Schaefer Haus

Something we didn’t plan initially for our big trip was to spend so much time in RV parks. We had planned that we would spend a couple of nights in a resort to flush the tanks, fill the water, grocery shop, talk with people other than ourselves, and get the lay of the land. Then we would go off grid for a week or two at a time to hike, fish, backpack and do general adventuring. This trip, however, has put 100% wrenches in 100% of all our plans. With the freezing weather making it hard to be off grid for more than 3 nights because of power needed to run the heater which we need to keep our pipes from freezing, and keep me from freezing, and because my broken ankle was extremely limiting, we’ve reversed what we had planned. Now we spend most of our time in RV parks, with a few nights in between off grid while in transit. Cochise was all off grid, but it was warm at night and we ran the generator for hours every day to prep for the night ahead (plus our solar was busted, so there was a bunch of bull shit with that noise including a week after Cochise spent in Phoenix waiting for the rig to get fixed.  Although a week in a hotel was very nice and we saw the Phoenix botanical gardens, and my friend Jen Iverson for brunch one day.) This means that we’ve come to really understand what makes an RV park good, or bad… fun or lame… safe or scary.

In Tucson we stayed at a park called Desert Trails just south of Saguaro National Park, it is called Desert Trails for the miles and miles of trails that connect from the RV park to the Saguaro National Park. This particular RV park was its own unique community, billed as “active adult” or 50+ years of age not strictly enforced, so everyone was a biker, or a hiker, and most definitely a retired or semi-retired adventurer. The RV park was built on an abandoned water park, so there were old slides and other unique areas of large wading pools, or fountains, or covered areas for eating or hiding from the sun. It was super safe, and fun with great facilities, and clean bathrooms & showers. But every park has it’s something off… this park had fire. A week or two before we got there a huge class C had caught on fire and burnt to the ground in a matter of minutes. Everyone got out safely thanks to their dogs, but had to live with some friends in another Class C near by while insurance investigated and the wreckage was removed. The day after the sight was cleaned there was a huge thunder storm. Ken and I called it a movie day, but some lightning struck a palm tree just meters from where the RV had burnt down and lit the tree up! Fire department came and put it out, but still… strange.

Saguaro National Park, as I mentioned, was just to the north of our campground. My first, honest to god, actual hike without the boot! We didn’t go into the pay part of the park, we did a hike that starts just outside and scoops in briefly. Up a wash for about a mile (hiking on sand is the most effective and cruelest form of PT ever) to some petroglyphs and an old storage shack. From there we went up to an old mine, and down a classic valley filled with Sonoran Desert biology.

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In Tucson, we’d been told, one must eat a Sonoran Hot Dog. This is a football shaped bun that tastes like a Hawaiian roll with a bacon wrapped hot dog covered in caramelized onions, fresh onions, tomatoes, salsa Verdi and mayonnaise. We found our way to El Guero Canelo for some Sonoran hot dogs, and a crap-ton more food. Lemme just say, oh. my. god. YES! Sonoran hot dogs are amazing. Never before had a hot dog made my face hole explode in joy! Go to Tucson just to get one of these. And really, just one will do it! No, I don’t have a picture of the hotdog, I ate it. I’m not a fucking hipster. Here is a picture from Google images for you weirdos who eat with your eyes instead of you mouth and are too damn lazy to look it up yourself:

Now that I can walk more than a mile, we went to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum. This place has everything, and is freaking adorable with all the hands-on educational stations for kids. Beautifully curated gardens, a great diverse representation of all the animals that live all over the Sonoran Desert, and great food, too! We walked the nature trail where I FINALLY got to see Javolinas, we got to see a live Hanks Hawk presentation where they flew around for food (super trained, but whatever, can’t have them taking off with small kids), and bobcats, coyotes, wolves, tons of birds, snakes, reptiles and more. We had so much fun we stayed till I was fully limping and beyond exhausted, but so happy!

I’d like to take a moment here, to remind all of you, that no matter the challenges we’ve had on the road, we are not at work… during OND! Suckers!!!

I was initially going to write about Phoenix in a two sentence “yeah we were there” sort-of-way. But it didn’t work. So you lucky kids get an extra installation of Schaeferhaus. Pop some Champagne and toast to a few extra minutes outside your every day miserable working life.

