Leaving Utah

I am packing. More or less. I am low energy, easily distracted, and faintly curious to see how all my crap is gonna fit in my car. It all got here, after all, and I've mostly gotten rid of things, so there should be no trouble, but I'm not excited to "play Tetris" (as Mark calls it). Mostly, I am surprised by how fast the time has passed. I feel especially strange about the fleeting relationships that have formed and resolved over the last couple weeks, and who knows what essence will remain. I guess Patrick's strange mood rubbed off on me.

I look forward to the drive, to aimless wondering in national parks, and thousands of miles of open road. I have not seen much of America.

We spent our last weekend together at Capitol Reef National Park. The main event was hiking the Upper Muley Twist, a 14 mile partial loop, offering jaw dropping views of the Waterpocket Fold, and the Henry Mountains sitting on the platuea above.

I experienced one of the most frightening moments in my life this weekend - a thunderstorm in a canyon. It was stupid to be there, but there we were. I listened to incessent thunder come upon us from behind, watched lightening strike across from our sandstone bluff. Scrambling down into the wash, a clap of thunder made me jump, and it began to pour. I watched waterfalls stream off sandstone cliffs and saw how quickly the water began to pool and flow. My heart was beating so loud I don't think I would have been able to hear a flash flood, though I was all ears.

Luckily there was none and I feel almost guilty to report how beautiful the whole thing was. Terrifying, but beautiful.

Revenge of the Lesser Digits

Useful for walking, balancing, climbing, grape smashing, and occasionally hitting computer keys from reclined positions, my toes are nonetheless under-appreciated. Until now.

My weekend was ruined in a great feat (no pun intended) of ironic vengeance. I managed to make it through an exhausting and dangerous week over crumbling sandstone, basalt cliff sides, and criss-crossing of rivers with a host of abrasions and bruises, but no serious injuries. Rejoiced at the final pull of our transect line on Friday and trying to lighten tensions from over-worked field techs, I finished my swathe and waded with enthusiasm into the Virgin River...and tripped on a mud-hidden rock....

The fourth toe on the left measures a mere 40mm, and yet the consequences of a bruised tendon were gargantuan. Walking was unbearable. Out was the run I had planned after work. Out were the semi-technical canyons in Zion planned for the weekend. For all I knew, out was my ability to work.

I spent the weekend moping about in an IBprofun, buddy-taped blur, trying to keep myself distracted by lesser industries. My toe is feeling much better, which is good, but I am bitter at the loss of my second to last weekend in Utah. The experience has given me much thought on the appreciation of digits.

On a serious note though, one of the most important subjects that my mind wondered on this weekend is the nature of friendships in the lifestyle I have chosen. Who I talk to when I'm upset, the nature of friendships from a distance, the nature of acquaintanceship with other transitory folk, the very few people one connects with out of the very many people one meets, and the balance between isolation and independence.