Path Less Traveled

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost

I have always made it a point to get out and explore the world around me, even if others have not been there before. I get complacent if I stay in my comfort zone too long, and complacency gets boring. I get really crabby when I'm bored, so I do my best to keep life new and interesting, even if it means taking a road that hasn't been traveled on for a bit. This weekend I tried a few new things, and decided to ditch roads and trails all together.

On Saturday, after almost two months of being out of a boat, I got back on the water... though I have to admit that it was as a traitor. You know those annoying boats that are always turning at completely random places on the lake and yelling and going slow and generally causing all sorts of trouble for the rowing crews? Yep, I was in one. Dragonboating..... paddling.... with a paddle. And it was a blast. Since I have been adopted into the ING family (I'm expecting my paycheck any day now, or at least a complementary mutual fund), they let me onto their corporate dragonboat team. I'm hoping to contribute more to this team than I did with my meager kickball skills. After a little land orientation on commands and how to hold the paddles and how to paddle together (I really feel like a traitor... paddling, geez), all 16 of us novies stepped into the boat with our enthusiastic coach and a steersman. It felt great to be back on the water, the cool waters of Tempe Town Lake splashing along the gunwales as we headed out on our crew's maiden voyage. For our first time together in a boat (and for all but one of us, our first time in a DB), we did really well. I sat stroke seat, which was awesome except for the fact that I had to share the job (in a dragonboat shell, you sit side by side - a port and starboard in the same lateral position, and by the nature of the boat, there are two "stroke" seats). Bonnie did well for her first time in a boat, so it was nothing against her, but I'm a bit too competitive to share the seat. Nonetheless, we all had a really good time. The boats actually go faster than they look, and I gained a new respect for the sport. It felt great to be out there, muscles pumping into the stroke during the intensity of a power 10 while the water rushed past the bow. There are nine corporate teams entered in the 2008 Dragonboat Festival which will be held March 28-29th, and I think we've got a pretty good shot at getting some hardware. Stay tuned. I spent the rest of the day tooling around on the bike in Papago Park, honing my jumping skills by repeating fun/tough sections of trail and climbing around on the buttes. And, as part of the ING family, I spent the evening up at Bill's 55th birthday party, sharing stories and enjoying the atmosphere of bikers and climbers and adventurers.

On Sunday, I headed out towards Fountain Hills for some mountain biking at the McDowell Mountain Park. I had never been biking out there, but I had heard great things about it, and was eager to tackle Pemberton and the competitive track. As I drove north on the Beeline Highway, I passed dozens of roadies taking advantage of the partially cloudy day and the perfectly cool temperatures. As I looked ahead at the cyclists, the great sandstone outcropping of Red Mountain stood stoically in the background. The mountain has held my curiosity since I moved to the Valley... mostly because I have never heard of anyone climbing it. Naturally, I've wanted to climb it for a long time for that reason alone. I've spent quite a bit of time on the Salt River side of the mountain, but the closest I had ever came to getting to the base was about a mile away. As I turned left onto Shea Blvd., my thoughts of Permberton were replaced with a vision of a route up the red rocks. I pulled into the Arby's parking lot, pulled my bike out of the Jeep, and headed back to Beeline. I tried to blend my fat tires in with the roadies as I pumped along the highway, staring off to the left, trying to find a break in the fence where I could sneak through to the mountain. Red Mountain and the land surrounding it are part of the Indian reservation, and technically, it's off limits (hence, why I've never heard of anyone climbing it). But down by the canal, I saw my chance... a nearby wash gave me just enough clearance to slide the bike under the fence. I biked along for a little bit until the highway was relatively free of cars, cut across to the other side, and stared at the green reservation sign that hung on a nearby gate. It read, "No Trespassing, $30,000 Fine, Confiscation of Vehicle, Arrest." I contemplated the sign for about 20 seconds, decided that a). the area isn't really patrolled, and that b). the sign was most likely meant for motorized vehicles. I hoped that both were true as I slipped under the fence and pulled my bike after me. There was an old dirt road that led away from the canal and I rolled the bike along it for a few hundred meters... all the time thinking about the green sign and wondering how often vehicles came down the dirt road. The tire tracks in the sand were at least a few weeks old, but I decided that I didn't need to try my luck, and I walked the bike up a small hill and hid it among the Palo Verde, locking it up just in case some random person followed my tracks and tried to confiscate my precious Fish.

