lamentably ignorant about various spirits because I seldom drink, and I’d never tasted Grand Marnier before.) This morning, he stopped by on his way out of camp to say goodbye and he kindly allowed me to take a photo of him with my VW. After he left, I sat at the picnic table, too tired to break camp, and looked for an excuse to stay another night.

While I was sitting there, a woman stopped by and said she’d heard that a woman in a VW was traveling across the country, and she wanted to meet me.

We chatted about our adventures as women tent campers traveling alone (she’s been doing this for five years), then got down to the basics. “Where are you from?” “Denver.” “Me too! Where did you go to school?” And unbelievably, it turns out we went to the same high school several years apart.

She wanted to get together later to have a beer and visit some moren so I paid to stay another night.

Magic.

And oh. I even got a medal for having hiked at least five miles in the desert.

***

(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.”)

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Okay. Now I am Impressed

February 13, 2016 — Pat Bertram

Well, so much for my blase attitude about this trip. Oh, my.

After leaving Quartzsite, I took a leisurely trip along busy highways and mostly deserted byways, stopping at such bustling metropolises as Ajo and Why. I stopped at Why, hoping to find the answer to all the whys I have been asking the past few years, but all I found out is that you have to buy special car insurance for a trip to Mexico, but no one could tell me why.

In the middle of a long stretch of empty desert highway (perhaps fifty miles along the Barry Goldwater Air Force Range), I saw a not-young woman walking. She was pushing the sort of cart that people who hike across the country use (because no one can carry all the necessary water for desert stretches) so I pulled off to the side of the road, which spooked her because she stopped and made as if to head away from me. I held up my hands in the surrender position, so she stopped and let me get close enough to ask if she needed water. Poor woman wasn’t wearing a hat and was bright red from the sun. I asked where she was going, and she replied, “Asia.” It took me a minute to realize she meant Ajo. I tried to put myself in her shoes. If I were doing a long highway hike in the desert sun, would I have been wary if someone stopped to see if I needed help? Perhaps. But that doesn’t matter. She so obviously wanted nothing to do with me, so I got in my car and headed down the road to my planned destination for the next couple of days, Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument.

It seemed so very far from anywhere, but once I arrived, I realized it wasn’t far from anywhere. It’s right here.

After I set up my camp (the tent looks different because I am not using the rainfly. It’s not supposed to rain, and it’s not supposed to get cold), I went for a stroll around the park in total awe. I felt as if I were meandering around a desert botanical garden. So many lush cactuses and succulents!

Often during the past few months I felt out of place, as if the people who rented the room to me resented my presence, but this land belongs to me. (Well, you too. I am willing to share.) For the two nights I will be here, I will have the biggest back yard imaginable.

And tomorrow I will go exploring.

***

(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.”)

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No Ghosts in Swansea

February 11, 2016 — Pat Bertram

My friend in Quartzsite and went on an adventure to search out the ghost town, Swansea, that once grew around a working copper mine. Abandoned in 1943, it didn’t really capture my imagination. Nor was my friend impressed witb the few ruins that comprise the so-called ghost of a town. (Apparently she didn’t know that many ghost towns are nothing but empty ground, with not even a ruin to mark the spot.)

Making the town more disappointing than it should have been, I skidded on the scree and skinned my knee quite badly. Luckily, I was wearing long pants, and even luckilier, I was wearing my fanny pack complete with first aid kit, so real harm done. This episode taught me two things — always bring my walking sticks (on purpose, I didn’t) and don’t be lazy — always wear some sort of pack complete with emergency supplies. (By accident, I did.)

The real joy of the trip (next, of course, to being able to spend time with my online-now-offline friend Holly), was the trip. Gorgeous scenery. A huge laugh when fifteen miles down a dirt road where we had seen no traffic, we had to stop at a stop sign. Admittedly, we were at a crossroads where we intersected another dirt road with no traffic for miles either way, but ludicrous for all that. (Holly took a photo of the stop sign. I didn’t, figuring we all know what a stop sign looks like.)

And wow, did she impress me when we came to ruts cutting across the road with no way around. These ditches (they were deep enough to drown my poor bug, so no way does “rut” give you an idea of how deep they were; if I were walking, I could not have negotiated them) had been cut by off-road vehicles, and seemed impassable. I thought we might have had to try to fill in the ditches so we could cross (we couldn’t turn back because we had already crossed an uncrossible patch of road, and besides, Holly is as stubborn as I am about backtracking) but Holly just studied those two parallel ditches, calculated the angle she would need to go to cross them, then put her car in gear and drove across as if those ditches were pinstripes in the road. Oh, my.

As interesting as that particular adventure was, I think I’ll stick to highways.

See you on down the road.

***

(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.”)

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