There's No Place Like CoMo
Nina and I pulled into the driveway at 4:30 p.m. Friday. The journey is officially over.

This has been one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I know it will take some time for me to see this trip with some perspective -- to see how it affected me. But even without the clarity that distance provides, I am sure that I have gained much from this.

I'm struggling for a way to sum it up in a few paragraphs. The multitude of experiences, the variety of emotions, the highs and lows -- where do I start?

The stress of the ride out west: Being nervous about my first big ride, then immediately facing 60 mph wind gusts. Spending money on motels needlessly based on sketchy weather reports.
The experiences with my family: From the highs of enjoying their company -- sharing s'mores and laughter, to the pain of leaving family members behind on the trail, to the relief of being together to honor my brother.
Two weeks touring on my own: The joy of pursuing a goal (and having some success at it). The pride in accomplishing something under trying circumstances. The sadness of not being able to share the good times with friends and loved ones. The depression of being alone during the difficult times.

I can't scratch the surface (and yet I keep trying).

Despite the lows, I feel very lucky to have had this experience. Even when I was down, I was thinking of the positive ways that this experience is affecting me. The cathartic moment I had while sitting in the creek is sort of a microcosm of the entire trip: Something difficult that I was able to come through and learn from. A reminder to take my time, to not take things for granted, to enjoy the moment.

Thank you again to everyone who helped me out on this journey: My family for love, support, hotel rooms, food and cash. My friends for love, support, and hiking/camping/riding gear. The parks peops and the KOA folks, the random birders who pointed me in the right direction, the bikers who waved, the guy who bent Nina's foot peg back. And of course, to my Sweetie, for being everything I need.

The Totals
Distance
Total miles riden = 3812
Total days of riding = 17
Average miles riden per day = 224.24
Most miles in one day = 401

Fuel
Total gallons of gas used = 101.426
Average miles per gallon = 37.584
Total paid for gas = $279.75
Average price per gallon = $2.76
Highest price per gallon = $3.10 (Gainsville, TX)

Birds
Total species seen = 115
Total “lifers” seen = 52
Rarest bird seen = Arizona Woodpecker or Crested Caracara
Bird I wish I'd seen = Mountain Bluebird

Weights
Me w/clothes, leathers, boots = 210 lbs.
Alpaca bag = 40 lbs.
Sissybar bag = 30 lbs.
Laptop, rollbag = 20 lbs.
Tankbag, helmet, misc accessories = 10 lbs.
Sub Total = 310 lbs.
Nina w/gas = 628 lbs.
Total weight = 938 lbs.

Streams vs. Nina and Walter
Final Score: Streams 1 - Nina and Walter 4

Misc. Bests and Worsts
Most Useless Item Packed = Sibley's Guide to Eastern Birds
Scariests Moment = riding through Madera Canyon at night
Best View = Riding into Coronado National Forest
Biggest Disappointment = Fake gunfight in Tombstone

A Day Away
Today’s travels took us from Marietta, OK, through the northwest corner of Arkansas to Joplin, MO.

I stopped briefly at Tishomingo National Wildlife Refuge in Tishomingo, OK. I saw 27 species in just over an hour. No new lifers. This makes the first day since April 4 that I didn’t add a bird to my life list. I’m guessing this marks the end of my birding exploits, as I have no plans for any stops tomorrow.

My only goal for tomorrow is to get home. My hands are tired, my ass is tired... my whole body is tired. I’ve been drinking caffeine for the last couple of days, something I normally avoid. This has been an amazing trip, but I am ready for home.

Barring any mishaps, I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. This gives me the weekend to recuperate from my trip. I have a feeling I’m going to need every second of it. I could have spent two more days in the mountains of Arizona - and probably picked up a dozen more lifers - but I’m glad I made the decision to work my way home.

”This vacation has been accident free for: 004 days.”

Things I Don’t Like About Texas
The heat. I discussed this yesterday. I don’t like it this hot. Warm is nice, hot is not. Moving on.

#2. Every town I have been in has smelled, at least mildly, of oil. Did I mention this yesterday also. I think all the fumes have gone to my head. Moving on again.

