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.

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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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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.

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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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Adventure in Quartzsite, Arizona

February 10, 2016 — Pat Bertram

Almost six years ago I met a woman online who had lost her husband a month and a day before Jeff died. For all these years, we’ve helped each other try to make sense of the senseless. When we first came in contact, she was living in Vermont and I was living in Colorado. And now life, that champion and at times demented chess player, has brought us together in Arizona, in a most peculiar town called Quartzsite. Quartzsite is a quintessential mobile community. Midwestern snow birds and other RV nomads winter here, increasing the population from 3,000 permanent residents to well over a million folks. BLM land sprouts RV camps like weeds, and even the permanent dwellings have a temporary air, as if at any moment the owners will pack up the building and move.

RVing is an interesting lifestyle, and apparently millions love it, but I have no interest in joining the RV community. It seems . . . No. I won’t go there. Even though the lifestyle seems a bit inane to me, people who live it love it, so I should keep my opinions to myself. (But did you notice how I slipped my opinion in there anyway?)

Besides being an RV community, having the best inland fish and chips, and hosting perhaps the world’s largest gem and mineral show, Quartzsite has one other claim to fame: Hi Jolly. Haiji Ali, a Greek born in Syria, was hired by the US Army as a camel herder for it’s Camel Corps. When the Camel Corps was abandoned, Hi Jolly moved to Quartzsite and engaged in a variety of enterprises.

Anyway, this movable and memorable town is where Holly and I finally met. Although friends back in California worry about my meeting people I’ve only known online, I wasn’t worried. You can’t share the most painful emotions of your lives without coming to some sort of truthful understanding of each other, and so it was with the two of us. We simply segued from typing our words to each other to speaking them aloud.

A wonderful woman. A wonderful visit. And she graciously agreed to let me take a photo of her with my VW.

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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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I am Where I Am

February 9, 2016 — Pat Bertram

It’s been a strange couple of days. On Saturday, when I left the house where I was staying and headed out, I started crying. It mystified me because I was glad to leave that place. I’d been invited, and I paid rent, but I never felt welcome, felt as if the dog’s dislike of me was an imposition for them even though I was the one who bore the scars of his dislike. And it’s not as if I were leaving that town forever. I fully intend to resume dance classes once I’ve completed my journey. So why the tears? All I can figure is that with tears I express whatever I can’t express any other way.

On Sunday, I went on an arduous 4-mile hike in Joshua Tree National Park despite the incredible wind, and when I returned to my campsite, I felt as if it was time to end the journey. After all, I’d camped by myself, challenged myself with a difficult and exhausting hike, napped under the stars.

I can’t say I particularly enjoyed all of that, but it is adventure, and adventure is what I once craved. Maybe still do. But it’s hard for me to crave what I am doing. (Think about it. If you crave a pizza, do you still crave it while you are eating it?)

You’d think I’d be ecstatic to finally undertake this journey, but to a certain extent it feels . . . not empty but devoid of excitement. In one way, this is good — it means I’ve accomplished what I set out to do after Jeff died. Since he was my home, I had to find home within myself. And so I did. I am wherever I am, and wherever I am, I am home. (In the interest of fairness, I have to admit that despite what I just said, I get a bit panicky when I think of the immense distances I will be traveling, and how far I will be getting from all that is familiar.) In another way, lack of excitement is not so good. Shouldn’t I be beside myself with joy to be embarking on such an adventure? But ah, that is the key. I am not beside myself. I am in myself.

Don’t get me wrong. I am glad to be on this great adventure, glad to be able to experience this vast country, but it’s a quiet kind of gladness, an acceptance that things will not always be comfortable, not always fun.

But always beautiful.

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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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All of these photos depict parts of the trail I hiked, including the photo that looks like all rocks.

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And So the Adventure Begins

February 8, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I survived my first night in the “wilderness.” I use quotation marks because although Joshua Tree National Park is considered a wilderness area, the campgrounds are anything but. Lots of human-made noises — loud talking, shrieks of laughter. The pounding of axes splitting wood. The crackling of fires burning. Dogs barking. And there are lots of bright lights.

The only thing wild is the wind. I was going to hike today, but the wind is so strong, it’s hard to stay on my feet. I’m hoping this is just a morning wind and things will calm down later. I have no idea if this tent will survive the day. It’s trying to pull up stakes and move to another spot. I’d leave, but I paid for two days and, more importantly, I don’t know if I could “untent” in this weather.

The most interesting experience so far was my late night/early morning nap under the stars.

When I woke at 2:30 am, I noticed that the light coming into the tent was diffused, and since I knew this was new moon time, I realized the light must be starlight. I debated a few minutes about going out — I was exhausted since I hadn’t slept much, and although I was cold, I hated to lose what warmth I had. But I reminded myself this is why I’m here — to experience that which I can’t experience in the city — and so I dragged my mat and quilt outside, laid it atop the picnic table, and settled myself on my back.

