The Absolute Middle – Day 3

Kearney, Nebraska

Sit in the car too long and neglect walking and you too might consider rising before dawn and exercising your legs to get the old peristalsis working again. That was our idea anyway when it came to fetching breakfast. Down the road, barely a half mile or so from our motel was the Good Evans Breakfast & Lunch joint. It opens after the sun rises, so we paced back and forth in the parking lot, logging more steps and hoping that the walking plus breakfast coffee would be adding momentum to the peristaltic effect we were hoping to make part of this morning’s experience. For those too lazy to look up the word, I’ll give you a clue: we kept our room key just in case we were successful.

Only about 20 miles north on Nebraska Highway 10 near Pleasanton, we had to stop for the shimmering reflective surface of the South Loup River. I’ve likely said it dozens of times in previous blog posts, but flowing wild water holds special significance to us desert dwellers where that essential fluid is not often seen coursing over the landscape. Add to this beautiful aesthetic the cliff swallows that dart out from under the bridge, and if time allows, we could just hang out for an hour or more, taking things in.

At first blush, you might think you are only looking at a crop of some sort or other, but there’s more than meets the eye, and that more is the center pivot irrigation system off in the distance. We’ve seen these watering systems many times but never gave them much thought, and I’m sure most people who’ve flown over the United States have seen the circular crop patterns from high overhead. Upon our return home, I looked up the details and learned that these rigs are often custom-made to work with the contours of the land and the crop requirements of the farmer. Also, they are not cheap, costing between $35,000 and $90,000 each. The pivot point is located near a water and electricity source that will supply the elements required to put the irrigation system to work, and it turns out that newer versions are controllable by smart apps. The world leader in this tech (and it really has matured into a smart agriculture technology platform) is a company called Valley, found 190 miles east of us near Omaha, Nebraska. Finally, the inventor of the center point irrigation system was Frank Zybach of Columbus, Nebraska, which is only about 100 miles from where we were at this moment on the road. When considering that he revolutionized farming and that this form of irrigation is used in more than 100 countries, I’m surprised there aren’t signs directing us to his birthplace or the home where he built his first prototype. Not having social media in 1947 impacted his ability to find fame, I suppose.

I might consider lamenting that here we are, driving through the middle of America and half oblivious to the importance the Great Plains have played in shaping modern America, but I wouldn’t be the only one with blinders on as who really cares about the conveniences that already exist and are taken for granted while butts, brawn, and banality are all the rage here in the second decade of the 21st century.

Big thanks to the Nilsen Hay Company of Hazard, Nebraska, for supplying the two-story rest area, including a vintage payphone, should one need help. Fortunately for me, my peristaltic equilibrium was reawakened by coffee and walking while still in Kearney, but poor Caroline needed to perch beneath the haybale on the conveniently located commode next to the road. Trust me, I tried calling her on that phone so I could ask her to look over and smile, but she was too immersed in reading White Trash: The 400-Year Untold History of Class in America by Nancy Isenberg to care about the phone ringing off the hook. Regarding the book, it’s our current car reader (when we are not traveling) and a great companion to the last depressing tome we read this year titled Fantasyland: How America Went Haywire: A 500-Year History by Kurt Anderson.

Every mile we drive through farmland, we encounter another dirt road, which translates into 640-acre (259-hectare) plots of land, and from our vantage point, we typically cannot see where these roads terminate. We could take a gander at the map and figure it out, but I’m good with the mystery of what is out beyond my line of sight. Not knowing what lies beyond is like an invitation to return and discover where we’ve not been yet, which in turn makes the world infinitely large because we can never learn what is outside of our view in one lifetime.

A bunch of cliff swallows are here at the Middle Loup River off Nebraska Route 10, south of Loup City. When we approach these bridges where cliff swallows make their nests, they don’t seem perturbed by the passing cars, but when Caroline and I get out of the car and start talking, it seems as though they all leave their nests to investigate if we are threats to their clutches of eggs just below us. Strange thought I’m having as I write this: tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be crossing the Middle Loup again on U.S. Route 83, about 90 miles west of us right now, and we are yet to pass through South and North Dakota.

If we were birds, we’d fly about 30 miles west and drop in on the geographical center of Nebraska, which would put us literally in the middle of nowhere. This will be the closest we’ll get to that today here at 805th Road and Nebraska Route 70 south of the town of Ord. I’d have loved to explore the interior of this long abandoned house, but the dilapidated state of things I was looking at as I peered in suggested that wasn’t a great idea. Then there’s the matter of ticks; after having one buried in my leg last year during our trip to Oregon, I assure you that I have no lust for a second encounter.

The temptation is strong to hang around Ord, Nebraska, this morning. Who doesn’t want to take in an 8-hour accordion festival? With 90 minutes until things get underway over at the Golden Husk Theater (pictured left), we made the difficult decision that if we were going to make the Canadian border, we’d have to forego the accordion jams and get our polka on at another time.

Based on the time of day between the towns of Ord and O’Neill, Nebraska, along with the fact that we are traveling north on U.S. 281, I’m guessing that this shot of Caroline taking in the broad landscape is near Wheeler, Nebraska.

It appears that we are looking at an overflow channel of the Elkhorn River south of O’Neill, as satellite views show that this body of water can simply up and disappear. As much as we stopped for the river, it should be obvious that we are also here for the swallows.

It’s Memorial Day Weekend, and each of these flags honors a different local veteran. We noted the name of Callan Arnold Peter from O’Neill, who enlisted in the U.S. Army the year I was born, 1963, and subsequently shipped off to fight in the Vietnam War with the 1st Cavalry Division. He was awarded the Bronze Star, married a woman named Jane, had a couple of children, and passed away on Christmas day in 2017 at the age of 74.

There is so much aesthetic value to love about these beautiful old towns distributed across America, while there’s also a lot to hold in disdain. The religiosity of these communities can be off-putting as, at times, it feels that their dogma is so deeply enmeshed in the fabric of the inhabitants that they have an irrational fear of change. This is often evidenced by the faltering economy that isn’t able to invest in a few things that might help retain its young population and welcome tourism, but change is anathema to the mindset that hides frightened in the hinterlands of America. And so, decrepitude creeps in and removes any hope for revival as business after business must go away just as the local children do as they come of age.

Take Huffy’s Airport Windsocks in the brick building on the left, which is up for sale. What is the likelihood that the operation will continue here in town? Since 1985, the Hoffman family has been part of the economic prosperity of the town of Spencer, Nebraska, but for how much longer can they hold out without selling their family business before they simply walk away? If an outsider does come in to take over the operation, they’d likely move manufacturing to a location where labor is more readily available and cheap. My hope for small-town America is on shaky ground.

I look at myself about to visit South Dakota and can’t help but see that I’ve aged in the past 30 years, possibly more in the previous 10 years. Those of you who’ve also reached this age will likely have a better idea of what I mean, as for a long time, it seemed like I just looked like John, and from year to year, nothing much changed. When the gray started coming on harder, I knew it was an inevitability and that change was ahead. I’m certainly not lamenting the process as it is, after all just life, but I am thinking, will I be taking another selfie here at the South Dakota state line 20 years from now? Likely not, is my thought about that return date, maybe in 5 or 10, but who cares? Better live it up now, and with that, we unpacked our lunch stuff and picnicked on a windy, quiet side of the road between Nebraska and South Dakota.

