On top of the world... or at least Arizona.

As I've said before, research and the PhD in general is an up and down kind of existence. After two years in the business, I've come to the realization that you don't necessarily have to be smart to get a PhD, but you have to be persistent and very dedicated. After going months without unambiguous results, a weaker scientist might go crazy, but finally on Friday I had not one, but TWO positive results that I am 100% certain about. Running from the dark room after developing a positive Western blot and doing a little dance across the lab is a totally acceptable form of celebration, and that's exactly what I did on Friday. Twice. And then, because I knew that asking for three positive results in one day was a bit much, I got the heck outta the lab.

Just to be safe, I got out of the Valley. I packed the Jeep with my bike and camping gear, and on Saturday morning, Hannah, Martin (one of Hannah's coworkers), and I headed up to Flagstaff for some high elevation adventures. The Valley of the Sun sits at just over 1,000 feet above sea level. Downtown Flagstaff sits at about 7,000. But we weren't interested in downtown Flagstaff, so we kept on going... up. We drove up and around the base of the mountains, being careful not to hit bikers that were laboring up the steep incline for the Summit Center Classic. Seven miles and 2,000 meters of elevation later, we arrived at the parking lot of the Arizona Snowbowl and the trailhead of the Mt. Humphreys Trail. In three hours, we had gained 8,000 feet by car, and we still had another 3,600 to climb: by foot. The scenery and weather could not have been more beautiful, and we started through the Snowbowl meadow a little after 9 a.m. Wild irises and several other wildflowers (I'm still learning their names) dotted the landscape of the out-of-season bunny slopes, with the lonely chair lifts hanging idly in the light breeze. We crossed the meadow into a cool pine and quaking aspen forest, and started to climb. It was a gentle climb at first, but we could definitely feel the difference in the altitude as our hearts and lungs tried to adjust to the change in oxygen and pressure as we switchbacked up through the forest. Wildflowers abounded: from Solomon's seal to primroses to bracken-like ferns. As we continued to gain elevation, the flora continually changed until there were no longer aspen trees, and only the tall pines loomed above us. An hour and a half into the climb, we could see out over the ski slopes and into the actual "bowl" of Snowbowl. I haven't snowboarded there yet, but it certainly looks like an incredible place. We continued climbing until we were on the saddle of the mountain, where we could see the first of the three false summits. A few patches of snow remained, even with the temperatures in the 70s. The further we climbed, the fewer and smaller the trees became until we finally reached the last of the gnarled, windswept survivors on the border of Arizona's tundra. Mt. Humphreys is an extinct volcano, and the lava rocks in conjunction with the remaining snow and moss-like plants that live on the upper third of the mountain look more at home in the Arctic than in the Grand Canyon state. Even though we could feel our heartbeats in our heads, we kept on going past the next two false summits (which we hardly noticed, as we had been warned of them beforehand) and finally onto the real summit: 12,637 feet above sea level. From the top, we could see for miles in all directions, and could barely make out the Grand Canyon to our north. With clouds rolling in, it created a really cool atmosphere at the top. I was surprised at how many people were up there: it was almost like a Flagstaff Camelback instead of the highest point in Arizona. We had passed and been passed by dozens of people (some of whom were running up the mountain), and there were over 20 on top when we arrived. Temperatures were in the low 50s, but the weather held for us and it wasn't even very windy at the top. As we started to head down, I really began to feel the altitude. My head pounded with every heartbeat and my eyes watered a little bit, but the three of us kept going, enjoying the expansive views in front of us. Hannah and her knee did brilliantly, and we descended at a pretty good pace. When we were back down below 11,000 feet, I had to stop and squat behind a tree... and when I got up, I had what I can only describe as the worst head rush I have ever felt. I felt like my entire brain was going to explode and I felt dizzy and a bit sick. I couldn't think straight, and Hannah helped the situation by teaching us her newfound knowledge of pulmonary and cerebral edema. Fortunately, Martin had taken to photographing a caterpillar, so I sat down again and got some sugar, water, and Tylenol into my system and felt a little better. I can't even imagine what its like to climb Everest if that little bit of altitude did that to me. No worries, I won't be climbing that one anytime soon. The rest of the hike down was good though, and we arrived back at the cars tired but satisfied with a good climb.

