Something Undefined

JWise Thoughts

The Last Humanity by Francois Laruelle

The world is moving sideways for many people over the previous days, weeks, and months as they attempt to reenter what had been their normal, and it’s proving to be elusive. Fears of recession, inflation, war, political divisions, a cryptocurrency rout, starving babies as our country runs out of formula, lack of workers, various food shortages, impossibly expensive vacations, rising interest rates, unaffordable housing, all these things are nagging at Americans’ sense of well being.

Meanwhile, I watch Rome burning while I fiddle on my way into adventures. Am I so aloof as to be above it all? Absolutely not, but two years ago, with the pandemic unfolding, I considered how, after previous encounters with pestilence, the localized world had changed, and COVID was a global phenomenon that promised even greater change. Today, I think we are seeing the effects of a gut punch that is causing nausea within society as it readies itself for the full-on retching that will see humanity disgorge itself of the poison that is man. But you thought I was going to New Mexico, right? Well, all trips away from home have a starting point, and this launch is no different.

I only began with this intrusion after finishing the blog posts from our trip to Bryce two weeks ago. I didn’t feel like finding my way into other posts that might document the intervening time, so my big epiphany had to be alluded to here at the coffee shop prior to our departure later this afternoon. That’s right, you read it correctly: BIG EPIPHANY!

Just a few days ago, I started reading François Laruelle’s The Last Humanity; The New Ecological Science, and not more than a few pages in, I realized that something extraordinarily huge has been occurring. I was trying to interpret Laruelle’s idea of non-philosophy, and for some inexplicable reason, I started thinking about Crass’s 1978 declaration that Punk is Dead, which triggered the thought that Philosophy is Dead. In a flash, philosophy died before my eyes.

At that moment of perceiving this new gravity, I watched a vast philosophical history, while not rendered totally worthless, get moved into the backseat or maybe even the trunk. Holy holy of holies, a new global phenomenon has emerged, and while elements of it have been with us since the late 1800s, though it didn’t really pick up steam until the 1960s, the environment has taken on a new global importance. Stretching further back into history is the world of philosophy, the male universe of thought that, like religion, has various pockets of belief distributed around the globe, but the practitioners are spread far and wide and are, in reality, but a small minority. What is suddenly emergent and a force of such spectacular scope that I’m left with my mouth agape is this new ecological awareness that has captured people’s imagination from around the earth. Ecology and the environment are the new lingua franca of hundreds of millions, if not billions, of people who want to see plastic bags, straws, and single-use plastics go away while clearing the air, protecting sea life, and caring about all this stuff we require to be at home.

Whoah, seriously, stop a second and try to understand the first major intellectual global phenomenon to displace the old guard; the environment of the world we share is about to eclipse the concerns of those who are being pushed to the margin. Business as usual will be a thing of the past, although those who are enriched by the old ways will not go quietly, witness Mr. Putin and his antics.

But wait a minute, it’s Friday, and the beginning of trip number 9 of 2022 that is supposed to bring us to New Mexico for a weekend of hiking; what do global shifts have to do with local travels? A large swath of northern New Mexico is on fire, likely due in part to climate change. Right now, Caroline and I are fortunate enough not to be impacted by the supply of baby formula, the price of gas, inflation, cryptocurrency, a war in Ukraine, or the other ailments affecting the mental well-being of others. Our focus is to enjoy the world around us and take advantage of being out in nature. In just a few hours, we’ll jump into the car, this time armed with our binoculars, a camera lens suited to photographing wildlife, and the other things that will support our adventure of taking in the Zuni Indian reservation along with El Morro and El Malpais National Monuments.

Regarding my epiphany that I touched on here, it is not fully formed or realized yet, but I did feel the need to note that it was just this week that these ideas were dumped into my consciousness. Enough of trying to predict a future based on some anecdotal heavy intellectual musings of whose veracity I’m trying to convince myself. I’ve got lunch I need to make and dishes to clean afterward before we can get underway. The next entry should reflect where we are on the road in this weekend’s journey together.

Zombies

JWise Dreams, Rant

Lady Bug from public domain source

I was woken by a nightmare in which I was trying to escape a lodging/sanatorium situation (think Thomas Mann’s Magic Mountain), where I was quickly being consumed into giving up. I was losing sight of the joy I’d experienced being in national parks, walking in places I’d never been before, or having the desire to try new things. The original intent of checking into this living situation was to report on what appeared to be a cult operation, but it quickly became evident that it was simply a government-operated controlled environment where the comfort of conformity was being further engrained amongst those staying here. It didn’t take long to recognize that television was the common denominator, effectively forcing each person to specialize in a narrow band of interest that, over time, had negated other areas of curiosity that were deemed to be on the margin of sanctioned acceptance. Through this specialization, a dynamic individual is, in effect, reduced to a zombie where everything outside their purview is of little consequence or even meaning as there is no context relatable to their fixation on a silo of interest around which their personality has been wrapped. For example, the sports team enthusiast has no regard for those interested in literature, and the news junkie has no interest in the world around them other than the happenings that might relate to what will be on the news tonight. Maybe their curiosity has been reduced to fantasy films with cosplay as the obsession, or if you are a doctor, you fixate on all things health-related to the exclusion of some kind of balanced curiosity. On the other hand, we judge the addict whose singular focus is the drug-fueled experience in a world requiring surviving one’s self.

In all of these situations, the multiple facets of the individual evolving into a complex whole are sacrificed in order for a person to become a cannibalistic zombie where the diet is one’s potential.

