Three Gun Springs Trail Hike

I'm feeling a bit more acclimated to the altitude and the weather is predicted to be unseasonably warm this weekend, so I thought I would do a hike. There's a great website sandiahiking.com that lists all the possibilities. I thought Three Gun Springs had a nice ring to it, like it could be a Willie Nelson song, so I picked that one. I packed up a camelback, put Dixie in her panniers, grabbed a sopapilla stuffed with carne adovada from Stufys and was on my way. It was a beautiful crisp day and lots of people were at the trailhead. We huffed and puffed a little as we got going, but with my running experience to go on, we made decent time from the parking area to the Cibola National forest entrance, about 3/4 of a mile. The first 60% of the trail is quite pleasant, flat, gradual and offers nice vistas of the mountains behind you. I would certainly come back and run this easy part up to the switchbacks. Once you pass the actual site of three gun springs, there is a trail marker and you head up the side of the canyon to the ridgeline to meet up with the Embudo Trail (which is a far more difficult 10 mile hike along the ridge of the mountains from the north to the south). As we got further up the water stops got more frequent, I cursed myself for not wearing a hat or carrying a daypack and for wearing dri fit running socks instead of cushioned hiking socks. Less than a quarter of a mile from the ridge, Dixie flat out refused to go any further. I think she was nervous about the dropping temperature and thinning oxygen. According to the hike stats we were about 1500 feet higher than in the valley in Albuquerque. My feet were killing me and we were just about out of water. As much as it killed the "tough-it-out" trail runner in me, there was no need to act a fool on my first easy hike. We turned around and headed for home.

What took us an hour to scale on the way up, we easily traversed in minutes on the way down. We encountered several hikers, all impressed with Dixie's energy level coming DOWN the moutain. I was doing everything I could to ease the pain of my badly blistered feet. It was frustrating too, because the trail was mostly rocky, without much switchgrass or cactus, so I totally could have done it in my trail running shoes. When we finally got to the forest gate, that last 3/4 mile to the car was an eternity. Several times I considered taking the boots off and walking the rest of the way in my socks. I have never been so relieved to see the cherokee. I drove home, grabbed some beer at trader joes and promptly fell asleep. When I awoke, I was windburned, sunburned and sore. I swear I've done trail races and not felt this beat up. All the funky walking trying to ease the damage on my feet had jacked up my glutes and IT band. I swear I felt like I ran a half marathon, but really I had only hiked 4.75 miles, and actually, until I sat down to write this blog I had thought it was 3.75 miles, so at least that is a little more respectable. I soothed my tired bones with a private hot tub soak at bettys day spa and some yoga at high desert yoga (both less than a mile from the house right down Candelaria) and slept like a champ that night. I look forward to hitting that trail again, in proper shoes, and posting some killer photos off BOTH sides of the ridge at the top.

Here are some photos from the hike:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/buttercupbuddy/sets/72157622880821812/

Dixie's panniers were not a big hit. Although they are the same size as the lifejacket, they are way too big for her compact frame and her little knees hit the sides the whole time we were hiking. I will have to get better ones that keep the weight higher up on her back. Will also need two small water bottles to evenly distribute the load.

Standing at the Gates of the West

The mood improved in Junction. I've always thought highly of this town, and I've broken down here before, so I've got the name of a good mechanic. I took a refreshing sink-shower at the truck stop to wash the garage grime off me, applied benadryl to my ant bites, got some chelada for me and some water for Dixie. 241 miles to Fort Stockton was going to be a piece of cake and once I was there I was practically to Marfa where I could get a dog-friendly hotel room at the Paisano take a real shower and unwind with a beer. I was enjoying the tunes (pandora: Notorious BIG station) and cruising along, making great time and enjoying the solitude of the changing landscape. The mountains were getting bigger, the temperature was dropping and the sun was sinking in the west.

Driving west down I-10 is always a race against time. The goal is to go balls out as fast as you can during the day, when the speed limit is 80, because once it gets dark, the speed limit is 65 and the long dark desert stretches last forever. I made it within 40 miles of Ft. Stockton and was getting tired and really had to pee. Unfortunately, there were no exits and I soldiered on. The first place I hit in town I stopped to use the restroom. It was totally a scene out of the movie Clerks, these two bored dudes were listening to happy hardcore and telling dirty jokes. "People still listen to happy hardcore, it wasn't even good when it was popular" I thought to myself, their taste in music and lack of chelada caused me to venture further in to town. Although it felt like 10 pm to me, it was only like 6:45 I was (in retrospect, regrettably) hell bent on eating subway I stopped for a soapy sandwich. Then another stop to obtain chelada, and another to fuel up and heading out. When I checked the GPS, I had 74 miles to go. UGH. I had confused the more senic route via Balmorhea with the more direct and utilitarian (non-mountain pass) route via Alpine.