Phoenix, as it turns out, is the 5th largest city in the US. At first it doesn’t feel like it, then you get to driving around and holy shit this place is massive, especially for how little fucking water is here. We came into and through Phoenix a few times, so we know how big it is side to side, top to bottom. A good side note here, the last time I was in Phoenix this time of year was last year for some work meetings. It was a lot warmer last year by a wide margin. At least in my memory….

We came in to get a laundry list of broken things fixed on the rig at a reputable RV sales/repair shop. The key here is they are licensed to sell and fix Outdoor RV’s, so we were way more likely to be taken seriously. We cleaned out the fridge, packed a few days of clothes and checked into a Residence Inn. These are lovely hotels with a full sized fridge, a small convection stove, a bedroom with a freaking door, a couch and a bathtub. I think I cried when we got in the room, it was downright luxurious!!

We grabbed brunch the next morning with Jen Iverson, my friend and amazing former boss. We did laundry at a sketchy laundromat were the bathroom was locked, the whole time, and I had to fucking pee! We got great dinner in Scottsdale at Bandera. We checked in with the RV place who said “we don’t know yet, we’ll call you tonight,” didn’t hear back, then extended our say for two more nights. Sometimes you just get the feeling you are trapped. Without the rig and my slowly recovering ankle we were definitely trapped.

I lose track of time here, but at some point I got a pedicure (for those of you who have lived in a walking boot, you know why. The rest of you can just go on thinking it was out of boredom). On Jen’s recommendation we went to the Phoenix Botanical Gardens, which is just amazing. There were some owls roosting there, and so many types of cholla and barrel cactus and yucca and herbs and seriously if I could walk better or longer I would have made Ken take me back there every day. Instead we were there for 2 hours or so and I spent the next day recovering.

All the while trying to get info from the RV place. Nothing. We extended our stay another two days. While Ken was extending, this time I stayed in the room, he wanted to run some errands and I wanted sleep. About an hour after he left I got a knock on the door. I’ve stayed in lots of hotel rooms, and knocking on the door freaks me out every time. Someone’s coming to get me, oh my god (I know, common Lex, people actually have better shit to do than waste time messing with you). After checking through the peephole I carefully opened the door to a member of the staff, who was holding a stuffed animal with balloons attached. Ken had told them our story, and the sweetest staff on the planet was super moved and had all pitched in to get us a stuffed llama for the baby with balloons for celebration and a gift card. I called Ken sobbing, I dont think he understood a lick of what I was trying to say. I asked him to get a thank you card while he was out so I could write a thank you novel for the staff.

Eventually we got the rig back, everything fixed up perfectly, and we were charged nothing. The key was getting ahold of the actual service manager at some point to give a great sob story. In the end we are really happy with their work, and needed those few days at the hotel to normalize, sleep and give each other a break from one another.

Back to the road.

Did you need pictures? Awww, that’s too bad!

Glossing over a lot of miles here… we drove from Lake Powell down to Phoenix in one day. Stayed a night at the Purple RV Resort then went farther south past Tucson to a little town called Benson where we spent a few nights waiting for the Dingus family to join us for a week at the Cochise Stronghold about ten miles outside Tombstone, AZ. Once they arrived, we made our way to an epic BLM campground where on one side was the sun setting in all it’s colors (California was on fire and smoke had filled the entire area so the sunsets were especially impressive with their fiery reds and oranges.) On the other side was the rock formation at the foot of the Dragoon Mountains that appeared to glow orange from within while the sun set opposite. There were strong mesquite trees to hang our hammocks, and tons of rock climbing (for the mobile) to explore.

The first climbing that was to be done was at the –Peanut Wall–. When they returned to the camp I was regaled with stories about how very, very wrong the climbing ratings had been for that wall. What Ken calls “sandbagged”.