Within hours of settling in at this lodge/sanatorium, I could already feel the banality of acceptance creeping into my being. Comfort was replacing indignation, and the horror of what was taking place was all too evident. The Uyghurs came to mind and their reprogramming. The West called their imprisonment by Chinese authorities a violation of human rights, but the more likely reason was the need to indoctrinate these rural people with the control brought about by state television and the programming to get them onboard with conformity. My anxiety about this situation where I was surrounded by those who were content about being complacently happy, even if that complacency was the persona of anger where the government was squashing your rights to owning a gun, were going to take away your freedom of religion, or rights to an abortion, as long as your focus has been reduced to gazing upon your singularity, you were in the loop and no longer a threat. It became paramount that I escape and bring Caroline, who was part of my cover for getting into this particular facility.

Back in our room, where we were obviously not expected, a cleaning crew was busy working over our environment when I recognized they were slowly removing things that would remind us of a different life outside of our “temporary” arrangement. We needed to go, but Caroline was now of the opinion that we didn’t need to rush, and I was having similar thoughts that were interfering with my sense we needed to leave while we could still entertain that option as one of personal choice. It was about then that I woke in a panic that I was losing myself.

Now, in that state of half-sleeping and waking where I wanted to leave the dream behind but also look closer at what it showed me, it felt obvious that television was the mechanism of brain-washing where someone like Vladimir Putin could fight a war while telling his people it was a special operation to denazify Ukraine or that Donald Trump could in his reassuring television persona convince those who’d grown up watching him for 30 years or more portray a tycoon that his answers and charms were part of the magic to wealth and so his followers listened to this piper as he led them deeper into their own stupidity. From politicians to celebrities, we see the mind control of the masses dropping into the cult of personality where we ourselves become the zombie.

It all clicks right there in my sleepy haze: society’s obsession with the zombie, monster, killer, despot, or various other forms of the sociopath or psychopath is our own desire to remove the vital organs of difference and curiosity so we might comfortably dine on our specialization without interference or criticism. We eat the brains of the living to make them like us, we kill in order to instill constant fear until we are numb, and we breed monsters and despots to force the meek to cower on the sidelines and bite their tongues. In effect, the healthy eat their own brains, becoming autocannibalistic, whereas at least the cute little ladybug only eats others of its own kind, not itself.

Short Hike in Bryce and Go Home

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Yesterday’s pain party was worse than I whined about in yesterday’s blog post, so on our way back to our hotel after dinner, we’d decided we’d had enough and that Sunday would be a chill day with some sightseeing, but we’d lay off the hiking. After waking and packing the car, we turned left out of the driveway in the direction of home. We didn’t make it a mile before I suggested that we should at least take a look at the Tropic Trailhead that was just around the corner. Caroline agreed, and we whipped a U-turn. Both of us felt pretty good, and we agreed that at the first sign of knee or hip pain returning, we’d turn around from this trail that was rated as easy.

The elevation change is so subtle that it’s almost like walking on level ground out here; we sigh a relief and confirm that we are both okay and ready to continue. That solo deer walked along on our right for nearly a minute before jumping forward and then cutting right to cross the trail; once more, I’m foiled from getting a better photo as I failed to anticipate needing a zoom lens. Maybe if I write this enough times to myself here, I’ll remember to bring it next time. I’ll also point out that nearly every trailhead has a sign warning people parking there to NOT leave valuables in their car, and there are times we simply don’t want to lug that 3-pound lens in Caroline’s backpack. Oops, I think I wrote “we” in that last sentence when I meant Caroline. I might even feel guilty if I saddled that weight on her shoulders with the water, sweaters, food, sunblock, and the multitude of other things she takes responsibility for carrying as I’m too sensitive to be bothered with anything that detracts from taking perfect photos. Just try to think of it as I’m the deer moving lithely, independently, and free of burden in case I have to respond to capturing something important while my devoted wife remains at a safe distance, ready to support me and react to my beck and call. We call it happiness through structure. She’ll call this last bit BS after reading it, I’ll bet ya. [Eye rolling intensifies – Caroline]

Shenanigans and nonsense are not what we are here for, nor what my writing about the day’s events should be about, but after this weekend’s slog of writing a mega-ton of love stuff, I’m nearly exhausted at even the idea of trying to share meaningful prose here. So, on that note, these are beautiful orange and white rocks that also fall in the category of hoodoos, which have everything to do with our hike into Bryce Canyon from the only way in that doesn’t descend from the rim.

It’s only a 1.8-mile hike to the fork in the trail, and as long as we don’t hit any steep parts along the way, we feel confident we’ll have a good majority of the requisites steps we need for the day or about 8,000 of the 10k we aim for. Considering that we were comfortable with just heading south out of Utah for the trek home, we are thrilled that we didn’t cut bait and go.

Met a Swiss couple crossing our trail as we reached the spot where the Peek-a-boo, Queens, Navajo, and horse trails converge. They went left, and so we went right to not be right on their heels.

Hey, wait, I thought we’d agreed that there would be no up or downhill of any significance. With neither of us finding insurmountable pain in our joints, we decided that it was okay, but just this one to see what’s around the bend. There wasn’t a spectacular view, so after about five more minutes up this horse trail, we were about ready to turn around.

This was as far as I wanted to go while Caroline continued up to the saddle between these hoodoos as her gut said unto her, “A great view is just ahead.” Wrong. Turn your ass around and return from whence you came.

Somewhere down on the forest floor below is where we are heading.

Did I not see this on the way up the trail, or does it just look that different from a change in perspective?

We are on the other side of the branch in the trail heading up Peek-a-boo.

The idea is to go as far as we’re still comfortable after starting on the trail in a counter-clockwise direction.