#3. The grass has thorny things in it. It isn’t nice and soft like Pennsylvania grass.

#4. Despite the massive amounts of oil everywhere, the gas here is more expensive than anywhere else I’ve been. What’s up with that? They pump it out of the ground here. They refine it here. They store it here. There aren’t any bad winters to drive up heating oil prices. So why in the hell is the good stuff $3.09 per gallon? (The cheap stuff is $2.89.)

OK, Austin is cool. The birds are cool. I enjoyed the chicken sandwich at Whattaburger. And it’s the home of “Walker, Texas Ranger.” Those are all the concessions I’ll make.

Oh yeah, I picked up one lifer today (#50, I believe). As the birding flags, I’m eager to make some good time and get back to CoMo before the weekend. I need to recover from my vacation!

”This vacation has been accident free for: 003 days.”

Deep in the Heat of Texas
Yes, I left out the "r" on purpose. It was hot today.

I traveled from Carlsbad, NM, to Abilene, TX -- about 318 miles. I spent the morning on smaller roads. Not much to speak of, realy.

I took a break in the afternoon to bird Comanche Trail Park in Big Spring, TX. I was able to pick up a few (three) of those southern species.

As I suspected, the western birds are in my rear-view mirror, figuratively speaking. Swainson's Hawk, take care of yourself. Black-throated Sparrow, adieu. Bewick's Wren, until we meet again. Curve-billed Thrasher, we'll always have Silver City.

I was happy and relieved to see Robins and Cardinals in Texas. For me they were harbingers of home.

After my visit to Comanche Trail, I strapped the leathers back on and hit the highway toward Abilene. It was awful warm to be wearing black leather from head to toe. It was warm, but reasonable on the highway. But the instant we slowed down it got nasty. Seriously. Halfway down the off ramp I was itching to get my gloves off.

I was very tempted to ride without the leathers, especially seeing other bikers in much less. But I promised Sweetie that I would try to come back in one piece, so the leathers will stay on -- on the highways at least. I stripped down to jeans and a t-shirt while riding through the park today. (I was going 10 miles an hour, so I felt pretty safe.)

Tomorrow I have one park in mind, then a long ride to Oklahoma.

"This vacation has been accident free for: 002 days."

A Day for Travelingor Leaving Silver City... Again
I like the optional headline -- Rocky and Bullwinkle style.

The nearest Yamaha dealer was an hour from Silver City, so we aimed southeast and hit the throttle. I tried leaving Silver City yesterday, but after I laid Nina down in the creek, I figured we best not travel any more for the day. (See yesterday’s post for all the 411.)

Silver Springs was really nice, and the KOA peops were friendly and bird-savvy. The Gila National Forest surrounds Silver Springs, so it’s a shame that I spent little time birding the area despite staying there for two nights.

Alright, let’s live in the now.

Dude at the bike shop totally hooked me up. He bent the foot peg back as far as he dared. It’s not perfect, but he didn’t want to break the peg off by bending it back any farther. It feels completely comfortable, and it should be fine for the ride back to CoMo.

With 301 miles to Carlsbad KOA and a few hours killed taking care of Nina, I didn’t do any active birding. I picked up two lifers anyway.

On my way over a 9,000-ft. mountain near Mayhill, NM, I saw two Steller’s Jays. They are pretty distinct looking, and I knew what they were immediately, but I pulled off the road and got a good look with the specs just for good measure.

Once I reached the campground I identified a Common Poor-will. It flew up in front of me as I walked to my tent. It was fairly dark, but the bird flew right past some street lights. I knew right away that it was a member of the goat-sucker family. As soon as I hit the tent I grabbed by field guide and found it.

Tomorrow I’ll be back in Texas -- farther south than I was on the way out west. There are still some “southern” species I might be able to find there. I’m afraid I’ve seen the last of the “western” species I’m going to see on this trip.

On a personal note: At this point I’m starting to tire. I find myself thinking more and more about being at home, snuggling with Sweetie and the kittens. Sleeping in my own bed. Eating something other than Subway’s turkey and ham on white.

