By the time we'd laid our heads to rest last night, the official CDT was miles away. Turning away from the Black Range, we'd opted instead for an alternate that would take us along the course of the Gila River and today would grant us our first glimpse of it.
Priorities
I wonder about the world. Not the world of nature we've had the luxury of escaping to these past 4 months, the other one. The one hikers semi-jokingly refer to as the “artificial world.” Detachment from the cares and strictures of that world is a feature of thru-hiking, not a bug, but roiled by a pandemic, that detachment has grown exponentially.
On the Trail Again
At 6:15am, the sunrise is still just an idea. One that hasn't been born into reality yet. In the dark, I reach out to light the stove for coffee. Atop is a pot that I've pre-filled with water the night before. Through holes in the windscreen below, the blue flame of the stove glows and dances in the subtle breeze, the whole thing taking on the look of a tiny metallic jack-o-lantern.
Appreciation
Coming down the stairs from our room at the Toaster House, I could smell the coffee that I hadn't even heard Jefferson make while we were packing up. We stood in the kitchen enjoying a cup or two while admiring the convenience of it. No fuel to pour, no pot to fill with water, and nothing to pack up afterwards.
Destination: Pie Town
Contrary to popular opinion—including my own—it is sometimes very much indeed about the destination, the journey be damned. When the journey is along yet another hot and dusty road for miles on end, it's not hard to see why the old adage might begin to lose some of its shine.
Yellow and Blue
Hanging on our dining room is a framed print of what looks like one of the world’s simplest works of art. My colleagues at work have probably even noticed it a time or two in the background of a video call and wondered: “Why that?” Two floating blocks of color, one above the other, it is a reproduction of Mark Rothko’s Yellow and Blue.
The Badlands
I am one with the pavement. In an effort to be zen that's what I tell myself. Lacquered in tar, the rocks of the asphalt seem larger than I'd expect, maybe a half inch in diameter or more. Shoulder-less, we walk the edge and wave at the oncoming traffic that, without exception, moves into the other lane to give us as much room as possible.