We’d left Phoenix with an ice chest packed for this occasion, though we had assumed we’d get to those vittles prior to now. On that first day of traveling, we get those first inklings of hunger, but the idea of digging into a tightly packed ice chest is daunting, and it feels as though it will take too long to get to the essentials that lie deep below the ice and so we typically opt for some kind of fast food so we can maintain our pace of getting down the road. And so it was back on Thursday. Yesterday, we made it to Canadian, Texas, to find the Cattle Exchange was open for lunch. We left so stuffed that dinner was never a question, and we made do with a handful of nuts and a piece of fruit. Today, though, we lunched on cross sections of a fat dachshund named Mortadella wrapped in lettuce, slathered with mustard, and topped with a hard-boiled egg. We listened to the rush of the wind through the trees, the birds playing their favorite songs to serenade us, and smiled at one another that we both are in love with these simple things, even as we age. To celebrate our good fortune, we popped open the single can of Spindrift grapefruit soda we had brought with us, our version of sparkling wine.

Oh, a scenic overlook ahead? Don’t mind if we do. It’s the Missouri River and Fort Randall Dam in Pickstown, South Dakota, out there, and like so much of this trip out here, we’re the only ones bothering to take the sights in. Surprisingly, there are very few boats out on the water, while it does look like there are a dozen or more potential campers over next to the shore.

This sign makes note of a town called Grand View that was once found here on the right side of the road. That town didn’t make it. I wonder how many more of these signs will be placed roadside over the coming years when all that remains are the few photos when people took time to share their experiences in these faraway places scattered across the middle of the United States.

At this point in our marathon road trip, the southern part of South Dakota has been the most monotonous. This is not a complaint, just an observation because, in reality, we are looking for that legendary place out here that is as flat as a pancake so we can marvel that such a place exists, but so far, there’s enough undulation around that we doubt such a uniformly level landscape exists outside of lore.

Mackenzie at Buzz'n Coffee in Wolsey, South Dakota

Buzz’n Coffee Company in Wolsey, South Dakota, was open and was ready to serve us a couple of cold brews at a time when caffeine was going to come in handy. These kinds of endurance trips require that if we find a local coffee shop that’s open, to take advantage of the opportunity as it may be another one or two hundred miles before the next one is encountered. This little caffeine oasis on the Great Plains was opened by a local retired teacher, Carol Rowen, just before the pandemic hit, and here it is a few years later, and they’ve been able to hang on. Today, we were served by Mackenzie, and after hearing about the shop, we bought a pound of their coffee and a couple of muffins to support their efforts. Should we ever pass through again, I hope they will still be here.

The family that was once living the dream in this house has obviously resigned from the toil of trying to survive the demands of farming and its economic uncertainties.

By the time we reach Redfield, South Dakota, we’d already seen a couple of pheasants but none this large or willing to stay still while I get the camera ready.

At what point will humans no longer have the opportunity to see things with their own eyes before they’ve seen them on an electronic screen? How many times do we see a scene such as this one above where cows are walking across a ranch with members of the herd emerging from a shallow stream slicing across the landscape? Except in the celluloid portrayal, the sky is perfect, the camera frames things just right, and an appropriate amount of dust is kicked up to convey the correct sense of place. Doesn’t this, though, set us up for disappointment with reality? While this hasn’t happened to us, I do wonder how many people allow movies and streaming media to influence their thoughts about what they do and don’t like.

North Dakota State Line on US 281

In our version of a kind of reverse Tetris, where we are the shape going forward, turning, and positioning to be in the place we need to be next, we have entered North Dakota.

We’re a straight piece falling in a line that way. Before you wonder about that slight pink hue of this image, let me explain that I took it through the windshield, which added its own “flavor.”

What an entanglement this is; we have entered the lands of the Spirit Lake Nation, though, for the Caucasian population, the namesake lake of these tribes is Devils Lake. I refer to tribes because there’s an agglutination of native people that have been clumped together on this reservation, including the Pabaksa (Iháŋkthuŋwaŋna), Sisseton (Sisíthuŋwaŋ) and Wahpeton (Waȟpéthuŋwaŋ) Indians. It seems to me that keeping the name Devils Lake for a body of water that the Native Americans hold sacred is a bit rude, maybe even downright disrespectful.

We are crossing the Sheyenne River, and after learning that every bit of lodging around Devils Lake is booked, we are aiming for Rugby, North Dakota, where we snagged one of the two last rooms available this Saturday night.

By the time we reach our destination, the sun has dipped below the horizon here in the small town of Rugby, the Geographical Center of North America. The funny thing is that Caroline and I have been through here before, well, at least according to our map but something didn’t feel right, like, how’d we miss this geographical center the last time? So, I returned to that old series of blog posts from 2004 when we passed through North Dakota with Jay Patel on a cross-country trip. Damn, we left Williston, North Dakota, and aimed for Garrison and finally Mayfield, but apparently never hit U.S. Route 2, which means our map is inaccurate, drats. I guess we’ll be fixing that after we take possession of a new map, seeing our 19-year-old disintegrating relic of a map held together with more tape than paper is going to be retired following this trip.

Our room at the Northern Lights Inn likely hasn’t been used since last year, considering that the toilet is bone dry, but more than that, there’s a skin of brownish rusty scum lining the bowl; it’s as gross as it sounds. Trust me, I thought about complaining, but there were no other rooms anywhere nearby, and from the attitude of the desk clerk, he wasn’t about to clean it himself and would have jumped to give us a refund, telling us the room wasn’t usable and that he had nothing else. Flushing helped a bit while trying to pressure pee it away did little. We chose to ignore it which wasn’t that difficult as we’ve ignored worse, I think. For $92.84, one might expect better, but with more than 70 miles between us and the next hotel, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The Absolute Middle – Day 2

East of Santa Rosa, New Mexico

Last night, we were up for about 45 minutes, starting around 2.30, when we were woken up by the sound of heavy rains and hail pounding our motel. After about 20 intense minutes of storming, things seemed to settle down, and with that calm, we decided we could go back to sleep, but we had just put our heads back on the pillows when the door was being pelted again. In bed, I had considered moving the car under the awning at the closed motel office, but I was certain the storm had passed; oops, so much for my desire to remain dry inside our room, as vengeance was the name of part deux. During the next respite from the onslaught, I donned a shirt and shorts and drove the car under that small covered area. Too late as now the storm really was over, and as I’d later find out, we had about a dozen small dents adorning the roof and hood of our car. At least our glass is intact. By 6:30, we are back on the road, waiting for the sun to emerge from below a band of heavy clouds to the east.

East of Santa Rosa, New Mexico

At the eastern side of New Mexico, it’s becoming obvious that we are transitioning to the Great Plains, hopefully not into Great Storms. Caroline broke out Wunderground.com in order to track where the weather was and where it was going as we chickens have no need for witnessing tornados near or far. We didn’t learn until later that crossing the Pecos River in Santa Rosa, New Mexico, is considered the rough edge of the plains; now we know.

