Chiricahua National Monument, Arizona

In my humble, yet well-informed opinion: drop everything and go to southeast Arizona's stunning National Monument, Chiricahua. This isolated "sky island" mountain is surrounded by an ocean of desert grasslands that protect the wonderland of rocky sentinels that call Chiricahua home. Forget the Badlands*, forget Mono Lake**; if you are in the market for several thousand acres of pinnacles, hoodoos, and precariously balanced spires secreted away at 9,000 feet above sea level, Chiricahua is the national monument for you.

The moment I traced our path from Silver City, New Mexico, towards our next destination in Tucson, Arizona, and noticed the attractive swath of green on our atlas that represented the monument, I knew it was fated. Even more so as we felt the predictable lull of road trip weariness settle on our shoulders as we careened down I-10 after the setting sun, trying to put car troubles and freezing temperatures behind us.

A hike will do us good, 

I thought.  

Some rocks will cure us.

We drove the long and lonesome road through cresting waves of grass towards the looming mountain as the sky dimmed, anticipating a hopefully mild night in our tent. Forty solitary miles later and we were enveloped in the comforting familiarity of a National Park campground, whose completely average yet consistent facilities are among my favorite lodgings in the country.

A warm morning welcomed us with the delight of choosing our hiking trail for the day. We decided on something long and hopefully epic, making sure the Mushroom Rock Trail, Big Balanced Rock Trail, and Heart of Rocks would not be missed. In the end, we chose a 7 mile hike out of the possible 17 to explore.

From the campground and the Welcome Center, there were no interesting rock formations to be seen, but as soon as we boarded the bus to Massai Point - climbing ever higher into the sky - the tantalizing blanket of unique geology began to unfold before us.

Twenty seven million years ago, the nearby Turkey Creek Caldera laid down 2,000 feet of volcanic ash that fused into rhyolite tuff, an event similar to the recently visited Bandolier National Monument. Over time, additional uplift paired with erosion caused by wind and water wore cracks into the tuff, leaving behind the carefully sculpted masterpieces that make up Chiricahua today. 

As an added bonus, Chiricahua is one of the only places in the US where you can see a native coati... and we did!

And as I expected, walking beneath the towering spires, under an overcast sky was just the balm we needed to sooth our traveling bones and ready us for what's next: Tucson in the rain.

*NEVER forget the Badlands

**Long live Mono Lake!!!!!

A Yurt in the Enchanted Forest

Yes, it's actually called the Enchanted Forest and I can vouch for its bewitchery.

For those of you keeping score, we are still in New Mexico. Actually, we decided to take a detour to northeastern New Mexico to visit the artist enclave of Taos, where we were lured by the promise of yurts and cross country skiing.

Just a little beyond Taos, located 10,000 feet into the Carson National Forest, is the Enchanted Forest Cross Country Ski Area, replete with 30k of skiing trails that wind through towering and lichen filled pines to stunning views.

Inside the winding trails are two yurts that are available to rent throughout the year, the only catch being that you have to ski yourself and your belongings there. That's cool - if you are a good skier, which I am not. Actually, I had only been x-country skiing once before and downhill skiing never before this.

But it was an impossibly beautiful day and the allure of a yurt hidden in the woods was too good to pass up, so we loaded up our pulk sled (a sled that hooks around your waist and you town behind you) and headed up the slopes.

It was the beginning of a freeze/thaw cycle, so the trails were a bit icy, but since we were there at close to the end of the season, we had the whole course to ourselves - so we could fall down without feeling embarrassed.

After a good mile of uphill skiing, we finally found our little yurt, quickly unpacked and then headed further up the trails to the spectacular birch trees that lead to one of the most breathtaking views of the trip. If only we had been skiing (and falling!) with our nice camera, we might have been able to share the love a bit better!

Eventually we had to stop skiing for the day as the temperatures dropped because the trails became too icy to navigate safely and dusk fell on our little hideaway. In fact, we ended up having the whole forest to ourselves! Since the Enchanted Forest trails close at 4:30pm, we enjoyed the haunting calls of owls and a very cold night with a little bit of whiskey, campfires, and a lot of solitude.

Enchantment, indeed. 

The next day we skied out and began the drive towards more desert regions.

