Seattle: April 27, 2012: The End (for now)


After over 6,600 miles and through 16 states, I've arrived at my last destination of this leg of my journey.  It's been quite a ride, literally and figuratively.  This week has been both different but pretty special too.

Napa, California

Sunday, I left the hills of San Francisco for the greener hills of Napa Valley, passing over the Golden Gate once again.  The temperature on the Marin (north) side of the bridge was 56 degrees.  Fifteen minutes later it was up to 78 - a classic example of the microclimate that SF sits in.

I had not been to Napa and the wine country since Jimmy Carter was president, 1979, while visiting my brother Bob, then living in Oakland and working at the Mack Truck plant there.  I stayed in downtown Napa, a lively town with many good restaurants, wine tasting rooms and a lot of charm.  Napa (and neighboring Sonoma) are not only huge producers of wine, much of it exceptional, but is a giant tourism destination, where you can tour wineries by balloon and by train in additional to conventional means.

I was fortunate to have an inside angle courtesy of my younger son Chris, whose friend Paige grew up in Napa and whose parents own and manage two wineries, Luna Vineyards and Moone-Tsai, a high end producer of wines.  Paige's parents, MaryAnn and Larry, treated me to a tasting of both white and red wines from both Luna and and Moone-Tsai wines, some that have sold out after receiving great critical praise.  All of the wines were delightful and several superb.  Larry and MaryAnn took me to lunch at a quintessential Napa restaurant, complete with sun-drenched patio, flowers, fresh ingredients and tasty food.  Larry then took me on a tour of the winery, which was immaculate and obviously well-run.  Their winemaster is a talented French winemaker who they have partnered with to great mutual success.  I was fortunate to be able to bring home a couple of magnums of their sold-out 2008 cabernet and look forward to drinking them on some special occasion a few years hence.  Who knows!

Unfortunately, I only had two nights in Napa, so could only dip slightly into the culinary and wine treats offered there but will be back - hopefully with some company.  On Tuesday, I headed north again for Oregon.

Ashland, Oregon

When I was trying to sort out the section of my trip between Napa and Portland, I did not have much of an idea about where to stop.  My brother Bob, though, came up with a brilliant suggestion - Ashland, a town just over the California border and, to be candid, a place I'd barely heard of.  En route, I was treated to some extraordinary sights,  Past Redding, the mountains spring up quickly and soon I was traversing alpine lakes bordered by steep hills and mountainsides thick with trees.  Time and again I stopped to take in the views.  But when I turned one corner, I had to catch my breath because it was my first sight of Mount Shasta, perhaps the southernmost of the great Presidential Range that carries north up to Canada and includes such giants as Mt. Hood, Mt. Rainier and the now slightly shorter Mt. St Helens.

I again stopped just past the little town of Mt. Shasta to snap a shot of this awesome mountain, dressed in a new robe of blindingly white snow that just throbbed in the sun, a mesmerizing sight.  I nearly ran off the road a few times trying to see it in my rear-view mirror.

An hour or so later, I sailed into Ashland, home to Southern Oregon University but, more importantly, the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.  I was not really aware of it but this theater company is one of the world's leading Shakespeare festivals, putting on major productions of the "Bard's" work as well as other plays and some musicals.  I copped a ticket to Troilus and Cressida, a new joint production with the New York Public Theatre.  This is a very long (3 hours), little-produced Shakespeare play derived mostly from the Illiad.  The director reset the play in modern times, with the Iraq war substituting for the historic war between the Trojans and the Greeks (although he retained the original dialogue).  The Iraq context added little political context but helped update the play for modern ears and was brilliantly done, with a lot of humor for this quasi-tragedy.  Good call, Bob!

Portland, Oregon

Wednesday I made the long drive up the length of Oregon to Portland, which borders Washington State.  A guidebook had given top ranking to the Ace Hotel in downtown Portland.  What I did not appreciate was how cloyingly hip the place was.  Naturally, I fit right in (lol as the kids might say). I then dashed to Vancouver, Washington, which sits across the Columbia River from Portland.  There I had dinner with my uncle Bob and aunt Jean, whom I had not seen for many years, at my cousin Tina's house.  I had not seen Tina since I was a teenager.  Needless to say, we had lots to talk about and we enjoyed a wonderful home cooked meal, topped off by home-made rhubarb pie (with ice cream!) made from rhubarb Tina grew in her garden.