The Peek-a-boo is only 3 miles long, and we half-considered trying it, seeing our entry into the basin had already afforded us the chance to avoid the seriously difficult part of the trail that descended from Bryce Point and required us to leave that way too had we not hiked in on the Tropic Trail. But here in the curve the trail narrowed while the hillside dropped precipitously, so that’s it, I’m done, no more exposure for me.

Having considered no hiking at all today and now being on the verge of 5 miles, we are happy that we’ve seen as much as we have.

Seeya some other day, Bryce, or at least we can hope to return someday.

We are back in Arizona, where the winds have gathered steam and a considerable amount of dust. Our time out here on the Colorado Plateau is growing short, but our desire to return home before dark is curtailing the throwing that concern out the window so I can photograph every sight that knocks at my sense of sharing what I find intriguing or attractive.

As much as we are moving forward, albeit relatively slowly, others are simply in a hurry. They race up behind us, except I’m now old enough that when I see them a mile behind me, I start looking for pullouts so I can take a short pause, allowing the insane to speed into impatience. This view from a pullout is just one of those moments.

The scale here is lost in the midday sun, where shadows are rare. The amount of dust held aloft by the strong winds also fails to look as foreboding as it did to our naked eyes, but no matter as we’ll hopefully retain a sense of things long after we forget that we were traveling through the Vermillion Cliffs at this point after leaving the North Rim of the Grand Canyon behind us.

Come October, we’ll be right back here in the Marble Canyon area as we take a night before climbing up the road to spend the night at the Grand Canyon, north rim, of course, on the last day of their season. Come to think about it, we will drive through here again at the end of June with a night in Fredonia, Arizona, on our way into the Wasatch Mountains east of Salt Lake City, Utah.

Our worst fears about driving home in the afternoon on a Sunday once Phoenix started hitting the upper 90s are the traffic jams created by everyone else leaving the high country and their weekend in the Flagstaff area. Well, here we are, and there’s nobody out here! Talk of recession, $5 a gallon gas, and the conversation about overpriced hotels must be taking their toll, as this is just not normal. I can only hope that gas hits $8 a gallon over the summer.

Fairyland Trail – Bryce National Park

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

In the quiet cold of a crisp, clear morning alone near the trailhead of the Fairyland trail in Bryce National Park, we hear echoes of The Continental as he greets us with a hearty “Wowie-wow-wow-wow!” Oh, is that cowbell in the distance? Well, this beautiful sight doesn’t require more cowbell, though I suppose a little wouldn’t hurt either. Time to get Walken and make our way into our day on the trail.

Note – Caroline, upon reading the above just moments after I wrote it, wondered if we’ll remember the references when we are older. Hey Caroline, we are already old, and if we don’t know what this is pointing at, we probably have dementia or some other brain ailment. With that in mind, I’m including this link to the Saturday Night Live skit with Christopher Walken playing The Continental.

I closed Friday’s post, chronicling our drive north to be right here on this early Saturday morning, by writing about the role of love in these adventures. That was how I had planned to start today’s post, too, but being goofy was part of the beginning of this day as well, so that is that. Finding profundity even in the shadow of these photographic reminders is not always easy, though, in the back of my mind, I always hope to find some exalted eloquence to bring Caroline and me back to the sense of grandeur we were experiencing on these days out in the American wilderness.

Awe is a well-worn word that likely shows up on half of all of our travel posts. I should probably mix it up and occasionally write of our veneration or admiration, but awe comes closest to gob-smacked without sounding so heavy-handed and cliched, so I’ll stick with awe. Now join me in looking in awe upon the hoodoos of our wildest imagination because this is no CG rendering of a fantasy landscape; it is the reality of the Fairyland Trail.

In the run-up to this visit to Bryce, I was looking for trails we’d not traversed previously, and that are of a particular length so we could spend the majority of our day out in the middle of things. Having been here before, I considered that there is the rim, it goes down to the basin, and along the way, we marvel at the hoodoos. As I’ve mentioned these “hoodoo” things a couple of times already, I should share just what they are. According to Wikipedia, “A hoodoo is a tall, thin spire of rock, usually formed by erosional processes. Hoodoos typically consist of relatively soft rock topped by harder, less easily eroded stone that protects each column from the elements. They generally form within sedimentary rock and volcanic rock formations.”

What we are learning on this trail that I missed doing my research is that there is exposure here. I have acrophobia, or extreme fear of heights, and that’s what I had to deal with very early on the trail. I can only hope we don’t encounter more of that nonsense. At this point in our hike, we didn’t yet know that the trail was also rated as strenuous, but we’ll fully recognize that during the last few agonizing miles. Being up here at around 8,000 feet of elevation might also contribute to the extra exertion our hike requires.

Like the imperceptible speed of erosion, Caroline and I move along like glaciers scraping over the earth in such a way that only time is allowed to witness our movement. In our mastery of ninja-snail skills, we require millennia to make progress down the path. This is a quality we are constantly refining so we might graduate to spending many millennia or maybe someday a myriad to move from here to there. And what do we see while lingering on the trail into our world? The understanding that reality is different than desire. We wish to observe a molecule of growth emerge from a filament of lichen, to watch a photon be absorbed by the leaf as it uses the sun’s energy to convert carbon dioxide and water into sugar, to be present in the mind of the bird as its instinct to fly is first relayed from its brain to its wing. Those are desires, wishes, dreams, and flights of fantasy that, under the circumstances of being on a hike, are all equally impossible to realize. Instead, reality dictates that we are only allowed to absorb but a fraction of the infinity flowing into our eyes, and so we go slow, hoping that more of more remains in memories that seem to be tossed off all too easily following these encounters with the amazing.