REVIEW:

My review of the Enchanted Forest Cross Country Ski Area is a 6.5/10. However, this has nothing to do with the quality of the trails, the pristine beauty of the forest, or the awesomeness of the location. 

For a small building that is serviced easily by snow mobile and is only one of two rentals on site, the yurt was actually a tad under-stocked and uncared for. The under-stocking wasn't too much of a problem since we had all our camping gear in the car, but we were in no way informed of this by the two people who were running HQ that day, so we had to waste time skiing back down to get more stuff even though the website tells a different story of its amenities. 

I was disappointed to find that the mantles on the propane lanterns were all broken with no replacements even at the store (we had to use our own or be stuck in darkness), the wood stove was a bitch to use with no instructions (and we are wood stove users at home), and that the two port-o-potties (that we were asked nicely to use instead of the nature potty) were filled above the brim with poo. For the price ($85/night), I would have expected a bit more upkeep - and a bit more information from the people in the shop, one especially who giggled when we tried to explain we were beginner skiers instead of offering us advice, tried to charge us for an additional day of skiing even though it is included in the rental price, and who didn't offer us the free for use pulk sled until our second time back down though she watched us shakily ski off with overstuffed backpacks the first time. 

But aside from that very unhelpful person, the excitement of sleeping in a yurt under the stars surrounded by the melody of owls and the thrill of skiing in tee shirts is enough to make me go back for more. Plus, I'm a better skier now.

A Week in Black Rock City

Part of what makes Burning Man so indescribable is how customizable it is. It can truly be whatever you want it to be: a time for solitude and self-reflection, a nonstop dance party, an orgy. The philosophy of radical inclusion means that it is literally a place for everyone. We are welcome to do what we like, as long as it causes no harm and leaves no MOOP.

MOOP is Matter Out Of Place, and not leaving any is one of Burning Man's central tenets. Not only does Burning Man require a week in the desert -- everyone brings their our own food, water and booze. We carry out all the trash and anything extra. Rather than fatigue, I felt a sense of pride after. We can survive without the technological trappings of modern society. Not just survive. We can live and live well.

We expected bartering but found only gifting. Food, drinks, art and jewelry were given freely. Hugs too. What a feeling to be given something by someone who expects nothing in return! How often does that happen in the real world?

Despite the 70,000 attendees Burning Man never felt crowded or overwhelming. I felt a connection to my fellow burners, and inspired by whatever circumstances brought us to that wonderful place at the same time. For me, that week in the desert was a fierce celebration of life and a welcome reminder that the drudgery of the everyday is not all there is. In fact, it's not even close.

All these lovely photos were taken by our amazing friend Leah, one of several who came all the way from Boston to burn. 

From Oklahoma to New Mexico

Another milestone we may or may not be celebrating on this blog is Nessa's One Year California Anniversary!!! Last year at almost this exact date, Nessa and I made landfall in Cupertino, California, where she officially traded east coast for west coast.  

So, today I'm posting a retrospective of our whirlwind cross-country road trip to California - my third time moving a friend coast to coast via auto. You may remember the Photo-an-Hour we shared of the all day and through the night journey from Vermont to Tulsa, Oklahoma; some may write it off as delirious ramblings and blurry streaks of light, but other, like-minded midnight ramblers can probably relate all too well.

And after pressing the limits of an all day driving adventure, we finally crossed the Tulsa finish line as the expected overwhelming exhaustion hit us, nearly 26 hours later. Even though we were over the moon to have successfully surprised our friend, Molly, who only knew to anticipate us from the last minute text we sent her from Ohio, we had to immediately crash until further notice. Molly surreptitiously went about her Saturday afternoon while we napped in her bed until we were able to make the groggy leap from blanket-nest to BBQ dinner with friends, a small yet acceptable amount less delirious than before.

 

But we powered through, buoyed by the bonus that consumables in Tulsa are refreshingly cheap, delicious, and seemingly catered specifically to the local twenty- and early thirty-somethings that dominated the downtown atmosphere; it looked like a freaking social networking convention was in town. This is most likely because Tulsa is experiencing a comeback among new businesses in the area famously vacated during the mass exodus of oil industries in 1982, coupled with the harsh detail that nary a school, church, or even grocery store graced the business grid. Inconvenience, ahoy! All these young folk were fresh on the scene in the vigorously renovated and youthful downtown island, including our friend Molly who had moved there for a business opportunity earlier that year.