The next day, Tina and I met at the justly-famous Powell's Books, and after spending an enjoyable hour wandering its aisles, she led me on a tour of downtown Portland, especially along the Willamette River.  It was great to see her and we fell very easily into talk about our lives up till now.  Tina put the squeeze on me to come out in November for Thanksgiving, when many of the Dodds cousins descend on Portland and I am very tempted to do so.

Portland is quite the town now, full of brewpubs, hundreds of food trucks, art galleries, slouching hipsters and a huge population of aggressive panhandlers and homeless people.  I enjoyed several rounds at Stumptown Coffee, one of the best-known purveyors of high-end coffee, topped off with a visit to Voodoo Donuts, an unbelievable doughnut emporium, where I enjoyed the maple bacon bar.  Wow!  Here is the huge menu of donuts.

Portland is a very appealing place, with a lot going on.  Too bad it gets so much rain . . .

I arrived a short while ago in Seattle and will be here until Tuesday, when I jump on a plane back to New York.  I feel like this is simply the end of the beginning of my "personal journey" (a fancy excuse for goofing off!)  More later.

Napa, California
April 23, 2012


I've arrived in wine country and have a chance to blog about my days in San Francisco.

San Francisco - Sittin on the Dock . . .

I have had a fascination with San Francisco since I was about 12 and read a teen mystery novel about some kids who lived in San Francisco.  The description of their life and the incredible diversity of the place seemed so cool.  It still does.

I arrived in San Francisco after an enjoyable ride in from Carmel; it took me a while to sort out getting to the hotel and happily turned over the car to the valet (a splurge, I know, but I parked in a lot thereafter).  I promptly walked down to the Ferry Building to Blue Bottle Coffee for an afternoon fix of their famous drip coffee.  It was a beautiful day and I sat (yes, on a dock by the bay) taking it all in.  Later that evening, I joined Muriel (a Dechert lawyer in SF) and her husband Winston for a fantastic meal at La Fusion, a new Latin-style restaurant nearby.  Muriel came on her crutches, still recuperating from dislocating her hip skiing down some insane uber-black diamond run.  She and Winston are amazingly active and it was fun to hear about all the ways they take advantage of the outdoors around SF.  Superb ceviche, empenadas, fall-off-the-bone lamb shank and a pitcher of sangria made for a delightful meal.

The next day I tooled down to Sports Basement, a gigantic sports emporium housed in a former supermarket in the Presidio, close by the Golden Gate Bridge to rent a bike for spin around Marin.  My start was delayed, however, by a characteristically bone-head mistake; I somehow locked my keys in the trunk and had to wait almost an hour before someone could come by and jimmy the door open.  Red-faced, (actually, I'm always red-faced), I finally pedalled away, arriving at the Golden Gate while the fog still shrouded it with cool mist.

Golden Gate Bridge will celebrate its 75th anniversary in the next week or so and it remains an awesome structure of iconic beauty with marvelous views in every direction.  While New York has exception bridges, none have anything like the natural setting of the Golden Gate and I try to walk or bike it every time I come; it never gets old.

After crossing the bridge, I took Wilson's suggestion and headed west to Rodeo Beach.  The route takes you up a steep, narrow, one-lane tunnel where dripping water, some frozen, makes the going interesting on a bike.  I emerged into brilliant sunshine and a winding, downhill run to Rodeo Beach, a dark sand curved beach with surfers, school groups and daytrippers mingled.  I enjoyed the cool breeze and watched the surfers while girding myself for the uphill back to tunnel.  After struggling back up, I flew down into Sausolito and up a bit into the bay before heading back to the little town for some fish and chips.  I then churned back over the bridge and finished with a fast run to Fort Mason.

Dinner was at Tadich Grill, a classic downtown restaurant that reflects the traditional end of the very broad spectrum of society that resides here.  I savor its dark wood and unchanging menu; after the usual jostling wait for a seat at its long bar, I ordered what I always do - the cioppino.  I dream of its aromatic, garlicky goodness.  The good sourdough is perfect for soaking up the broth after finishing the seafood.

Inspired by the incredible weather, Saturday found me driving out to Golden Gate Park to run along the ocean and into the Presidio and back, chugging up the nasty hill by the (aptly named) Cliff House and the old Sutter Baths.  My luck ran out when, sailing down a path in the Presidio, I turned an ankle, so I gingerly hobbled back to my car after cooling the ankle in the Pacific.  It will be swollen and a bit discolored for a few days.That same weekend, As consolation, I thought of dinner at NOPA, a restaurant Matt introduced me to.  Lacking a reservation, I went early and happily sat at their communal table to enjoy the pork chop they are famous for (I know, Matt, I always order that).