Off of the road I felt much better, and the untouched wilderness of the desert spread out in front of me. A menagerie of lizards, squirrels, and birds scurried about the brush, and hundreds of wildflowers beckoned me towards the mountain. After I got well away from the highway, I was in heaven. No other people, no trash littered about, not even a trail to spoil the pristine springtime desert. The only noises were those of the natural world. Absolutely perfect. I forgot about the sign, and headed out into the rolling hills with a smile on my face, bounding along the rocks and taking in the beauty of it all. The entire desert between the highway and the base of the mountain is completely unspoiled. I saw flowers that I hadn't seen anywhere else in the Valley, and more lupine, poppies, blue dicks, and brittlebush than I had seen in any other place. It was almost overwhelming. Just me and the desert, completely at peace and full of life. It took me a few hours to get to the base of Red Mountain, simply because I was taking in all of the sights and scents and sounds of the new place. The climb up the mountain was great, the red sandstone in bright contrast with the yellow brittlebush and the white clouds that danced just above the peak. With no predetermined trails to lead me up, I picked my own trail, following washes and bouldering and scrambling up the scree until I got to the uppermost shoulder of the mountain. The final ascent to the very top looked doable from the highway, but up close, it was a little more intimidating. I figured that karma wouldn't be kind to me if I made a wrong move on a mountain that I wasn't supposed to be on in the first place. I wound halfway around the shoulder and still didn't find any decent routes, but was satisfied that I had finally made it most of the way up the landmark mountain. It was great to get a new perspective of the Valley from my vantage point, and I spent some time just relaxing on the shoulder before heading back. On my way down, I spotted a desert fox slinking through the tall greenery. We sat and watched each other for some time, finally deciding that the other meant no harm and continuing along our respective journeys. I was still overwhelmed with the wildness of this area... so close to civilization but so removed from it as well. Heading back down I had a commanding view of the rest of the reservation and I started thinking about the green sign again. The mind is a pretty powerful thing, and my thoughts started to get the better of me. If someone had a good set of binoculars and four-wheeler, I just might have a hard time getting out of this one. For the next ten minutes or so, I let my mind rush through all the scenarios of possible ambush: a modern day Wild West battle, with me running from the Indians who scouted me out in the bushes. So it was really funny when a helicopter came out of nowhere and whirred past me overhead. I felt no shame, only fear of the Indians getting me, as I scrambled as quickly as I could under some dense palo verde, making sure to cover the white of my shirt and the yellow of my Camelback until I could not longer hear their rotors. I wondered if I had hid my bike as well as I thought I did as the beast zoomed off in the direction of the canal. In all reality, it was probably a stat flight chopper or some private corporate helicopter, but in my mind, it was full of angry authorities who would lock me up for setting foot on the reservation. I would be lying if I said that I enjoyed my return hike as much as I did the hike in, as all I could think about was the green sign and the consequences that it clearly stated. By the time I got close to the highway, I just knew that my bike was going to be gone and there would be authorities waiting for me at the gate. As I snuck along the edge of the highway, I froze in my tracks: a white van was parked beside the highway, not 200 feet from where my bike should have been. I just stood there for a second, my mind racing as to what I should do. My bike was in there, and they had staked the area out for my arrest. After a few minutes, the van pulled away and I realized that I had been holding my breath and standing stock still behind a cactus. My brain would not let go of the idea of being caught as I sneaked over to the tree where I had locked my bike. In a break in the clouds, the sun shone down on the shiny aluminum frame untouched and still hidden deep in the palo verde. I breathed a sigh of relief, unlocked it, and headed cautiously back down the dirt road to the highway. No authorities, no Indians with tomahawks, nothing but the dust that I had rode in on and the back of a large green sign on the fence. I crawled back out and hopped back onto the highway. I rode back to the Jeep on adrenaline, feeling a bit silly for thinking up all of the outrageous scenarios but feeling great because none of them came true. I looked back at Red Mountain with a newfound respect of the beauty of the great sandstone peak and the land surrounding it. From the Arby's parking lot, I continued on my original journey out to McDowell Mountain Park. It was already 4 in the afternoon, so I decided to save Pemberton for another day and just hit up the competitive track. I completed the 7.9 mile Long Loop which was an absolute blast... the well worn trail was in stark contrast to the virgin desert of Red Mountain, but was just as beautiful to me as I hopped along the rocks and flew down the steep drops. After a good ride, I packed up and headed home just as the skies opened up. I rolled the window down and the let the cold drops pound my arm as I drove down the highway, knowing that it will probably be the last rain we see here in the Valley until monsoon season. As I passed Red Mountain, I smiled at the green sign by the Canal, laughing at my little adventure and already thinking about the next one.