Now, look back to where you’ve been. Was this there before, or has it been altered by a shift in perception? Why wasn’t our brain tuned to see it in all lights and angles? Is there a method of grading this in our minds that would allow a higher prioritization in the hierarchy of memories? How sad the tragedy that we have evolved to better recognize faces, even of those we might wish to forget; seriously, why do any of us carry the image of Hitler, Freddy Kruger, or even the mask of Darth Vader better than we can recall the image of things out of nature aside from the most iconic monuments? Just then, the answer jumps into my head: mountains, beaches, trees, and flowers rarely kill people; other people kill people, so knowing which faces are dangerous is a survival strategy.

Scroll back and then return here. Am I sharing a different aspect of something already seen, or is this a wholly new view? Had I written this in situ, I might be able to answer that question but it’s now a week later. It takes a good amount of time to parse 815 photos to find the 70ish or so that I’m posting, and so my brain, while not wiped clean, is looking at these images and wondering, is this something I’ve already shared? If I were to extend that thinking, I’d give up writing the words dropping in on this page, as where else have I shared these exact thoughts?

Trees struggle to hold on to the loose, ever-shifting earth; bushes cling low to the surface to establish a foothold lest strong winds send them off to other places, while rocks and sand continue to fall from above. Rain and snow work between the unseen spaces, ensuring there will always be less to see here than the time before, and there is nothing we can do to freeze this treasure in time, guaranteeing that anyone, even just tomorrow, will ever see Bryce Canyon in just the same way we have. An hour from now, our footsteps may disappear under the stride of someone else who passes through, a leaf might sprout, or a larger rock let’s go, and the path forward will be unpassable until those who care for these trails take it upon themselves to remedy the blockage so we can continue experiencing such sights.

If Arvo Pärt were up for it, he’d be my first choice to compose the soundtrack for Bryce, next up Max Richter, and I suppose even Hans Zimmer might craft something appropriately elegant; instead, I’ll have to make do with the sound of the wind, birds, our steps in the sand, and the silence that emerges from between the hoodoos as although they may take on the visual characteristics of organ pipes, they do not bellow in lush tones though they appear as if they could serenade us with the most beautiful music.

Sure, we are looking at the camera, but we’re so well practiced with this act of taking selfies that we understand that we are looking at each other, searching for the mirror of each other’s happiness, and as days pass until we look once again at these faces captured during this moment, we’ll know full well that we are gazing at love. Those two faces were engineered by the hidden hand of the universe to know the matching snuggly places where things just fit and find reassurance that the feelings and scents belong together just as the nature and shape of the surface of the earth are perfectly matched to the atmosphere that embraces everything underneath it. In this sense, I am Caroline’s tree and earth, and she is my oxygen and universe.

Every word I share here should be part of a love letter, and the fact is, even in lament, I’m in love, if in no other sense than the potential that things don’t have to be the way they are when they fail. Our human systems might fail our fellow men and women, but on occasion, we execute things perfectly, such as when the initiative has been undertaken to carve a trail through a mess of chaos that allows us to scale places we’d otherwise not be able to tread. I have no idea who mapped this trail, who paid for it, or who toiled to reshape the earth, so however many years later, we’d be here on a perfect day taking a stroll through a national park among alien rock formations as though it were the most normal thing ever.

Consider this precariously balanced top-heavy spire just waiting until the day we arrived; for us, this could be the most normal thing ever because these forms are what shape this park, right? Wrong, this is not normal; this is treasure and experience beyond all monetary value as my mind nor my imagination is able to assign memories to the idea of money but intriguing beauty fits like a glove to deliver something akin to ecstasy.

John Wise on the Fairyland Trail in Bryce National Park, Utah

At the opposite end of ecstasy is terror, and that’s where I was standing before crossing this narrow razor’s edge of near-certain death. I gave two seconds of serious consideration to turning around, but back there at the trailhead was the first time I was launched into a bout of anxiety regarding my horror of hovering next to an abyss. Turning around would be defeat, though knee-buckling fear wrenched my stomach into a convulsion that initiated a conversation with my lower intestine, specifically my rectum, that pinched off in ways that drilled at my confidence. Before I can turn into a quivering wreck of adventure-canceling jello, I ask Caroline not to say a word of encouragement to me, don’t start after me before I reach the other side, just wait in silence.

I forgot to share with you that on the way to the park, the temperatures dipped as low as 25 degrees (-4c), though, at the trailhead, it had already warmed to a toasty 28 degrees (-2c). Add to this, I was wearing shorts because why would I need pants when we’d already seen temperatures in the upper 90s (35c’ish) down in Phoenix? Well, at least I had my long-sleeve wool shirt and a fleece, but by this time in our hike, we’d moved beyond needing a sweater, so I’d tied that around my waste. The gusty winds we were promised for Sunday were practicing for tomorrow’s performance, and while admittedly relatively light, they felt as though they would pick up at any second to whip over the ridge over which I’m about to struggle while wearing a sail around my waist. Oh, holy expletives, just go, John, and so I did, talking to myself out loud to remind my feet to find the trail with a tunnel vision that should blind me to the monsters from below trying to draw me into the void.

My atheist inner voice started talking to me after I turned around to watch Caroline cross, pleading with my non-existent god not to allow another inch of exposure to encroach on my well-being. Begging didn’t help as there was more to come, but nothing as precarious as this fine line dividing life and death.

Writing about my fear sure was a lot easier than living through the moment, but these unfolding views demanded I continue, that and my pride that I should accomplish our 8-mile hike we would turn into a 10-mile journey. How the extra 4400 steps were clocked is lost in mystery.