I can't say that I left my heart in San Francisco but it is special for me; each time I go, I discover more and yet find out how much I have yet to learn about it.  I'll be back but first . . . Napa beckons.

April 16, 2012


Carmel, California - How Sweet It Is

This overdelayed post will bring me current following an extended romp that took me from the sublime (Bryce Canyon and Zion National Parks) to the ridiculous (Las Vegas) and back again (Sequoia and Yosemite) and on to my present seaside abode in lovely (no, gorgeous) Carmel, California.

I will publish these in stages so to prevent further delay and aggro to my very devoted, anxious and mostly bored readership.

Utah: Hoo-hoos in Fairyland (no, I’m not experimenting that much)

On April Fool’s Day, having slightly recovered from my Grand Canyon hike, I took a quick jaunt down to Sedona, about 35 miles south of Flagstaff (see Bob, I do what you tell me).  On the trip down, via US 89, I experienced what was clearly the most beautiful car ride of my life.  From Flagstaff at 7,000 feet, Route 89 takes you down a narrow canyon winding among steep cliffs of reddish granite and lush trees fed by Oak Creek --  a wondrous snaking road that allowed me to test my S4’s capabilities.  Entering Sedona, you see the massive Jellystone-like curved rock formations that Sedona is famous for (along with all manner of New Age-ey institutes, crystal stores, seers, prophets and expensive spas.

After a couple of hours, I headed back up the canyon and beyond as Route 89 would carry me the over 300 miles to my next destination, Bryce Canyon National Park in southwestern Utah.  This long trip, though, never ceased to provide constant natural beauty although the changes from mile to mile were truly amazing.  Parts were in wooded, snowy high elevation and other sections in desert badlands, with only distant table-top mountains to break the eye's gaze to the horizon.  Other parts were filled with moon-like craters and mysterious mounded piles.  Much went through Indian lands, punctuated by the occasional native craft shop, "smoke" shop and odd gaming place.  The route passes by the Glen Canyon Dam, a still-controversial dam built in the 60's, forming Lake Powell and bringing the bizarre site of big boats on trailers running around the desert.

I finally pulled into the Best Western in Bryce Canyon which, having absorbed Ruby's Inn and Restaurant across the street, is the dominant commercial presence near the park, where everyone goes to sleep, eat, buy groceries, do laundry and rent everything from ATV's to horses.

Monday morning, I got to the park before 8 a.m. and a few minutes later was heading down one of the longer but exceptional trails in Bryce Canyon, the "Fairyland Trail," named for the dream-like and beautiful formations that the trail winds through.  Many are drip-castle like formations of white to orange and sometimes reddish rock - known as "hoo-hoos."  And you thought I was being cute.  The temperature was just 21 degrees with a stiff wind, putting the windchill in the single digits.  Layered and excited, though, I had one of the best hikes of my life over the 8 miles of this loop trail through this wonderland (or Fairyland).  The extraordinary rock formations, especially in the early morning light, was truly a fantasy of natural origin.  Only one other person shared this sight with me that morning, an intrepid young trail runner (they are everywhere out West), who seemed equally stunned to see me chugging along.  Here are a few shots that give a sense of this unique place.

I celebrated this great hike with a delicious lunch of elk chili at the Bryce Canyon lodge, one of the grand old lodges that are in many of the Western national parks.  The next day, I took the park scenic route to its end, at 9,100 feet, with stunning (and freezing) views of southern Utah and the surrounding canyons and mountains.  Here is one view, with lots of hoo-hoos in the foreground.

I left Bryce with a a very special feeling towards its charms and look forward to taking a longer backcountry trip sometime among the hoo-hoos - hopefully in warmer weather.

Zion

Zion National Park is about 60 miles southwest of Bryce but is remarkably different in every respect.  Zion is dominated by massive granite walls and cliffs, that loom over the central canyon that is the most popular part of the park.  There are many areas I could not see with the limited time I had and thus missed out on the canyoneering and other exciting activities available at Zion.

I almost didn't make it at all.  A couple of miles from the entrance, I was being tailgated by a pickup when, just after a bus passed in the opposite direction, a deer that had been hidden from view by the bus suddenly jumped into the road in front of me in the other lane.  It veered to its right, passed just behind my car, in the few feet separating me from the tailgater behind.