Sandbagged is a phrase that is used a lot in sales, when end of month, quarter or fiscal year projections are requested of the sales force it is common for the sales teams to “sandbag” the numbers. This is where much lower estimates are given than what the reality might dictate. There are two really good reasons for this; first, if the shit hits the fan, you kinda predicted it and are a little protected from numbers not coming in as expected. This happens when a shady liquor store has promised to buy a half a palate of some close out crap that will help you hit goal, but then the store gets shut down for selling to minors, so no sale. Super lame, but at least those numbers might not have been in the projections, leaving a sales rep scrambling to ensure every single other case comes in to they do hit their projected number. Second, is to promise small and deliver big!  This is my favorite method, because I always got the be the hero that came in at the last minute to help hit the team numbers. Way to go Lex. In climbing it’s similar to the second version, where the person who put up the route says “oh, gosh! This was super easy!” but really it was insanely hard and is intended to make the person who climbed it first look like a stud (and all subsequent parties to look like Dweebs!!)

The second day of climbing was apparently more of the same, but with desert bushwhacking involved which lead to two phrases. The first “Fuck you Cochise” is courtesy of Dingus who looked like he had spent hours being attacked by cats with all the bloody scratches on his legs. Fun side note about cactus scratches, they itch and burn like crazy. How else would they not be eaten up in such arid places?  The second phrase came from the climbing guide book “Cochise Bushwhacking” which basically means “WTF kind of asshole decided that we could walk across this shit without a machete? Everything is trying to kill me!!!” It turns out the climbs were just as sandbagged, and what Ken, Chrissy and Dingus all kept repeating was “it was different.”

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Then it was Thanksgiving! Or something, I’m missing a few days in here. But how I tell it is there is finally a rock a very short hike away, so with my walkin’ boot and my trekking poles (finally free of the cursed crutches) I joined them to watch as they all climbed yet another “different” and sandbagged group of climbs. I can now tell you first hand the plants at Cochise are out for blood. All of them have spikes or spines. All of them! That night we made a whole mess of food and Ken busted out the 2000 Taylor Fladgate vintage Port that got 100 points from someone or another. I did taste a little of it, and it’s funny how fast your palate falls away if you don’t drink wine all the time.

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Friday was a slow day to start, but we managed to load ourselves into the truck and head to Tombstone to see some sights, look at the funny tourist trap shops, and have lunch at Big Nose Kates. After, I drove the crew around to a bunch of different wineries super close to the Mexican border.  The next day was more climbing for the crew.

It was mostly warm, we had camp fires and good laughs. Still…

Fuck you Cochise. ❤

Three nights is enough nights in Lake Powell, right? Right? Nope, it’s not enough, not even close. But we saw as much as we possible could in that time.

Coming from St George we stopped for two nights in the South most part of Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument, maybe 10 miles from the Vermillion Cliffs National Monument in a fantastic little campground called “White House”. According to area signage the area was called as such by ranchers driving cattle though the river which was crystal clear from a nearby spring. They decided that this water was probably just as good as the water they got in the White House, and bam! A named valley!

When we rolled in we had our pick of all the sites. We chose #1, cuz we’re #1 bitchez. After getting the rig all set up – inside victory, we didn’t have to balance side to side! So wonderful when you land a flat site outside an RV park – we, yes WE went for a hike!  I’m calling it a hike, if you saw it you’d laugh at me. Go ahead chuckles, get it out, but I’d been immobile entirely up to this point. With crutches and my walkin’ boot nice and tight, we went 300 yards down a wash to the river to sit in the sun and be away from the trailer for a little while. Amazing, just amazing. Where we were sitting just happened to be at the head of the Paria Canyon hike that’s a good 4-5 day hike that pops out at Lees Ferry.

The next morning Ken ventured to go 6 miles down that canyon. So he got up really early and took off. There was ice in the river that morning, the river that required multiple crossings. But he pushed onward, and really saw amazing stuff. The first fascination he came across is called the windows, holes carved in the sandstone by the river over many years of pounding. Continuing on the canyon got deeper, and eventually started spouting slot canyons before turning to a slot canyon itself.

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 Lake Powell in the middle of November is quiet, rather cold and the water level is super low. No, it’s really not the weather to go for a swim, and getting to the docks is a wild, steep and muddy walk (probably a bit exaggerated, but you try this crap on crutches). This comes with huge benefits. We got the best pull-through camp site with a private patio and an awesome lake view. A big deal, in case you don’t know. Plus it’s quiet, these places are 100% vacation and can get super loud every night. There were tons of parking spots in the town of Page, and no wait for an awesome crepe breakfast joint.