Kix on 66 Diner in Tucumcari, New Mexico

An hour down the road, we are pulling into Tucumcari, New Mexico, looking for breakfast, and we have a couple of options. The best choice was the classic Kix on 66 Diner that had all the nostalgic vibe one might want when road-tripping. I ordered the Night Owl special featuring a stuffed poblano with eggs and hashbrowns, and Caroline went for the Tucumcari Mountain Taters, hashbrowns smothered in green chili because, in New Mexico, you can’t go wrong when ordering anything bathed in green chili. Our server even filled our thermos with coffee for our continuing adventure. As for the town of Tucumcari, it’s in bad shape, though there are some efforts underway to revitalize things with a couple of trending motels making waves in the national media.

We left mid-day Thursday in order to beat the crush of holidaymakers as they begin the stampede into America’s recreation areas, and while we heard that there would be a record post-pandemic crush of travelers in the airports, those who travel by road are largely not out here. We are accustomed to seeing SUVs with stuffed back windows, motorhomes, and big trucks pulling 5th-wheel trailers as middle America heads into the countryside, but not this Memorial Day, at least not yet. Mind you, we would have dropped into Oklahoma City, Fargo, Omaha, or elsewhere had the flights not been so damned expensive. Add to the cost of flying the exorbitant rates at the chain hotels and Airbnb, and I’ll leave this lengthy road trip with the impression that a part of America is being priced out of travel. This matters because without people renting the old motels or eating at diners, those places will disappear and the prices for what remains will go up, and choices will go away until we are left with a homogenous landscape where big character is no longer found.

Oh, cool, a Google Streetview driver, no, you can’t see him in the photo. He was sitting next to the road here in Texas, considering his options after getting stuck in the mud as he attempted to record this road. We know this because he warned us not to head that way. No problem, we were only stopping to take in the view and avoid taking another photo from our moving car, which wasn’t exactly necessary as east of Amarillo, we’d left the interstate at Farm to Market Road 1912 and headed north to Route 60. There is no image of us at the Texas state sign because we were driving at over 70mph under a gray sky with no chance to pull over for selfies; that was at 8:30 New Mexico time or 9:30 Texas time (we have entered the Central Time Zone).

Have you ever been to White Deer, Texas? Who has, and yet many people dream of going to another planet or at least think of heading into San Diego, Miami, or some resort in Mexico because nothing is in White Deer, and nobody of any importance has ever spoken of hanging out in this town of less than 880 people. People of importance, a.k.a. The Influencer, will not put U.S. Route 60, built back in 1926, on anyone’s list of “Must See” attractions across America because Route 66 already holds the baton of importance for those looking for nostalgia. Well, here we are, using it as an escape from the ugly and anonymous Interstate 40 that we were able to escape from back in Amarillo. Would I recommend visiting White Deer? I would with caveats, we were simply passing through, so we couldn’t afford the time to check out anything other than this grain silo, our first on this particular venture into the heartland, so while there may be other things to take in, we can’t know due to time constraints imposed by our hoped-for destination. On the other hand, we have been informed by a roadside sign here in White Deer that “God is real.”

We turned around to photograph the Carniceria La Unica here in Pampa, Texas, as Caroline took a particular liking to the cow and pig painted on the old building. A block away, we stopped at the sign welcoming visitors to Pampa because Caroline wanted to send friends and family in Germany a photo because of the German idiom “In der Pampa,” which translates to “Being in the middle of nowhere.” The word originates in South America and refers to a lowland grassy plains area that was just carved out of earth only 10,000 years ago by retreating glaciers and is now the home of Buenos Aires, Argentina.

The other side of the Middle of Nowhere.

Seventeen years ago, we were traveling through here, here being Miami, Texas, not to be confused with Miami, Arizona, or Miami, Florida, and we’d swear this metal longhorn wasn’t here because had it been, this photo would be redundant. While we’d like to include Miami, Oklahoma, on this trip, it’s too far to the east to be practical, but someday…

The majority of roads on this trip so far we have traveled on before creating a minor situation that feels like the adventure hasn’t really begun yet. There are many roads we’ve plied plenty of times, and this feeling doesn’t exist, but on those journeys, we are often on our way to places with which we are already familiar. For me, I’m in giant anticipation of where we start going once we hit Woodward, Oklahoma.

We’ve made it back to Canadian, Texas, home of Arrington Ranch, where part of the Tom Hanks film Castaway was filmed and where we stayed back on the 4th-of-July  weekend in 2006. While the old house is no longer rentable, the Cattle Exchange restaurant is still operating, and as luck would have it, they are open. I didn’t think I wanted a pound of ribeye for lunch, but who am I to argue with my gluttony? This old photo was taken by Julius Born from Canadian, who lived from 1879 to 1962, and is featured on one of the walls in the building where this steak house is found. Maybe we take it for granted that meat these days is refrigerated. Some things have changed here in Canadian and the Cattle Exchange, such as the Dough Girls bakery that used to make their rolls is long gone, so the bread pudding is different, and we were informed that after 134 years, the 4th of July rodeo may be skipped this year. Upon getting home and verifying things, it appears that the 135th 4th of July rodeo is, in fact, happening.

Those are the smiles of two travelers who are now under 60 miles from our turn north into the unknown absolute middle.

Would you believe it if we told you that here in Gage, Oklahoma, this brontosaurus was the most normal thing? This place is an alternative universe, and if you don’t believe that, stop in at the Sinclair gas station. More importantly, you must go into their convenience store and sit a spell; there’s something gravely wrong and part of that wrong could be that we are snobs and are unaccustomed to “real people.” As for this dinosaur made of old wheels, it is the creation of Jim Powers, whoever that is.

There it is, out there on the far horizon, the promised land of unknowns. We have turned left and are now traveling north on State Route 34 with an eye fixed on a point 991 miles (1595 km) ahead. In the middle of the road, in the middle of America, in the middle of a relationship where everything looks as perfect as can be. Let me be as clear as the sky is not; this perfection I reference is in regard to where we are on this adventure, where we are in life, and what is available to us. My observations about the larger world of the United States being mired in stupidity remain; the abhorrence I feel about dollar stores and poverty is being reinforced, witnessing the signs and hearing the words of American hate swirl around me every day. Remember, reader, I do not occupy my day with 8 hours of work. I do not watch television or distract myself with video games; I watch and listen to my fellow citizens nearly every day of the year. I observe where you shop, what you buy, and how you deride your children. To those of you who never see what I refer to, your enclaves of existence shield you from the middle of your country as you live in secure and wealthy corners, and the bottom of the class order you do have to witness is of the homeless and absolutely depraved while the middle is obscured in neighborhoods and on land you have no reason to ever see for yourself.

According to the interweb, this facility belongs to Cargill Salt and is found in Freedom, Oklahoma. We had to stop for the photo as it was one of the worst renditions of The Peanuts cartoon characters either of us had yet seen. It’s ironic that we live on such a beautiful land and extoll our freedoms while we remain collectively enslaved to outdated modalities of thinking where we voluntarily enslave ourselves and each other in nostalgia that deceives us into perceiving glorious pasts that are figments of our imaginations. We believe in nonsense that falls only slightly short of thinking that characters painted on the facades of things will somehow cover up the blemishes of our faults and weaknesses and do not miss the point that this was supposed to be a metaphor for what we adorn our bodies and faces with.