With that excitement behind me, I got into the park with my annual pass ($90 - a great deal if you hit a lot of parks) and found the main visitor center.  Zion was hugely crowded - it seemed to have at least 10 times the number of visitors as Bryce.  It is impossible to really drive to all the key sites so I hopped (ok, shouldered my way onto) the very crowded but useful shuttle bus to get to the two hikes I took.  Overall, what I saw of Zion was impressive but seemed to lack some of the character of Bryce.  Or maybe I was just tired.  I rode the bus all the way to where the canyon walls drew so close that you have to continue by foot - the famous Narrows.  Since the path itself finally ends and you have to walk in the stream, my lack of rubber-type boots meant I could not go far up the Narrows but did enjoy the stunning cliffs and views.  A few follow, including one that shows the entrance to the Narrows.

I left Zion feeling that I had not yet begun to scratch the surface of the park, even more so than was typical of most of my park stays.  But Sin City beckoned and, a bit worn out from my trail bounding, I headed down I-15 towards Vegas.

Vegas - Girls in 20 Minutes

I had never been in Las Vegas except to change planes (noting, as all do, the presence of slot machines in the airport concourse).  My experience was not like the Hangover movie set there (except, maybe, for the hangover).  No monkees in the room, I have all my teeth (well, ok, some of them are of more recent vintage than others), no unexplained tattoos (I have yet to hear a good excuse for any tattoo, but I am a curmudgeon; and haven't met Angelina Jolie - yet).

Finding my hotel (the Vdara, a nongaming, non-smoking hotel) was no mean feat but got in and was shown to a very fancy suite.  Amazing how far $109 will go these days when gamblers subsidize your room!  Over the next couple of nights, I saw one of the several Cirque de Soleil shows (Mystere) playing at Treasure Island (an amazing show with some funny audience participation bits), a decent band at B.B. King's and had a few good meals.  I even worked out!  Mostly I walked around - me and about 50,000 others, many of whom were carrying drinks, all of whom were in shorts and tee-shirts (a look I try in vain to banish from my memory) wandering past sights ranging from faux-Paris to faux-NY to faux-Rome (let's not forget faux-Venice).  The depressing thought occurred to me that if the smart money and smart guys and smart marketers accurately captured the interests, values and intelligence of the American people in the extraordinary excess of Vegas, it is a sad commentary on our country.  After so much real beauty in the wild, the ersatz quality of Vegas was a downer.  I have to admit, though, it might be kind of cool to have a big rollercoaster swooping through Wall Street back home in NYC.  Maybe they could repurpose the Goldman Sachs tower.

Like New Orleans, it is a place that caters to people's wants, albeit in an altogether artificial and crass way.  The Strip was lined with small men and women slapping cards that offer, as their t-shirts proclaim in loud, bold letters, to obtain for anyone "girls in 20 minutes."  The ubiquity of these barkers suggested no few takers.  Somehow I managed to pass.  I did not manage to elude the gaming tables and, true to form, lost in fairly short order the amount I allowed myself (ok, with a little extra) playing blackjack and the odd slot.  Both of my sons are now rolling their eyes at the absurdity of Dad even attempting this.  All I can say it, at least I didn't venture to the poker tables!!  I was plyed with free drinks, however, which made it an early evening for the old man.  Not even the dancing waters at Bellagio could keep me awake.

After two day, I'd had enough and left early to relocate to Red Rock, a resort (ok, and casino) 20 miles west of Las Vegas in the foothills of the Red Rock Mountains and near the Red Rock National Recreation Area.  An even cheaper room in a much more pleasant setting (complete with large movie theater complex, bowling alley, stores and very nice pool/spa area).  I had a nice couple of days relaxing around the pool (yes, in the shade) and took a strenuous hike in the Red Rock park, which was much more interesting than I expected.  It is also a huge favorite of rock climbers.  I tried to arrange some mountain biking but without a bike carrier on the car, I'll have to wait on that.  A few views of the area and the hike, which took me up this ridge via the canyon in the middle.

So I finished my Vegas time on a high note (well, not that high but I hope you know what I meant.  No medical marijuana in Nevada.)  I was happy to have finally seen what the place was all about and, having found out, was happy to leave.  Next stop - Californ-i-a, with Sequoia and Yosemite up first.  Yippee!