Yeah, it looks just like that thing we won’t mention here.

Here, in my parallel universe, exactly one week after we were hiking these trails, I’m immersed all over again in Bryce Canyon, except now I have the luxury of channeling all of my attention towards interpreting the experience. I’ve been writing since 7:30 in the morning; it is now 5:00 in the afternoon, and I’m not yet halfway through my task. When I call this opportunity a luxury, I’m not exaggerating, as how many people have the wherewithal to sit down with their thoughts, recollections, and inspiration before trying to bring back those impressions to feed my wife’s and my memories while possibly inspiring someone else to dream of visiting some of the places we’ve gone? What a gift that rises to equal the very act of traveling, including this travel within myself a week later.

Like the trail, like the day, like our love, I just keep going forward, searching for whatever surprises might be around the corner.

The Fairyland Trail could easily be renamed the Fairytale Trail and live up to that new name. If one arrives equipped with an adequate supply of imagination in their mental backpack, they will quickly consider that this basin is not only host to the potential of fairies but is a place where a narrative of enchantment can unfold into a fantastical story that will travel with them the rest of their lives.

Should you doubt my claim above or fail to find the magic of astonishment in environments that plant the mythical seeds of the profound within us, maybe you will be fortunate enough to be visited by a creature sent to whisper the secrets of how to peer into unseen universes and embrace the impossible. Maybe part of the key to these moments is to exude such an extraordinary amount of love that creatures, trees, the sky, and mountains become aware of your presence and open the window to that hidden dimension.

But what if that dimension is not hidden at all but simply unknowable to those without the vocabulary and love to embrace potential and opportunities? Could the inability to give sense to the unfathomably profound be part of the reason there are so few people out here? Maybe the peeking in from the rim of the canyon both here at Bryce and down south at the Grand Canyon is all that fragile, inexperienced minds are able to tolerate as they make baby steps into exploring the depths of places too overwhelming during their first encounters?

We gain a footing in the mysteries of our world as we bridge the way forward, crossing over the fears that travel with us. I’d like to suggest that those fears are actually tools that propel our uncertainty and challenge us to work harder at overcoming them if we are to continue growing. On the other hand, there will always be those afraid to step over the shadows of the unknown while sadly spending lifetimes insulating themselves from exploring the breadth of potential happiness. I believe that confidence and, subsequently, happiness arrive with conquering the irrational, the fear, and the thoughts that we might only learn a mere fraction of things from the vastness of potential knowledge and experience. For example, overcoming the terror I experienced walking next to the ledge gives me the reward of being on the other side of that anxiety. On this other side, I find a new world I was reluctant to step into, but I am now able to discover the ecstatic joy of new things so beautiful that they defy easy description.

If I were a poet, I could focus my writing on trying to send aloft these images with a descriptive narrative allowing the blind to understand what was captured and what it is that is elevating my aesthetic sense of inspiration. Even with my creativity crippled, I’m driven to continue trying to unravel a flow of experience on these pages. But I’m sadly aware that I’m lost in a linguistic poverty that continuously fails in the conveyance of the magnitude of emotion I float through when my best friend and I are under the spell of such moments.

And so I just continue to write, searching for what’s out there. In the same vein, I hope that as I discover sights new to me, I might find a new sequence of words in my writing that will transform my brain allowing me the expression I’m looking for. Without constant practice, I’ll certainly end all possibility of obtaining that revelation. Oh, is that it over on the right? Probably not; I better keep foraging both in nature and in the expanse of a mind not afraid to fail.

I have to laugh out loud as I scrolled down to this photo and thought, “This is my brain, an expanse of clouded blue and a barren landscape with just three words barely clinging to life I must choose from what will reveal intrinsic values that transcend my mortality.”

The trail has started its ascent towards the rim with the end of the heavy lifting in sight. After having been out here for hours there’s a bittersweet sense that our time among the hoodoos is coming to an end.

Are you thinking what I am? These formations surely do look a lot like candy nut clusters made of some sort of milk chocolate nougat.

By this point on the trail, I’m tired. This is the Chinese Wall as it’s known out there, and that’s about all I have to say about it. Regarding this sense of being tired, this is the second day of writing this post, and it’s already late in the afternoon as I try to finish. Rightfully so, too, as I’m approaching nearly 3,000 words that I’ve shared here.

Hallelujah, we are reaching level ground soon when we meet the Rim Trail for the walk back to the Fairyland Trailhead. Not long after this, we reached the elevation of nirvana and were savoring the ease we’d be traveling the next hour or so; we could see cars in the Sunrise Point parking lot and proper toilet facilities. Phew, easy going from here forward.

WTF, we are climbing? Those thoughts that the last miles would be a stroll in the park were misguided. I should have done better research regarding our hike today. Not only did we discover a couple of extra miles out here, but we were also contending with 4,619 feet of elevation change (1,408 meters), and of course, those pesky drop-offs and facts such as the trail being rated as strenuous, so why should the end of it treat us nicely?

Well, at least there’s this brilliant overlook where we can gain a different perspective of the Chinese Wall near the dead center of this photo.

We’re finally at the high point of our hike, and the view around us is spectacular. If I share the other directions surrounding us, I’d only pile on more writing obligations and all I want to do is both finish the hike and this hunt for something else, anything else I can share here that will pull you into our experience.

This must be it, the end, as that’s the beginning. Right out there, where the five lunatics are standing calmly at the edge. Just to the left is the trailhead where I first clenched at the thought of crossing that narrow strip of trail sliced into this 60 to 70-degree slope, as judged by my puckering backside. Lucky for me and for Caroline, as I don’t think she would have hiked this alone, there was nobody out there at 7:00 this morning that I had to pass because I wouldn’t have been able to. But now we are just minutes from our car, air-conditioning, a giant bag of popcorn from Costco, and rest for our weary, aching joints.

