How a Trip to Buy Towels Led to a Search for the Perfect Route 66 Burger Which Led to Finding a National Monument

Walnut Canyon National Monument

When it comes to my wandering ways, last Friday's journey pretty much epitomizes everything my website is about. I had decided to use my last day of vacation before it renews next month to take last Thursday off from work. This seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to go on my first solo camping trip, since the breakup.

On Thursday morning I left Phoenix with only a general direction in mind: North. When I left I really wasn't sure where I was going to head for the weekend. I was about 50/50 on going to the Sedona area or continuing straight North to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon or maybe even Utah. The final decision was made when I saw the Sedona exit sign. I decided I'd go that way, but if I couldn't find a campsite I'd get back on the road toward the Canyon.

On my way through Sedona, I had my mind set on going to a campground, Jenn and I visited while we were dating. I passed by a few spots but really wanted to check out Cave Springs Campground. Fortunately, even in the gorgeous Oak Creek Canyon area, campsites don't completely book up by Thursday so I was able to find a site. I pitched my tent and headed back toward Sedona to get some gas and enjoy the scenic drive.

By the time I got back to the campgrounds, it had started to rain. This was the start of a miserable first night. I hunkered down in the tent and started reading. This was pretty much how the whole night went. Just me in a tent, alone in the forest reading The Seventh Sense (a book I had chosen because it was chosen by more CEOs as the book they planned to read this summer than any other).

The rain would continue coming down hard throughout the night. Unfortunately, I had to make a trip out to my car to get more stuff I forgot to bring in when I unpacked. Then later in the night nature called and I had to answer because the sound of raindrops coming down hard doesn't help ease the bladder. On both occasions the tent got wet and muddy. When I woke up in the morning there had been a few leaks in the tent roof as well. I love my tent for it's convenience, but it might not be the best for extreme weather.

Not wanting to spend the rest of the weekend in dirty, wet conditions I took the only towel I had and used it to wipe down the tent. Since the campground had showers and I knew there was a chance I would be staying until Sunday, I decided I better head to town to buy another towel. Instead of going to Sedona, I decided to take the scenic route to Flagstaff because they have a Target.

The drive through Oak Canyon is such a beautiful one, I would make it several more times that weekend. Each time it didn't fail to amaze me. The twisty, winding, uphill road offers some breathtaking views. The Oak Creek Viewpoint was a place I could have stayed to stare out over the canyon for days at a time.

Oak Creek Canyon Scenic Overlook

Then I bought towels at Target. There isn't much to say here other than it was insanely busy because Northern Arizona University was having their move-in weekend. That is an incredibly boring part of the story and not at all related to the purpose of this site, but it was the catalyst for the rest of the adventure. As I was headed back toward the road to Sedona, I remembered seeing a sign that said "Historic Route 66" on the way into town. As someone who is embarrassed to admit I've never read anything by Kerouac but knows there are important ties to Route 66 in his work, I couldn't resist.

My goal for my trip down Route 66 was to search for the perfect bit of Americana. I wanted to find a greasy burger from a Route 66 diner. I passed quite a few on my way through Flagstaff, but what I really wanted was something on the outskirts or in a near ghost town. And what the hell, if it could be served to me by a carhop on roller skates that would have just made it all the better in my world. 

Sadly, I would never get my burger. As it turns out Route 66 as it once existed is more of an abstract concept than an actual road. After you get outside of Flag the old Route 66 has pretty much been replaced by newer highways. Fortunately, after missing a few turns and thinking I had found my way back onto it, I somehow ended up at Walnut Canyon National Monument. I can honestly say I don't remember this coming up on any of the map searches I had done in search of new monuments to visit in the area. But somehow there it was at the end of what may or may not have been Route 66 at that point.

Walnut Canyon was another beautiful area, but then again I've yet to see a "canyon" I haven't loved to stare into. Every part of me wanted to walk down into the canyon to see the ancient dwellings it contained, but my ankle proved within the first few steps that it was not ready to cooperate with my heart. Rather than risking re-injury, I confined myself to the rim of the canyon. This turned out to be a great decision because as I was walking the trail around the rim, a massive storm hit the area. Considering I basically had to sprint back to my car to avoid getting completely drenched, I'm really glad I didn't find myself in the bottom of the canyon trying to deal with it. 