Sequoia and Yosemite

Crossing into California, although I've driven over 5,000 miles, I felt for the first time that I'd traveled across the country.  It was a long day motoring from Vegas to Sequoia, especially toward the end.  After you enter Sequoia, you have 23 miles to the mid-park lodge that I stayed in.  What I did not know was that these 23 miles were on the windiest, most gut-wrenching uphill road I'd ever encountered.  Those who know me (and, since no one else would bother to read this, you do), know that I have, shall we say, a poor tolerance for motion sickness.  I can get carsick in a taxi going through the viaduct that traverses Grand Central.  Anyway, after a long day and on and empty stomach, this snaking switchback road left me (even after a couple of stops) pretty wiped out.  A nice dinner at the Wasuchi Lodge put things right and me to bed.

Given the elevation and time of year, Sequoia was full of snow and, to my disappointment, many of the trails were closed (at least to those without snow shoes).  I did see the most famous stand of sequoias, including the largest of them all (by volume): the General Sherman in the so-called Presidential Grove, containing trees named after many presidents.  These trees are magnificent, tall, beautiful and adorned with snow.  The color of the sequoia is so affecting, to me even more so that its size.  If there is a color to wisdom, it is the comforting golden red-brown of the awesome, ancient and honorable sequoia.

I also saw another grove surrounding a pond, remarkable not only for the stupendous trees but for the long effort, now successful, to allow the area to return to nature.  For decades, park administrative buildings, lodges, restaurants and a number of grandfathered private cabins lined the grove, which now seems bucolic and tranquil.  Herewith a couple of shots from my point and shoot; I think I have others from my other camera to add later.

The day also provided another example of the benefits of "going the extra mile," a phenomenon I have seen (and benefitted from) many, many times in law practice but seems a proposition of more general application.  Ready to pack it in after finding several trails closed, I decided to head down to Moro Rock.  Was I glad I did.  Moro Rock juts into the canyon that leads up into the park.  Getting to the top requires a short hike to the base of the rock and then a white knuckle, gonad-tightening walk up narrow stairs carved into the rock, aided by the railings bolted into the rock in many places.  At the top, you are gifted a 360 degree view of the canyon and surrounding area from the snowy Sierras to the east to (on a clearer day) the Pacific to the distant west.  The walkway ends like the prow of a ship on top of a pointy section with steep and sheer sides falling to either side.  These capture a little of this remarkable place.

I included the last one because it shows a small part of the nausea-inducing parkway threading its way up toward Moro Rock and then further into the park.  I left Sequoia in much better shape than I arrived, happy for the tremendous trees I'd seen, the Rock that I survived and the prospect of Yosemite.  Sequoia is above 7,000 feet but the trip to Yosemite would take me all the way down to the San Joaquin Valley and then a ways up again to the little town of El Portal, just outside Yosemite's western border.  My car, which had been averaging a respectable 29 mpg, hit over 54 mpg on this leg.  Take that, Prius!

Yosemite

I got to Yosemite well aware that bad weather was coming in so I did not even stop at the hotel but ran into the park to enjoy the last of the sun (or at least precipitation-free weather) before the storms blew through.  Yosemite has many outstanding areas but I only had time for the most well-known area around Yosemite Valley, home to El Capitain, Half-Dome and other notable landmarks.  Here are a couople: Yosemite Falls, 5th highest in the world (more on this later) and El Capitain.

The next morning, as predicted, the rain began but, since the ranger I spoke with the day before had assured me that the trails I had in mind would be open in the rain, I took the bus into the park.  (Yosemite can require snow chains, something I did not have and was not about to put on my summer tires).  I got my rain gear on and, with some layers, my walking sticks and a couple of sandwiches, I started up the Upper Falls trail, which would take me the 2,000 vertical feet to the top of Yosemite Falls.

After half an hour, I noticed that the rain was slowly changing over to snow, which I was glad for.  Little did I know that I was in fact walking into a bit of a blizzard.  About 2/3 of the way up, with snow coming down, I met a guy heading down.  He explained that he was getting cold but that his girlfriend had continued up without him!  I trudged on, with the snow eventually getting almost a foot deep and the footing itself pretty treacherous.  I was so happy to have the hiking sticks, which helped my balance and to feel my way to the top.  Here is a picture of the "trail," which is sort of the ditch that runs along the left side of the photo.