Caroline Wise becoming a Junior Ranger at Bryce National Park in Utah

Seeing how it was still early, we jumped over to the visitor center for Caroline to collect a Junior Ranger workbook in order to earn her ranger badge, the real reason we visit any national park or monument. As for me, I found a chair and did nothing, enjoying the fact that my wife had to answer every question and do every exercise because she’s not a kid; adults must suffer to earn these kinds of rewards.

Hmmm, it was still early, and although we were exhausted, we weren’t ready to find dinner or go crash at the hotel. We’ll go for a drive down to Rainbow Point. We didn’t get far before we pulled over at the Aqua Canyon Overlook to get a good look at the snow that’s still lingering in the park.

Where is MY FOOD, you meaningless, empty-handed land animals? My freshly minted Junior Ranger wife swore to uphold the rules and regulations of the national park, and that means not feeding this bird…like she “accidentally” might have done with that beautiful blue and black Steller’s jay pictured in so many photos above.

We are in no hurry to leave the view of Agua Canyon as that would mean working our legs back to the car and stepping off that crazy steep curb we parked in front of. So it was a normal curb, but our joints were screaming at us with an angrier voice than any raven might as they complained about any step that went downhill.

Caroline had the brilliant idea that we could relieve the growing discomfort by limbering up with a 1-mile trail rated as easy with a minor 200 feet of elevation change. Plus, it’s called the Bristlecone Loop Trail, so we’ll see some of those amazing trees we last saw years ago at the Great Basin National Park over in Nevada. What a damned stupid idea this was; why did I agree to this act approaching a kind of suicide for my poor knees? Since when can 2 degrees of descent make me want to cry? Please, invisible non-existent god, lift me off this trail and drop me at the nearest restaurant where I promise I won’t make a spectacle of my pitiful being by rubbing cheesecake on my knees as though somehow that might help.

The end credits start to roll right here. There are no funny outtakes. We made it back to the car and drove 15 miles down the park road to the Bryce Lodge dining room to have one of the worst buffet-style meals we’ve ever had to suffer through. Did we care that it was poor? Heck no, while we had almost zero energy left, we were still able to muster some tiny bit of something inside so we could smile at each other and bask in the awe that we earned bragging rights to having had such a great day. Life rocks.

North Out of Arizona – Trip 8

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Caroline Wise and John Wise driving north in Arizona

It’s already been a fortnight since our last travels that took us south, down to Ajo, Arizona, on the Mexican border; today, we head north. For the trip before that weekend in Ajo, we headed to Los Angeles, and so, as a preview of our next outing two weeks after this, I hope you might already guess that we’ll be going east. Today’s adventure, however, will bring us to Bryce National Park in Utah, about 80 miles north of the Arizona border.

Late last year, I took our friend Brinn up to Bryce to get his head out of some difficulties he was dealing with and realized it was likely well over ten years since Caroline last visited. After checking all blog posts, I surmise it might actually be closer to 20 years. It’s unfathomable that it’s been that long as the images of the park are never very far from our memories. Another aspect of this being a shame is that we are a mere 420 miles from the park. On the other hand, we have to avoid the place in summer: too crowded, yet we likely won’t be hiking in the winter because of too much snow. And so we have late April through the end of May and late September to early November to spend quality time there.

While I would love to bring Caroline back to the trail we’ve hiked together before (the same one that Brinn and I were on last year), it’s time for the two of us to capture the park from different perspectives, and to that end, I have a 7.8-mile hike scheduled on Saturday and an 8.7-mile hike for Sunday. While we are prepared for chilly mornings, both days should be mostly sunny with highs in the mid-60s; sunrise won’t be until 6:30, while sunset doesn’t arrive until 8:15.

Well, enough of this small talk; I have a few things to finish before we depart in a short 2 hours, as in lunch…

…That was 10:00, and now it’s noon. We are packed, fed, and about to get on the road. Next stop, Flagstaff for coffee and gasoline.

We are now well north of the big cities and moving deeper into the quiet of a landscape we are in love with. Along the way, we pass dozens of Native American roadside vendor stands that often look as though they’ve been abandoned for years. I’ve likely shared this more than a few times, but we miss the old Chief Yellowhorse stop along the road up here as they really worked the cheesy signs welcoming drivers traveling along this dusty path. Occasionally, there’s a bit of art that adorns these plywood stands that somehow endures the harsh winds and blistering sun that wears down the surrounding mountains. Maybe I’m drawn to them due to a romantic notion of what these stands harken back to from a different age when innocence and naivety allowed people to enjoy simpler things that still felt exotic.

But, like with all things, there is no such thing as permanence. Everything under the sun fades away. With enough time, mountains are turned to dust, and maybe too quickly, people’s dreams turn to dust, too. We’ve passed this fin countless times and while its erosion is imperceptible to us, the erasing of human activity here appears accelerated. There are homes and families that exist right along this road that straddles an invisible Grand Canyon on our left that is just out of view, but opportunities to succeed are rare, and with fewer and fewer travelers interested in souvenirs from the exotic old west and the Indians that scrape by, what’s here that represents humanity, aside from the asphalt, will ultimately also turn to dust. So, you better gather your experiences and live your life out in the real while it still remains.

