Trailside Food Find

So today, while I was tripping gaily down Richards Hollow Trail (on two feet this time, not two wheels), I came across three off-road motorcyclists resting by the side of the stream.  I teased them for “cheating” before admitting that I, too, have been known to employ a motorized two wheeled vehicle to gain elevation at times.  I continued on my way, until one of them said something that stopped me dead in my tracks.  “Want some homemade cheese?”  My heart stopped.  “Whose home?” I asked back, in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner, while my heart stopped stopping and started pitter-pattering with anticipatory delight.  “Rockhill Creamery!,” came the reply, and a little flicker of recognition lit up my brain. “You’re the market cheese guy!”

Pete the cheese guy and his old trials bike.

Yes, he was indeed the market cheese guy, whose stand I happily patronize several times each summer.  Not only did he send me home with a generous and delicious hunk of “No Name Tomme,” he also delivered a great tip for the Ducati “Hell and Back Again” trip I have planned for next week.
I am here to tell you, dear readers, that the business of skipping* past waterfalls and through great meadows of waist high bluebells is only made better with a mouthful of tasty alpine style cheese.

*In my mind, I was skipping.  The waterfall and bluebells (along with many other types of flowers, a bubbling stream, picturesque rocky outcrops, and a beaver dam) were for real.

Canyon Carving without a Motorcycle? (Eaton Canyon, Haven Gastropub, Stone Brewing Company)

Wow, my quads are really sore…

…FROM RAPPELLING DOWN FIVE (or was it six?) SLIPPERY RUSHING WATERFALLS!

Yes, that’s me, demonstrating truly exquisite novice form: awkward, tense, and really slow.  But I’m still standing and I had fun doing it, so I consider my day in Lower Eaton Canyon a smashing success.

Here my host and his GoPro helmet camera provide a glimpse into what it feels like to rappel down (and through) a waterfall.

I found myself in Orange County earlier this month in early September, graciously hosted by the Ducati Instigator aka my Most Excellent Tour Guide.  The trip was mostly a work thing (i.e. failed job search) along with a quick trip to Motorport* to have some adjustments made to my motorcycle jacket, but I was able to reserve one day for an adventure.  Naturally, I imagined that day would involve a motorcycle.   Naturally, I was wrong.

The motorcycle gear I had packed would not serve for this escapade.  With borrowed clown shoes (at least two sizes too big), borrowed wetsuit (also way too big), borrowed bicycle helmet, gloves, backpack, and harness, and borrowed waterproof camera that malfunctioned in the first hour, I was about as well suited as I was on my first motorcycle tour.



Fear is such a funny, irrational thing.  Although I had a few successful practice rappels off my host’s porch the night before, I had no idea how I would react when staring down a 60 foot waterfall.  And once you’re in, there’s no going back.  I have no idea why, but my heart pounds a lot harder when I’m riding on gravel or loading my motorcycle on its trailer.  Go figure.

Oh glorious Nature!  It’s a good thing I was up to the task, because it’s the only way one can experience the daisy chain of magical intimate pools of crystal water, the water slides, and the waterfalls that make up this beautiful (and dangerous**) canyon.  How wonderful it would be to go back with a quality camera, tripod, and some more time on my hands.

Notable Food Finds in the area:

I met my host in Old Towne Orange for lunch and touristy wanderings. 

 

Pork Sandwich and Franziskaner Hefe-Weisse at the Haven Gastropub.

Just up the street, a windowful of restored vintage stoves at Antique Station.

As we went our separate ways, my host found the helmet latch on his Goldwing had broken. Broken locked, that is.  The options?  I ride it home for him (I happened to have my gear in my car), he wears my helmet, or we both go home in my boring Toyota.  Someone else's 800 lb motorcycle I'd never ridden before in SoCal rush hour?  I really did laugh aloud.  I think his head still hurts from cramming it into my leeetle helmet.

The next day, after our ride to Motoport (I guess I did get on a motorcycle that weekend!), we dined at the nearby Stone Brewing World Bistro.