I got to the top with considerable effort.  It was raw, almost white-out conditions and I saw the girlfriend, who had just gone to see the falls and was starting down with a grin on her face.  Mine too.  I slogged to where the view of the falls was and got most of the way down, clutching my poles and the railing but, a short ways from the end, came to a section a few feet across that was at the top of a sharply-angled granite sheet that led down to a sheer drop to the valley floor.  The section was icy and, although I could see the footsteps of the intrepid girlfriend, I decided not to make a run for it.  I turned around, feeling even greater admiration for the young woman's pluck.  Hard to see her with the guy who bailed halfway up.

Back at the summit, I broke out my sandwich and shivered through a meal in the blinding snow.  Soon my hands were frozen and I could feel my toes getting numb so started down, not really having seen much of the falls or anything else given the conditions.  Gingerly and slowly making my way down, I finally noticed that the snow storm was easing a bit and had a shot of the falls, which loomed to my left with a thunderous roar.  This captures what I saw through the snow and fog and shows the top where I had looked down in vain:

I did not take the pictures in black and white but there was no color, just white, black and grey.  Eat your heart out, Ansel Adams!

I finally got to the bottom, exhilarated, exhausted and a little bit stunned.  The evening passed in a blur (no, not a drunken blur), which was good because it was my third night of pizza, which I don't think I will eat for a while.

The next day, I said goodbye to Yosemite and headed west across the valley to Palo Alto, where I would be the guest of Fred Herold and Dana Kleiman.  Fred and I started at Dechert over 20 years ago, he joining from the U.S. Attorney's Office and me, along with many others, from the Olwine Connelly firm.  Fred and Dana moved about 8 years ago from Philadelphia to help start the Palo Alto office and it is fair to say that Fred has gone native.  They have a beautiful home in Mountain View (Fred reminded me that, as a Dechert partner, I still own a part of the house).  Maybe that's why I had to take out the garbage.  In seriousness, Fred and Dana were truly fabulous hosts.  I had dinner one storming night with Fred and Matt Larrabee, who ventured out in the rain before his trip east.  The next night Dana and Fred took me to a great place in Palo Alto that was packed with the intelligensia of Silicon Valley.

After that, we headed for Carmel, on the coast south of SF, where they have a home.  Carmel is utterly gorgeous, one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.  Their wonderful, cozy home is a few blocks from the beach, adjacent to the Pebble Beach golf course, where they took me with Simon, their beloved dog.  Here is me, pretending to be playing Pebble.

After another great meal in Pacific Grove, where we enjoyed an excellent local pinot noir, Fred and Dana took off for home (and Fred for the airport), unwisely leaving me to stay in their Carmel home.  Over the next few days, I grew to love this stretch of coast, wandering up and down from Big Sur to Monterrey, eating well and enjoying the extraordinary sights (and good weather).  On one hike, I got to the top and came down to see an unusual sight (to me) of being able to see above and below a thin wedge of cloud hugging the mountain slope above the stunning beaches.  Check it out.

I also took a friend's advice and did some hiking in the Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, which has its own coastal sequoia stands and a waterfall that empties onto the beach.  No pics yet but here are a few others of the coast nearby.

Carmel and the Monterrey peninsula has perpetually temperate climate, lots of sun and some great food.  Especially after I introduced (created) the Ned, a dagwood sandwich that I had made at the local Whole Foods.  Key ingredients include roast turkey, avocado, cole slaw, roasted tomato pesto and a few other things that the counter people had never seen put together, all on sliced local sourdough and toasted for a couple of minutes.  So good I went back for another the next day!  The whole area is like a Shangri-la for someone like me -- I felt rested, calm and rejuvenated.  Thanks Dana and Fred!  You guys are the best.  I left for San Francisco feeling almost human.  Another post soon!

City to Canyon


Monday, April 2 - Trail Mix

This afternoon, I am in Bryce Canyon and finally getting around to catching up on my posting.  I hope to write more frequently but perhaps shorter (make that pithier) notes.

Phoenix-Flagstaff

I spent four days in Phoenix, hoping to do some more hiking and catch a couple of spring training games.  I did just that plus a bike ride that took me all the way from Scottsdale to the home of ASU in Tempe.

Spring training in Arizona (a/k/a the "Cactus League" vs. the "Grapefruit League" in Florida) is a big deal here in March and for good reason.  The tickets are cheap, the players, umps and coaches interact with fans and the stadiums are intimate and friendly (although the two I saw had very unfriendly deep center fields).  Frankly, I don't know why anyone would bother with Florida anymore.  The Arizona weather is far better and more reliable with no humidity.  Fans show up early to grab some food in the concourse - all open air - and a local draft beer or lemonade.  Lemon ice, of course, is also big.  I saw San Francisco play the Texas Rangers and the White Sox.  At the Ranger game, I sat directly behind Peter Magawan (SF GM) and his two sons and a few seats away from Bill Neukom, principal owner and former general counsel of Microsoft.

