The primeval, seasonal movement of animals toward areas able to sustain life is entirely necessary. Moving to warmer climates in the winter months can provide food sources and overall comfort. Us humans have created things to be able to sustain life just about anywhere. Baseboard heating, grocery stores, technical clothing and the automobile. However, there comes a time during the extremely mild winters of southwest Colorado when my skin can’t bear the thought of slipping on yet another layer to distance it from the sun. The amusement park awaits, disconnected from reality, but with the guarantee of sandals. Cibola, Eden, Disneyland, no, Sedona! Barefoot already, I step into my truck and turn on Chris Cohen’s As If Apart album. A river of washed out nostalgia emanates from his voice. He sings like he’s in your living room, performing for only you, allowing an escape into a world inside the world. It’s sounds for rambling, with a beginning and no end. With every hour west from Durango, a new layer of clothing is exchanged or removed. Beanie for hat, sweater to short sleeves, jeans to shorts. For hours you’re left to navigate thoughts, roaming horses and beer cans until the harsh sounds of interstate 40 pierce your skin, reverberating through your veins. The repetitive expanse of ponderosa forest within the San Francisco volcanic field blurs as the road swirls down the canyon, revealing sandstone spires and oak in abundance. Sedona is bustling with all walks of life looking to shed their winter skin. Vermillion tinted cliffs diving into the deep sky offer the eyes an exciting contrast from the gently curving lines of December’s white floor. ——— I gather my life into a forty liter space and pull the strap tight over my pack. Most of my weight is comprised of water and a can of beans. Both are rare finds out in the central Arizona backcountry. I sling a leg over my steel steed and begin bumbling over washboard, potholes and fist sized rocks. The eighteen or so pounds on my back sloshes up, down and side to side, trying to pull me off. Solitude never lasts long near Sedona city limits. Helicopters, planes, jeeps, hot air balloons and every type of mechanized off-road vehicle in existence labor over bruised roads to show visitors the beauty of the area. The (in)famous pink jeep tours stream by, their suspension tuned to reduce spinal compression and chipped teeth, speaker blaring with the voice of the driver spouting facts and entertaining stories, managing to attract more attention than the landscape. An impressive feat, really. Exponential disconnect; drive really far to drive even farther. Fun for the whole family! ——— After compressing my spine in an arguably more enjoyable way, I stash my bike in a nearby juniper and begin my circumnavigation of nothing in particular. Arms brushing against flora and eyes scanning the horizon, a cliff dwelling hides away in the camouflage of sandstone above. Shrubs turn to evergreens and the dry creek bed holds what feels like the entire season of winter down in the deepest part of the canyon. I refuse to put my sweater on. On the climb to the saddle, I add another cut to my never wavering collection. Yucca Baccata makes sure I’m not daydreaming too heavily with a quick piercing of my calf. 5, 4, 3… and we’re done! That wasn’t so bad, huh? A somewhat recent burn has cleared the forest floor of debris. I weave through the trees, aiming towards whatever is most appealing. I find a fenced off spring, pure liquid flowing from the ground. The proximity to a cow pond is a little close to not want to filter. I curse the bovine as my bottle fills and construct a scene in my mind of what the ground may look like without their lackadaisical destruction. ——— While traveling off trail is generally where I feel most competent, there’s a certain comfort that comes with walking remote dirt roads. Perhaps as you stare down the line of crushed gravel, there’s an imaginary boundary on each side, creating false separation from wilderness. Or maybe it’s the feeling of knowing you’re heading towards something, somewhere. You can space out, if you like. The path is hard to miss. My metronome of steps slow as I come to a small dirt pull off and peer down into the canyon where my loop of nothing continues. The trail sees little traffic, as is evident by the small bugs being transported to my clothing from branches and leaves brushing my limbs. It’s a short way to the canyon floor, except this time the bottom is warm. It’s a relatively wide trench, spanning half of a mile across at times. Any remnant of cool air has been sent into oblivion. The trail is a bit like a dashed line; sometimes camouflage with rocks and grass and sometimes sticking out like a beam of light. It’s an unrecognizably downward gradient to my camp. Birds flutter in the bushes and cacti welcome the arrival of a guest with piercing treats at the door. An old rancher’s shack, maintained by the forest service, is where I end the day. Inside, there’s some stock of non perishable food. Rice, dried beans, oatmeal, three year old granola bars, dehydrated milk. Cast iron pots and rodent poop line the fireplace. The water jugs are empty but the log book is not. I sit on the rock steps outside, still warm from the sun’s pounding, and read every entry. Most stories are written about dried pot holes and creeks, each person lamenting the decision to not bring more water. Some handful of months after the last entry, I write my own. Something about wishing I had a beer or two. I sit for a long time, watching the evening glow work it’s way