Mac n' Beer Cheese, with Smoked Porter Sausage tossed in for some real excess.  Yeah, it was fantastical.  I can't remember which beer I opted for, but it sure looks like another hefe-weisse.  Love a good hefe in the summer.

Chocolate pate surfeit Medjool Date dessert.  Beautifully presented, every component delicious - candied kumquats, currant coulis, cocoa nibs - yum! - but I'm not sure the cocoa pate is the best match for the dates.  At home, I stuff 'em with mascarpone cheese, and I see no reason to change that now.

And, notable for another reason, the pasta dinner I prepared for my host.  In what could easily be one of my top three kitchen failures of all time, I ended up throwing out my pasta dough and acquiring “fresh pappardelle” from the corner Trader Joe’s.   Either I shouldn’t talk and knead at the same time, or the flour I used was gluten-free***.  No matter how much I kneaded (it typically takes 5-10 minutes), the eggs and flour refused to become that smooth elastic mass that allows itself to be rolled and stretched into those silky satiny sheets you wish you could sleep in.  I’ve made pasta more times than I can count, but this time the dough simply tore into pieces if I flattened it any thinner than my Ducati owner’s manual.  I even toted my 32” pasta rolling pin to California for the occasion.  Go figure.  At least the wine (provided by my host) was good.


Funny.  Sometimes you are tossing a no-brainer dinner into the trash and other times you are Jane Bond, rappelling down a towering foot waterfall into a string of secret grottos glimmering with sparkling cool water.  You just never know.

* I’m even more impressed with this company after my visit.  Every single point of design of their gear (even those that I had, at first, questioned) is so thoroughly thought out, they spent a generous amount time with me discussing the alterations on my jacket, and charged me nothing for this service.
** Two deaths and 48 rescue operations for the year at the time of my transit.
***The flour on hand was Gold Medal brand.  It has lower protein content that other brands which makes it an excellent choice for some things (a delicate butter cookie, perhaps), but is less than ideal for recipes that require the formation of a strong web of gluten (say, bread or… pasta)  Still and all, that was just weird, especially given that the Italian “doppio zero” flour traditional used for fresh pasta is not all that high in gluten.   I did manage to make maccheroni alla chitarra  when I got home a few days later without drama.  Clearly it was an astrological phenomenon.

Zion National Park – What I Did THIS Summer

What did I do this summer? I worked.  A lot.  And when I wasn’t working, I was practicing.  A lot.  My car died and left me stranded in Utah, and my dog, motorcycle, trailer, stuff and I hitched* a ride in an un-air-conditioned van with only one operating window to get home to Tucson.   My dog passed on to greener pastures soon after our return (not due to the hot as hell journey, for the record), and one of my jobs got really wonky, which is going to make the next eight months a real challenge.  (I am vehemently - and I mean vehemently! - opposed to my new and  highly unimproved seven day work week.)  Not the best summer, I’d say, but there was one wonderfully bright spot.  One precious four day respite where I packed in 800 miles on two wheels, 27 miles on two feet, 1028 river crossings (approx) and 1 scratched camera lens.  Go big or go home, don't you think?

Zion National Park! 

Inspiration Point

No doubt the rain opened up a few campsites.  Usually the park is full for the months of July and August, but we were lucky and secured walk-in a spot (late in the afternoon, even!) at South Campground.

Riding Hwy 9 (Mount Carmel-Zion Highway) again.  Unlike last year, this year I was allowed to stop and take pictures.  Except I didn’t.  Because it was raining.

After setting up camp, we stretched our legs in the drizzle on a short hike to the Emerald Pools. The pain you feel upon discovering your camera lens is fatally scratched is directly proportional to the grandeur of your location.  Ouch.  I’m glad I had a little back up Lumix in my tank bag.

Dusk on the Kayenta trail, as we return from the Emerald Pools.  The pools weren't so emerald in the rain.

Good morning, Ducati!  Time to hike to Inspiration Point (shown in the first photo of this post.) 



We got a little off trail here, but it was worth the trouble.  I thought the only place you saw stuff like this was the cover of Utah guidebooks.  Magical to see it for real!