I wish I had a lot more good things to say about Phoenix but, in contrast to Tucson (and, later, Flagstaff), it seemed like an LA wannabe with lots of strivers who don't realize how they seem to those who clean their houses, service their fancy cars and prepare their food at the many identical malls.  The Phoenix area includes upscale Scottsdale and more working class areas like most of central Phoenix itself and towns like Chandler.

The BBQ and beer festival I attended in Chandler was a lot of fun.  I did not take a lot of photos but these show the sort of typical scenes.  I liked the Memphis pulled pork and the Texas spareribs.  Local brews were also quite tasty, including Fat Tire and Devil ales.  Chandler showed a different side of Arizona, maybe what could be called "alt-zona" with lots of bikers, street kids, goth types and people who seemed to only engage in outdoor activities (and why not).  At least half of those in attendance were tatooed, some elaborately.  A pleasant Saturday following a tough hike first around and then up Squaw Peak, a terrific hiking place right inside the Phoenix city limits.  It was hot and by the end, I knew I'd messed up my electrolyte balance (mostly underhydrating) when my hands swelled like so many sausages.

I spent another day biking around just to mix up the training and because I'm really enjoying biking.  Phoenix, like most cities in the West, has an elaborate bike lane and trail system and i could get everywhere.  One long park through Scottsdale and Tempe displayed golf, beach volleyball (oh yeah), soccer, baseball and the hot new thing here - disc golf.  Apparently, only old people and tourists play traditional golf in Phoenix; all the young guys play disc golf, which involves a small frisbee-like disc and a metal net that is the target (hole).  Looked hard but these guys took it seriously and were out in foursomes just like "old golf."

Leaving Phoenix on Tuesday, I was excited to get to Flagstaff because the next morning would mark the start of my Grand Canyon adventure.  I did not expect the change in elevation but found that Flagstaff was at 7,000 feet and much cooler as a result.  It is a town with a lot of charm and an active counterculture/eco-centric community that probably arose because of the presence of Northern Arizona University (which I confess I had not heard of).  NAU seemed like a pretty nice school with a great campus and a very outdoorsy, laid back student population.  It has both a contemporary, slightly hip feel and a good measure of the old West; freight trains hold up traffic in the middle of town at many grade crossings.  The food in town was quite good; over two nights I had some excellent Thai food and a bbq chicken pizza that I may dream about for a while.  It's a town I could see spending a lot of time in because its close to so many great outdoor areas north and south, has great food and good (if often cool) weather.  I finally also boxed up a large carton of clothes that were surplus and sent them home; still have much too much, especially considering I pick up the odd souvenir.  (Did I tell you about the two paintings I bought in New Orleans? At least those got shipped home!)

Grand Canyon

Wednesday morning early I was picked up by our guide Jon, who had already picked up the others in Phoenix (at 4:30 a.m.)  Needless to say, I was the geezer of the group, which included two brothers from Michigan, an enthusiastic candy-maker from Atlantic and her younger friend, an executive chef from KC.  They were a good bunch to be with, all upbeat about our trip and always willing to help.

We got to the canyon after a 90 minute white knuckle-speed drive from Flagstaff and got our gear sorted.  My pack weighed 45 pounds due in part to my overly-literal reading of the suggested packing list.  But part of the reason for the trip was to learn about backpacking and camping, so my pain at dragging this stuff will keep me focused on what's important for the next overnighter.

The South Rim of the Grand Canyon sits at about 7,000 feet and our destination, the Bright Angel campground at the bottom, is at about 2,600 feet.  We shouldered our packs and, for about 5 hours, trudged down the South Kaibab Trail, using our poles to try - futilely - to avoid the strain to our quads and our knees.  The Canyon is an extraordinary sight from the top, immense beyond anything I had seen before.  But the walk down, and the next few days, gave me a much matter feel for how special this place is.  Apparently, only one in 400 visitors actually go down to the bottom and most never even walk down even part way.