At what point in this blog does Dr. Alban’s 1990 hit Hello Afrika come to mind except you modify the lyrics with, “Hello America, tell me how yer doing.” Don’t worry if you stumble on the lyric about needing to “Unite and come together for our future,” as I, too can’t see how that will happen in our polarized country. The silver lining to this pubic outrage and obsession with shallow appearances is that Caroline and I have the entirety of so much of this land to ourselves, where we can embrace, sing, and dance our way into a celebratory life.

My desire to romanticize our potential is likely a naive weakness of mine as, for all I know, this home was a place of nightmares, just as this land is a place of nightmares for many. Why should I have these wishes for others to succeed and find happiness if I already found mine? How can it possibly matter to a 60-year-old man with options ahead of him to get what he wants if others are finding their own path or if they are crashing into a wall of disappointment and failure? Maybe empathy is a cruel joke on the animal that has softened due to lack of hardship after many a year, or is it an atrophying deep instinct to protect and project one’s tribe forward to better survive before the abandonment of life is encountered? Do we pass our home and treasures on to the next generation as things of value or do we lay waste to what has sustained us for so long?

Somewhere during the past year, and it’s being reinforced out here on the Great Plains this holiday weekend, it seems to us that communities with a strong attachment to tradition and god care more about their communities and the people that live in them. This evidence is weak and simple conjecture based on some random blips of thought that arrive out of thin air, and just as quickly as something plays to this idea, we pass through another town where god has forsaken the inhabitants and laid destitution upon their shoulders. Here in Coldwater, Kansas, the town center appears to still have some life left in it; keep praying, Coldwaterians.

Big dramatic clouds, a grain silo, and lush grasses at a crossroads, and I had everything required to stop for a photo to capture that sense of the Great Plains that draws me out here. With that, we were right back in motion, continuing to the north, except Caroline was stuck on her phone examining the map and Greensburg in particular. At the point we were about 7 miles away from the intersection, it was decided that we wouldn’t be deserving of the title of being nerds if we didn’t turn around, and so that’s just what we did based on what Caroline found. Sixteen years ago, Greensburg was taken off the face of the planet by the exhale of god who may not have been feeling the love of the people of this remote outpost. Some called it an EF5 tornado; I call it the smiting breath of our deity.

But it wasn’t the vengeful wrath of god that interested us; it was that the town’s butthole survived. Okay, enough of the blasphemous clowning around. The Big Well was the object of our curiosity. This is the world’s largest handgun well and an absolute specimen of tenacity combined with the insanity of people to risk their lives to establish a town in a place that wouldn’t ordinarily support life back in the late 19th century without water.

Clouds have been following us all day, but contrary to the weather forecast, they never rose to deliver storms upon our heads. Instead, they are acting as filters, offering us god rays that are as welcome as rainbows.

Of course, we were going to stop in a place called “Little Beauty,” which is what Schoenchen translates from German to. In the village proper was a steeple poking out of the surrounding town and trees offering the appearance that we were actually in Germany for a minute. Well, good thing we took the detour as we met this nice lady checking her mail who told us of a restaurant up in Kearney, Nebraska; we should try called Runza, sadly they’ll be closed by the time we arrive. She also told us how to pronounce Kearney, more about that in a moment.

Seems that we’ve been stopping a bit much for the photo opportunities, and that’s okay as it’s always been part of the loose itinerary that wherever it is we make it to, that will be good enough. We are currently in Stockton, Kansas, about 40 miles (64 km) from the Nebraska State Line.

The end of our day is fast approaching, which is a good thing as after more than 14 hours and 600 miles of driving, I could use a break.

If we weren’t so far north by now, it would be dark as it’s 9:00 p.m. as we pass into Nebraska.

We are staying at the Midtown Western Inn in Kearney, Nebraska, for only $70, including tax. Contrary to our perception of how to pronounce Kearney, it is actually spoken as “Karnee,” named after Colonel Stephen Watts Kearny; the extra “e” was a postal error in registering the name of the new town. Someone once claimed that Kearney was 1,733 miles to Boston and 1,733 miles to San Francisco, placing it in a kind of middle, but it looks like someone was playing fast and loose with the map, though maybe back when the routing of the roads was different, Kearney was out in the middle of nowhere.

Sunday in the Desert

Caroline Wise and John Wise on Trail 100 in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, Arizona

Wakey-wakey! The alarm went off at 4:45 in the early ante meridiem, the agreed-upon time to leave slumber if we are to accomplish today’s first goal. Knowing beforehand what was ahead of us, I felt that one of those proverbial hearty breakfasts was in order and had prepared the elements of eggs, garlic scapes, and chilorio (canned stewed pork, Sinaloa style) last night so I could be quick about slapping our first meal together this morning. Two hydrating glasses of water were downed in quick order and we were out the door. On the way we stopped at Starbucks to grab an iced coffee to share as time would be too short to drink our own. By 5:45 we arrived at the trailhead on the east side of the Phoenix Mountains Preserve to begin our 11-mile hike on Trail 100. Luckily there was plenty of parking left (there are only 4 spots).

Trail 100 in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, Arizona

In my mind, this was the last day before the onset of summer that we’d be able to comfortably hike this trail right through Phoenix. We’ve been experiencing a “cold front” that took the temperature at dawn down to a low 61 degrees (16c) with daytime highs in the mid-80s (about 29c), perfect for a long hike. Starting on the east side of the preserve would also work in favor by keeping the sun to our backs and for a while allowing us to act as human sundials where sacred desert geometry is used to divine the future. And what was interpreted suggests that the two people represented in this photo will be in love forever and ever.

Trail 100 in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, Arizona

It would occur to us over and again during our time on the trail how fortunate we are to both have the inclination that this is something we want to do and both are able to do it. Obviously, we are not the only couple getting on in years capable, but all around us we know people without a hiking partner or those who are limited in what physical activity they are able to do. And then there’s the pacing, we are complementary of one another in this area too.

We should have taken this hike a month ago when the wildflowers were in heavy bloom, but we had taken our chances that Death Valley might be in bloom too and so we drove there. We originally learned of Trail 100 from a friend of Caroline’s who invited us to join her and a group of her friends back in February but that weekend we were traveling down to Douglas, Arizona, on the Mexican border. Here we are today though and couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day while the desert is still bursting with color.

Trail 100 in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, Arizona

These happy reminders of where we live are needed because there is so much that pushes against a sense of enjoyment of being in Phoenix. Our relationship with the city is mostly at odds with what we believe we desire from the place we live in. The constant miles of cinderblock walls, gated communities, generic corporate restaurants, bland strip malls offering the same uninspired services, and a population happily splitting their time between jobs, gyms, drinking holes, and TV are the epitome of insipid conformity to the two of us. Fortunately, we’ve been able to frequently escape these doldrums and head into the surrounding areas and states on a fairly regular basis, but that might become increasingly difficult as the inflationary cost of travel and living is going up faster than wages. None of that conformity or cost to participate is here on the trail today as this hike and preserve is free to all who visit.

