Caroline’s Geburtstag

JWise Photo of the Day

Caroline Wise in Phoenix, Arizona

After taking Caroline the 28 miles from home to the Korean corndog joint in Mesa for her birthday last year it seemed impossible to top that and so I didn’t even try. As a matter of fact, we were standing in the kitchen this morning when she suggested that I should treat her to breakfast in bed which had me asking her, why should I do that? “Well, how about because it’s my birthday?” Oops.

We’d talked of her upcoming birthday multiple times over the previous weeks and while I knew that I’d do absolutely nothing for it, I wasn’t supposed to outright forget it on the very day it was occurring. Even seeing the missed call from her father and stepmother that had arrived at 4:30 in the morning to my phone (the ringer was turned off because who wants to be woken at such an hour) didn’t trigger me that he might have been calling for his daughter’s birthday. So with that embarrassing stuff out of the way, on to the rest of the day.

I did end up making breakfast for her, even her coffee, but she wasn’t able to indulge it while horizontal as her sister and brother-in-law were Skyping her to wish those kinds of greetings that typically show up on this type of day. Afterward, she phoned her father to return his call, and then it was on to her mom Jutta. Regarding my mother-in-law, she’d get to enjoy celebrating Caroline’s birthday twice today as just a few hours after she and her daughter hung up the first call, Jutta called us as she had just remembered that today is Caroline’s birthday. Such is the memory of someone mired in dementia.

With family phone calls out of the way, it was time for us to grab some lunch, which I nearly forgot as well until Caroline stopped me and asked about going to Otro Cafe, a New Mexican inspired place near downtown Phoenix that we’d agreed just the day before to visit. Sheesh, where’s my head? I’d like to claim it’s stuck in a daze from staring at this face I find absolutely delightfully beautiful, but that would be an easy copout, though I do love staring at it. If anything at all, I’d say that with the creatures of habit thing that’s happened to a large extent this past two years, if we are home, we are likely staying put and doing a bunch of whatever.

However, that bunch of whatever is about to get shifted to the point of relentless change. John, what do you mean? Well, Caroline’s 54th year promises to be extraordinarily busy if we can maintain the intention to follow through with a travel itinerary I’ve been working on that starts soon. How soon? Real soon with the first trip taking us back to the Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge south of Socorro, New Mexico, where our fetish for birds, lots of birds, is able to be satisfied in much the same way as llamas eating hands.

Deep In The Hoodoos

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Nineteen degrees (-7 Celsius) is cold by most people’s measure, but that’s what greeted Brinn and me as we took our things to the car before breakfast, a car frosted over with ice. Lodging, dinner, and breakfast, were nothing of special note unless noting relative mediocrity is worthy, which I suppose with even having written this made it all noteworthy.

Looking at this overview at Sunset Point on the first steps down the Navajo Loop, it’s easy to be caught breathless by the magnitude of spectacular beauty, and yet the services surrounding this natural phenomenon are heartless utilities of banality built for people of no discernment. I do not mean to imply that I want to see 5-star luxury and Michelin-starred restaurants, but what is here is a testament to the fact that people with low expectations stay in the area. What’s missing? Reasonably priced glamping, cabins with barbecues along with a nearby grocery trading in at least a few fineries, restaurants that don’t serve the lowest common denominator foods pulled from SAD (Standard American Diet).

I looked into renting an e-bike for a half-day, and WTF? The local rental place wanted $59 for a half-day, which is only $4 cheaper than a 3-day rental up on Rügen Island in Germany, right on the Baltic Sea (the cost for a full-day rental was only $22). Also, the battery range for e-bikes in Germany (we also rented in Frankfurt) is 50 to 62 miles on a charge, while the range for e-bikes at this Bryce location is 25 to 40 miles, and the path from the shop to the park is 17 miles in one direction, so maybe you’ll have enough power for the roundtrip.