We sacrificed a chance to hike to the famous (and treacherous, I'm told!) Angel’s Landing that afternoon to complete preparations for the next day, our one chance to tackle “The Narrows – Top Down.”  Listed as one of National Geographic’s “America’s Best 100 Adventures,” this 16 mile river trek brings the hiker down the Virgin River, through graceful pastures, by spouting springs, past waterfalls and hanging gardens, and into majestic and mysterious narrow gorges with walls soaring up to 2000 feet overhead.  The slot canyon sections (marked on our map in a caution tape shade of  yellow as "NO WAY OUT!") meant that flash flooding could be a real danger.  I was only willing to attempt it if the flash flood potential rating was “low”.  A hopeful inquiry at the back country permit office revealed that it was high today, medium two days later, and on the day we had designated for the expedition… low!  We slapped down ten dollars for our back country permit and took some time to strategize our gear and transportation.  Dry bags, shuttles, and enough food to get me to the moon and back (plus a little extra).

Food find!  The Springdale Candy Company is a cut above your typical country fudge shack.  As a reward for our research and prep, we took critical tastebuds to dried apricots, candied oranges and candied ginger, all covered in lustrous velvety smooth chocolate.  We absolutely could not pick a favorite.

Quality stuff

Well before dawn, we stumbled and yawned by the light of headlamp about a mile to our shuttle.  It stung us more than a little, but logistics did not allow for the two motorcycle arrangement (the hike is not a loop), so we reserved shuttle seats with the Zion Adventure Company.  With a bit of a shrug, we rented the strongly recommended neoprene socks (to wear with our hiking sandals) and hiking sticks.  The ride to our starting point of Chamberlain Ranch would take an hour and a half, consuming precious daylight, if the shuttle could make it through the slippery mud at all.  If not, no hike for us!

We hit the trail and cautiously dipped toes into the gently flowing stream…  HaHA!  We are INVINCIBLE!  The All Powerful neoprene socks protected us from cold water, sharp rocks, flash floods*... even my pedicure handily survived the assault of 16 miles of toe bashing.  And my hiking stick?   How I HATE YOU.  Must I drag you along for the entire day? I considered abandoning it, and paying a fee for its, um, "loss."

We begin in gently rambling pastureland.  The value of the neoprene socks was made immediately clear. The powers of the hiking stick would be revealed later.

 

In order to find the smoothest route, we crossed the river more times than we could count.  I wonder if the 16 mile estimate takes this into account.

Not too deep here. Yet.  Even so, I was beginning to suspect that stick was going to make itself useful.  The method? Plant stick against current, stumble, stumble.  Plant stick against current, stumble, stumble.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  Approximately 1028 times.

Pretty deep here!  I do believe I was being washed away towards a small but threatening waterfall (not shown). I can thank my hiking partner for photographing the moment.  As you can see, real dry bags are essential equipment.  A zip lock bag is not going to do the job.  We had to swim a number of times.

And after we made our first really deep, really serious, perhaps even a teensy bit scary river crossing?  Oh, hiking stick!  Where have you been all my life?

Bestowing blessings upon the previously despised hiking stick at the end of the day.  We were told that trekking poles would not survive the trip, and when we got to the end of our hike, we believed.

 

I do believe I have never been on a more simultaneously awe-inspiring and heart breaking hike.  This is truly the stuff that defines our American West - grand and wild, and achingly beautiful.  Yet  we had so little time to sit back with mouths agape at the wonder of it all.  As we calculated our progress using landmarks and a timeline, we soon realized that if we continued to hike without stopping we would (hopefully) reach Sinawava Point (the end of the trek and the northern most shuttle stop in the park) around sunset.  Pause to unpack the 2lb (that doesn’t count the lenses!) dSLR camera I had been lugging (not mine), along with the necessary tripod (the low light conditions of a slot canyon really demand one) and we’d be bumbling over that tricky terrain in the dark.  No thanks.

Press on, press on!  And so we did, snapping grainy, blurry photos in the few moments that were not fully occupied with river crossings and unstable footing, using the waterproof camera (also not mine) attached to my pack by a retractable lanyard.  Thank goodness for that!