What I love about this is that I now have a reason to go back very soon. My ankle is getting to the point where it can handle stairs, so Walnut Canyon is now on the top of my to-do list when I can get there again. I even held off on buying the poster I want to frame from the gift shop to provide a little extra incentive. 

This type of day is what I love about the "Wherever the road takes us" style that my Guest blogger, Chassidy, wrote about so humorously. More often than not, it seems the road takes me someplace amazing.  Sure there is the occasional flop, like my trip to Patagonia that I abandoned mid-trip to go to Florence, AZ instead. I didn't get enough material from that to write a story, but I did find out where UofA got their "Bear Down" slogan from. That's the beauty of this travel/lifestyle of wandering I've been preaching about for the past 4 months.

Guest Wanderer: Travel Strategy A Wanderer Can Appreciate by Chassidy Hall

Foreword

Chassidy is one of the first people I spoke with about guest blogging for my site. During my time working with her we have had several discussions about our preferred travel style. When she told me that KOA's were like paradise to her on her vacations growing up, I knew she could relate to the "whichever way the wind blows" philosophy. 

She has been working on getting this article to me for months now. I think it's alright to forgive the lateness given that she is a mother of two, taking courses for digital marketing, and working some extremely late nights as my boss. I can completely relate to how her mother planned the last day of the trip and also how her husband reacted. 

~Randy

Travel Strategy A Wanderer Can Appreciate by Chassidy Hall

Traveling is such a unique experience, and throughout a lifetime a person can encounter numerous types of travel.  From our early years we remember family road trips, summer vacations to the beach, school field trips and some of even had the pleasure of going across the big pond at a very young age.  One of the most unique aspects of traveling is how much it can change from different times in your life. As we venture into adulthood, and start making our own money we can start to enjoy more frivolous traveling adventures. At least this was my experience as I entered into adulthood.  I started making some money and as I got a little older I realized where I could go with that, and started venturing across the globe in my “single” twenties.

This all came to a screeching halt, I was lucky enough to meet my husband, but once we met we progressed very quick, engagement, pregnant “yikes”, married and a baby in 395 days.  We were happy, in love and starting a family, getting to know each other, and how we fit into our new world together.  The majority of our relationship was about bridal showers, receptions, baby showers, buying a house, what to expect.  After the little guy entered our world, there was a whole new learning curve. It was tough, but once we got the hang of it, we were on cloud nine.  Two months before the baby’s first birthday we were given the opportunity to a free trip to San Diego from my mom. We were ecstatic! The catch was, she was going to come too.  Nothing beats a trip to San Diego, with your mom, husband and your baby.  We were so excited! I didn't even stop to think about the family dynamic we were allowing into this five hour trip to California.

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My mom and my husband are not two peas in a pod. At this point they had only known each other for a year and a half, so I understood that they weren't best buds or anything.  A few days in and we were having an okay time, but in those few days we had to adjust to everyone’s “style” of vacation. We were mad that we had to stay so far away from downtown San Diego. My mom did this to save money, which pissed my husband off because he already thinks she is cheap.  My mom was mad because as new parents we insisted on coming back to the hotel everyday so the baby could take a nap. When my mom was a new mom she would have just made us nap in the stroller.  At this point, I think everyone was ready for this great free trip to be over.  

Our last day there, my mom, being the free spirited type of traveler was yearning for an adventure. However, my husband wanted a plan and to execute a plan.  My husband was driving us into the city and he kindly said “Where to ladies? What would you like to do today?” trying so hard to be friendly and upbeat and trying to make sure we had a good day. My mom simply replied with “Wherever the road takes us”.  I immediately looked at my husband and saw his skin turn a little red! I was praying in my mind “please don’t let him say what I think he is going to say”. Then it happened! My husband turned around and looked at my mom and said, “Kelly the road is going to take us into the f***ing ocean. Tell me where you want to go!”  My heart hit the floor, I thought WWIII was about to take place in my car! Thankfully, I saw a beach! We pulled off the main road and enjoyed a great “last” day of our free fun family vacation.