Then it dawns on me: only provide mediocre services so the nature of the place appears even more valuable compared to the ridiculous expense and horrid culinary experience had in the nearby town. Okay, enough lament; on with the beauty.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

In an instant, the affront to my sense of the aesthetic is washed away like the soil that at one time must have surrounded these hoodoos. Spires, a.k.a. hoodoos, are what we came for, and now was the time to immerse ourselves in amongst them instead of just standing over their grandeur, snapping a few photos, and moving down the road.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Half of the Navajo Loop is closed for the season due to the potential for ice covering the trails on Wall Street as that part of the path is known. Well, for me this was a great deal because this meant a new trail for me. On a previous trip, Caroline and I had taken the Wall Street leg of Navajo Loop and continued on the Queens Garden Trail to Sunrise Point.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Little did I realize back on our previous hikes (I believe we’ve done this twice before, but I’m sure Caroline will have the better memory, so look for her note – Nah, I think you’re right – C.) just how different this branch of the trail would appear. It’s immediately and abundantly clear that, after more than a dozen years since our last visit, I must plan a return visit for my wife and me and stay more than a half-day so we can hike the Peek-A-Boo trail we’ve never taken.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

It falls on my head as though Thor’s Hammer had struck me: because we had taken the other side of the Navajo Trail, we’d only seen this feature from above, and that other side of the trail doesn’t offer anything at all like this view. By the way, this rock feature is known as Thor’s Hammer.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Also, regarding my head, but also my center of gravity that appears to smack dab in the crack of my torso found at that southerly spot of my backside, my sense of vertigo appears to grow worse with age. The unseen photo down this canyon that is on my right, just out of sight, is a series of steep switchbacks that are triggering this fear of heights.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Then, down near the bottom of the trail, it appears that we are on nothing more than a common forest trail. Oh, while verifying a few things for this post, I saw the Fairy Land Loop Trail is the longest trail in the park at 7.8 miles and would seem to imply that I’ll have to carve out an additional day for Caroline and me if we are to include that one too. If we were to wait another dozen or more years to return to this park, I’d have just hit my  70s, and I can’t be all that certain I’d be able to knock that out. Do things while you can is my motto, all the things!

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

See human for scale!

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

And before you know it, we are on our way out. Sadly, this is not a ride at Disneyland with some people mover ready to carry us back up the 47 stories it’ll take to reach the rim again. Come to think about it; I’m happy this is not owned by Disneyland with rides where the masses could crowd this spectacle of nature with minimal effort.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Not the best photo of Brinn I’ve taken, but it’s certainly the best I’ve ever taken that includes his shadow.

By the time we were getting off the trail, all we could do was drive, drive, drive, as we were looking to get back to Phoenix earlier rather than later. Okay, we did stop for a slice of pie at that “Ho-Made” joint called Thunderbird Restaurant at Mt. Carmel Junction in southern Utah, but after lunch, we were in agreement that pie would have to wait for a future visit, which is just as well as Brinn was here with me, not the person he’s in love with and of course I wasn’t here with Caroline so his pie experience will have to wait.

Sure, we were in a hurry, but could I really skip taking any photos on the way home? Nope, and so the world’s largest dream catcher is my stand-in for representing our path back to Phoenix, which is the same route we just took yesterday on our way up.

This concludes our quick two-day jaunt covering 900 miles of sightseeing and Brinn’s first-ever visit to Utah.

North To Utah As Alaska Is Too Far

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

The day starts like any other day on the streets of Phoenix, Arizona. Shortly after 5:30 in the morning, Caroline and I find ourselves checking out the Christmas lights. We won’t have a lot of time to dawdle as after the sun rises, one of us will be staying home, and the other of us will be heading up the road to Utah, as why not?

Brinn shows up on time, but before we start the endurance test of our butts, backs, and hips, we have to stop in at King Coffee, a regular stop for coffee for me and occasionally for Brinn too. This is not King Coffee.

As a matter of fact, we’re no longer anywhere near Phoenix but well north of Flagstaff by this time. An abandoned old motel in Gray Mountain has become a bit of an art project, well, the outside, anyway.

The inside of what remains of this roadside lodge is now questionable at best, sketchy at least, and interesting in some weird way like so many of the rotting remains from another age one finds while driving around America.

Fresh blacktop slicing a deep black trail across the red and gray desert makes for an interesting contrast, but the poverty up here still retains the same bleak hostility of neglect that economic isolation puts on the population of these native lands.

We were able to catch some rafters passing under the Navajo Bridge that crosses the Colorado River here in Northern Arizona. Minutes ago, we were able to watch one condor perched on the girders of the opposite bridge while four others were flying about further downriver. With five of these birds on view and sadly unable to capture an adequate image of these majestic rare birds, I’d like to think that their reintroduction to the Canyon system 25 years ago is looking successful.

I tried yelling down to this private trip of river rafters, but their music was too loud to hear anything else, so I don’t believe they heard me informing them about condors just ahead.

There are people who raft rivers who would look at this photo and know exactly where I’m going next.

John Wise at Lees Ferry Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

Yep, Lees Ferry, a.k.a. mile marker zero in the Grand Canyon National Park and the starting point for Colorado River adventures that depart from right here.