Best part, really, is off season rates on boat rentals with super flexible hours, and a ginormous lake all to yourself. We rented a tiny plastic speed boat for a half day, showed up an hour early and took off.  I brought a thermos of hot chocolate, Ken a few beers. Our rental was from 11 to 3, and we were asked to show up by 10. I guess it usually takes an hour to get people out, but we were on the water in about 20 minutes, then told to be back, you know, around 3, but they leave at 4, so you know…

It was sunny and temperate when we weren’t moving. Once we got going it got chilly, but we hardly noticed. First was the dam, then Antelope Canyon. With the water so low at 42% of full (that’s down 58% from full, because I can do math) the canyon walls were extra dramatic. I assume this last statement is true, this was my first time and I imagine most first impressions of Lake Powell are dramatic. As we rode through there was one tour boat, and a few kayakers. In other words, we had all of Antelope to ourselves! At the end of Antelope we stopped for a while to fish. Ken almost caught a bass, it chomped on the lure but missed the hook.

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After Antelope was Navajo Canyon, all to ourselves. The water was so still the reflections were other worldly. At one point it was surreal and one could almost feel like they were flying through the canyon.

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Zion, not the first city of David, sorry to all you worship music nuts out there, but Zion National Park in South Western Utah. Don’t go. It’s too beautiful, and the buses make it too easy to see some of the cool stuff, and people die there! Instead, we went for you, so you can live through our pictures, and Ken’s adventures. Buckle up buttercup, here’s your dose of living vicariously through us for the day.

We rolled into Hurricane, pronounced Her-ick-in by the one local we talked to, and parked in the best RV park to date. It felt and looked so much like our neighborhood in Lakewood that it really made me homesick for my neighbors. A common trend we are seeing is that we are the youngest people rolling into these places. It was quiet, and everyone had a dog or two and was more than willing to stop so I could over cuddle their pet while they talked to me and I ignored them. Not trying to be mean or distant, it’s just… well,doggies!!! Hurricane is 10 minutes East of St George, a town that’s set up on the Tabernacle grid, and has great climbing, hiking and more. I was still in the boot so we did other stuff. We drove through Joshua Tree National Natural Landmark, crossed the border through Arizona and into Nevada to make a quick stop at a casino in Mesquite. We had to bail on that super-fast from the smoke in there, but no matter they got $20 from me in 10 minutes flat, and $5 from Ken in half an hour.

We took a day to ride the bus up the Zion canyon, go out at the top to “hike” 40 feet on a trail, then had lunch and headed back. I’m quite the adventure destroyer at this point in time.

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So, Ken came back the next day to hike the Angles Landing.The pictures I’m assured do no justice to how amazing this climb was. And the pictures are amazing. He headed out super early and was one of the first few folks on the trail that day, which besides being extremely cold this time of year, is also not super busy until the afternoon.  The route has chains and guard rails up the really steep sections, but Ken chose to go for a “chain free” ascent, very badass when you see how steep it is.   At the top was some dumb shit tourist from maybe Germany throwing rocks off the top!! THROWING ROCKS OVER A CLIFF!  Dude is just lucky it was Ken there who told his buddy to stop. If I’d been there… well some of you have seen my “I’m probably going to kill you now” face… There is simply no cure for Stupid.

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I know we are super far behind on our blog posts, writing this right now we are in Phoenix, which means you still haven’t heard about St. George, Lake Powell, Phoenix, Cochise Stronghold, Tombstone, and Phoenix again. It doesn’t matter, you can’t fire me, I’ve already quit! But I’m breaking out of our linear logging of adventures because there are so many things that happen, that you see, that are amazing, and frustrating, and funny, that don’t fit into our narrative the way it’s been written. So there is this. No pictures, so if you are only here for the pictures, go cry in the corner, and learn to read already.

Every year, for as long as I’ve ever paid any attention, fall has been too short. The air gets crisp but is still warm in the afternoon, the leaves change into all the colors so you drink them in every second you can knowing they’ll be gone in the blink of an eye. For me, fall has always been the golden cottonwood leaves that completely blanket the ground, the leaves that take ages to move into piles, played around in, moved into piles again and bagged up.  That smell, of sweet rotting leaves everywhere you go. That is fall. This year, we left Denver as the leaves were starting to change, and everywhere we’ve been since then, the cottonwoods are vibrant wearing their gold, shining in the crisp autumn sun. Everywhere. It’s November 29th, and the cottonwoods in Phoenix are changing, eternal change.