Coming Full Circle: Why I Want to do Another Ragnar

In April 2010, I experienced what I thought, at the time, was the worst heartbreak I would ever experience. My first "serious" relationship since high school had disintegrated in what seemed like the blink of an eye. I was lost and confused and really didn't understand how it had happened. One moment things were fine, the next I was hiding in the copy room at work because she had come to my building for training. 

Over the next few months, I would experience my first end of relationship spiral. There were days I would be so depressed I could barely eat and nights when I found myself at a bar trying to forget. I made a lot of mistakes during that time. I hadn't quite developed the type of coping skills I needed to deal with it because it was all new to me. Yes, at 26 years old I had never experienced the heartbreak of being dumped in my life. To put it simply: it sucked!

Sometime over the course of that summer, I received an IM from a woman who I had been in a training class with months before. In the training we had learned that we both loved to run and a friendship had developed around our mutual interest. She asked if I wanted to join the Ragnar Relay team she was on for the Las Vegas event. At the time, I knew nothing about Ragnar, but I was in a mood where I knew I wanted to try something new so I said yes. It was a choice I will never regret. 

I started doing my research and found out that Ragnar is a relay where teams of 12 (or 6) alternate legs to cover an area of about 200 miles over the course of 2 days. I had been given the 12th spot (aka anchor legs) for the team. My legs were listed as moderate, difficult, moderate. Even though I was in fairly good shape at the time, I considered myself a moderate, at best, runner. Seeing that one of my legs was a 7.1 mile, 1000 foot incline on a desert trail, I was a little terrified.  

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Having a Ragnar to get ready for diverted my attention from the non-healthy ways of coping. I was able to focus on the goal of getting prepared while channeling my stress and frustration in a positive way. My nightly runs replaced the nights at the bar and I had to eat to keep myself fueled for them. Add to that there were the meetings with the team and talking with the friend who invited me to further keep my mind off of negative things. 

As for the actual relay, the experience was amazing! Things started out by meeting the two team members who had flown in from Montana and immediately giving one of them the nickname "T-Had" while we were painting the race vans. There were so many memorable moments:

• joking in the van.
• trying to sleep at some outdoor pavilion that I don't remember the name of.
• trying to sleep in the middle of the desert.
• not getting more than 20 minutes of sleep the whole time. 
• picking cactus spikes off of one of the other team member's butt before realizing how awkward it was and having a female do it instead.
• laying out under the stars waiting for runners to finish their legs.
• the crazy costumes (more men in tutus than most Halloween parties)
• the hilarious van decorations (use of a blowup doll is pretty much guaranteed)
• and of course, the running.

Out of all of these great moments, one stands out more than any: The "difficult" leg. My first leg was moderate. It was a little under 5 miles with only a little bit of uphill. I was still feeling really good after. Things were off to a pretty decent start. As the 2nd leg started to roll around, sleep deprivation was beginning to kick in and it was getting pretty chilly. I started the leg around 2:00 AM. I missed the handoff from the person who was before me by a few minutes. I cannot remember if it was because I was going to the bathroom or changing into warmer clothes. It was an auspicious start to say the least.

Leg 24 started easy and that lasted for about 1/2 a mile, when we veered off the fairly well maintained trail and onto a dried creek bed. This is where the majority of the leg would take place, in the middle of the desert, on a dried creek bed, ridiculously early in the morning. For the first couple miles I have to admit I was a little nervous. I could hear the coyotes howling off in the distance. The moon didn't light the path very well and my headlamp would only cover the few feet in front of me. Basically, outside of a 5' x 5' area, I had no clue what was going on around me.

Around mile 3, the fear started to fade away. I distinctly remember the song Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons coming on over my iPod and for some reason it struck a cord with me. I really have never taken the time to analyze the song. However, in that moment, I took it as: "You've been weak, but you are as tough as lion and nothing life throws at you can take you down." My pace quickened.

Despite speeding up my pace, a crowd of runners was starting to form behind me. I tried to move off to the side but no one wanted to pass. I guess no one else wanted to lead the way on the dark dangerous path. I was happy to be leader of the pack. When it comes to running I doubt I'll ever get that opportunity again. I was leading a pack of runners, under a full moon, through an empty desert with nothing but the sounds of howling coyotes off in the distance. How cool is that?!