My body, which had been holding up nicely for a man of my age, is starting to grow a bit weary. My arms and shoulders were aching for the last few hours of my ride today. I assume that’s a result of trying twice, and then actually lifting my bike. Also, my arse was a little sore at the end of the day. With plenty of riding in my immediate future, I’m afraid these aches are just going to get worse every afternoon until I’m home.

Right now these aches seem fairly minor -- a small price to pay for an amazing experience. I’m just nervous that these “minor” aches could turn into some miserable riding if they keep getting worse.

”This vacation has been accident free for: 001 days.”

A Refreshing Dip
Alright, it was more of a “fall” than a “dip.” And it wasn’t so much refreshing either. Honestly that headline is completely wrong. Let’s start over.


Nina and I Fell in a Creekor Zen and the Art of Picking up a Bike
We’re both fine, nobody panic. Here’s the whole story:

As part of this journey, Nina and I have been on some pretty nasty back roads. Some of these back roads have included streams. Some of you might remember my mentioning the first of these stream crossings a few days ago. Since then Nina and I have crossed a few streams, all without much ado. The basic plan is: 1) Stop just before the stream to decide on the best route -- the shallowest, least rocky path. 2) Try to pick a straight line so that minimal steering is needed. 3) Get to a nice easy constant speed of 5-10 mph. 4) Close your eyes and go. (Just kidding about the last one.)

So, I’m in Silver City, NM, and the woman at the KOA directs me to this bird-specific nature preserve where I can likely find Common Black-Hawk. On the way there, I make another stop at a marshy area the KOA also suggested. I picked up the Ladder-backed Woodpecker, and I was feeling pretty good about prospects for the day.

I get to the dirt road that leads to the preserve and find yet another stream crossing. This one is different from the others I’ve forded in that it is not just a rocky stream bed that happens to intersect the road. Instead, there is a man-made concrete culvert going across the road to allow the water to cross without washing away the dirt road.

We stopped about 20 feet away. I noticed that the depth and speed of the water looked pretty constant across both lanes of the road, so I figured it would be best to just stick to the middle. I pop Nina one down, and head for the center at a nice easy 5 mph. As soon as I’m in the water I feel Nina sliding and notice that the cement we are on is covered with slimy algae. As Nina looses her footing I tried to help with one of my own. No help. When my kick hit the slimy cement I knew immediately I was not going to be able to support my own weight, let alone mine, Nina’s and 100 lbs. of gear.

What happened next happened in slow motion -- so read slowly.

I realize within moments that Nina and I are going down and I can’t stop it. Nina’s back tire, freed from the friction of the road surface, is now spinning wildly on the slime. As her body leans back towards me, she jack-knifes out to the right side. I’m still holding on to her, but gravity has already won this battle, so down we go.

Nina ends up on her side. I end up sitting beside her with my left leg still under her. Nina is a gentle thing, and is careful not to crush me. I slide my leg out and stand up to find that we both seem to be in good shape. I’m wet from the ass down, but otherwise unharmed. Nina is balancing on her left handlebar, foot peg, saddlebag and the frame just above her back tire. All the gear is still firmly in place -- and perfectly dry.

Before assessing Nina’s injuries, I immediate try to pick her up. Cars coming from one direction will not be able to see her. I try to lift her up and I can’t. When I try to lift, she slides away from me on the slime as I slide back towards the middle of the creek. I quickly unload the gear so I can try again without the extra 100 lbs. (Nina’s already packing quite the load at 628 lbs.)

Now I’m able to lift her enough so that just her wheels are on the slime. I slide her towards the edge of the creek until her tires catch on the solid ground. This gives me the leverage I need to prop her back up. (That's "rubber side down" for those of you keeping track at home.)

The rest of the story is less important. To sum up, Nina is fine -- just a slightly bent left foot peg and a shifter, which should be fairly easy to replace. The hard bags I just bought seemed to hold up well, although the new paint job will need to be touched up. The bike itself is in great shape. Not a scratch on the paint or the chrome. (Truly an incredible machine -- drop it on the ground, pick it up, keep on riding.)

So I’m spending another night in Silver City. It’s Sunday, so tomorrow I’ll take it to a nearby shop and make sure we’re cleared for travel.