That’s what the small things give us, they give us a short look into the little things that are the same while everything else changes. A shower is a shower, a small thing, a ritual, a moment. But how about the shower itself? Is it clean? Is the water hot? Is it too small to turn around in, or is the towel hook where your towel gets soaked? You never think about these small things until everything around them changes. Eternal change.

What about the big things that are really small? A fight with a loved one, big and stressful and painful. But short lived and not big enough to extinguish love. A car, big and expensive and covered by insurance and a way to feel freedom, and completely replaceable and small. A voluntary change to your lifestyle, like quitting your job, selling your house and hitting the road, big and scary and maybe lonely and far from home, yet reversible and temporary and small. Small change in a big box.

And how about the changes that are small things, but really big? In the landscape of eternal change I’m talking about the small things that change everything. Like the baby, growing in my belly. It’s tiny, the size of a green toy soldier, not even big enough to make my stomach bulge. But it’s the biggest thing ever, and I can’t even feel it. The small things that are this big change the other small things so much. Now the ritual shower must be clean, not too hot, and at least a half-hour long. Now the fights with loved ones are shorter and filled with tears and hugs. The lifestyle you chose is reviewed with eyes that only look forward far into the future instead of the next small adventure.

Eternally changed, by a very small thing.

Fruita, just outside Grand Junction, and like Grand Junction is known for its temperate and arid climate. We don’t know it that way. While desperately needed rain fell, I hunkered down in the trailer with my broken ankle elevated and iced while watching old reruns on antenna. There were movies too, generously hacked to PC pieces for the general viewing audience. Ken definitely tried to get out and do some things, which I am proud to recreate here for your entertainment.

• Rattlesnake Arches, first attempt.

“Lo, the clouds have lifted and the enduring rain have marooned my heart. I hear the gentle calling of near adventures, beckoning me with promise of beauteous splendors henceforth unseen. Upon first approach with my mighty motorized steed, had been advised to return to my abode from impassable road slurry. Undeterred, my steed found a second passage to the trail where I began my ascent. Ancient walls reaching for the sky adorned my vista, my path obscured by so much meandering waters that in nothing flat my bearings were lost. In moderate concern for finding my way I turned, and as approaching the correct course, lost my faithful footing and pass into a bath of mud. Egads! Shaken and cold I returned to my carriage and posthaste to the lady Lexi fair.”

We left Fruita to hang out with Andy, Alice, Julia, John and Julie outside Moab at Horsethief Campground. The first night was not surprisingly raining. But, it did clear up, it even got warm! While John and Julie took off early for work (boo, you damn working people always ruining adventure time!) Ken and the crew got to go mountain biking for two days. The first day was at the Brand Trails. Honesty, for two whole days I thought everyone was talking about the Bran Trails, and I couldn’t figure out how mountain biking trails would motivate the bowels so much to be named after bran. The second day was a huge network of trails around Horsethief. Mad love to the Hayes’ for working Ken over on those trails.  I think he might have the mountain biking bug now.  Below is Ken’s account by me.

“BICICLE.

BICICLE.

I WANT TO RIDE MY BICICLE,

I WANT TO RIDE MY BIiiiiiiKE!”

Then a week in Palisade. Beautiful Palisade, with your peach trees changing colors, your spectacular sunsets off the Palisade Rim, your sweet little fruit farms, and quaint cafes serving delicious farm to table foodie foods.  We got to spend time with John and Julie in GJ, grabbing cocktails and grub, and great laughs!  (BTW, thank you guys! We feel like we’ve known you our whole lives!). Ken did some hiking adventures and some fishing here and there. His account, in my recollection went something like this…

• Palisade Rim Trail

“So, the guy at the place said this was easy.  All the books said it’s only like 3 miles. I biked down the road and locked ‘er up, hit the trail and went up, up, up. Awesome views of Palisade and the RV park where my most divine Lexi rest, and 9 miles later, I returned to the trailer.”

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• Rattlesnake Arches, second attempt.