We headed back to town, and with the additional 2,000 feet elevation drop, my head felt great again. We had some burritos downtown, and then Martin and Hannah returned to Phoenix. I chilled in town for a bit, waiting for Pierre and Evelyn to finish up their biking for the day. I perused the many local adventure and bike shops, and spent some time reading about the local wildflowers until I realized how bad I smelled, so I bought a book and headed out to one of the local parks and read until the early evening. Pierre and Evelyn got into town around 7 p.m., and we chilled at a local coffee shop for a bit before driving down to Lake Mary. I had never been to that part of Arizona (12 miles south of Flag), and even though it was dark out, the moon shone down on the long lake silhouetted by dark pines and made a beautiful scene. Since there were no showers at the campground, we went for a late night swim in the cold, but very refreshing water. Millions of stars lit up the night sky, and I haven't felt so much at peace since nights on the ocean. After we dried off a bit, we headed to camp, snacked on trail mix and freeze-dry, and crashed into the tent. In the morning, we packed up camp, headed back into town for breakfast, and then drove up to Mt. Elden for some killer mountain biking. The route we chose was the Mt. Elden loop, an 18.5 mile series of trails that wound around the mountain. It was supposed to be aerobically challenging (all the more because of the elevation) at the beginning and fast and fun at the end. It certainly did not disappoint. The first few miles of singletrack were hardpacked dirt and gently inclined. We were breathing hard, but it wasn't anything too bad. Then, we took a wrong turn on one of the trails and started switchbacking straight up the mountain. We figured that the first part of the ride was supposed to be tough, so we just went with it, and besides, the scenery made up for the hard work we were putting in. Pines and boulders were scattered about mountain meadows filled with hundreds of different wildflowers, and the crisp cool air filled our overworked lungs. For two miles we continued upwards until we came to a shoulder on the mountain. We looked at our map and realized that we were going the wrong way, but rather than continuing along the shoulder, we decided to get back on track, which meant that we had to back down. Within 30 seconds, we had forgotten all the toil that it had taken to reach the top, and we just let gravity do its thing. It was the best downhill I've done yet. What it lacked in technicality, it made up for with its fast descent, small jumps, curving track, and incredible scenery. I didn't pedal for two miles, and it was beautiful. We enjoyed more of the rolling singletrack once we had gotten back on the correct trail, and the joyride lasted for several miles afterwards. As we went along, the trail got more technical with a few rock gardens and gnarly descents injected into the trail just for adrenaline junkies like us. The entire forest was absolutely gorgeous, the temperature was perfect, and with the exception of a downhill biker coming down a sidetrail every once in awhile, we had the place largely to ourselves. Every few miles or so, we would wait for each other to catch up and we'd just stand there grinning at each other like hyenas. We were in heaven. The perfection couldn't last though, and after 12 miles, we came upon another 800 meters of a long, sandy uphill, so we stopped in the shade at the top for a bite of lunch and a chance to rest our happy muscles. We continued on for another 5 miles of mixed trail: a few sandy washes, a few more rolling hills, a few more climbs, and plenty of descending rock gardens that made for some great training and a lot of fun for me. By the time we reached the Pipeline trail, though, we were whooped, and the GPS said that we still had 3 miles to go to reach the car: in a straight line, which meant that we had 5 more by trail. We cranked up the doubletrack that ran along the gas pipeline and finally came to Elden Lookout Road. From there, it was either 2.2 miles on a trail called Rocky Ridge, or about 2.5 miles on the dirt road. Being the competitive people that we are, and Pierre being the Frenchman who doesn't quite understand the combination of "rocky" and "ridge," Evelyn and I raced Pierre back taking the road while he took the trail. We beat him by 8 minutes, and enjoyed watching him do push-ups when he returned. All in all, it was a great 22 mile ride.

After we baby-wiped the dust and grime off of ourselves, we went back to town for another burrito. Our original plan had been to head back to Lake Mary for some more swimming and kayaking, but after we were full of calories and cola, we lacked the motivation to do anything more. So, we hung out in Flagstaff for a bit longer, putting off the inevitable drive back down to the Valley for as long as we could. Finally, in the evening, we drove back down to the Valley that was literally and figuratively on fire. It was over 100 before I even got below 4000 feet, and off to the west of I-17, Crown King was burning. Huge plumes of smoke blocked out the sun beyond the mountains, and I had to turn on my lights through the haze. When I finally reached the Valley, smoke was still rising from the fires that had been burning all week down near the Gila River. Always looking on the bright side, I enjoyed the brilliant sunset that the smoke filled horizon created, and called it a day.