Perfect

Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.

Antoine de Saint- Exupery

Tragicomedy

Life is a comedy for those who think... and a tragedy for those who feel.

Horace Walpole

Blue Digs

So I am finally back in good old Wisconsin. Ah yes.

(Yesterday's post was from the hotel lobby pc, and I apologize for the crazy formatting: I fixed it).

So, when I said I was living under a tarp, I wasn't kidding. Last minute, I went old school. I ditched the 300 dollar tent and went to Home Depot and bought a four dollar tarp. See pic below.

It worked fine, although I didn't have to face any rain in the Arizona desert, so I don't want to get too cocky about it. I used a cactus 'bone' to hold it up, as I didn't have a trekking pole.

It did give me 'shelter' from the sun, and gave me a place to keep my gear. Plus, it had the advantage of being able to see it from 500 yards away. The color was a direct contrast to the surrounding desert browns and greens.

It was a bit heavy, but there are silo-nylon versions that I will be investing in. Not much in the way of cost, something like 60 bucks gets the weight down to 22 ounces.

It was a good experience. I used the tarp to sleep in all but two nights, when I slept outside in the open.

The Keys

For the last 6 days, I have been bloodied, scratched, poked, scraped, and generally harrassed by everything the Arizona desert could throw at me.

Temperatures from 25 to 88 (And that was every day).

Wore the same pair of pants.

Froze my ass off first night and ran back to the car for a thicker sleeping bag. Yeah. It was only 8 miles.

Lived under a tarp.

Slept in a giant plastic baggie.

Ran and hiked 50 miles of desert trails.

Got drunk once. Bourbon. Really drunk falling down missed the fire by that much hit on the head by a giant cartoon hammer and had to be dragged to bed and poured into a sleeping bag drunk.

And on one clear night I slept in the open on a ridge bone of a broken mountain, with the stars on a flickering key chain entwined in my fingers.

Oh the stories.

Happy 22nd Birthday Petra. I love you.

The Measure

Its often said, "the shortest distance between two points is a straight line". There's an implication there that its always the preferred path.

What if the measurement of distance isn't feet or miles, but of the path of least resistance? Or the fastest time? Those paths, when you can't go over the mountain, but have to go around?

Or what about one that's more interesting? Then the best measure of the path is the crooked serpentine line of a river, the switch back path of a mountain trail; the intangible measure of the pure experience.

Straight lines are good for getting from A to B, but not if the journey is also part of the picture.

I am coming to realize that when things go the way I expect, there's a momentary satisfaction that the world is conforming to my desires, but the feeling is fleeting and I am left teetering on the 'what's next?' ledge of expectation.

And really, did you ever notice that life rarely happens in straight lines? At least those parts of life that make the best stories. Detours are involved. Unexpected turns.

My best analogy here is this: Straight rivers die. Not much life can be made or is found in a mill run. Life congregates in the turns, shallows, behind the unexpected logs and rocks. It thrives in the vegetation, which can't survive in a river that is only meant to carry water from here to there. A to B straight line.

I am headed to Arizona in about 7 hours. I am of course suit case over packed for every situation, but that will change when I have to pack down to a 40 liter backpack (Think large duffle bag) with everything I need for 6 days. I am going to have make some straight line choices that will probably lead me to crooked line life experiences.

But at least I'll have some stories to tell.

Winter Slumber

Winter, slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face, a dream of Spring!*

Appropriately, I slept outside on Groundhog day, on my balcony. I was testing whether my 50 degree sleeping bag, in combination with a heavy liner would be warm enough. The liner supposedly adds "up to 25 degrees". So, in theory, I should be good to 25 (50 - 25 =25). I even added an outer shell layer in the form of a bivy sack, which should have added even more. It was a fairly aggressive set up for this time of year.

It got down to about 29 degrees. CLOSE.

And, I did go to sleep. For about 2 hours. I woke up and I knew it was going to be a long night with that set up. I gave it up. I think it has a good chance on working in Arizona, when the night time shouldn't get to below 35 or 40 degrees.

I might need that furry guy's coat to sleep outside in Wisconsin weather.

*(from the movie, Groundhog day)

why the caged bird sings

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom - Maya Angelou