These two shots show you the view from the top and a sense of the switchbacks in the trail leading down.  Even with the switchbacks, the trail is quite steep in places and for much of it, there are steep drops just beyond the trail's border - not a place for vertigo or, for that matter, casual traipsing.  Our weather was ideal - cool, bright and low humidity.  In fact, it remained perfect throughout the four days of the hike.  Many stretches were open or steeply uphill -- they would be very tough going with weather in the 80's or 90's, which will be here in a month or two.  A few times we were passed by mule trains.  Mules carry all of the supplies used at the bottom and also some passengers who are unable or unwilling to walk down or up.  Needless to say, the trail was littered with "evidence" of their passing.

After about two and a half hours, we were rewarded with our first sighting of the Colorado, then green in hue (it became reddish later due to increased flow and turbidity).

By mid-afternoon, with trembling legs and aching shoulders, we reached the lovely Bright Angel campground, an oasis nestled in Bright Angel Canyon, next to the epynomous tributary that feeds the Colorado.  Sorry the picture is dark.  Our campsite was at the foot of this looming cliffside; part of me wondered if we would be crushed by a large falling boulder, many of which litter the entire area.

As the only one travelling by myself, I had a single tent to myself.  While this afforded a modest amount of privacy (modest because you can hear, smell and pretty much see everything in the tents next to you), the tent was quite small.  One of the brothers immediately dubbed it the "coffin," an apt description because it was very difficult to do much inside of it besides lie there.  I spent some time exploring the area, which was adjacent to the famous Phantom Ranch, a grouping of buildings that include a bunkhouse, small cabins, a store and restaurant,  After setting up our tents and having a not-bad repast of stirfry, we collapsed in our tents and were sound asleep by 8:30.

The next day, after a bit of discussion, we all agreed to do a 13 mile hike up the Bright Angel box canyon to Ribbon Falls.  This proved to be a good if exhausting decision.  The canyon was quite narrow, as you can see below, passing even narrower box canyons, and winding to and fro for a few miles before broadening a bit.  Up one of these side canyons, we found Ribbon Falls, a gorgeous, two-tiered falls made lush by the spray and hanging moss.  And you can see me in all my glorious selfness, pretty much wrecking the view of the falls in one shot.

Worn out by this several hour hike, we returned to camp and repaired to the lodge at Phantom Ranch for some rescusitory beers, lemonade and board games.  Another early night for all.

The next day, we began the two-day process of hiking back out of the Canyon and said goodbye to our home at Bright Angel, which is the group of green trees in the distance in this photo.

Our destination was Indian Gardens, another green oasis about a third of the way up the trail back to the South Rim.  We arrived there after about 2 or so hours of chugging uphill with our packs.  Along the way, we spied two condors, an endangered species and an extraordinary bird whose wingspan can reach 10 feet.

After a leisurely afternoon, we headed for Plateau Point to view the sunset.  Nothing I have ever seen compares with the view from this point, which juts into the middle of the canyon about 2000 feet directly above the Colorado River.  Standing at the edge (of the world, it seems), you are surrounded by the Canyon with the North Rim ahead, the Bright Angel canyon and, behind us, the looming walls and outcroppings of the South Rim with many jutting peaks and the amazing layerings of rock, showing the deposition of different materials from the time that the entire area (and most of the U.S.) was underwater.  I may try to post a video later but here are just two of the many shots taken here (and of me, safely away from the edge).  Forgive the still blindingly white legs.

Saturday morning, we all got up early and packed quickly to get a good jump and the remaining 2/3 of the climb out.  After bolting down some oatmeal with dried cherries (not bad) and taping the blisters I'd gotten (using bandaids and duct tape - an old trick to avoid friction), off we set with our packs.

The hike up that day was tough - steep in parts and occasionally chilly.  Some stretches had ice underfoot but with sufficient gravel mixed in that we did not lose anyone over the side.  The "boys" (as we had begun to call them) went first.  I made my way up a bit behind and then the guide and Karen, who had lost (actually removed) an impacted and sore big toe nail.  I felt good, despite the weight and the steep climb and, in just three hours (including two breaks), I reached the rim.  After a spot of souvenir shopping at the lodge gift shop, we enjoyed a celebratory beer, sitting at the bar to avoid our rank odors from reaching the other paying guests.  We all felt a sense of great accomplishment and satisfaction, still reeling from the wondrous sights of the Canyon and the giddy exhaustion of having made it to the top.  Here is our little group.  Thanks guys!!

[Ed note: I may have more pix later to post from the Canyon but my hotel wi-fi is too slow to include now].