Constraints of time, equipment (because we didn’t have time to unpack the drybags that held the good stuff) and light really hampered our ability to capture this spectacular place on film.  This photo comes close, though, which is why it is one of my favorites.

Even though we breezily complete mountain hikes in half the published projected time, this hike humbled us like no other.    Slogging almost the entire 16 miles through a rushing river and over slippery rocks and boulders (there is no actual “trail”) is slow going and hard work.  And, (what luck!), the usually clear water was muddied from the rain in the days before, making all those algae covered stones invisible.  We had to test the depth of the water and find secure footholds for each step by feel using our feet and hiking sticks.   The river flow that day, measured at 81 cfs,*** was enough for me.  We found ourselves neck deep (or swimming) plenty of times and I was, quite frankly, simply washed away by the current more than once.  In the end, we would need every minute of the listed 12 1/2 hours for our journey, and surely would not have emerged before dark without the aid of our hiking sticks.  Although completing this trek in one day felt like a lifetime accomplishment, I don’t recommend it as the best way to appreciate its richness.  If time had allowed, it would have been far better to make use of one of the back country campsites along the way, allowing two full days to explore this magical route.  Next time, (the more I do, the more my “to do” list grows!) I’ll hike in and back out from the south end, covering far fewer miles yet somehow seeing much so much more.   And that would leave me just about enough time to take in Angel's Landing, too, no?


*Okay, “hitched” gives the wrong impression.  The driver of said van was caravaning with me to begin with.
**Not really.
*** Cubic Feet per Second.  Anything under 70 is considered ideal or “easy,” 80 is on the upper end of “mild" (good grief, knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t sign up for the “moderate” rating of 100 cfs),  and thru permits (needed to hike “Top-Down,” as we did) are not issued at flows greater than 120 cfs.  The average for the month of August is about 50 cfs.

What I Did Last Summer (Utah Scenic Highway 12 Reprise Part Three: A Fateful Meeting at Calf Creek Falls)

Now that the dust has cleared from the meteor called August* that smashed into my life, I can continue with this little series on Summer 2010.  (Actually, September is a meteor of another sort, but one of my own design, so at least I could prepare for it. Which isn't meant to imply I was ready for it.)

ANYWAY…

June in Utah can be… cold.  It was so cold the night before in Bryce Canyon I couldn’t sleep.  And while I can usually count on the wrestling, struggling, swearing and panting required to get my sleeping bag into its dry bag to warm me up, it was too cold even for that to be effective.  I was nearly beaten by that daily athletic event, yet my teeth were still chattering.  Breaking camp and loading up that shivery morning wasn’t the highlight of my trip, but even so, as I rode out of the park, I wasn’t sure if the tears stinging my eyes were solely from the weather.  How lucky I am to be here, in these wonderful places, doing what I love to do!

Good morning, Highway 12!  Special Bonus: I had time for the short hike to Lower Calf Creek Falls. This would serve me well, as you will soon see.

I love these stripey rock walls.

Not quite three miles in and Lo!  Lower Calf Creek Falls appear!

The falls in all their glory.  Next year, next year… the upper falls, from a shorter but more difficult trail.

A friendly hiker at the falls noticed my awkward attempts at a self portrait and offered to take my photo.  We hiked back to the parking area together, and I learned that he too, was a motorcyclist.  Do you remember, back in 2009, the day I fell in love with the Ducati 696?  Not only faster than my Kawi, but lower and lighter, too.  Sadly, I never did find that extra $10,000+ under the couch cushions, and had ruled it out as an impossibility.  But fate, in her mysterious ways, would put this unsuspecting starving artist in the saddle of shiny new bike before summer's end.  A few weeks later, this friendly hiker (who would later become my Most Excellent Tour Guide)** would search for and post a Craig’s List ad for a practically brand new Ducati (but, remarkably, in the same solar system as my budget - Pluto to be sure, but still the same solar system) on my Facebook Wall.  Thanks to this chance meeting on the trail, in little over a month’s time I’d be the proud owner of my “little pony.”  Who knew?