As we wound our way to the end of the creek bed portion, I felt a sense of pride that I was able to lead without fear of what was ahead (metaphor intended). The second we got out of the creek bed, every person behind me passed and I was more than happy to let them. I took a moment to walk for the first and only time during any leg. Sure, I was tired. But for the most part I just wanted to take a moment to reflect on what an amazing experience it had been. I'm not ashamed to admit that I fought back a few tears, unsuccessfully of course, as I thought about everything that had taken place since April. In that moment, though, I knew everything would be alright.

Here we are in 2016, and I've just gone through another devastating breakup. This time around I think I'm doing a much better job of not going into a full-blown spiral, but it is still tough. That's why a few days ago, when I saw a post on my Facebook feed about a friend who doing Vegas this year. I immediately got on the page and posted that I was looking for a team. I was so excited at just the thought of doing it again, that I started responding when someone asked me to join their team. Sadly, I had been a little overzealous completely forgetting that I had sprained my ankle only about 10 days before. With the event only a little over 2 months away and a possible 8 week recovery time, the math didn't quite add up. I had to decline.

Even though I declined that team, I'll admit that I'm secretly hoping for a miracle that heals this ankle quick so I can start training. Then if only I can get a second miracle and a team still needs an extra runner, maybe things can still pan out. Even if they don't, I've got my heart set on doing Ragnar Del Sol in March. Events like Ragnar are not about the competition, unless you are on one of the few teams that is shooting to win it all. It is a community experience like no other. Whatever you have going on in the real world gets to fade away completely for two days. For me, spending two sleepless days cramped in a van with people I barely knew was the best thing that could have happened. 

Guest Wanderer: Harney Peak Hike by Kevin Teigen

Foreword:

I have to say I envy Kevin for getting to hike the Black Hills when he did. As it turns out I had been in the area for my Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse Monument stops on our road trip. Unfortunately, we only had enough time to see the sites and hit the road again so we could get to Utah before the end of the day. 

I particularly love his encounter with the older man he talks about. I recognize that feeling at age 32 compared to age 10 when I did some of the major camping trips in my life. With age comes a greater appreciation for any chance to marvel in the beauty of nature. Stories like this are what lead me to create this blog! It doesn't matter if you're a triathlete or a self-described "indoorsy" manager at an accounting firm, nature is there for us all to enjoy. - Randy

Harney Peak Hike by Kevin Teigen

Ask anybody who knows me—I’m not an adventurer. Growing up, I was the scrawny kid with glasses and acne walking the halls of my small high school. Now, years later, the acne is gone but I’m still not exactly the bad boy of the accounting firm at which I work. Because of this, I’m sure my wife’s uncle and cousin were surprised when, during a family reunion in the Black Hills of South Dakota, I asked if I could join them on a hike up Harney Peak.

So why would a fairly “indoorsy” guy like me make an opportunity like that? There were several reasons, like that after a few days on the road, I was ready to stretch my legs. But mostly, it came down to this: it’s the highest elevation in the state, it was there, and so was I.

The hike was a spur-of-the-moment trip. Plans were in flux when we all awoke, and by the time we started down the trail, it was 10 a.m. This brings me to my first lesson: when hiking in the summer, start early. Even though I finished at 1 pm, the temperature was already well on its way to the 92 degree high for the day. On the bright side, my lack of preparation (in true Rogue Wanderer style) prevented me from over-packing. A lot of folks on the trail carried backpacks filled to the brim with who-knows-what; a granola bar and 24 ounces of water sustained me quite comfortably on the trip.

This being my first hike, I wasn’t really sure what to expect. My companions, however, had climbed Camelback in Phoenix so I trusted that they would tell me anything I needed to know. Unfortunately, my wife’s adventuresome 13-year-old cousin was under the weather that morning, a factor that wasn’t helped by either the heat or a touch of motion sickness that came courtesy of the winding, hilly, Sylvan Lake Road. As a result, she and her dad had to call it quits about halfway down the trail.