I never made it to the wildlife preserve. The ironic thing is, I saw a Common Black-Hawk, the bird I was crossing the stream for, on my way into the campground tonight.

And now, your moment of Zen
Immediately after the crisis was over, I was oddly calm. Yes, I couldn’t believe how careless I was in taking the stream for granted. But I was surprised that I wasn’t more upset.

I was thinking of my brother Ojo’s theory of “Use it AND Lose it”. Simply, something only remains perfect if you don’t use it. Something you want to use and gain enjoyment from is going to eventually break.

I was also thinking of a show called “The Long Way ‘Round.” Ewan McGregor and a buddy rode bikes around the world. They were on a lot of crappy dirt roads. They fell a lot. They just picked up the bikes and kept riding, kept experiencing.

I thought to myself This is part of the adventure. This is part of the process. This is part of my life. This is going to make me the man I’m going to become. Just like everything that has happened to me before has made me the man I am now: growing up, losing a brother, birding, being married, losing a friend, moving to Columbia, getting divorced, buying a house on my own, falling in love again.

Just pick up the bike and keep riding.

30 is Down for the CountThis post is rated PG-13 for language and violent content.
I kicked 30's ass -- Chuck Norris-style. I seriously pounded 30 into submission. I gave it two quick rights -- pop, pop -- then ducked it's weak attempt at a right hook, and put it away with the left. I stood over it and said "Come on. Get up, punk. You wanna go? Oh, you think you're so big. You ain't shit!" (Apparently I am in need of some human interaction, since I am describing in detail my fight with, and subsequent taunting of, a concept.)

30 was the goal I set for myself before my trip. I was hoping to see 30 new species. I was originally thinking 50, but I didn't want to set a goal so high that I would never reach it.

Well the early numbers are in: I hit 30 last night at my campsite when I identified a Yellow-eyed Junco. After seeing nine more lifers on the trails this morning, I reached 40 this afternoon when I noticed a Curve-billed Thrasher was watching me pack up my tent. As I leave Arizona tomorrow and start to head back east, the numbers of new species I see should drop off, but at this point I think 50 is within reach. (With any luck, I'll have to adjust my goal again before this trip is over!)

Today rocked, by the way. Coronado National Forest is as beautiful from the trail as it was from the road. One of the last birds I saw before heading out was a very appropriate one -- the Arizona Woodpecker. As the name indicates, you won't find it anywhere else in this country. I thought I missed my best chance to see it when I made the decision to skip Madera Canyon, so I was very happy to get great looks at two 'Zonas on the South Fork trail.

Now it's time to plan out a strategy for New Mexico, and Texas. There's still plenty of species out there, so watch out 50. I'm coming for ya.

P.P. This is yet another make-up post. I'm trying to write every day, then post each separate day when I get the chance. So when you see a new post, there may be a few more new ones under it. For example, yesterday's post, below this one, was just put online minutes ago. Thank you. That is all.

Just Another Day in Paradise
My first stop today was a quick sight-seeing detour through Tombstone. I knew I was going to be disappointed when I saw dozens of signs for "Live Gunfights Every Day!" I really didn't want to see the cheesy, touristy, Disneyfied version of Tombstone. Unfortunately that's what I got. This picture doesn't look too bad, but in real life it seemed (and was) very staged. It looked like a set for a bad movie, possibly "City Slickers 3." I moved on quickly.

My next stop was an unexpected gem -- Bisbee, AZ. Not an inspiring name in my mind. I had only vaguely heard of it. All I was thinking was another town to hit a gas station, grab a Gatorade and move on. I was amazed when I crested the ridge and looked down into Bisbee. The whole town is built within this narrow canyon. The houses and business are built into the mountain, with the back ends on stilts over the edge of the canyon. The pictures I took from a pull-off don't look like much, but when I saw the town I immediately thought of looking for available houses, or maybe a bar with an apartment on top.

Next was a drive through Douglas, a town that's claim to fame is a large open-pit mine. The scenic overlook looks down a few hundred feet into an old copper mine pit. Interesting enough to take a picture, not interesting enough to post.

