2008 September

This morning, with a measure of sadness and anxiety, I placed my home of the last six months in a storage lot for the winter. Our eight-foot Lance camper has been a better home than we dared hope. Yes, we’ve had to replace the water heater and contend with a number of irritating mechanical problems, but as a couple we’ve been largely happy to call this small container our home. It’s beauty, however, depends largely on our ability to move it around, which includes the ability to avoid extended periods of low temperatures. Fort Collins winters at 5,500 feet were too hard in our 33-foot fifth wheel - a winter at 7,000 feet in the camper might be really unpleasant. When our friend and associate Peter offered us a cheap room in his house south of Santa Fe, we took it.

It’s been over three years since I lived in a house. Much of it seems luxurious, but aspects of it will take some getting used to. The feeling that our possessions are now spread over more spaces and not movable at a moment’s notice makes me uneasy. Having separate spaces to cook, eat, sleep, and work is nice, but I’m not good at it any more. I wander from room to room, prone to forgetting what I was doing. There’s something to be said for having everything you own at arm’s reach. More space also means more cleaning up, something I was never good at. I also feel like my environmental footprint is expanding with my living space, even though I have no solid evidence of it.

Ann has a great job, well worth a winter in a nice house in Santa Fe. I’ll have a bit more reliable contract work, telecommuting a few hours a week to a job for Continuing Education at Colorado State University. I’m determined to keep the outdoors large in my life, and to share my insights and inspirations in Outdoorism. If all goes well, we’ll be under the Wyoming sky for two months next summer…

Hoping to see some colorful aspen, I return to this area where I trained for the Pacific Crest Trail in early 1996. Back then it took me six tries to summit Truchas Peak using snowshoes much of the way, and getting back so late my girlfriend at the time had called the state police. Even in ideal conditions like today’s, it’s a difficult route, but a pretty good one for getting lots of perspective on the fall colors. Again I finish late and worry my spouse, but at least she knows not to call the authorities until I’ve had a day to make contact. I had thought I could finish the loop a little faster than I did, but there are a lot of ups and downs on both branches. I manage to get a call through about a half hour after dark, then show up at home quite tired and happy to see a bowl of hot stew waiting for me.

There are some nice slides from this one:

A profound story, told with great clarity and caring. The author was a Ph.D. Neuroanatomist when she had a stroke in the left hemisphere of her brain that left her in a state of consciousness she likens to Nirvana, feeling at one with the universe, but unable to perceive time, objects, or language the way she had. Over ten years she recovered these abilities, while retaining her ability to connect with the right-mind consciousness that graced her with peace and compassion. She was also able to remember her observations as a scientist throughout the entire experience. It’s a fascinating read, even more riveting for me as it ties in so neatly with the cyber/hobo, indoor/outdoor dualities that pervade my life and personality.

The humor seemed to miss in this movie, or at least it missed me. It may be that I only get the more exaggerated Almodóvar antics, and this Spanish culural satire passed me by. The story was still good enough to keep me engaged though, and watching Penelope Cruz isn’t too difficult.

Dad and I orchestrate an earlier start on the Windsor trail toward Santa Fe Baldy. I know it will be our last hike for this visit, so I savor the time and try to appreciate how having Parkinson’s Disease affects his hiking experience.

It takes courage to plan a hike at all. Dad’s desire to hike is certain, but will his body comply? The more tempting the hike, the greater the anxiety that it will be too much. For my part, I must learn to be the reassuring, encouraging one. When I was young Dad always believed in me more than I did, always forgave all my fears and failures, and always celebrated my every achievement. Now it’s my turn to do this for him.

The beginning is hard. Strides are short, staccato. Arms tend to rise and clench. Medication helps with the tremors, but a good supply of courage is still required to hike through the tension of the first mile. Slowly, the pace becomes faster and smoother, conversation begins, and the hike is on.

Reaching treeline inspires a burst of optimism and involuntary smiles. The steepest part of the ascent passes with the greatest ease as the summit beckons, and the earth falls away around us. Reaching the summit makes anything seem possible. We ramble easily over the alpine meadows, searching out every feature of the terrain below.

On the descent his strides are strong, fluid, and lengthy. The joy of motion graces us. Dad begins to ponder future hikes. Maybe we could try the 26-mile, 8000-foot route up Pikes Peak…

Slides:

I’ve done quite a bit of hiking in Bandelier National Monument, but my reluctance to pay for it has kept me away from the visitor center area in Frijoles Canyon. My Dad is overdue to get his National Parks Senior Pass though, the one screaming good deal offered at the gate - the last ten dollars he’ll ever spend to get into a national park. So it is that I ride his coattails into an area that really is worth the entrace fee. The main loop trail takes you through Tyuonyi, an ancient pueblo ruin that housed hundreds of natives between 1200 and 1500 AD. Part of the dwelling was a large free-standing circular structure with 400 rooms, and at least as many rooms are carved into and built out of the canyon cliffs above. I get so engrossed reading the guide that I forget to take pictures! So all the photos are from the trail that descends Frijoles Canyon past two waterfalls to the Rio Grande. The canyon walls are stacked with alternating layers of striped sedimentary rock and columnar basalt, giving it a unique texture. When I reach the bottom I stand on the shores of the big river for the first time since I got here, and it is far more impressive from that vantage point than any other. I let my imagination drift down the wild canyon with it before starting back up to the trailhead. Slides:

Ann finds another piece of priceless entertainment for us. The first treat is exploring the Santa Fe Opera house, which I’ve never been to. The sun is setting in the open air window behind the stage, putting on a moving show even in the empty house. I wonder if that doesn’t distract from the performances sometimes? Our show is in an indoor area. Theatre Grottesco gives this summary:

Theater Grottesco celebrates 25 years of boisterous, joyous, cutting edge physical theater by unveiling a landmark new production, its largest show to date, its latest dark full length comedy exploring themes of marginalization, power and class.

In this production we witness the servants’ telling of the story as the respective households of the obssessive nobles deteriorate. They create marvelous visual effects, and keep us laughing to the bitter end. Ann said that it somehow seemed to capture the spirit of Shakespeare better than “real” productions, and I agree.

I join my dad and Sarah at their campsite, and from there we embark on this pleasant loop hike. Ascending a forested ridge, we debate whether it is acceptable to pass a trailside bench without testing it. A few times we glimpse the smoke from a prescribed burn still pouring into the neighboring Santa Fe watershed. The descent is steeper than the climb - dad counts 37 switchbacks. Slides:

The one other dance performance I’ve witnessed did not make a great impression, but thankfully I’m game to try again. In the small Santa Fe Playhouse, two women perform six separate works, and I like them all. Each dance makes me feel something both physically and emotionally. My heartbeat changes in sympathy with the dancers, and the power of body language hits me as if I’d never recognized it before. Past experiences of love, anxiety, disappointment, quietude, focus, and bewilderment are all recalled bodily. My attitude toward dance as an art form is completely changed.

My dad is visiting and is interested in seeing some of our local mountains, so we drive to the Santa Fe Ski Basin and start up the Windsor trail heading for Santa Fe Baldy. When we reach a decision point at Puerto Nambe it seems a little too late and cloudy to try for Baldy, so we loop back via Penitente Peak, Lake Peak, and down the ski area maintenance roads. There’s a prescribed burn pouring smoke down into the Santa Fe watershed, which explains why the Black Canyon was so smoky last night. I’ve never skied at this ski area, but the runs look good, and longer than I imagined. Cows tend the lifts at the bottom. Slides: