#306 (mostly)

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome,
dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.

May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.

- Edward Abbey
(from Earth Apples: The Poetry of Edward Abbey)
^^^^^^^^^^

I spent my last evening in Phoenix, sitting at the bar of the Pointe in Tyme Grille drinking a margarita and listening to a group of locals talk about accidents their wives got into with their pick-up trucks, "those Chinese" and "those Mexicans," and the Barrett-Jackson Collector Car Auction. 

The auction, held in neighboring Scottsdale, was on most of the televisions in the bar and seemed to have held the attention of the tourists and the locals alike.  One particular group of locals, a bit overserved at this point, tried to include me in their conversations about the cars being showcased.  It started by me asking if this auction was a "big deal" (I got some blank, "well, duh" stares on that one) and ended with everyone trying to guess the final bid on each vehicle.  The drunkest/friendliest of the group kept over-guessing by about 50-thousand dollars, which immediately brought to mind those people on The Price Is Right who would inexplicably guess the price of a toaster to be ridiculously more than any reasonable person would expect.  Maybe they were drunk, too.

I left after my second margarita, to the dismay of the over-guesser who seemed to have taken a liking to me, as I needed to get up early to take advantage the first sunny day in a week and my last in Phoenix.

Hoping to get caught up in the desert spirit, I brought an Edward Abbey book with me on this trip.  After two rainy days stuck on a mostly unoccupied resort complex, I was ready for the desert.  It was a crisp, cool morning and had a few hours to kill before I needed to head to the airport. 

At the edge of the resort was a gate.  On the other side of the gate (which was locked at dusk "to protect hotel guests" according to a sign"--I imagined packs of coyotes invading the resort after dark and carrying off small tourists) was the North Mountain Preserve, a large area of protected land in metro-Phoenix with several hiking trails. 

I took the Shaw Butte Trail, or #306, as it was listed as moderate to difficult and 4 miles seemed easy enough to finish with enough time to make my flight home.  The trail was nice--not too rugged, not too easy--but it certainly wasn't Abbey's desert.  Every scenic view was of civilization, the endless sprawl that is Phoenix, though there was usually a big cactus in the foreground.  We don't see many of those in Boston.

The trail system in this little park is simple enough, yet somehow I got a little confused at the top of the butte and then ended up going the wrong way on trail #100 at the bottom.  Nevertheless, I eventually found my way back to the hotel with enough time to grab lunch and a beer at the bar by the pool before heading to the airport.     

Self-portrait with cactus and sprawl
(hair made awesome by desert wind and hat)