*Pack and move home from UT, dead car leaves me stranded in UT, ridiculous alternate transport home to Tucson, job goes wonky, find affordable reliable new-to-me-used car (Hah!), beloved doggie moves on to greener pastures… I think that’s plenty for one month!
** My METG took me on a most unexpected tour last week, the description of which is approximately fifth in the line of blogposts held up on the runway.

What I Did Last Summer (Hwy 12 Reprise Part Two: Bryce Canyon)

In June 2009, I rode through Bryce Canyon, but didn’t plan time to hike.  (It was just as well, I got rained on most of the time, anyway.)  But it hurt to look down into that fairyland of pink and orange hoodoos and then ride away without exploring further.  I decided then and there that in 2010, hiking in Bryce Canyon would be a touring priority.

I had some serious business to accomplish on the way, however – sport riding on Fish Lake Road.  Fish Lake Road! – the very place I fell in love with sport riding, in my pillion days. Back and forth, back and forth, all afternoon, each time faster…    Now it was time to enjoy Fish Lake road from the cockpit end of my own motorcycle.  That was the plan, anyway.   Ever ride a motorcycle in a 40mph crosswind? It takes a bit of adjustment to stay on your path. All well and good until – whoosh!  Gust!  The wind puts you, momentarily, over THERE!.  And then, for a split second, the wind lets up. Whoa!  Now you’re over HERE!  It took a lot of effort just to keep the bike between the lines even at a conservative speed.*   So much for tearing up the asphalt.  Next year, next year…

I arrived at Bryce Canyon exhausted from a day of battling the wind, but happy. I got the very last spot at the campground near the trailhead. I could park the bike for the rest of the day without worry, and go on a short hike before sunset.  My Canon G11, the replacement for the Lumix that kicked the bucket a month earlier in Colorado, endured its first sandstorm on the trail.  (No, the wind hadn’t let up.)

Rock formations on the Queens Garden Trail

I had planned to squat on my campsite for two nights, allowing me a chance to hike down to the bottom of the canyon the next morning.  Here are a few views from the Navajo Peekaboo loop.

I’m going down THERE.

 

Some steep switchbacks start me on my way down, down, down...

 

I was the first to spot this rockslide, blocking the trail.  The trail was closed later to clear path.   I’m glad I got up early!

A closer view of the “hoodoos” that make this canyon famous.

One of the many windows in the “Wall of Windows”

I’m a fast hiker. That meant I had plenty of time left for a nice 250 mile day ride across the Markagunt High Plateau Scenic Byway (next year I really must detour to the Cedar Breaks National Monument via UT 143...) through Zion National Park and back to my campsite before dark.  I knew there would be construction on the road through the park, but never having been there, I figured it would be worth the trouble.  What I didn’t plan on is not being allowed to stop to even take a photo!   Just as I had vowed to make Bryce Canyon hiking a priority for 2010, Zion had become my June 2011 priority.  Except, that tour was cancelled. The mantra continues… “Next year, next year...”

Good night, Bryce Canyon!  Sunset from the Rim Trail.

* This phenomenon is exaggerated if you're riding a small, light bike (like my Kawasaki, and even more - or less - so, the Ducati) and you, too, are small.  (Easy enough for a speedo to read more than the bathroom scale.)

Ducati’s First Camping Trip! (Canyon de Chelly National Monument)

Arrival, Canyon de Chelly National Monument.  No entrance fee, AND free camping! 
First task, grab a campsite and take a breather, gazing at the trees above me…




And now, because I skipped the Blue Mesa Trail hike in Petrified National Forest, I had time for the White House Trail…



 
Oh Glorious Light!  I couldn’t have been there at a better time of day…



 
For some reason I found myself thinking of cupcakes and swirls of chocolate frosting…





Here they are, at the bottom of the Canyon, the “White House Ruins.”   You can’t see it in this photo, but one of the buildings is whitewashed, giving the ruins their name.