My final destination for the day was Portal, AZ. Portal is a tiny town, I saw one store/cafe, there's no gas station, no working pay phone. There were cattle walking around on the roads. The only road into Portal from the west is a dirt road through the mountains. To get there on pavement I went around the mountains, into New Mexico, than approached from the east. (After my issues with the dirt road through Madera Canyon, I felt the pavement was a better choice for me.)

The big selling point for Portal is location, location, location. (OK, that's three selling points.) Portal is right on the edge of the Coronado National Forest. CNF is the most beautiful place I have ever been. I was in awe. This post is already out of hand, so I'll save you from anymore commentary. Just enjoy the pictures.

There are several campgrounds within CNF and I took my time picking out where to set up camp. I'm not planning on staying more than one day, so I wanted to choose which of the many trails I would try, and camp as close to them as possible. I went with the Sunny Flats campground, as there were two nice trails nearby. There were plenty of people there, but there were still several nice sites to choose from. Honestly, the worst site there is still better than any other campground I've seen. The photo to the left is the view from my site. Not bad for $10 per night. Unfortunately there aren't much in the way of amenities. (The KOAs are nice that way -- sleeping in a tent but still getting a nice hot shower in the morning.)

I picked up four lifers on my way into the park -- including dozens of Acorn Woodpeckers. I'm hoping for many more species tomorrow, but I'll settle for a birdless hike through this beautiful place. Below is a view from the road leading into the park. I like the symbolism of the road leading me into the unknown. (Corny, but it works.)



Paradise
On my way towards Portal, I saw about a dozen presumably illegal immigrants being detained by the border patrol. I believe they were about 50 miles within the US border. I was struck by a number of thoughts: Did they know how far they had gotten? How much farther before they would have cleared the border patrol's sights? What happens to them now? Will any of them die during their next attempt? Ironic that they were looking for a way to get to a better life, make a better living, and they were going through Portal toward Paradise (the next town over).

My thoughts then turned to how lucky I am. I live in a country where I can disagree with my government, live where I want, vacation where I want, date and marry who I want. The possiblilities for me seem limitless -- or maybe limited only by my will to explore them -- compared to people who are detained for committing the crime of seeking a better life.

Immigration is a tough issue for me. The social liberal in me is saying that every one here except the American Indians is descended from immigrants. The fiscal conservative in me worries about the drain on resources that saps money from schools, WIC, Medicare, etc. Maybe if it were legal for Mexicans to work here, they could pay taxes to help support the programs they use. But that would mean that Walmart, ADM and every mushroom farm in Delaware would have to start paying minimum wage. I could really go off on a rant here, but I don't want to start a big political discussion on this blog. I'm just providing a little insight into the things I think about while my throttle lock is on.

The Paton's House
The birding community is a very welcoming and friendly one. The biker's wave affords only a momentary acknowledgement. Although there are much more meaningful interactions at gas station, this is basically all you get from a biker you don't know. Birders get a bit more involved. They prefer to stop their cars and ask "Anything interesting?" Next is "Where're you from?" And finally "You should stop by [insert hot spot and directions]."

This morning I was working my way from Nogales to Benson with only one specific stop in mind -- Patagonia Lake State Park. The park was kind of a bust. It was more like a public recreation area, which means lots of vacationers with RVs, jetskis and picnic baskets. Not very condusive to good birding. When I got to the entrance and found there was a fee to get in, I figured I would just move on.

I-82 moves through a nice riparian area between Patagonia and Sonoita, so when I saw an opportunity I pulled off the road onto a small paved access road and parked in some shade. About 100 yards down the road a pick-up was parked. Some of the best birding occurs when you find a decent spot, turn off the vehicle, shut the hell up and wait a few minutes. As I was taking off my gear I started to hear the activity pick up around me. After 10 minutes and two lifers (orange-crowned and Grace's warblers), the pick-up started up and pulled up along side. It was a fellow birder about to move on to the next spot. She was a nice older woman with a strong face like Katharine Hepburn from "On Golden Pond". She asked me the usual questions. When she found out I was birding the west for the first time, she asked "Have you been to the Paton's?"

"No, is that around here?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I've read about the Paton's house in one of my birding magazines years ago. (Yes, there are many magazines devoted to the second-fastest growing outdoors activity.) The Paton's is nothing more than some folks who put out a bunch of feeders, and welcome in anyone who would like to view them. The Paton family lives very close to the Patagonia-Sonoita Creek Preserve. (It's a nice little park that doesn't appear on any of the maps I have.) The creek is fed by springs and by snow melt run-off from the higher elevations in the mountains. And in this area of the country, anywhere there is water, there will be birds.

So Katharine gave me directions. "The next dirt road to the left, cross the creek -- your bike should be okay -- pass the preserve, there's some horse stables, it's on the right."

If I hadn't stopped where I did, I would have gone right past it and never known. Wait a minute... Did she say "cross the creek"? Did she say "your bike SHOULD be okay"? So I get to the creek and it didn't look that bad: 15 feet across, 6 or 8 inches deep in the middle. I was nervous, but Nina stayed calm and we crossed without incident.

There were four or five cars at the Paton's house when I got there. I walked around back in the direction from which I had seen some birders leaving. It didn't look like that big of a deal: Three hummingbird feeders, a couple of platform feeders a couple of finch feeders and a few oranges cut in half. There were some sparrows on the platform feeders but that was about it. There were about 10 people there, including two thirty-something blokes from across the pond. There was an old couple with their teen-aged grandson. The rest was a mix of retiree vacationers and locals. I sat down on one of the many benches they have set up. About a minute later the show began. In the order I saw them:

Bullock's Oriole, Black-chinned Hummingbird, Rufous Hummingbird, Violet-crowned Hummingbird, Broad-billed Hummingbird, Lesser Goldfinch, Anna's Hummingbird, Lazuli Bunting, Gila Woodpecker, Black-headed Grosbeak, Gambel's Quail, White-crowned Sparrow, Pyrrhuloxia, Costa's Hummingbird, Abert's Towhee, Zone-tailed Hawk, Black Vulture and Bewick's Wren. Eleven of these were lifers including all of the hummingbirds. (ATR, damn, you should be here.) One of the British guys was very knowledgable and helped me with the hummingbird IDs.

I heard there were two more oriole species there that morning, as well as a few other hummingbirds, but after an hour or so I had to move on.

With a quick stop at the preserve up the road -- and four more lifers -- I headed up to Benson to set up camp yet again. Tomorrow I head to Portal to spend some time in Coronado National Forest. CNF will be my last chance for some of the southwest species I've been hoping for like the Arizona Woodpecker. If the park looks safe, I'll camp there tomorrow night and give myself an extra day to fill out my life list.

As a biker said to me at a Sonoita gas station:
"Keep the rubber side down."
Namasté to you, too, brother.

Good Birds,
Tough Day
Another balmy ride through southern Arizona. The plan was to spend a little time in Saguaro National Park, then head to a little town near the Madera Canyon. Saguaro isn't exactly known for its birds, but there are several desert species that I was hoping for. Madera is known for its birds. So the goal was to make it there before sunset, camp in the park, and be there for birding at first light.

Saguaro was better than planned. I added six birds to my life list. I missed the burrowing and elf owls, but still had a very pleasant day of birding.

So as I headed out of the Tucson area I still hoped to make it to the Madera area with enough light left to pitch a tent. Not so much. It was getting dark already by the time I got near the area, so I figured I would try for a cheap motel in the next town over. No luck -- no cheap motels and the Holiday Inn was booked. So I headed to the next town over. No motels at all. With no more towns between me and Madera I figured, screw it, I'll pitch a tent in the dark. On my way up the mountain I saw a sign: "Warning: High smuggling and illegal immigration area." So now I'm a little nervous. With no signs pointing the way to campgrounds, I rolled up one side of the mountain and down the other. An hour of winding dirt roads with 1000-foot drop offs. Not cool. So when I reached pavement again, I headed for the next town on the map. No motels (not even a gas station). Next town: one inn -- $125 night. But at least they had a gas station. Next thing you know I'm in Nogales, on the Mexican border, more than an hour away from Madera.