Lees Ferry Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

The first riffle of white water in the Grand Canyon. Eleven years ago, when we first passed over this minor speed bump, from my perspective in the front of a dory, this was as terrifying as anything I could imagine. It turned out that this was nothing compared to what lay ahead. Read about that day starting at THIS LINK.

Our little two-day road trip is taking us up through the Vermillion Cliffs and will have us pass by the shuttered-for-the-season turn-off to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.

Good thing Lefevre Overlook isn’t popular with influencers yet because when Brinn and I pulled in, there was nobody else here enjoying the view. It wasn’t for lack of traffic as all day we’d been surrounded by those racing to get somewhere fast while this gray-haired old man plodded along, oblivious to how many middle fingers might have been thrown my way. The truth is that I don’t have time to race across the landscape failing to see more than a few of the details as one never knows how often they’ll pass through parts of a country not exactly convenient to visit.

The view from Lefevre Ridge.

Brinn Aaron in Utah

Brinn in Utah. Yesterday, while he and I were out between Superior and Globe down in central Arizona, he’d mentioned Utah a few times, so I had to ask, why? He’d never been to Utah, which was when, after a few minutes of thinking about that, I asked if he’d like to head up this weekend. Obviously, he agreed.

While we didn’t take the opportunity to have some “Ho-Made” pies, we did fill up on gas at the station next door, snapped a photo, and waved to our left as Zion National Park was not on today’s agenda. We are still heading north. According to an old blog post, Caroline and I first passed this place nearly 20 years ago.

Bryce National Park seems to come to mind.

After our stop at the old motel, a half-hour at Navajo Bridge, another half-hour (or so) detouring to Lees Ferry, and lunch at the Marble Canyon Restaurant, the remaining light of day is quickly escaping us.

While hints of what was to come tomorrow were able to be gleaned in the last moments of twilight, we arrived in Bryce just outside the national park when it was well dark and getting mighty cold.

Change Of Scenery

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

East of Superior, Arizona

Where does one go to escape themselves? Definitely not into the treadmill of routine. Sometimes, it’s so difficult to see beyond staying on the train of misery that we need a nudge that can toss us out of our well-worn groove.  Well, it so happens that a friend of mine is presently experiencing a minor hiccup that I felt he could benefit from being dragged away from his rut.

Brinn in Miami, Arizona

This is Mr. Beefcake, who, although heartbroken, is not so broken to have lost his lack of shame or sense of humor as he took up this sexy pose. (Maybe in this lower resolution, you can’t see the nipple tweaking and seductive tongue lolling out his moist lips, so I’m sure this mention will benefit the reader to better see what I witnessed.)

Note: Mr. Beefcake, not his real name, requested anonymity, hence the meaningful pseudonym. 

Miami, Arizona

In my universe, green chile on carne asada is always a cure for the sad heart, and there’s no greater cure for melancholy than this amazing plate of yummy from El Guayo’s in Miami, Arizona; so let the healing begin!

Miami, Arizona

After the gut is pacified with the salve of good eats, eye candy is next up on the menu. The romantic ruins of a crumbling old-west mining town can work the kind of wonders that will restore vigor, manhood, and the speedy relief of what ails the soul.

Miami, Arizona

We basked in the splendor of a dry river bed devoid of the distracting sounds of life that don’t allow sorrows to evaporate like the waters that once flowed through this place of decay.

Miami, Arizona

Window shopping? Sure, if you are looking for dust, pigeons, crumbling walls, and faded dreams. We were here to recognize that we were alive and fortunate enough to celebrate our vitality while what remains of Miami has been relegated to the scrap heap of things lost. We, though, are not lost, dusty, or being shat upon by pigeons; we can leave and heal ourselves because that’s what we do: we rebuild, and then we shit on pigeons.

Highway 77 south of Globe, Arizona

Sorrow is like a rusty old barbed wire fence in our minds that is stopping us at the gate of unification. I should probably mention something about God right about now, but would you really expect that from the person peddling this snake oil bullshit yer reading above?

Highway 77 south of Globe, Arizona

Open your heart like the openness of the Arizona desert, Mr. Beefcake, see your infinite potential on the horizon, and put down your troubles, squash that drama like a mosquito that’s landed on your nose.

Brinn on Highway 77 south of Globe, Arizona

After taking this photo, I consulted a physiognomist friend of mine who professionally analyzed Beefcake’s face and skull shape and then informed me that this specimen of a man is likely to be a repeater of potentially harmful behaviors due to his lack of ability to see much past his glowing mustache.