“I shall not be deterred by this problematic trail. Yay, I will triumph! In absence of torrential rains the trail has made itself slightly more distinguished. With elevation gaining below my winged feet I fly past the catastrophe pond of days past. Joyous are the views, light are my legs, warm are my shoulders basking in the sun. Hold, drat! The trail is lost, gods have pity on me, give me the sight to see! Upon a quick return the trail is recovered, alas, only for a moment and the trail vanishes. Oh, trail Atlantis, return to me! In circles I am found and lost, only to return again. I am now Hermes lost, defeated, spent. I sulked back to my Queen Lexi, who with grace and goodness restored my resolve. I shall not go defeated thrice.  This unnatural challenge remains for another day.”

• Fishing on Grand Mesa.

“Shit! It’s cold. Snow! What the shit?!?!  Screw this crap, I’m going for a long ass drive instead. Now, I need beer. MMMMMM, beer…”

I should finish by adding, Ken literally said none of these things, and I might have messed up the when’s and where’s. But, this is what happens when you refuse to write your own memories! Poor guy! The pictures are all his though, so mad credit for that!

 

aka: Lake Irwin and a good friends house

 

The end of September will always be the most impressive time to take long drives in Colorado. This time of the year there are two types of people on Kebler Pass, hunters and leafers. I guess we counted as leafers, though we were only passing through to get to our next spot.  I would take that drive a million times if I could, but our trailer was not having that road. Every time you stop the damn thing there is three things to fix. A screw falls out (this happens A LOT), a decorative something or another falls off… a screw driver, wood glue, super glue and duct tape are mandatory for entering a trailer after any travel.

We landed towards Lake Irwin at some little camp site off the pass, got all set up and started taking visitors!  Tom had gotten off work and came to camp with us that night, and our friend Peaches (this dude has so many nicknames, I thought he was five different people for two years) came to drink wine and be merry. I actually kicked them all out around 10pm so I could take my prescribed Morphine (I’m not sharing, so piss off and get back to work. What do they pay you for anyway?) and go to sleep.  We ate breakfast at McGills the next morning, while it rained and got cold.  Look, we know it’s fall, this is how it goes in C to the O y’all. But we’re camping, at altitude, and haven’t seen sun in days, this is not the start we had in mind.  We were invited to hang out in a friends house while we were in town, as a home base, which honestly was the most amazing thing in the world. They had heat, and loads of electricity, and 4G and cable TV, and WIFI!!! Thanks Weezy!!!! A lazy day. That night Ken and I went back up to the trailer. About halfway though the night, our furnace quit working. Brilliant, it’s only 20 fucking degrees and snowing outside. I can’t fully cover myself because of my foot, and there is nothing we can do till the morning anyway.  That was a long night. The next morning wasn’t anymore fun.  We can’t get the fridge to stay on, our batteries are dead, and we don’t know what the hell to do.  Ken loaded me up and dropped me off at our friends heated house while he went into Gunnison to find a generator and a whole huge list of crap I wanted/needed for my foot. I spent all day on that comfy leather couch, crocheting, sleeping, watching crap TV and generally out of it from pain and boredom. Ken meanwhile got to fuel up the generator, take it up to freezing rain campsite and try to get a charge into the battery. After 2+ hours of running the generator he was able to get the fridge back on, and run the heat for a few minutes.

That night we got dinner with our friend Jen at Ryce in CB. Then everyone came and hung out at our friends house for a little while. I decided to sleep there that night. I was in no mood to try freezing my ass off again, and Ken and his friends were enjoying some great conversation and libations.

We spent the next day laying around too.  It sucks to say we didn’t do much in Crested Butte, but honestly the weather was miserable, loads of people were out of town, or working (dipshits just like you). We headed out that day, desperate to find somewhere not as cold, and hopefully with some sun to charge our struggling batteries. I would say Ken had a spectacular time catching up with friends like in old times.

Load up, take off, next stop: Fruita, CO.

aka: A big gash in the middle of Colorado

 

Our first real adventure has finally begun! We loaded everything up on September 28^th in the morning, and with hugs and kisses from the female portion of the Wood’s family (Matt had to work early, such a non-slacker) and we were off!

This was my very first time driving into the Black Canyon, and what an incredible time to do so. All the scrub oak which is usually nothing more than a background green had started changing color. There was amazing bright greens, yellows to gold, bright orange to blood orange changing into ruby reds and deep dark purples.  The bright yellow and copper with the odd orange aspen decorating the sides of the road around the rim of the canyon.  We took a bazillion blurry photos, and by we I mean me, because that is definitely the color palate of my next home sans wheels.