I got a room at a cheap motel, and headed out for some fast-food delicacy. I was on a road that seemed to be the main strip in Nogales. As I was looking down side streets for a Subway, I suddenly realized I was now in a line of cars waiting to leave the country. Not Cool. All I can think about is the customs folks making me unpack my entire bike while I explain that I had left my registration and proof of insurance in Missouri. Plus, I'm regularly the guy who gets "randomly" chosen to be searched at airports. So I pretty much know I'm about to get an anal probe (and not in a good way).

There is one spot to U-turn before Mehiho, so me and Nina got the hell out of there and called it a day.

Recuperation
I needed one more day. Thanks to my brother Tank for hooking me up with a sweet room for one extra night. And thanks to his Starwood Preferred Guest status, I didn't have to check out until 4 p.m. I needed it. I was completely exhausted -- mentally and physically.

So when I left you last night... I got back from the laundromat. (I'm still not up for the laundromat story. It's not much of a story. You're not missing much.) At this point I was barely awake. I went upstairs, got my bike cover (thanks Sweetie) and headed back down to tuck Nina in for the night. I start putting the cover on and I realize that the pipes were still hot. In my half-asleep state I never let her cool down. My room is in the far corner of the top floor, so I figure I'll go in to the lounge and have a drink. By the time I'm done Nina will be ready for bed and so will I.

So I sit at the bar and immediately notice that the bartender is having a rough night because of a group of business-types acting like jerks. I order my drink -- a Cuba Libra. As she is sprinkling a drop or two of Coke into my Captain, I check out the bar as I always do. (I like to see what I would change if it were my bar.) And there, before me, I see it. "Thar she blows!" I yelled. "A hump like a snow hill! It is Moby Dick." (By the way, that happens on page 524 of a 550 page book. That Melville sure can build some characters.)

Anyway, what I saw was a bottle of Patrón Anejo. Patrón Anejo is the best tequila ever made. All other tequilas pale by comparison. It is made in very small quantities and it is very hard to find (the silver and respado versions are readily available). Think of a great Irish wiskey. Smooth and delicate. No chaser needed. No harsh burn on its way down. I don't even like tequilla, and I will never turn down Patrón. And I didn't.

I mentioned to the barkeep that I was astonished to see a full bottle of the Anejo collecting dust. And that I hadn't seen a bottle for a few years (granted, the bars I now go to are in Missouri).

"Who are you that is so wise in the ways of tequila?" she asked. (Not really, but I hadn't referenced "The Holy Grail" yet.) Seriously though, appreciating that I was not being a jerk like aforementioned suits, she said something about how they were allowed to test any older bottles and offered me a shot. It's a $12 shot and I wasn't about to say no. Tired or not, I've got a sworn duty.

So I slept very well, thank you very much. And I used every bit of that 4 p.m. check-out time.

With a short day of traveling today, I made it to Tucson under very nice riding conditions. A bit warm for full leathers, but I was on an interstate, so leathers I wore. Tomorrow the birding begins. I feel refreshed and ready to go. It is amazing what a difference a day can make.

The Last Four Days
Here is a very quick rundown of a very busy four days:

Saturday

After some relaxation/catching up with the family on Friday, We were up bright and early Saturday to start our voyage up the mountain. Yada, yada, yada; camp was set up by light of day, fire was lit in time for cold of night. (I have to keep this short or I'll never get caught up to the present day.) After some campfire hotdogs and s'mores, we called it a night. A very very cold night. It was damn cold. Not warm at all. The opposite of balmy.

Sunday

Sunday was an important day, and I don't want to dilute it with a summary:
It was freezing cold on the mountain last night. I started the evening in my sleeping bag wearing boxers and a tee. My brother Tank seemed to think this would be enough. It wasn't. After shivering for a while I grabbed my monkey pants and my fleece sweatshirt. Better, but still damn cold.

In the morning, the nieces started a small fire for warmth while Ojo cooked up some breakfast on a Coleman camping stove.
We got a late start up the mountain, finally getting on the trail at 10:15 a.m. Within minutes it was obvious to me that we were not prepared for this hike, and I was nervous about a few members of our party in particular.

