So long, sweet summer

The beginning of fall back in the Midwest is one of my favorite times of the year (second only to the beginning of spring). It's the time when the hot, humid summer gives way to the cool, breezy autumn. The sun filters through the changing colors of the leaves on the maples and ash trees, following the trend that the poplars started in early August. The dried corn stalks rustle in the wind as they prepare for harvest and the squirrels busy themselves with making nests for the coming frosts. The breeze brings with it smells of dust and dry earth and smoke from the first bonfires of the season, started in the early evening to ward off a chill and the last of the mosquitoes.

But, we don't get things like that here in Phoenix, and it won't cool down until Halloween, so we have to go and find the fall, which is exactly what a few of us Phoenicians did this weekend.

Friday evening, Jeff and I spent happy hour at a little bar near campus that serves $2 Coronas and plays awesome indie music. We sat on the massive porch underneath some ash trees (which are sort of trying to change color) basking in the ambiance, and inviting friends that walked by to come and share a round. Happy hour came and went, and by 9 p.m., I had spent $20 on Coronas (you do the math). I said goodbye to the table full of friends that had gathered and carefully biked myself home before passing out in anticipation of a full weekend.

I woke early in the morning feeling ok, and headed up to Angel's where she and Bill were waiting for me. We loaded the bikes in the back of his truck and headed back to Prescott. Since we had had such an amazing time the previous weekend, we decided to try a different trail. We passed the time with my story of Atlantic rowing... Bill (a pretty risky outdoorsman) was impressed. After an hour and a half of driving, we turned off near Lynx Lake and made our way to the trailhead for Trail 305. Bill had tried the trail last Sunday, and said that it was awesome, so Angel and I wanted to try it for ourselves. It certainly did not disappoint. The first few miles crossed several roads through the campground, gradually gaining elevation through a series of twists, turns, and rolling hills. Once we got through the campground, the rocks disappeared and the trail wound along narrow ridges giving a technical feel to the otherwise smooth trail. Like our own personal rollercoaster, the trail dipped and switchbacked for seven gorgeous miles through pine forest broken up by patches of Indian paintbrush and wild snapdragons. At the end of the trail, we paused to enjoy our surroundings and share more adventure stories. In the words of Jimmy Buffett, Bill has lived "an interesting life," and I'll just keep it at that. Good stories though. If the trail out was fun, the trail back was incredible. On the way back, I decided that the 305 was my favorite biking trail so far. The trail gains about 1000 feet of elevation on the way out, which means that the way back drops the same. Our own personal rollercoaster. Dip, dive, try to stay on your bike, curve around, miss a tree, jump a root, grip your handlebars as you speed down the ridge, get to the bottom, and laugh out loud at the joy of it all. Seven miles in heaven. We didn't want to stop at the end, and I would have happily rode around all day on that trail. We went into town for lunch, and even though we went to a really nice, historic little restaurant, my stomach and I got in a fight. I don't know whether it was the Coronas from the night before, the salad that I started my meal with, or my predisposition with the Big 10 football that was on the screens in the bar, but my stomach was not happy, and it wasn't being tactful in letting me know. I took my food home in a box (this very rarely happens) and spent the return drive in a fog lingering between listening to my belly and not listening to Bill (while Angel slept in the back of the cab). Fortunately, by the evening I was feeling better, and I spent it vegging on the couch and eating the rest of my lunch.



On Sunday, we gave Hannah one last Arizona Sunday of freedom before the wedding. Since she had not yet been to Bell Trail and since Angel and I had had so much fun there last weekend, we decided to tackle the place as Team ODP. On the drive up, we came up with nicknames for each of us within our adventure racing team. The names are strictly confidential, but I will say that they'll give us plenty of things to laugh about when we're exhausted and 15 hours into a 24 hour race. The hike in was much more enjoyable than the previous weekend's bike, and Hannah spent it much as I thought she would - taking pictures (which I appreciate). We trail ran a little bit (have to get a little training in, right?) and got to the swimming hole in no time. I dove quickly into the breathtaking water, and promptly lost my watch in the 10' deep pool. Fortunately the sun was high and the water was clear, and after about 10 minutes of Angel and I diving to the bottom, I found it and resumed my playing (many of Hannah's pictures at this point show Angel and I just staring into the water). We climbed, jumped, and dove for some time, letting Hannah enjoy the playground before we got a little restless and decided to explore upstream. Like Havasu and Fossil Creek before it, Beaver Creek had little surprises around every corner. Whether it was a watersnake (or 4), a large red sandstone outcropping, bright flowers, caves in the sandstone, rushing rapids filled with boulders, or a calm reflective pool, the stream kept us intrigued for about a mile. You could feel the whisper of fall upon the air as we made our way through a maze of small trees along the banks, crunching on newly fallen leaves and smelling the changing seasons in the breeze. After about an hour of "looking to see what was just around the corner," we headed back to the swimming hole, where recess was in full swing in the adult world. The nice part about the area is that it is 4 miles from the parking lot (as well as on the wrong side of Sedona), and it sort of filters out the lazy, drunk, obnoxious crowd, and invites the young, crazy, exploring types who just want to have a good time. Among our playmates were fellow climbers and jumpers, and like young kids on the playground, when we saw that someone was doing something fun, we wanted to try it as well. The entire place was diving and climbing and jumping, and one adventurous guy even set up a slackrope across one of the pools. Although the three of us didn't get to try it, it sure did look like a fun challenge. After we were all played out, we sat on the warm red ledges and just reflected on the wonder of it all. I am such a lucky kid that I get to experience things like this, and even more fortunate to have friends as crazy as myself who enjoy it as well. It was getting late in the day, so after one or two more jumps, we packed up our stuff and headed back to the car. I cut open a prickly pear for Hannah to try, and ended up getting a whole bunch of prickles in my hand (that weren't so welcome as I sleepily tried to tweeze them out when they started bothering me at about 3 in the morning), but it did taste good. When we were almost back to the car, we heard people down at the creek and wondered if there was anything interesting down at that part of the stream, so we bushwacked down to investigate. We were aptly rewarded with a stretch of creek as beautiful as Slide Rock (Sedona) without all of the people. For hundreds of feet, the red rock of the streambed was carved into long chutes and bowls, creating perfect spots to slide in the rushing water. Once we thoroughly explored and played in the area, we finally headed back to the cars and started back to Phoenix. We were starving the entire ride home, and Hannah didn't help by letting us know how Tom was fixing dinner that would be ready when she arrived. When I finally got home, I made dinner and ended the fabulous weekend by watching an episode of Survirorman that took place in... where else but the Sonoran Desert. Now I know how to take a creosote bush shower, eat crickets, and make a needle and thread from agave. It may not be fall yet here in the Valley, but I know I'll survive with weekends like this.