I cannot overstate how important it is to have someone grab you a camping spot if you are rolling in for the weekend. Level-up if the person grabbing your spot is a ranger, and can get you the best spot! We got off the hitch, got all set up, and Tom (Ken’s brother/bestest climbing ranger of all time) stopped by to hatch a crazy plan with Ken to hike down to the river to camp the next night in order to say ‘hi’ to a buddy that was kayaking through and camping ‘just’ below us.  Remember how I told you on the first post that we’ve got big balls?  This hike is 2,000 feet straight down with a tiny bit of bouldering. No big deal according to Tom. This is the only point in this trip I’ve been happy to be stuck in bed was when this plan was settled on.

Saturday mid-afternoon – after our favorite climbing ranger had to tell a bunch of novice hikers from Chi Town to not go down a gully (not even a cliff, a gully, they were going to die just trying to get halfway down) – Tom and Ken began the decent. Fairly early in the hike, Tom told Ken “Everything here is trying to hurt you. Or kill you.” From what I’ve heard, this was a very technical decent.  Reminder, some folks were told not to climb down the gully, and here’s these two buffoons heading straight down the wall. After a few hours of slow down-climbing, they made it to the Gunnison River below.  They met up with the kayaking friends, caught some brown trout for dinner, and slept in a small cave that is home to a ringtail.

A quick aside, I had to look up WTF a “Ringtail” is, because we thought the brochure/map of the Black that has a picture of the Ringtail had a picture of a lemur by mistake. Also, all other animals and plants in the Black, no… the world, are named of course with their scientific name, but their common name has a specific and a generic term.  Good examples, Brown Trout, Turkey Vulture, Northern Leopard Frog, then Ringtail. Really, what the hell. After some quick 4G research, I’ve discovered the “Ringtail” is also called the “Ringtail Cat” though it is a member of the racoon family, and does in fact look like a lemur. Also, the Osprey is only known by one word in it’s common name. But whatever, get back to work you slacker.

Aside over, Ken had one of these Ringtail’s brush against his head while he was sleeping, and when asked to comment on this continues to only respond, “Fuck, that thing was huge! I swear it was going to eat me!”. The Ringtail is only on average about 2.2 pounds of mammal.

The next morning they fished a bit more in serious dedication to bring me a trout for dinner that night (aww!) and made their way out of the canyon, climbing harnesses, clipping in, heavy packs and all. It was a quiet night that night. A very tired Ken, and a not so tired Tom.

Sunday Ken and I did the great little nature hike called Chasm View. Then he took me on the Rim Road or Rim View or something. I kept calling it the Rim Job. (Crap, I forgot my disclaimer. If you are still reading, it’s your own fault. I’m not forcing you to read, you are just a glutton for punishment.) It was a lovely drive, great views from the car. Let’s face it, the little nature hike wiped me out. Crutches are a torture devise to make sure you are aware of all the cool things you don’t get to do.  Grilling at the ranger station for dinner, and movies, and wine.

Monday, I’m in serious pain now. I really thought my ankle would have lessened in pain by that point. But it didn’t. Long discussions were had about the pros and cons of going to a hospital. Let’s keep in mind, I had amazing insurance with my former employer, the best, really. Now we have some cheap catastrophic policy, that I’m not certain will cover anything unless forced. Honestly, we can’t recall if we did anything else that day, besides discuss my damn ankle. More grilling at the ranger station with movies and wine. No wine for me, just lots and lots of ibuprofen.

Tuesday it was decided, we’re taking my gimp ass to the hospital in Delta. At the hospital we ran into a buddy from Crested Butte, and got to meet the whole staff. Apparently when you have a sense of humor about how dumb you are to get hurt by walking, everyone enjoys your company.  Well… it’s not a sprain, it’s a break. A nice big Fuck You to our trip, to our plans, to my resolve to get on the mend quickly so I can get back in on the adventure. That night more movies, more grilling, and some vodka for my poor husband who know knows he’s my nanny for six to eight weeks. We packed up the next day and headed to Crested Butte.

Bye bye beautiful Black!