And oh! What stars! It has been years since I have seen so many stars. I lay there for a while, watching the little dipper drift from right to left and tried to comprehend that what was seeing was the effects of the earths rotation. The frigid wind finally drove me inside.

I took a short stroll this morning, and now I’m trying to decide if I should take on the wind and go for a longer hike or if I should stay here and wonder if the tent will hold.

This wind reminds me why a small tent is better than a large one, but considering that I’ve never camped before, I wanted to be able to stand upright and not have to deal with the claustrophobia of a tiny tent. I might have to rethink this.

Another item that’s iffy is the black base layer I am wearing. It’s made in two layers, and the outer layer is supposed to be merino wool, but considering that it turned my sleeping pad black with wool dust, I get the impression it’s a cheap wool. Still, the pants kept my legs warm, so there is that to be said for it.

I’d planned to blog every day again, and though I am writing this as planned (Saturday, Feb 6), I don’t have a signal so I can post it. I hope you weren’t worried.

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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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Happy Trails to Me!

February 6, 2016 — Pat Bertram

Well, I’ve done it! I’ve hit the road. Now it’s just a matter of seeing what comes my way. Or maybe it’s the world that will see what comes its way — me!

?????????????

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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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An Auspicious Beginning

February 1, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I’m beginning the countdown to adventure. This Saturday, I will be leaving on a cross-country trip — camping, hiking, backpacking, and meeting online friends for the first time. So much excitement (and trepidation) ahead of me!

To give myself the best send-off, I will start my trip at the most felicitous place I know: the intersection of Happy Trails Highway and Tao Road. How can that not be an auspicious beginning?

Yep, there really is such an intersection, just a scant four miles from where I am staying. Since the street signs are barely visible in the photo, I have blown them up so you can see them a bit better.

Happy Trails Highway and Tao Road. Such a great place to begin a journey, a quest for life and joy.

Happy Trails Highway and Tao Road. Such a great place to begin a quest for life and joy!

***

(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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Countdown to Adventure

January 31, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I will be leaving in exactly six days to make the journey I’ve talked about so often, and I have a confession to make. I’m . . . well, I’m not exactly afraid, but I am apprehensive. I have never done anything like what I am going to be undertaking. I only camped once as a child, and certainly never by myself. I have never driven cross-country by myself, and definitely not in an aged car, no matter how well restored. (And there is a matter of a mysterious leak onto my leg when it rains that no one can seem to find.) I’ve hiked by myself, but always with others or close to where I was staying. I’ve never slept under dark skies where the stars are so brilliant and numerous, you feel as if you are falling into the void. I’ve never backpacked and still don’t know if I can. And, I have never found joy in the discomforts of travel.

But, despite my trepidation, and maybe even because of it, I am starting to feel excited about my adventure. So many “never have”s to be done! So many wondrous sights to see. (I just corrected a typo. I wrote “many wondrous sites to see,” which makes me realize how important this trip is. Even with my data being severely limited, I still spend too much time online. Now it’s time to explore offline territory!)

I am as ready as I will ever be. Despite the age of my VW bug, it’s as reliable as possible, with a new engine and transmission, new paint, new brakes. (As a test, I took a couple of drives “down the hill,” over an often foggy pass to the more populous area of the county along a congested five-lane highway riddled with road construction detours and delays, and the bug sailed along as if that treacherous road were a lazy river.) I have a carload of equipment, some of which I hope never to have to use because those items fall under the category of “emergency.” I have clothes for both winter and summer, insulated sleeping pads and camping quilts rated for a much more frigid climate than any I plan to travel. (I sleep cold, or rather, I don’t sleep cold. If I’m cold, I shiver all night.) If I can’t get warm, I have a nalgene bottle to use as a hot water bottle and hand warmers to tuck around my long-underwear-insulated body. I have at least a week’s worth of food. (Which reminds, me, I need to get several more days worth of water.) I have hiking poles and even a bear canister to protect my food if I spend the night away from my car in bear country. I have lanterns — solar lanterns and small battery-powered lanterns as well as a head lamp. I have word puzzles and pencils, paper and a printout of my WIP. I have maps and guidebooks, a binder full of notes, a head full of research. And I have a solar charger and an external battery for my phone, so as long as I have any sort of signal, I will be prepared.

Yep. Prepared. For anything. At least, I think I am. And if not, well, I’ll figure it out. (It’s hard to prepare for something if you don’t know exactly what that something is.)

Some people have found my preparations amusing, and I suppose it’s possible I’ve gone overboard, but this is not supposed to be a death march. It’s a journey into life, a quest to find joy in the rubble of my sorrow. And being prepared, even overly prepared, leaves me free to experience whatever comes without the trepidation I currently feel.

Note: I will be heading east across Interstate 10. If it’s warm enough on the return trip several weeks from now, I will be traveling on a more northernly route. If you want to meet for lunch or something, let me know, and I’ll put you on my list. (If you’ve previously expressed an interest, you’re already on my list!)

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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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