Just ahead and moving off to the northeast is the rapidly disappearing Colorado River. While the river remains flowing from its catchment basin further upstream, our demands on harnessing and wasting it tax the entire ecosystem so we can feed golf courses, fill swimming pools, water the grass at our homes in the surrounding deserts, and create entertaining fountains over in Las Vegas. In other words, we are idiots failing to understand any sense of balance. Is our disconnect from these environments poisoning our responsibility that we’ve offloaded to weak politicians, celebrities, and those who put financial gain above survival? It would appear that we are driving into an oblivion of nothingness.

A shadow mirror deep below the edge is the lifeblood of all living things; we call it water. A dozen years ago, Caroline and I grew wealthier than many people on earth as we were afforded the luxury of traveling this muddy liquid highway called the Colorado River. From above, we are on an old highway bridge turned pedestrian bridge from which we can look right into the Grand Canyon. It’s not the view everyone is familiar with, but 5 miles north is Lees Ferry and the official beginning of the Grand Canyon, where mile marker zero denotes the launch point for rafting adventure into the canyon containing this mighty river. A singular moment was required to make the decision to travel through the “Big Ditch” which turned into one of the best opportunities we’ve offered ourselves. Any and all sacrifices should be met to afford one’s self these once-in-a-lifetime experiences that change the fabric of who we are and how we see our place on this planet. We can no longer see the Colorado or the lakes that try to contain it and not consider the impacts we inflict upon all of life in the Southwest as society takes water for granted.

I’m well aware that many of my themes by now are well-worn and maybe even tired, but if there is any real connection to the beauty taken from these spectacular landscapes that resonate within me, then there must also be a deeper appreciation and desire to protect and respect these environments in such esteem where important words bear repeating. Speaking of repeating, this road has been driven countless times, not that I couldn’t figure out roughly just how many times, but I don’t want to as I enjoy the idea that I can no longer really know as it’s that familiar.

I know these sights, no I don’t. Well, not having a photographic memory, I can’t say I truly know them, but they must be somewhere in the recesses of my mind as I know for certain we’ve passed through here before. We are fortunate to have these imperfect recollections where if we are inclined to return to a place that brought us wonder, it can be new once again and inspire fresh awe.

Did we miss this monument on previous excursions through the area, or is this dedication to the Dominquez-Escalante Expedition of 1776-1777 been placed here recently? Who cares, we needed to stop to even figure out who he was. So, it wasn’t a he but them. They were Franciscan friars Atanasio Dominguez and Silvestre Velez de Escalante, who ventured into the wilderness to document what they found on their 2,000-mile 6-month exploration to California. They never made it to that territory due to the approach of winter, but their journal served to help Lewis & Clark with their expedition in 1803, and so, as you might guess, I’ll head over to Amazon to grab a copy of their document of what they found nearly 250 years ago before the indigenous cultures were forced to cede their identities to the wave of invaders that were at their doorstep.

While back on the Navajo Bridge, a man who’d taken his chair out on the bridge to watch condors told us of a rookery out near House Rock and that there were now over 100 condors in the area. To be honest, I was skeptical, but a sign for the Vermillion Cliffs National Monument with a map showed a condor viewing area up the road in House Rock Valley. Still, we were incredulous and didn’t believe there was any real chance we’d see condors if we made the detour. The turn-off is not well marked and requires a turnaround, but we thought, what does it matter if we get into Tropic, Utah, later than planned?

We might have been 4 miles up the gravel road before we spotted a pickup truck near a covered picnic table and two women, one with an antenna in her hands when we realized we were at the right spot. Caroline looked through a scope that is mounted here and immediately saw one of these giant California condors flying right above what turned out to be streaks of bird poop. While it may be difficult to spot in this lower-resolution photo, there are ten condors in the image above. Once again this year, we wonder out loud about these travels into nature, why we are failing to bring our binoculars and my 70-200mm lens?

We saw more than 4% of the entire population of surviving wild California condors that exist on Earth today. This giant scavenger nearly went extinct with only 22 birds still alive back in 1982, and they are still under threat due to states like Arizona that won’t ban hunters from using lead in the bullets they use for hunting. This then begs the question: I thought hunters were not doing this for sport as much as they were shooting animals for food. If condors are scavenging carcasses that are full of lead, then it can only be due to hunters shooting whatever the fuck they want and leaving the rotting corpse to be claimed by whatever comes along to dispose of the spoils of our war against wild animals.

Then, on the other hand, there are those of us who see our tax dollars at work maintaining these trails into our wildlands where average people can drive up to see things never seeable in our cities. Driving up to a view equipped with shade, seats, a toilet, and even a scope so the curious are offered this kind of experience that is nothing but luxury. Along the way, we’ll find food, gas, lodging, and random surprises that are only accessible due to the constant support of an infrastructure that allows these types of forays, even for the hunters, off-roaders, and those happy to inflict damage to an environment I’d prefer remained pristine. But we live in a world where compromise is supposed to be the rule, and I’m good with that, though we can still try to exist within parameters that best preserve things that are beneficial to people, land, and the various species with whom we share this world.

Do you see that? Can you feel what I’m trying to share? Have you seen the moments I captured over the course of our afternoon? All of this is love, love between the two of us experiencing our world, love of the opportunity to be present, love of the sights, and those who lend massive effort to our ability to have such times of life. Without the entirety of all things working in concert to allow these two people to be here in this precise instant, life might otherwise be a total chaos of randomness where order never finds an equilibrium. We must stop and harness our powers of observation and consideration to see that in the sunset, the condor, the river flowing through the canyon, and the two people tracing a path over our earth are all bringing the potential to recognize unraveling beauty, discover new love, reaffirm an engaging relationship to this brief moment in time where life happens on the most profound terms.