through the desert shrubbery. The color of a fire I wish I had creeps up the pine on the canyon rim. When the last needle leaves the glow, my mind turns inside. The dark comes quick in the winter months and I’m left to think more abstractly about my situation. I play scenes in front of me; friends and family sitting around a fire, fiddling with broken twigs and dirt. I’d hop back into the rancher’s shack, bring out the darkest stout and perfectly sweet/tart lemon meringue pie the imaginary fridge has to offer for my dad and mom. Perhaps I’d even hand churn chocolate ice cream for my sister, because you can do that if you think hard enough. ———— Moving to Colorado after high school brought the opportunity for solitude. I could be alone whenever I chose and with nearly endless options to do so. I dug so deeply within my head that I’d constantly have more questions than answers. Nothing was black and white. A perpetual longing for something, something more than what I could provide myself, though I’m not sure I knew it. ——— As the dark crept in, my vision disappearing and nothing to distract me, the warm steps became a place of division. I’m warm, fed, hydrated (kind of), in the middle of a wilderness, toes in the dirt, and it’s a week day. I wanted nothing more than to leave. Happiness is complex. There’s a saying that some outdoorsfolk and us introverts like to recite. “Alone, but not lonely.” I was alone and lonely. The voice inside screamed painfully loud. You are nothing without love! Perhaps I needed to brush up on my biophilia, perhaps I needed human connection. I closed my eyes to shake the thoughts of things I couldn’t have. ——— The morning brought a gentle, warm feeling. I hiked fast, leaving behind fatigued beliefs. My mind went blank for hours. The sun rolled over the hills and I cracked open my can of beans. Happiness is simple. ——— I’ve been down in the dry river bed since the twilight of early morning, carefully calculating my stride length to ensure efficiency over the boulder choked ground. Mature cottonwoods provide false comfort at every turn. The trees need plentiful water, though there’s hardly a drop of moisture anywhere and I could use a drink. I haven’t seen water since yesterday morning. I decide to climb out onto the bench above me, where drainages run perpendicular to my path. Relying upon potholes to satisfy my parched body isn’t ever the ideal situation, though the next closest person is likely 10+ miles away, when I’ll step out of the wilderness area and onto a forest road. It’d be nice to drink before then. The trail is just trampled enough to allow me to set cruise control and reflect on the things I was feeling the night before. While they aren’t new thoughts, they’re new enough that the way I navigate them continues to constantly change. I recall spacing out at some point, only to be shaken by the throaty laughter of some being, it’s levitating emerald orbs moving down the wash when illuminated by my headlamp. I appreciated the check-in, making sure the covers were tucked in. ——— There’s a feeling in the desert. The feeling of water. Sometimes you can’t hear or see it, but you catch a whiff of something subtle or you feel it on your skin. I turn and head up one of the gravel drainages. Something about this one… Not far up, I find solid rock; slabs with channels carved out by only one thing. I see it. A small puddle about the size of my palm. Up further, under the shade of a large juniper, a six by two foot shimmering pool sits patiently. Luxurious! Clear, lukewarm and not nearly enough bugs to deter me. Bottles and belly full, the walk up and out of the canyon is hot, though I make sure to soak it in. I came here to be hot. The invisible barrier between wilderness and forest road is back. The final sandstone block lets me peer back at the line I walked. I turn around and tiptoe across the wilderness boundary. Still quiet, still empty, still desert. ——— I enjoy easy walking at the end of multi day trips. It allows time for my tired mind to re-awaken to the rush of the civilized world. Sometimes I feel braindead upon returning. Seemingly empty of thoughts to think. With each step, I lower into the obsidian void as the landscape distorts. My ears ring with silence and then it’s back; environmental decibels soar. The sound of my own footsteps begin to annoy me and the screech and roar of OHVs shrivel my body. Let the land consume me! I’m too fragile! I wave as each combustion engine passes, showering me in dust. It feels like the right thing to do, though I sort of disgust myself doing it. They can have their roads (but dammit, stop building them, thanks!) and I’ll keep the dirt, rocks, cacti, spiders, beans, rats, flowers and bees. ——— I left my bike on a hillside, hugging the tough branches of a pinon pine. They got to spend some quality time enjoying the view. Back atop one of our greatest inventions, the wind is comforting as I slowly roll down onto pavement, past the noxious pink jeeps and inappropriately green lawns, a reminder of how thirsty I was just a few hours before. I’ve broken the barrier of re-entry and realize I’ve only eaten my can of beans for the day, so I sit outside the local mexican eatery and order more beans, rice and veggies. My body feels right again, torched by the sun and full from sensory overload. Northeast to the mountains. My sweater is layered with dirt and thorns, but my feet must remain bare. Linger on to the feeling of this place, for it’s fleeting nature will assure the desire to return, to once again know the rapture of its impermanence.