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Because they were gracious enough to let me go on without them, I resolved to finish the trek quickly so they wouldn’t have to wait too long. (I mentioned earlier that I finished in three hours. The trail signs said to plan for five to six.) I charged up the switchbacks as quickly as I reasonably could. It wasn’t easy. One slope featured a sandy path interspersed with flecks of something that reminded me of the metal shavings that accumulated by the grinder on my dad’s workbench. They glistened in the sun; that side of the mountain was void of any meaningful shade. As the glimmering minerals reflected light upward, the sun beat downward, and my leg muscles started to burn from trotting my dad bod up the hill, I wondered if I was foolish for having such exuberance. Although there was little shade, the Black Hills are full plants, ranging from scrubby bushes to Ponderosa Pine trees, growing from the side of sheer granite cliffs. I reassured myself that if they can thrive in those conditions, I could make it up the trail.

As I approached the top, room for switchbacks became increasingly scarce. The trail became a narrow slate stairway and steel walkways made overpasses where the trail had to spiral above itself. There is a stone structure at the summit, a former weather observatory constructed by the Civilian Conservation Corps. The portico of that structure gave me ample opportunity to take some pictures with my phone (and lament that my wife had our good camera with her!). It also gave me an excellent opportunity to do some people watching.

Some were posing for pictures, flexing muscles and reveling in their recent accomplishment. Others were sitting or lying down, massaging sore legs, but also reveling in their recent accomplishment. There was a group lost in prayer; I gathered that they were a Christian youth group who did nature adventures of this sort as a way of connecting with God. Most, though, were doing some additional exploring. There were some accessible areas which allowed them to climb out on rocks and get the feeling that they were really seeing something new. I did a little exploring of my own, but started my descent after only about 20 minutes. As I departed from the peak, I met a man I had passed on my way up.

“Leaving already?” he asked.

“Yeah, I have family waiting at the lake. The breeze is pretty good up here, though. I cooled off pretty quickly.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Give it another 32 years and you’ll understand why I’m not in a hurry.” With that, we each went our own way.

I’m sure I will understand how he felt by the time I hit 60. Heck, even at 32, I’m starting to realize some of the changes with age, although my peak of physical ability was never particularly impressive. A doctor examined my knees and back and advised me at age 16 to study hard and get a desk job. I took up running in 2012. I participated in a couple 5k races and capped off the summer with my third knee surgery. After that, I was advised (by a different orthopedic surgeon) that my running days were over and that biking and swimming were much better options for my poor joints.

A few moments later in my descent from Harney Peak, I came across a young family. The parents looked like they were in their upper 20s or lower 30s. Their young daughter was with them. I didn’t notice any Baby Bjorns or other kid carriers. It appeared that little girl had done the hike herself.

These encounters were significant to me because it showed that anybody can do an adventure like this: a self-described old man, a young girl, a thirty-something with bad knees and a “dad bod”. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still proud that I made it to the top. Harney Peak is the highest point between the Rocky Mountains of the western US to the Pyrenees Mountains of Spain, France, and Andorra.

The real lesson, though, was that there is no pre-requisite to doing an adventure like this. Sure, some folks don’t make it to the top. And even though I chose to go for speed in this circumstance, there’s no shame in going slowly if that’s what it takes to get to the top (or if you just want to have more time to draw in the scenery). In the end, I know I wasn’t perfectly prepared for the hike but I’m still glad I did it. 

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Just When I Thought My Faith in Humanity Couldn't Get Any Lower...It Didn't

To say the last month of my life has been tumultuous is a bit of an understatement. One month ago today I was celebrating the 4th of July taking pictures like the one above in San Francisco. I was there with the person I thought I loved more than anyone in the world. In the middle of the longest relationship of my life (10 1/2 months, don't applaud me on that). We were on day 4 of what was the biggest trip of both our lives. We had already been to the Grand Canyon and Yosemite and would be headed to Redwoods next. For the first time in my life I thought I had it all together and everything was right with the world.

This morning, one month later, I sat atop Camelback Mountain in Phoenix, alone. The relationship deteriorated the first day we were back from the trip. The "pressure" from the real world caused her to break a promise I had told her before would end things between us. The back and forth over the last few weeks has been mentally fatiguing. And let's not forget the generally horrific current events coverage lately and the most disgusting election cycle I've ever had the displeasure of watching. Throw in hearing these two comments on my way up the mountain:

"It's like my father always said: 'Earning your first million is tough, but wait until you try to turn it into five'."

And even more annoying for reasons I can't quite put my finger on:

"My bro over at Goldman took a new job with (don't remember the name). He's making bank."