Gila River Highway 77 south of Globe, Arizona

But let us take a moment. To be honest, at this moment, Mr. Beefcake can be compared to this quickly fading river that once ran gloriously over the desert sands of Arizona. He is a pale reflection of his life prior to the anguish that has allowed his flow to be sucked away by the thirsty world that cares not if our towns, signs, homes, or souls are consumed by the relentless and vicious sunlight destroying man, beast, and river alike. But I trust Beefcake and am certain that he’ll soon regain his strength like a torrent of white water carving out canyons and pushing obstacles out of the way. He’ll reign once more over his domain.

South of Superior, Arizona

So, with the likelihood that tomorrow risks being a repeat of the day before, where the bad storytelling of contrived crap that arrived with this poor excuse of a blog post won’t be found, we decided under the romantic setting sun to head into new potentials by driving to Utah in the morning to find God, just as the Mormons did.

The Tears of a Man Flow Inward

JWise Photo of the Day

John Wise with Theo and Pacifique Irankunda

You never know what will come into your life if you don’t follow your instinct to reach out and so it was that today I found a valid moment of being thankful on Thanksgiving. My conversation started with Theo who stands in the middle in this photo. Theo entered my attention due to the word “KNOWLEDGE” emblazoned across the back of his t-shirt. He was here at this mostly empty Starbucks on a major holiday that invites people to enjoy a day of nesting with family, yet instead came here alone. After 5 minutes of dithering whether I should intrude, I did just that and asked if he was an artist. He laughed, “No, but the friend I’m meeting here any moment is; he’s a writer.”

Theo and I continued chatting as we spoke about him coming from Burundi, my time in Europe, and being thankful every day for the incredible luxury we are afforded by living in America. Then the friend he’s waiting for walks through the door and joins him ,and I’m introduced to Pacifique (pictured on the right) who also hailed from Burundi. For close to a half-hour we talked about the importance of every day being worthy of a holiday and of friendship that should mean something more than simply social media contacts.

Getting to Pacifique being a writer, I’d already learned that he would have a book coming out but the few details I knew I had been told by Theo prior to his friend’s arrival so it was time to ask Pacifique to share more about it. The book’s title is The Tears of a Man Flow Inward, and it is due to release next March. “Is it available on Amazon as a pre-order yet?” Yes, was his answer and so without learning more I grabbed my notebook and did a quick search for The Tears of a Man Flow Inward: Growing Up in the Civil War in Burundi by Pacifique Irankunda due for release on March 15, 2022. I was immediately struck by the serious tone of the part of the title Pacifique hadn’t mentioned and, without a second thought, I ordered it but was seized by the potential for it to be an emotional storytelling.

Then, just as I thought our ways were about to part, Pacifique joined me at my table asking me a few questions regarding my own path in life before he and Theo needed to head out. To say this was one of the best Thanksgiving’s ever would diminish that Caroline and I have shared thousands of Thanksgiving’s experiencing the flow of life, but this one certainly joins the ranks of the memorable.

How Many Socks? All The Socks

JWise Photo of the Day

John Wise Sock in Phoenix Arizona

If you think sock modeling is easy, you should be in my head while I struggle with what kind of background I should use or sorting out if I should include both feet or just one foot? Maybe just show a bit of sock using a close up to best demonstrate the immaculate and regular stitches that Caroline uses for my socks so there’s not a seam or even slightly bumpy area that could cause a hotspot, which in turn would cause blisters thus diminishing the pleasure I gather from wearing handknitted foot-gloves a.k.a. socks. I can proudly say of my yarntastic wife that the days of her having to fit my socks at various stages of the knitting process seem long gone as she now goes to work meticulously comparing her progress to that of another favorite sock of mine to ensure they are precisely the same.

The sad thing about being gifted such exquisite things that get used every day is that some of them wear out, typically under the front pad of my foot where they are rendered as momentary keepsakes that I’ve grown too fond of to just toss them away. Maybe you think they can be repaired? Not a chance as my sensitive feet would feel where the patch was knitted in and a fraction of the incredible pleasure would be lost so I wear them a few more times as the nostalgia builds that a particular pair is about to be retired.

Fortunately, Caroline’s busy hands and a backlog of maybe dozens of skeins of yarn await conversion into man socks, i.e. this man’s socks. Just how many socks John? All the socks.

[John bought this yarn in Stricklaedchen in Limburg, Germany, earlier this year. You can read all about his grand day out here. – Caroline]