We spent the night touring the little bars and nightclubs and enjoying the local ephemera: shuffleboard, dirt cheap drinks, BBQ on every corner, billiards, running into acquaintances everywhere, and somewhat less enjoyable - the CRICKET. Ah, the dread cricket: swarming shade on city sidewalks and fields near you, should you happen to be in northeastern Oklahoma. I'll try to forget becoming hopelessly aware that I might be having a "D.A.R.E." moment, slashing at my skin thinking there were bugs crawling all over me until I finally found the offending (and very real) cricket trapped between my tank top and naked back, giving me an official Case of the Willies. 

Tulsa was a refreshing, but short stop on our tour West, because after an epic morning sleep-in + brunch, we were on our way to Somewhere, New Mexico.

Somewhere? Hopefully. We had the panhandle of Texas to cross, straight through Amarillo on the loathsome interstate until, well, we grew tired and had to stop to make camp. We dipped out of Oklahoma on tidy ranch town back roads, watching the sunset and playing Dry or Wet County Roulette on the hunt for tasty local beers and whiskey to whet our future esurient thirsts - wherever those thirsts may be.

So, beneath microbursts we sailed the geometric ribbon of asphalt, dodging smears of lightning clouds with their dumpy wetness obscuring the road polka dotted with the angry, yawning maws of tractor trailers. After several hours of this, we unfortunately reached that part of late night driving with no aim where we arrived at a destination with no discerning services for bedding down. 

Employing various cutting edge atlas-based technologies, we surrendered to the fact that we had much further to go until we were more likely to find a fitting sleeping scenario that  provided safety in concord with our independent natures and was still somewhat on course. 

And that's how we ended up setting up camp at 3:30 AM in Ute Lake State Park, just nigh of Tucumcari in the eastern plains of New Mexico, trying to convince ourselves that we were keeping sustainable road trip hours. 

But the lake showed great strength in its ability to remain harmonious with our desires and we were eventually on our way to coffee the next morning, blissfully unmolested. In Santa Fe, we sampled gourmet olive oil and vinegar and ate at the famously delicious street vendor, Roque's Carnitas, which came and went highly recommended. 10/10 would flirt with Roque for free Jamaica iced tea again.

There is something about New Mexico that pulls me in like a labyrinth, right to the centaur and never letting go. 

From the living rockscape of sunflowers and cholla to the sharp canyons in dry, dusty green, I'm a goner. This nearly proved true as we trekked into the extremely rugged and not for the faint of heart Jemez Mountains. We had ourselves a bitty adventure in the woods there on a goose chase for hot springs nestled in the secret nooks of steep ravines where we we wound up swapping relaxing soaks for some accidentally stumbling upon vintage meth labs and maybe almost dying. 

And that is to be continued...

High Times in the Sierras

We missed you at Burning Man, Zy! I'm still trying to process that lawless week in the desert. When I do, I'll definitely share pics, stories and observations with you.

I feel like we were just at Forecastle. Before that excursion to the South, we had the pleasure of attending our first music festival on the West Coast -- High Sierra in Quincy, CA.

Quincy is supposed to be 4.5 hours from us. Traffic lagged from here to Sacramento, but the minute the highway was behind us I remembered why I came. Festivals mean freedom. And frankly that drive through the mountains was worth the price of admission.

We didn't have cell phone service (always a good sign), but luckily our friends walked right in front of us as soon as we entered the fairgrounds. Festivals are usually serendipitous that way. We camped on Hillside, an apt name for our steep surroundings. Our tent was at an angle and we had to take frequent breaks when walking up late-night. But the gorgeous trees provided shade as well as scenery.

We were able to shower every day -- a festival rarity and a major plus since the temp reached 95 every day. One night we saw Beats Antique on the Vermont Stage (yay!) followed by a late-night Lettuce set. Each morning, the revelers last standing would play a rowdy game of kickball. There was a parade every afternoon. And everyone was so nice!

High Sierra was everything we like in our festivals. Lazy days and silly nights surrounded by friends. A great time and a perfect start to festival season.