 

You can see in the bottom left of the photo below how the ruins are built into the steep canyon side…


 

I also had time for a ride out to Spider Rock…


 \

And a peek at Junction Overlook, where Canyon de Chelly meets Canyon del Muerto…


 

I made a friend at my campsite that evening.  She quickly appeared every time I arrived, or emerged from my tent…


 

Not one of the heritage breed Navajo-Churro sheep, but a sheep in a Navajo canyon, nonetheless…


 

No camping trip is complete without a night time photo of your motorcycle!  (Cool  red seat cowl removed before departure to accommodate my tail bag.)



I’d stay in this campsite for one more night.  Next: Day Trip to southern Utah!

The Twelve Days of Christmas

Days Two and Three: Floods and Astronomical Phenomena
Chiricahua National Monument and Mount Graham

Well would you look who the cat dragged in? My touring partner of years past landed some work here in Tucson.  I learned to love motorcycles from the back seat of his two-wheeled BMW (since replaced by a KTM 990), and although I have my own bike now, you already know that I still enjoy being a passenger from time to time.  Even so, it's been a number of years since we've been on a proper tour together.   The timing could not have been better, since for the first time ever, I was staying home for the entirety of my Christmas break.  I just spent any money I would have used to fly back east on a monumental shopping spree.  Turns out, I was going to put my newly acquired motorcycle jacket and cold weather gear to use sooner rather than later.  We decided a tour was in order, after our work for the year was complete and, once again, it was unseasonably cold weather.  Not without some doubts, I decided to retake my role as pillion (passenger) and leave the Ducati at home.  It seemed like a good time to get its nagging little oil leak looked at, plus the days are short in December and you know I can't ride after dark.  In addition, the KTM's pilot put some real street wheels and tires on his machine (it's a dual-sport bike, meaning it's designed for both on and off road riding), and was eager to convince me that his KTM would be just as fun on the street as his BMW had been.  I am a very discriminating sport-touring passenger and to date, I've been less than awed by the KTM's value to this particular pillion in regards to the sporting end of sport touring.   I must be fair and add that it is, without question, a great motorcycle for its particular owner.

Our goal was Death Valley National Park.  And though it's known for its extreme heat, it can get plenty cold there, too.  We needed to be prepared for subfreezing temperatures (good thing I just bought that EN tested zero degree sleeping bag, huh?).  Less common is rain.  Surprise!  All of southern California, including Death Valley, was under water, thanks to rains that were severe enough to make national news.  I'll ride in the rain if need be, but it seems silly to point yourself in the direction of bad weather on purpose.  Our strategy?  Go east (the only dry direction) until the bad weather reached us there, then go west!   Chiricahua National Monument, here we come!

We found ourselves at the lovely Massai Point for the simultaneous astronomical trifecta of a complete lunar eclipse and the Ursid meteor shower, both occurring on the  the winter solstice.  How many people can say that?  I'll tell you.  Two.


Oh celestial enchantment!  Silvery, shimmery, liquid moonlight gently spooned by angels over earth, trees and rocks, over motorcycle tires, faces, and yes, even my heart - crisper and sweeter than a caramel coating, softer and dreamier than any meringue found here on our humble earth.  Now, a dark chocolate shadow melting across the moon, unstoppable, dimming its sugary light - do not despair!  Stars appear, ever more numerous, twinkling salt crystals on the tongue,  gasp!, chile pepper hot! - one obliges to streak across the sky.

 
Despite all the wonderful experiences I have shared with you, the year 2010 was a painful one on so many fronts.  I'll take this lifetime event in the sky as a convenient sign that 2011 will be better.  Why not?

We watched the entire show in the sky, and took a little nighttime photography, too.  I like to use my own photos on my blog, but when one of you has a digi point and shoot (my Canon G11 is nice and little more complicated than that, but...) and the other an expensive dSLR (Canon EOS 7D), and there is only one tri-pod between the two of you, guess which camera gets priority?  I can at least say some of the photos were to a certain extent, a joint effort.  "What if you shine the light more here, instead of there?  What if you change this setting to that?"  And so on.

The next day, a hike amongst the "hoodoos."