Our source of inner light shines for such a short time once you fall in love with all of this, but if you fail to see the horizon closing in on you, you will waste this precious resource called happiness. The phenomenon where our hearts are allowed to fill with awe, joy, surprise, and magnanimity towards ourselves and the world around us is a fleeting flash of potential that is only illuminated for the briefest of times with a prominence that will be witnessed by very few. Share this opportunity for love with yourself and get out of your way, out of your fear, out of your routine. Escape your cynicism and look for the profound in the tiniest of things, in your heart, mind, and soul.

King Coffee Roastery

JWise Moments

Happy couple Nicky and Randy at King Coffee Roastery in Phoenix, Arizona

When the quality of life means nothing in the face of economic pressures to perform in the quest for greater and greater profits, the luxuries as perceived by those comfortable with a service will have to suffer as their favorite places of business give way to the corporatized franchises that pander to a banal population looking for conformity over something unique and different.

Ethan Cook at King Coffee Roastery in Phoenix, Arizona

Sure, tastes and attitudes change, but the sad disappearance of those places where friendships develop between customers and staff grows more and more common, or maybe I’m waxing nostalgic for something I’m imagining as I am failing to find those new mom & pop shops as I become fixated on the places I habitually return to.

As I take time to write this post in the closing days of the life of King Coffee Roastery on Union Hills Road in Phoenix, Arizona, I look fondly upon the relationships I’ve made with customers such as Nicki and Randy in the top photo, and I appreciate Mike, the owner of the shop, who gave people like Cross-Eyed Ethan an opportunity to overcome his sight handicap as he nearly always missed pouring various liquids into the cups they belonged but no one could say he wasn’t entertaining in some seriously strange way.

Dakotah Mein (barista) and Natasha Peralta (barista) at King Coffee Roastery in Phoenix, Arizona

The situation here a week ago was that the shop was going to close, and that was that. In the intervening days, a buyer happened upon the scene and while King Coffee in this location will cease to exist, something new will be taking its place. As far as the regulars are concerned, I’m sure that many of them will continue to frequent the shop as, obviously, it must have been convenient for them, aside from having a product they enjoyed. And maybe some faces will remain familiar as a couple of current employees might be able to stay on, such as Dakotah and Natasha.

Sadly, or maybe fortunately, Caroline and I will be traveling on King’s final day, so there will be no sad goodbyes, and now that we have learned about the transfer of ownership, there may not be much change of much at all regarding the idea of a coffee shop still operates in this space. Monday after our return could be an interesting moment when I meet the new owner and start finding out if the culture of my current favorite coffee shop will mostly remain the same or evolve. Mind you, evolution, in my view, is a good thing, while extinction is just bad news.

Caroline Wise at King Coffee Roastery in Phoenix, Arizona

After all the years of me coming to King, most often in solo mode, Caroline joined me in order to try a waffle that she had been admiring last week prior to our trip down to Ajo and Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. While I visit King to not only gab with other regulars but to try and get some writing in, Caroline enjoys the slow coffee at home on weekends, the quiet to read and knit, while somewhere in there, she carves out the time to call family in Germany so this is one of the rare days she hangs out with me at the coffee shop.

Each time I order a coffee here, I earn a King Coffee loyalty point; the count had grown to over 300 when the imminent closing of the store was first announced. Today, I’m down to about 150, and it’s unlikely I’ll be able to cash them all in. When I started amassing points, I was reluctant to trade 9 points for a free 10th cup because I wanted to support the operation. On occasion, I’d throw another customer a free drink, typically a student, someone who could use the free gift. While I’d prefer to just let the points drift into the universe, Mike, the owner, encouraged me and others who’d done the same to use them before they closed up shop or changed ownership.

Roaster Mike at King Coffee Roastery in Phoenix, Arizona

Meet Master Roaster Mike, the Boss. Over the years, as I’ve relied on Mike to act as my version of the bartender therapist, he’s indulged me patiently by listening to the stories I was bent on sharing with him that likely rarely made sense and simply distracted him from getting work done. Sure, I did my best to ignore his gestures and silent pleas for me to wrap things up, but anyone who’s known me understands that I’m pretty adept at ignoring social cues and am able to continue going on for many minutes, never returning to the point of my discussion before I’ve totally lost the person. What I’m most amazed about regarding Mike’s resilience was that he’d often appear almost interested, and this could be after he’s already powered through what looked to me like a solid dozen shots of coffee and maybe a couple of espressos. How he himself didn’t blabber on, overwhelming my conversation is beyond my comprehension, or is this truly my superpower where I’m able to ignore all that might compete with me to tell me their story?

So, what was special about King Coffee Roastery that other coffee shops are missing? Well, my answer is going to go full-corn: it was love. Oh my god John, seriously, you are going for that cliche? Sure, many people visiting an independent coffee shop will say it’s that they aren’t corporate, or the coffee has a distinctive taste, or whatever. For me, hot, bitter caffeinated liquid in a paper cup and some wifi might be some generic lifeblood, but what other places are missing is the evolving flow of love that moves through places where, for a time, synchronicity opens a space in the continuum, and the people who move in and out of the front door are carrying something that lends a special air to the environment. Life in these places isn’t simply transactional; it is life-affirming, and I’ll be sad that this one has to give way to financial motives that have no room for love.

Val and Larry Watkins of Phoenix, Arizona

Speaking of love, I’ll close this post with a photo of Val and Larry Watkins with whom I’ve shared many a conversation over the years. This happy couple of more than 31 years, while not daily regulars, drop in at least a few times a week. Hopefully, if not here in a new incarnation of King Coffee, we’ll all continue to meet somewhere nearby in the following days and weeks.