Trail 100 in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, Arizona

Due to a commitment later this afternoon, we don’t feel we have the luxury of lingering or deviating from our trail to explore different perspectives, not that the ones we are being offered aren’t grand. We’ve previously visited other parts of the preserve but we had no idea that there was a contiguous element that links the more than 9,600 acres (39 square km), allowing visitors to spend a considerable amount of time in nature while still well within the city of Phoenix. Central Park in New York City by comparison is 848 acres while Tiergarten in Berlin, Germany is 520 acres (210 hectares) so this preserve is one of the largest urban parks in the United States. Also, consider that this preserve is the smallest of its neighbors compared to the McDowell Sonoran Preserve in Scottsdale weighing in at 30,500 acres and the South Mountain Preserve in Phoenix at 16,094 acres thus providing us with a total of over 56,000 acres (227 square km) or natural desert in those three parks alone.

Trail 100 in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, Arizona

There are moments here that offer glimpses into what the Valley of the Sun might have looked like for the indigenous people of the region prior to the arrival of white settlers back in 1867. I have to admit to the tragedy that Caroline and I have lived in Phoenix since 1995 and are just now discovering the scale and perspective that can be had in this oasis in our city, such is the luck of those who do not participate with local media to apprise themselves of options for activities here in the valley. To be fair regarding our decision to ignore the media in Phoenix, when we first arrived in 1995 it was focused on shopping, golf, resorts, movies, and restaurants. The only nature that hit print and broadcast media was the Grand Canyon and maybe Sedona. No matter, the lesson has been taken to heart that we’ve ignored our own backyard for too long, and once cool weather returns, we’ll make a point of taking a different route through the preserve on a day we can dawdle to our heart’s content trying to get lost in the environment of what was.

Trail 100 in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, Arizona

Out there beyond downtown Phoenix, you are looking at the South Mountain Park and while writing this post I came across the 16-mile South Mountain National Trail that allows for the hiking of the entire length of the range on a trail rated as moderate that is doable in about 7 hours. Sounds like just the kind of challenge we’d be up for this October or November. By the way, we are still in the preserve and just crossed under State Route 51 (Piestewa Freeway) using a tunnel that was built just for the purpose of allowing hikers to cover the 11 miles without ever having to cross a street or highway.

Trail 100 in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, Arizona

Just as quickly as the surrounding urban area comes into view it recedes, and you are once again immersed in the landscape of the desert. I forgot to mention before now that there are many trails bisecting the one we are on with various other ways of entering the preserve. Regarding the number of miles here, well that’s a difficult one to answer correctly as ChatGPT only tells me that there are more than 50 miles, Bing says there are 93 miles, and rapidly devolving Google doesn’t answer the question at all as just today (May 9th is when I’m writing this particular paragraph) they’ve changed their search results into incomprehensible nonsense. In any case, there are many routes through the preserve used by hikers, mountain bikers, and those on horseback.

Caroline Wise on Trail 100 in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, Arizona

Nothing quite like putting yourself into a situation where in order to cap the experience with some kind of narrative about one’s achievement, one has to research what else can be shared aside from the wow factor of having been to that place. And it was just that which brought me to the Phoenix Mountains Preservation Council and all the work they’ve been doing over the past 50 years to protect the wild nature of our mountains found in and around Phoenix. In a cookie-cutter city, the lands offering views of the cityscape or of nature become the most desirable and subsequently most valuable to those who would build multi-million dollar homes for the wealthy and the city coffers that thrive on the extra revenue. Due to so many years of careless development, we already suffer from a dreadful existence of endless miles of ugliness that seemingly cannot be seen by those who moved here for the weather, golf, and their fortress home within a gated community.

Trail 100 in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, Arizona

Phoenix stretches forward some 20 miles to the south from here, another 25 miles of our city lay behind us, while 25 more miles to the west on your right will get you to that edge of the valley. Finally, go 30 miles to the left and you’ll reach Apache Junction up against the Superstition Mountains making this 9,600-acre park a real island in a sea of sprawl.

Caroline Wise on Trail 100 in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, Arizona

Our third and final tunnel taking us under 7th Street means we are on the last 2-mile segment of our hike, good thing as it’s starting to warm up. It was also in this area that we started running into more people because we are at this moment walking between the Tapatio Cliffs Resort and the North Mountain Visitors Center. Interestingly, it turns out that most of the others who are out here seem to gravitate to remaining within one mile of this central location as only a mile away the crowd rapidly thins.

Community garden at Mountain View Park in Phoenix, Arizona

After 5 hours and 15 minutes, we reached Mountain View Park and were surprised to see a community garden in an urban setting, wow! As for our time on the trail, we were only an hour slower than the average of 4 hours and 17 minutes to complete it. Thanks to Lauren, a pal of Caroline’s who was also the person who told of us Trail 100 for picking us up and driving us to our car. This outing has seriously been an incredible moment of redemption from the monotony this city puts on its inhabitants; now if only it could start converting some of its streets to bicycle and pedestrian-only thoroughfares where those of us who’d be willing to e-bike it around the valley could find a safe alternative to the highly aggressive drivers of our roads.

Phoenix Chorale performance in Scottsdale, Arizona

Our afternoon commitment at Pinnacle Presbyterian Church in Scottsdale was reached without issue and with plenty of time to spare. The tranquility of the day was multiplied thanks to the 27 voices on stage today who not only performed wonderfully but even brought Caroline and me to tears with their rendition of Hurt written by Trent Reznor and made famous by Johnny Cash. At the end of the performance we stuck around to offer thanks to the chorale’s conductor and artistic director Christopher Gabbitas, Lies’l Hill the soprano that had us weeping, and Nicole Belmont the executive director we’d first met at the performance of the chorale in March at the Phoenix Art Museum. It was Nicole who directed us to Aaron M. Villalobos so we could make a donation today to the chorale and become contributing members. A beautiful and wonderful day all the way around.

Old Birds

Caroline Wise spinning fiber to make yarn in Phoenix, Arizona

There’s a sense of delight when you look at the person you fell in love with so many years ago and take a moment to realize how deeply you are still enamored with countless aspects of who they are. There is not one thing or even a multitude of qualities I could pin my affection on regarding how I feel for Caroline. When I found myself lost in how the light was falling on her hair, shirt, and face with her gaze focused on what she was doing, I smiled inside and, in an instant, sighed upon the realization of how familiar I am with how her hands work at spinning yarn, typing, turning a page, holding a seashell, or reaching for my hand. I smiled at the single headphone in her ear as she was listening to an audiobook while the other dangled to the side so she could hear me if I talked to her. Her glasses are probably dirty because that’s their normal state, but that won’t stop her from looking up to glance at me occasionally and offer me a big warm smile with eyes that say, I love you.

As much as she appreciates putzing around at home on the weekend, Caroline also enjoys just hanging out with me, savoring her iced coffee with a splash of oat milk, joining in on the occasional conversation I strike up with people, and playing with whatever craft she’s brought along. The Fitbit on her left wrist reminds me that we were out walking earlier and that we’ll be walking again after dinner, as we probably get about 75% of our 10,000 steps a day walking together, often hand in hand. The blouse she’s wearing is a recent acquisition from Mexico because, for the past year, she’s been absolutely in love with clothes from the Mayan region of Chiapas, Mexico. Had this been 20 years ago, she might have been wearing a salwar kameez or kurti (Hindu shirt), as my wife has never been one to care about fitting in with the hip crowd while being appreciative of the diversity of global culture.