I left Ft. Stockton glimmering in my rear view and turned off I-10 to head down 67 to Alpine. As I did this I switched my music to ... MARFA PUBLIC RADIO... woo hoo. I was greeted with some trippy indie rock and blue grass to soothe my nerves as I navigated what I'm pretty sure is the DARKEST road in north America. The whole way to Alpine I passed two cars, headlights so bright and so distant I thought they were space ships... this is the kind of stuff the Marfa lights legend is made of. Alone in the desert dark with some great music. A perfect ending to a perfect day. Oh, no, wait, it gets better.

After breathing a deep sigh of relief and dodging strategically positioned Alpine police officers (hiding where the speed limit changes from 30 to 35 and back to 30) Music with Farley came on and the topic of tonight's show: The Rolling Stones from 64-67... really? Really! It could not have been more spooky and perfect. And if the mysterious forces of Marfa were not strong enough already, when I had finally arrived at the hotel checked in and popped open my laptop, the phone rang, and it was Mercer ready to play. We went to Padre's (an amazing bar in an old funeral home) with the coolest retro pinball and shuffleboard I have ever seen and had a nice cold beer.

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go

Car is working. I'm all packed. I've said my goodbyes, and most people think I'm already in Marfa, but really I'm driving down I-35 heading out of town. I'm drinking my coffee and enjoying John Aeilli and not really feeling too emotional, or out of sorts, considering this is what I would be doing on any old weekday anyway. Then I hear a strange noise. Then no power steering... hmmm, that's kind of shady while driving down I-35 at 75 mph. I make my way to the right hand lane...oh jeeze overheating... I hit the access road, turn off on a country road, pull in to the grass and shut that shit down. I pop the hood and there is smoke and a little poof of flame. Once the smoke cleared, I saw this:

In the process of investigating the fire under the hood, I hopped in to mound of fire ants on the ground. My car is smoking, and ants are biting me in the ass, and I am wondering what deed has brought this karmic tax upon me.

The power steering pulley has completely pulled away from the pump. And the scene of the crime is exactly above where the fuel pump was replaced the day before. I saved a shredded ball bearing and waited for a tow. I repeat over and over,"I have a hard time believing that this is a coincidence."

I took this picture of the car on the tow truck to go in a set with the picture of the car getting a new fuel pump in Corpus after a 30 mile off road beach trek, and another pic of the car in the shop in Junction, Texas on the way to Marfa for Memorial Day weekend last year. For all the unpleasantness, and the (still suspicious to me) diagnosis that the less than 2 yr old power steering pump just failed, because "its an old car and things like this happen." I sat in a garage in New Braunfels for 3 hours in a greasy camp chair waiting for my car.

By the time I get on I-10 it's about 2 pm. It's hot and my AC doesn't work (yes, I need a new evaporator which costs $1100 in addition to the $1500 I've put in this old girl in the last week) my highly anticipated chocolate- covered-espresso-bean trail mix has melted, I'm filthy from spending the morning in a greasy camp chair in an auto repair shop, and it's clear to me that I am not making it to my destination in the desert (Hueco Tanks) tonight. I'm hell bent on making good time, so I just press on. Sweaty, dirty, hungry and tired and I'm not even to Kerrville yet.

Half full or half empty

It has not been an easy trip so far. My car overheated while I was driving home on Sunday morning after my going away party. I spent a better part of my day trying to get it to overheat again. It did not. So, instead of setting off on the first day of the rest of my life on Monday. I took my car to the shop and hung around Austin. It was a very good day. I mended some fences and watched a movie, then I drove out to the lake and watched the sunset. Although I'm very excited about what awaits me in Albuquerque, I'm sad to leave Austin. It's the first place I've ever lived where I have stepped off the airplane and truly been happy to be home, but that night, looking at the half empty lake, I firmly resolved to see the lake, and my life as half full, and to keep moving forward, even if for no other reason than it's too late to turn back now.