The the plan for the evening?  Ride to Bisbee, AZ (it's only 50 or so miles, right?) and check out Cafe Roka (about which I've been curious.)  Note to self:  it's more like 90 miles each way,  and Cafe Roka (along with practically every thing else in Bisbee) is closed on Tuesday nights.  The burger at Bisbee Grill was fine, I guess (most burgers are, especially when you're as hungry as I was), but not particularly notable.  The ride back to Bonita Canyon Campground was... cold.  Incidentally, if you find yourself really, really cold and you think absolutely nothing will warm you up, you can always push a 600lb motorcycle around a parking lot while wearing your awkward riding gear.  It's surprisingly effective, even for me.  We resorted to this tactic more than once over the week.

By the next day, we knew the aforementioned weather was approaching, so it was time to head west, via one night at home in Tucson.  But first, some playtime on the Mount Graham Swift Trail Parkway and a surprise drop dead run for your camera sunset like I've never seen in my life (as if the sky didn't serve up a five course dinner the previous evening).  We didn't quite get to the cameras in time, but other than that, our timing for the day was good.   The road up Mount Graham is closed in winter, and we may have been the very last up there for the season.  Not only was it the first official day of winter, but just as we reached the bottom, it started to rain just a bit.  No doubt that rain was snow higher up.

And how did the KTM fare in my estimation?  It earned a star, but...  Well, like I said, I'm very discriminating.   More on stars later.

Occasional Other Matters: Two Legged Adventure (Mount Wrightson)

If not for my inability to ride after dark, this day most definitely would have included my motorcycle. Alas a day in late fall is not long enough to comfortably confine all these activities to the daylight hours.

The activities, in order of appearance:

Drive to Madera Canyon, begrudgingly in the car.  Prior moto trip to the canyon discussed here.

Climb Mount Wrightson, the steep way up, the long way down.  (I know, I know...  "Stop.  Think.  There must be a harder way.")
Stats:
Ascend Old Baldy Trail - 5.4 miles to the top, over 4000 ft elevation gain.  Hear me roar, I made it to the peak in 2 hours, 45 minutes!
Descend Super Trail - 8.2 miles back to the trail head.  The prettier of the two trails, in my opinion.  Solve geocache puzzle at Josphine's Saddle.

Find actual geocache.

Drive home.  Yep, it got dark before I got home.  Good call on taking the car. 

Photographic evidence:


Bellows spring was frozen.

A teeny tiny perfect autumn leaf as opposed to the gigantic enormous perfect fall leaf I'm holding in this post.

My spaghetti squash sun-dried tomato herb muffin (savory, not sweet) contemplates the view at Baldy Saddle.  Who says you can't put spaghetti squash in muffins or bread?  If you can use zucchini, why not?  (Recipes still under development, but I'm getting darn close...)

Arrival at the summit!  The frozen spring surely tipped you off:  It's cold!  I wore leggings, hiking pants, silk underlayer, turtle neck, "soft shell" jacket, gloves and hat, and didn't find myself wanting to remove any layers at any time.  I even wore my boots, which I never do.  I'm a confirmed Teva hiker, regardless of terrain, since boots invariably leave my toes all bruised.  Turns out this latest pair of boots is no exception.  Maybe some day I'll get hiking boots that fit correctly, but I'm not into buying pair after pair, only to find out these too don't suit my strange (narrow at the heel, wide at the ball) feet.  I can ride in them without a problem, I just can't hike in them.

The summit offered gorgeous vistas in each direction, and none of my pictures really captured them.  Here's a photo from the top anyway.

Making my way back down via the Super Trail.

A commemorative sign at Josphine's saddle.  On the date shown (purely by coincidence I was hiking on the anniversary of the tragedy), a boy scout troop camping and hiking in the area was caught in a freak snowstorm that dumped several feet of snow in the Santa Ritas.  Three boys died.  No one hikes Mt. Wrightson without checking the weather anymore.  This sign is one of five I needed to locate to solve a puzzle that would yield the coordinates of the geocache I was hunting.

A pretty spot not too far from my geocache find.  (The geocache itself was not on the trail, but further down Madera Canyon.)

 

The moon rises over the Santa Ritas.  Good night moon.  Good night mountains.  How lucky I was to have this day!