During the times we are apart, though we are never really apart because Skype is always open, so we can reach out and nudge one another with a hug or expression of love, we are still connected even if nothing is shared. There’s something about our relationship that seems to have grown in its symbiotic nature, as though we are becoming conjoined. This has me thinking about how albatrosses can spend years learning to cooperate before becoming mates for life; maybe that’s what Caroline and I are like. I was talking with ChatGPT about this, and it shared, “Albatross courtship is quite elaborate and can involve synchronized flying, mutual preening, and a variety of calls and displays. These rituals are important for forming strong pair bonds that can last a lifetime.” It also pointed out how albatrosses can spend 50 or more years together and that the oldest wild albatross, at 70 years old, is still rearing chicks, meaning it and its lifelong mate are still bonded. Yep, we are like a couple of old birds.

Stamina in the Face of Death Valley

Death Valley National Park, California

Recently, I turned 60, not with dread but also not without the nattering echoes of those who came before me and groaned of declining energy and poor stamina when they entered this age. When we left home yesterday, it had not been my intention for this trip to be a test of any sort, but maybe it will end up being some of that. With the arrival of my 60s, what impact might I find? Leaving Phoenix, we had a 450-mile drive ahead of us that should have taken about 7.5 hours, but with countless stops for photos of this and that, we optimized our indulgence by stretching out our time crossing the Sonoran and Mojave Deserts before arriving at the doorstep of Death Valley at 7:00 p.m. Checked-in to our room in Shoshone, we walked across the street to the old familiar Crowbar Saloon we first ate at back in 2007 and then took the dark road up to the hot spring pool, this also brought us to having walked 5.5 miles for the day. By 10:30, we were snoring, but if you read yesterday’s post, you’d already know some of those things.

It’s 5:30 in the early morning as we peel ourselves out of bed after sleeping better than is typical for our first night out on the road. We are embarking on our day in the wee hours even after our lengthy 17-hour day of traveling yesterday. The point here is, and this is only now dawning on me, we are still plowing into experiences and doing our best to take advantage of our time in the world. As we turned on the road that would bring us to Death Valley, the sun hadn’t yet peeked over the horizon, but by the time we were about to descend to the saltpan, the world of this harsh landscape was becoming well illuminated. Who knows what the rest of my next decade will bring, but here on the other side of 60, I’m thrilled to know that my stamina hasn’t fallen by the wayside.

Death Valley National Park, California

Having passed in and out of Death Valley from the west, the north, the northeast, and the south, the southerly approach is by far my favorite. The gradual approach from this side of the park also benefits from the quiet due to so few people out this way. Most visitors will congregate in the relative proximity of the visitor center. While many will go as far south as the iconic Badwater location (282 feet below sea level), that leaves the bottom 50 or so miles of the park relatively unvisited, and it is down here where our day begins in earnest.

Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

There is no trailhead and no parking lot. We just pull up in front of mile marker 39 and start walking east. Our first hike of the day is Room Canyon, rated as a moderate 3-mile trail. The path to the canyon is not identified with cairns, but if you look at the ground ahead of you, you’ll see the footprints of others, and you can hope they went in the right direction. This is as good a place as any for me to include my endorsement of the AllTrails app and how important it has become to us. Before arriving somewhere, like here in Death Valley, which doesn’t have phone service, one should identify the trails they are interested in and then download the trail maps while they have plenty of signal. Our go-to trails are typically rated as moderate because easy is just too easy, though, for an interpretive experience, those are often not bad. The strenuous trails often feature rock climbing, exposure, or some serious elevation gain. Everyone who ventures into America’s national parks and hikes should have AllTrails with them and do some research before embarking on their adventure.

Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

After our short hike into an alluvial fan, we are now in the mouth of a canyon carved out of the alluvium that’s been deposited from the eroding mountains behind us.

Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

The post title mentions stamina and is in reference to what we’ll have to muster if we are to capture the three hikes we have penciled in as the activities for our day, but by now, it also speaks to what I’ll require to complete writing this post that still has nearly 50 photos below this one. Should you be able to slog your way through this marathon post, which will likely veer into a fair amount of prolix (defined as speech or writing using or containing too many words/tediously lengthy), you too will have had to find your stamina for such a long post to find what gems might exist here, if any.

Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

For Caroline and myself, the gems are many, at least in viewing the photos that we find to be magnificent. The writing that accompanies these images is often a mixed bag where at least I wonder if I’ve not said this all before. Even if I add a new twist or some bit of delightful poesy where a verse finds a potentially enchanting resonance, one must toil over hundreds if not thousands of words until they, too, find a diamond in the rough.

Caroline Wise at Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

Speaking of finding a diamond in the rough, it’s now been 10,000 years and 12 trillion experiences shared with this woman, who (according to her) has enjoyed being between the proverbial rock and a hard place that is our relationship. There’s something about her smile here that may not be apparent to others: it is the look of “Wow, I can’t believe we are here.” Today, along with our planned hikes that are not considered to be some kind of “I’ve worked for this, and I’m owed it,” is a day of astonishment that we have the ambition and compatibility to venture into places with someone who equally enjoys the time. How far we go is irrelevant; how far we’ve come carries a satisfaction that accumulates, as does our love.

Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

Had this been the extent of our adventure, we’d leave and realize our good fortune to have been able to find so much indulgence between yesterday’s drive up, time in the hot spring last night, sunrise this morning, and this first bit of exploration in Room Canyon here at Death Valley. But this is only the beginning, and nobody should ever, for even a second, consider that there are greater rewards ahead. Every moment is the most valuable token of a splendid life any two people have been granted.

Caroline Wise at Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

I don’t believe that those who named this place Death Valley were being ironic, but then again, we do not call Earth the Death Planet, though death happens every day. I vote for renaming this national park Massively Wow Life Valley because being here amplifies the sense of how incredible it’s been that life took hold on this outpost in the Milky Way.

Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

As a telescope acts as a portal through space into unknowns, so too does nature act as a portal into its history and maybe its future. As I peer into this crevice with light falling in from above, I can surmise what is out there, but I do not have first-hand knowledge. This mystery is the intrigue that helps propel our dreams.

Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

From one space, we enter another by the simple act of going forward. Obviously, we had to have the means to be here, but I’d argue that everyone has that opportunity if they were to desire such things. The argument that most people can afford this if they own a relatively decent car could easily be taken issue with, but I’d say that while those more than 500 miles away would have to focus on something closer to where they live, such a weekend could cost as little as about $200. Without going into too many details, that’s about $120 for gas, $40 for two nights of camping, and park admission. As for food, that was going to be consumed at home regardless. Instead, people will convince themselves that a real immersive vacation must take place at Disneyland, Hawaii, Las Vegas, or on a cruise to the Bahamas. This all-or-nothing mentality is great for Caroline and me because we find ourselves all alone today at Room Canyon.

Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

If you look closely at this image and the one above it, you’ll see that we’ve progressed about 100 feet up the trail. Sometimes, it’s not the broad vista, i.e., the big picture, that’s all important but the readjustment of your focus to see what you might miss if you are only honing your hyperopic vision.

Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

Earlier this year, we spent a couple of hours in Kartchner Caverns, and in my subsequent writing about them, I deeply considered their formation and the molecular processes harnessed across time. Peering into those details in ways I hadn’t previously, I was enchanted watching in my mind’s eye the accretions forming to produce the cavern features we were there to experience. Today, we are here in an open-air canyon, and under an overhang are signs of accretions dripping down a wall. Where’s a geologist when you need one? How old might these be, what is their mineral composition, and how many other places in Death Valley can we find others?

Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

Again, my kingdom for a geologist! While I understand that softer rock erodes faster than the overlying harder rock, I dream of knowing what was at work during those years these layers were forming. The greenish layers are making a sandwich of what appears to be sandstone, and within the green lower area, there is red rock, but it’s not evenly distributed, so what’s the story?

Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

And then this small area of turquoise-hued rocks catches my eye and while I can appreciate the aesthetic qualities, I’m being denied any knowledge of precisely what’s at work here to have created this pocket of blue-green treasure. Learning that Death Valley has not really been a place to find much copper, I’ll eliminate the chance that the minerals at work here are malachite or azurite, which both oxidize towards green and instead, I’ll lean towards this display being caused by the presence of chlorite.

Flowering plant at Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

Hey Caroline, have we ever seen flowering desert rock nettle before? Looking for them, I learned that the International Carnivorous Plant Society considers the Eucnide urens a “murderous plant” because flies that come in for aphids are killed by the plant, but while this nettle strengthens its stinging spines with calcium phosphate, the same stuff our bones and teeth are made of, it can’t “eat” the flies so it does not qualify as carnivorous and is simply a murderer.

Wildflowers at Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

On the other hand, there’s this notch leaf scorpionweed that, while intensely and beautifully saturated in a wonderful shade of purple, can cause a rash similar to the effect of poison ivy. Please consider that I may be wrong about identifying this wildflower, just as I can be wrong about almost everything I write here.

Wildflowers at Room Canyon at Death Valley National Park, California

After an exhaustive search, I’ve come to the conclusion that this is the gravel ghost flower.

Conglomerate at Death Valley National Park, California

The scale of my lack of knowledge is often frightening because it took until the day in Phoenix writing this post that I was able to answer the question of why I wasn’t able to find a single hint of fossils in all of the alluvia I was scouring for hints of life. While I wanted to believe that this was made of eroded materials that settled on the shore of the long-gone Lake Manley, I should have noticed that the rocks that have been cemented together do not show signs of water erosion. This debris arrived from high above where it broke off the surrounding mountains and collected at the foot of them. It should have been obvious that there would be no fossils in this type of alluvium. This feels like a gaping chasm in the basics of understanding how our planet was made, how it evolves, and how what we perceive shouldn’t be taken for granted.

Caroline Wise on the salt pan in Death Valley National Park, California

The world of John would certainly be rendered simpler if I were to drop the curiosity and join the modern clan/cult of “Veni, vidi, vici,” best exemplified in the digital age by posting an iconic photo to Instagram while sitting back to enjoy the influencer cred. Maybe you ask, what is this Latin phrase harkening back to Julius Caeser? “Veni, vidi, vici” is translated to, “I came, I saw, I conquered,” which has been reduced to, “I came because someone really cool also went; I saw what I had to see in order to take the same photo, I’m a winner because everyone else tells me I am.” Am I alone in thinking that my totem should read, “Odi profanum vulgus et arceo?”

Carolne Wise at Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

This is the moment we realize just how important AllTrails is to our peace of mind, as there are five potential trails that lead into Sidewinder Canyon, and only one can be right. A family of four coming off of one of these warns us from heading that way, so we consult our AllTrails map that we downloaded in Shoshone the night before to adjust our bearings. With nearly a dozen cars at the trailhead, we can only wonder how others made their decision.

Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

From our initial impression, it would appear that the others are heading into places that are not Sidewinder Canyon. Should this prove true, we are promised a quiet 5-mile hike this afternoon.

Carolne Wise at Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

It was a slog under direct sunlight in loose gravel before Caroline took up this perch in the shade of what appeared to be a fallen slab of the cliffside. After what felt like about 45 minutes, maybe even an hour, where we had 1,145 feet of elevation gain to contend with, there was serious consideration of turning around while we wondered what could possibly be so interesting further up the wide mouth of this gravelly canyon.

Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

There were these occasional spectacular views of looking back at the snowcapped Telescope Peak in the Panamint Range, and as you can see, we are now able to enjoy a bit of shade as the canyon narrows.

Carolne Wise at Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

When do the exciting views that make this such a highly recommended trail begin? Just kidding, if a massive rock overhang that could fall at any time to snuff us out of existence isn’t thrilling, what is?

Carolne Wise and John Wise at Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

We’ve reached the end of the trail as it relates to our skills of clambering up the rock faces behind us. While we could see the way up, the way back down might present other challenges for the overweight guy afraid of heights, so we’d just have to turn around, check out the side canyons, and call it quits here at Sidewinder Canyon.

Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

On the way in, we skipped all four side canyons that branched off the main trail with the idea that we might do them on the way back down. This was the last one and is now the first one on our return. The only one marked with a cairn, there must be something special here, so, at a minimum, we’ll explore this short quarter-mile hike.

Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

Right away, Sidewinder Canyon transformed into a gem, but at this time, we’d not yet seen a thing.

Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

It is impossible to convey just how astonishing the sight of what you are looking at is. Not only did things cool off substantially in this narrow slot, but the light was at a premium, though there was just enough to understand that the hole we were about to walk through was a bizarre feature tucked away back here. We stood here a good 5 minutes examining things from all angles trying to figure out if it was manmade or carved by nature. There’s a steep path up and around it that Caroline braved, trying to gain a vantage point that might explain how this doorway got here. The surrounding rock and towering slice of earth overhead balanced over the opening suggest that it would have been stupidly foolish for any human to dare stand under so many tons of rock precariously resting in this space and dig it out, so it must be a natural path to the other side.

Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

Step through the open door and look up; this is that view, which helps explain why it’s so dark down here.

Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

The word that comes to mind regarding the state entered in this passage is stupefied. How does the hand of nature massage its contours to offer us a perfect world that not only supplies the essential ingredients to care for ourselves but then throws in a load of sensual aesthetic qualities that present our senses with an exquisite orchestration of visual, audible, and other sensory delights that dumbfound us as we stand there in awe? Incredulous that we’ve been gifted this ability to perceive such intense beauty, we are often brought to the edge of emotion that wants to find a way out in some way that far exceeds the exclamation of “wow!” Much of what I write here is a feeble attempt to capture the tiniest fragment of that enthusiasm that feels all too impossible to convey, and so I just keep on searching for the proper sequence of words that might talk back to us in the future and remind us that we’ve traversed the furthest reaches of the incredible that few will discover within or outside of themselves.

Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

Charles Darwin once said, “The love of all living creatures is the most noble attribute of man.” I’d change that to include the love of all things, even those things we cannot overcome.

Carolne Wise at Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

That large boulder was the end of this side canyon for us; we turned around and were able to enjoy it all over again.

Carolne Wise at Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

Slot number two. See human for scale.

Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

If you take nothing else from this post, leave knowing that these photos are poor representations of the breathtaking sights found here in Death Valley.

Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

We have emerged from slot canyon number three in our sequence, and I’m left with the impression that hikers should consider visiting these in reverse order compared to what we chose, meaning visit each side hike as you are entering Sidewinder Canyon in order to save the best for last but then again, who am I to judge what is pleasing to others?