My mom, bless her heart, seemed blissfully unaware of the perils to come. She was carrying some useless stuff --— and by useless I mean that there is no use for it on a 10 mile hike up a 7000+ ft. mountain. She seemed naively blase about the importance of carrying only what you need. Rebuking our requests for her to leave stuff behind, she insisted she would be fine. OK, the one extra pair of shoes isn't the only reason why she didn't make it up the mountain. I only use this as an example of how unprepared she, and we, were.

My brother Ojo and his wife, Moe, were attempting to carry their two kids up the mountain. Bad idea. A few years ago, before they had any kids, they made it pretty far up the mountain -- less than a mile from the crash site -- but not all the way. So I thought their chances were slim to make it with kids.

So I'm already thinking about, and preparing myself for, the chance that Ruthless, Moe and the kids were not going to make it. That left the siblings: Pippi, Tank, Sister, Ojo and me, and the nieces. When the decision was finally made that the others were going to turn back, I was absolutely shocked when Sister and the nieces decided that they would turn back too. Honestly, I thought Sister would outlast all of us, as she is probably in the best shape. So it never really even crossed my mind that she wouldn't make it. When the others stopped I was actually relieved, because I had been so worried about them. But when Sister stopped it really surprised me. I tried to tell her that it was OK, but she was definitely disappointed. (The rest of us later learned that Sister got almost no sleep the night before.)

As the four of us left the others behind, I was still in disbelief about Sister. "If she can't make it, I don't know how the rest of us will." As we rounded the corner it really hit me: The siblings aren't all going to make it to our brothers crash site. I was whimpering to myself, trying not to lose it entirely, as we continued up the trail.

A quick note about the trail: This trail winds up the mountain, around several peaks, through upland desert and into the ponderosa pine. At times the trail is wide, and at times it is almost nonexistent. And it was getting worse the higher we went. At some point we were to leave the trail -- a daunting thought in the back of my mind.

After more arduous hiking, Pippi, my oldest sibling, decided she couldn't go any farther. After the initial shock of Sister not making it, this didn't hit me as hard. I think by now I was accepting that it was very likely that none of us would make it all the way.

It was down to the three boys. Tank was carrying a cross for Billy, and I'm not talking figuratively. He had made a 5-foot high cross out of 4x4s. He had engraved Billy's name and birth and death date. Tank was also carrying 20 lbs. of cement. I'm not kidding. As crazy as this sounds given the hiking conditions, it didn't strike me as a show-stopper. Tank had spent many years in the army (thus the nickname) and had carried lots of stuff on lots of marches. Ojo was carrying a smallish metal detector. It struck me that one brother was hoping to leave something from the site, one was trying to take something back. I wasn't sure what I wanted. Just making it there would have been enough.

Not long after we left Pippi, we rounded a corner and saw what awaited us. It was getting late, and we were left with three choices: 1) Leave the trail and hike straight over a ridge (this is what Ojo and Moe tried a few years ago. They didn't make it.) 2) Hike all the way around the very long ridge. 3) Turn back. After some deliberation -- and soul searching -- we decided to head back down the mountain. The next decision to be made was what to do with the cross. Do we plant it a mile from the site, or do we bring it back down the mountain. We agreed that if it couldn't be at the actual site, we should carry it back down so the whole family can be together to place it.

So Ojo, Tank and I took turns carrying the cross and the cement. We caught up with Pippi who had been waiting for us and we headed back down the mountain.

We made it back to base camp at sunset. The others had found a beautiful spot about 200 yards from where we camped. It overlooks the valley below and the mountains beyond that.

We discussed the irony of hiking for over 8 hours up a mountain just to place the memorial a minute away from our tents. It was a painful joke. But nobody thought it was a bad idea to try, and as difficult as it was, we were glad that the whole family got to take part in placing the cross. After the 12-mile drive down the mountain from the campsite, we ate a hearty meal and called it a day.

Monday

As the rest of the family departed, I spend much of the day helping my mom look after the babies while my brother and his wife napped and packed. After the arduous hike, I was planning on a day to recuperate, so it worked out OK for all. After everyone else was gone, I hit the laundromat (big fiasco that I'm not going to get into right now), and headed back to the hotel for one last night of rest before moving on.

That's all for now. Now I turn my attention to birding and camping. The posts will continue as often as I can, but no promises. Thanks for all the comments so far.