Part 1
I set off from Batopilas, at the bottom of Copper Canyon in Mexico, intent on riding my mountain bike up the 40-or-so-mile gravel road to the intersection with the paved highway connecting Creel to the Batopilas area and Guachochi. My plan was to ride it as fast as possible and break the unofficial 4-hour record. Whether or not my quest was realistic will forever remain unknown.
I could tell the story from the trip about the Swiss barmaid hovering around outside my tent late one night, asking for my tentmate and co-guide, Matt. Or the one about Matt and me racing our Swiss guide/hosts down from the top of the Argentine Miroir (a famous rock climb) to a nearby café where our group was waiting. Both occurred during an adventure trip we were leading, which included teenagers, my non-alpinist wife, and a doctor who was even older than me. As one of the leaders, I was making every effort to look out for the group’s well-being, but various off-kilter “things” kept happening.
Continue reading “On a Swiss Glacier- Frolicking in the Alps”
We called it the “Valley of the Dinosaurs,” mostly because of the humongous rock formations scattered all around. They dominated the remote high valley in Colorado’s Tarryall Mountains with their sheer size. And they breathed a strange sort of life into the area that had convinced me early on that the whole place was somehow on the move. I could never pick out any one thing that caused me to think that—it was more like a general, overwhelming, and deep gut feeling that had me convinced. I was consumed by the place’s pure and simple beauty and sensed the place was more alive than me from the first time I blundered into it. Through the years, I took every opportunity to return. And while the physical cost of getting there was never cheap- without fail, it was always worth it.
Rico, or “Tarzan” as he preferred to be called, hadn’t felt very strong since lunch. His backpack seemed exceedingly heavy, and the big uphill into Pinto Park was yet to come. He’d never been a complainer before and was intent on not becoming one right then. The feeling was new to him, and he wanted to figure out what was going on, so he could keep moving ahead in his accustomed dominant and carefree fashion. Perhaps, he reasoned, his weakness problem had something to do with the creek water he drank at lunch.
He recalled the Strep he had back during the winter and began to wonder if maybe this wasn’t that. But since there was no sore throat, he was pretty sure it wasn’t. “No, this is something different,” he decided.
The kid walked up while I was down in the creek fiddling around with a big rock, to tell me he’d lost his last fly. I was the fishing guide and the person responsible for that sort of thing, so I needed to act quickly. Of course, the most obvious solution would be for me to give him one. Usually, that’d be a simple thing to do– but since, in this case, I didn’t have any, it wasn’t even an option.
It started out as a simple and straightforward thing to do. Lou took off, leading our group of British mountain bikers back to camp. Just seconds after beginning the ride, he rounded a corner and rode up on a four-foot Rattlesnake stretched out across the trail. Instinctively, he hit his brakes extra hard, which caused him to crash. When the dust settled, he was lying on the side of the trail, penned between a cactus and the rattler. The Brits had quickly stopped and looked on in horror as their guide, and the viper were suddenly face to face, and only a couple of feet apart.
Happy trails
And happy snails.
Happy whales
And happy tales.
Happy days
And happy craze.
Happy phrase
And happy stays.
Happy times
And happy chimes.
Happy climbs
And happy rhymes.
Happy sight
And happy night.
Happy light
And happy mite.
Happy spots
And happy dots.
Happy oughts
And happy thoughts.
Happy trail
And happy snail.
Happy whale
And happy tale.
Happy places
And happy faces.
Happy races
And happy spaces.
Happy talks
And happy walks.
Happy hawks
And happy squawks.
Happy sounds
And happy towns.
Happy bounds
And happy grounds.
Happy sights
And happy nights.
Happy lights
And happy mites.
Happy time
And happy chime.
Happy climb
And happy rhyme.
Happy songs
And happy throngs.
Happy Kongs
And happy wrongs.
Happy theres
And happy bears.
Happy wheres
And happy pairs.
Happy words
And happy nerds.
Happy birds
And happy herds.
Happy talk
And happy walk.
Happy hawk
And happy squawk.
Happy spot
And happy dot.
Happy ought
And happy thought.
Happy sappy
And happy yappy.
Happy snappy
And happy happy.
Audio Version:
Cast your shadow,
Moonlight bright.
Wake the moment,
Stir the night.
Treetops sparkle,
With muted light.
Boulders hiding,
On my right.
Something scampers,
Taking flight.
It’s small and quick,
With stripes of white.
Night sounds near,
But out of sight.
Do I run,
Or stand and fight?
A distant shriek,
Causes fright.
But nothing gets me,
And I’m all right.
Back to the campfire,
Flickering bright.
Its guarding sphere,
A realm of light.
Flames mostly yellow,
A few are white.
At first, I stare
But then look right.
What is that there,
Beyond my sight?
Out in the darkness,
Of the night.
Unseen monsters,
I think to fight.
And once again,
I ponder flight.
Then magically,
There’s no more fright.
The monsters flee
It’s first daylight.
Audio Version:
My wife, Lori, and I ended up in Potosí during the last part of our Bolivian vacation. After considering various activities around the city, we selected the “mine tour” option. The city is over 200 miles south of La Paz, the capital city. At 13,400 feet of elevation, it’s one of the world’s highest cities. And as we found out, it’s dominated by a large mountain called Cerro Rico, which has been mined for silver regularly since Spanish rule.
It was Christmas break of my sophomore year in high school when my friend and classmate Jake and I took off from Denton. We loaded all our gear and then drove his parents’ VW camper/van (with their permission), bound for Mexico with a stop in Douglas, Arizona. The plan was to meet up in Douglas with an older, more mature person named Jim, whom I knew from the summer camp where I’d been a CIT the previous summer. From there, the three of us would travel to Guaymas, Mexico, where we’d camp out, have some quality beach time, and experience a bunch of “neat adventure stuff.” In the van, we had scuba gear packed away under one of the seats in cardboard boxes, places to sleep, and we must have had some food somewhere.
You must be logged in to post a comment.