View from Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

Let’s return to the subject of stamina as I now have 36 photos I’ve written to and have 16 ahead of me, including this one. Caroline often wonders why I don’t just slice the image count in half or even a third when the chore of writing to each and every photo means I’ll be spending an inordinate amount of time teasing thoughts out of my head, often longer than the actual time spent in an environment. You see, this is a clever ploy used by me to spend studied time in front of the photo waiting for some intrinsic value or grand inspiration to seep out of the pixels to talk to me about what I might share. Once I find that muse, er um, delusion, I run with it, and in so doing, I create the situation where my wife will have to then look into each bit of writing to ensure I’m coherent and grammatically correct, but there’s a side effect to writing so much, and that is she is then compelled to dwell within the scene allowing her memories to find a deeper place within our shared experience.

Wildflowers at Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

This entire process, no matter the motivation, requires the stamina to persist and, if need be, go slow to find my footing before establishing a flow that hopefully brings me to the end of the page without cutting out the remaining images before continuing with the next day. This is the third or fourth day of returning to this evolving post, and other than my wife reading this; I really have no expectation that anyone else will, other than some artificial life algorithm training another Large Language Model (LLM) so it can sample yet another human in order to learn how people express themselves. Like these wildflowers that must bloom in a hostile environment where nobody may ever happen by to appreciate their tenacity to persist, they pop into life for a brief time, grace us with their beauty, and could care less if they’re well received. Right there, that’s my writing philosophy.

View from Sidewinder Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

Just to the right of the center of the image is our car, which will whisk us away to lunch if we don’t become distracted on the way up the road.

Death Valley National Park, California

This is not Badwater, we didn’t bother to stop at Badwater on this visit to Death Valley because EVERYONE else was there. Never have we seen so many people and such a number of cars at that iconic location ever. It was an absurd level of visitors, as though Badwater had become an extension of a Disney ride. All we could do was crawl by with mouths agape wondering which influencer delivered the horde to this formerly serene place.

Death Valley National Park, California

By the time we reached The Oasis and the Last Kind Words Saloon, our lunch options were pretty limited and, to be honest, as I was having no kind thoughts about the type of visitor the park attracts these days, I just wanted a quick bite so we could get back on a trail away from the grotesque superficiality on display here. Having a captive audience in Death Valley, the concessionaire puts us visitors in the bind of not having many options, and they are able to charge what the market will bear. We shared ten wings ($26), Caroline had a beer ($10), and I had an iced tea ($4). With tip, our bill for a shared appetizer and two drinks was $51. Not only that, our time at the saloon stole an hour from our day. Growing discouraged with our brief time here at the hub of Death Valley, we had one more thing to take care of, which was buying a new annual pass for our National Parks at the visitors center. Asking the ranger about the mayhem, we were advised to reconsider visiting on holiday weekends. This is Easter weekend, and there are still remnants of spring break filtering through. Now we know.

Desolation Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

Time for a return to peace and quiet, which is exactly what one might expect at Desolation Canyon.

Caroline Wise at Desolation Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

Who needs to check with AllTrails? The path very obviously goes that way.

Desolation Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

There were some sketchy areas along the way for me, but as much as possible, I at least went as far as I could before my vertigo was either overcome or defeated, and we had to turn around. Things were going along more or less fine until I reached the point of ultimate pucker, where my butthole gland jolted me with a surge of anxiety that screamed a clear and resounding “nope!” It was at this point that we looked at the AllTrails map and saw that we were off the main route. How could this be, as the trail was so clearly defined?

Desolation Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

We’d already been hiking back when it occurred to me that I should have taken a photo from our furthest point up the pucker trail. Oh well, it’s early enough; we can try this again once we get back down there.

Desolation Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

I see; we weren’t supposed to walk on the visible trail next to the wash; we were supposed to be in the middle of the wash.

Desolation Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

We quickly learned why this canyon earned its name: this is absolute desolation. Not a single plant, lizard, or bit of moisture though we did hear the occasional bird tweeting from above. Then there was also that guy who was on his descent from a nearby peak because he has the kind of hooves that allow his species to ascend escarpments and was now racing to reach Dante’s View at Coffin Peak before sunset after he whipped out his wings.

Desolation Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

It’s intensely beautiful down here, but the sun is not in our favor, and like just about anywhere on the trails in Death Valley, we wouldn’t want to be out here after the sun sets, so we keep on moving, not taking the time we should in order to take it all in.

Caroline Wise at Desolation Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

There was another dead end ahead for us before finishing the Desolation Canyon Trail, a rock face with obvious hand and foot holds but purely vertical and something that I wouldn’t have been happy needing to come down. Mind you; this is certainly a disappointment for me as I, like any normal person who’s already invested the effort in getting out here, want to reach the end of the trail for that sense of winning a prize for reaching the end of the trail. Alas, this isn’t meant to be my way of winning; I’ll have to accept that by being forced out of this canyon earlier than expected, we were able to do other amazing things that were meaningful, too. Those details follow.

Sunset over Death Valley National Park, California

It feels like a rare moment when we are afforded the opportunity to experience a glorious sunset here in Death Valley. I don’t know why we can’t find any memories of sunsets in the park; maybe it’s due to being overwhelmed by the sites of the day or that they simply can’t compare to the spectacular sunsets we witness in Arizona, regardless of the reason, today, we were gifted with this late burst of color in the early evening sky that bore remembering.

Sunset over Death Valley National Park, California

From where we left the trail, the nearly 70-mile drive down to Shoshone was going to take us nearly 90 minutes, getting us to dinner shortly before 8:00, but here we were stopping yet again. There’s no question in our minds that whatever might be sacrificed later is just the way it is because capturing yet another reminder of a perfect day takes precedence.

Sunset over Death Valley National Park, California

Nearly 15 miles covered by 32,000 steps on three different hikes is what we got in today. Starting with Room Canyon, moving on to Sidewinder Canyon with a quick jaunt out onto the salt flat in-between before finishing the day on the Desolation Canyon trail. When we pulled into our motel, we figured it was too late to hit the hot spring, so we went for dinner at the Crow Bar across the street and talked of taking a dip in the morning before the day got underway, but as luck would have it, we got our order in before a large (loud) party of Germans and before we knew it, it looked as though we could clear our bill and get to our room to change by 8:40 allowing us almost 15 minutes at the pool. We wasted no time and were in the water by 8:45. The gate is supposed to be locked at 9:00, but as luck was once more favoring us, the guy didn’t show up until some minutes after 9:00 allowing us a full 20 minutes of hot spring winddown for our tired bodies and heavy feet. This was just the elixir nature ordered for this couple of outdoor enthusiasts who were celebrating their stamina to be on the go and enjoying every moment of a day that stretched into a 15-hour adventure of non-stop sublime impressions.

Easter Bunny and Wife

Caroline Wise and the Easter Bunny in Phoenix, Arizona

A little-known fact about me is that every year I volunteer somewhere to be the Easter Bunny but this year I’m letting the cat out of the bag by posting this photo of Caroline and me standing in front of the grocery where I’ll be greeting kids and letting their parent snap an Easter photo of their tots with me, Mr. Easter Bunny. By the way, you do know what today’s date is, right?

[Truth be known, I wanted to have my picture taken with the Easter Bunny at least once in my life. And this one looks benign, compared to the nightmare-inducing creature looming in this classic photo. – Caroline]