All of this had rocked my overall faith in humanity.

I sat on top of the mountain for about a half hour, staring down at the city below wondering how did my life come to this. There wasn't the usual excitement I felt when I get to the top of one of the toughest trails in the area. There wasn't a relief and an exhale and pure happiness to be done with that part of the challenge. I sat quietly staring down and mentally repeating the phrase, "How did it get to this?" How did I go from happy and in love to alone on top of a mountain and single? Why do people just generally suck?

Sadly, there were no satisfactory answers to any of those questions today. I started back down the mountain, a trip I've made many times before. After only about 100 yards down, I tried to take a sideways step down when my ankle gave out from under me and I tumbled down. Thankfully, I didn't damage any other part of my body than the ankle. But I knew I heard a pop and I couldn't put my weight on it. For those who do not know, I'm not exactly a little guy (hence my currently ignored weight loss blog).

I was amazed at how the activity on the mountain just came to a complete stop. I looked around at at least a dozen hikers who had all paused their hikes just to see if someone they didn't know and had no reason to care about was alright. Even when I stood up and began to start trying to move again, they stayed and kept watch. This alone would have been enough to help restore a little faith, but then a group of hikers did something so kind I will remember it forever. One of the men took the ankle brace that he had been wearing off and told me to put up my foot. This man took the time to wrap the brace around the sweaty sock of a stranger he had never met in his life and will probably never meet again. While he did that the other man with him begin to say a prayer for me to get back down the mountain safely. I'm not a religious man, but this gesture was so moving to me. It reminded me there are so many people out there who care about others even when there is no benefit in doing so.

As I made my way down the mountain, the pain was excruciating. I hobbled and butt-slid and grabbed every fence or railing I could. Along the way so many people stopped to check on me to make sure I was okay. They didn't push past or get mad when I would hold them up on sections by moving at a snail's pace. Even though I was alone I had so much support.

The attitude of people in the hiking/nature loving community is something I've really only seen replicated in one other shared interested group: runners. When I used to do organized runs or morning or evening exercise runs, you rarely see an angry person. There is usually a smile and a hello when two runners pass each other. You will not find a place full of happier people than the finish line or after party area of any organized run. There is such an amazing feeling of positivity in these crowds you can't help but be happy. The same can be said for hikers and nature lovers. I've never visited a monument or hiked a national park without getting many happy hellos or good mornings, most accompanied with a big smile.

This is not something you find in many other walks of life these days. As an example, I watched the Democratic National Convention and the Republican National Convention on Facebook live feeds. I was disgusted by the comments that flowed in on both. The walls of these forums were filled with some of the most hateful and vile things I could imagine from people attacking the opposing party. Let's just say it did not make me proud to be an American, or honestly a human, when I saw what things are coming to in the name of political discourse. This is being replicated in all kinds of other areas. Check out sports message boards, opinion pages, or gossip sites. The trolls have been given a medium for their voice and they are using it.

Contrast that with what I see in the nature related Facebook groups I have joined. Everything I have posted has been met with positive feedback. No one attacks my writing skills or criticizes me for failing to proofread (which does happen often). Trolling and nature loving seem to be mutually exclusive lifestyle choices. I think this is what I saw play out in the physical world today. It could not have come at a more needed time.

Thank you, Good Samaritans.

August Book of the Month: Born to Run

No, Born to Run is not a Bruce Springsteen biography. It is one an amazing story, or rather collection of intertwined stories, about the world of ultra endurance running. Already an all-time favorite of mine, I was surprised to find out that an English teacher friend of mine who I had recommended it to considers it a favorite as well.

McDougall introduces an eccentric cast of characters including: ultramarathon champions, barefoot runners, a Mexican tribe passing down a tradition of endurance running, an African tribe with a tradition of endurance hunting, and the mysterious Caballo Blanco. Despite a somewhat disjointed feel at times, all of the stories are woven together nicely to fit the overall theme of the book: Humans were born to run.

After reading the book, it's tempting to want to get into the world of ultras. For me, I realized that 26.2 miles was about two times more than enough and decided I'll top out at 13.1 from now on. But you have to respect the joy these people get out of just running as far as their bodies can take them. It's such an inspiring thought that even though I just started another book last week, a reread of Born to Run is my goal before the end of the month.