Man In The Maze

by Rich Luhr, Editor of Airstream Life magazine

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Climbing Picacho Peak

It has been a long hot period in Tucson lately.   The heat has struck a bit early, meaning that we’ve had about 10 days straight of 100 degrees.   As summer sets in, certain outdoor activities become off-limits, and people begin to seek recreation either inside shopping malls or up in the mountain parks.

But I’ve had a certain hike on my mind for three years now, and I was determined to do it before we leave for the summer.   As one drives along I-10 between Tucson and Phoenix, a peculiar pointed mountain appears to the west.   It appears un-hikeable, by its steep sides and nearly jagged contours.   This is Picacho Peak, the site of a state park and a fine campground, which we’ve visited several times.

dsc_0002.jpgThere is a trail that leads all the way to the top, about 2.1 miles each way.   The climb is extremely steep, to the point that many times the only way to ascend is with the help of steel cable lines that have been bolted into the rock.   It is really more of a “climb” than a hike.

The steepness of the climb dictates that people with very short legs (a.k.a. Emma) can’t make the climb without assistance.   And people with any sense at all (a.k.a. Eleanor) quickly realize that a climb like this on a day that is destined to hit 100+ is moderately insane.   Fortunately, Brett had flown in from Denver for the weekend, so I had a like-minded (meaning “equally soft in the head”) companion.   So Brett and I left the house at 6:30 a.m., alone, in an attempt to reach the summit before the temperatures spiked as sharply as the peak itself.

dsc_9991.jpgWe completely failed in one respect.   The temperature was already well into the 80s at 7:45, when we reached the trailhead (50 miles from Tucson).   By the time we finished it was over 100 degrees.   More than half the trail is completely exposed, with no shade, and the heat of the sun bakes the steel cables to the point that they can burn your hands.   But along the way, the trail rewards you with spectacular views, which help distract you from the minor discomforts.   Of course it helped that we were prepared for the trail with leather gloves, broad sun hats, white shirts, SPF 55 sunscreen, hiking shoes, energy snacks, and lots of water.

Water is the big thing.   Brett brought 70 ounces of water in his backpack, and ran out about midway through the return descent.   I brought 100 ounces and ran out at the very end of the hike.   All of that water was evaporated through our skin — there were no bathroom stops during the 3.5 hour roundtrip. dsc_9974.jpg (Yes, in case I didn’t make the point with my previous post, the air is very dry here.)   Ill-prepared people would not be able to complete the hike in these conditions, at least not without suffering.   We groused about the steepest sections, but really, it was a fun adventure.

My advice to others would be to hike this peak between November and April, like a sensible person would.   It’s tough enough to make you realize you really did something, and yet manageable by most people with good fitness. Bring the Airstream and camp in the park to double your pleasure.   It’s worth the effort.   I can’t think of another small mountain climb quite like Picacho Peak.

Hot and dry

We are here in Tucson, far beyond the normal window of snowbird activity, because I wanted to stay and get a taste of Tucson’s heat after a cool winter.   Our Airstream travels will not resume until June.   In the weeks between now and departure, there lie at least 15 days of temperatures exceeding 100 degrees.

All the other snowbirds flew the coop in April.   The RV parks are decimated, and the service centers are quiet.   Nobody wants to be here when “the ice breaks up in the Santa Cruz River,” which is local slang for the first day of 100+ degrees.   That event usually occurs in May.   (The idea of ice in the Santa Cruz River is particularly ironic, since for most of its length through Tucson the river appears to be a dry wash, containing no visible water at all.)

But I did want to be here for the heat.   Unlike most people, I like it, at least when it’s the famous dry heat of the southwest.   We started reaching the upper 90s about a week ago and for the past three days we have flirted with 100 every day — reaching 99.5 in the shade of our back patio this afternoon at 4 p.m.   But although the weather service has claimed an official temperature of 100 today, I won’t say the ice of the Santa Cruz has broken yet, at least not according to the Luhr Standard Temperature Gauge.

It’s not nearly as unbearable as it sounds.   The mornings are gorgeous, running in the mid-60s.   We get up at 6 a.m. or so (even a shade doesn’t fully stop the sun from screaming in our eastern bedroom window), and open all the windows wide to catch the cool morning air and the sounds of the birds.   By 8 a.m. it has reached 72-75 degrees and we shut the windows again, and await the mid-day when the central air conditioner kicks on to keep the house at 79.   By then, the outside temperatures are well into the upper 80s, and the searing heat of the afternoon lies in wait.

We have learned self-defense techniques, of course.   Anything to be done outside, such as planting or bicycling, gets done in the early morning.   We never go out without a bottle of water, sunglasses and a very breathable broad sun hat.   I am wearing super-cool white shirts most days.   The black seats of the car are never scorching since the car sleeps in the shade of the carport, and there is nowhere it can go in the afternoon that isn’t air conditioned.   Beating the heat, it turns out, is much easier than beating the cold of a New England winter — and we don’t have to shovel the sunshine out of the way before leaving the house.

Heat, of course, is energy.   We are gradually finding that the energy is useful in ways that most people ignore.   I’d like to have solar electric panels on the roof of the house, as we do on the Airstream, but that project will have to wait until 2010.   In the meantime, the house came with an old-fashioned clothesline, and Eleanor has discovered that it does an impressive job of drying towels, which saves the energy the dryer would consume.   The trick is to get them off the line before too long.   She put a set of towels out there today and they came back not only dry, but rather crispy.   The combination of dry air, sunshine, and heat puts the gas dryer to shame.

Tonight we are grilling salmon on the little Weber.   The salmon was frozen solid, but Eleanor simply tossed it out on the weeds of our back yard (still sealed tightly in the original plastic package) and in about 30 minutes Emma flipped it.   Less than an hour later, the fish was perfectly defrosted.   I brushed the weed debris off the package and put it in the refrigerator.   Much longer and it would probably have started to cook.   Who needs a microwave when you’ve got Arizona sunshine?

The other aspect of our current climate is that this is the dry season.   I mean d-r-y, like Easterners have never experienced.   As I write this, the relative humidity is 6%, which is not unusual at all.   Hydration of humans and plants is the key to survival, so we (and most people who live here) keep a water bottle within reach at all times.   Eleanor has discovered that tomatoes left on the counter in a breathable package here will not go rotten, but they will slowly dehydrate. While they were gone I found a pack of tiny “grape” tomatoes that had been here for who-knows-how-long, and they were still perfectly edible.   A bit wrinkled, but tasty — almost like sun-dried tomatoes.   Apparently, we live in a food dehyrator.

Of course, the amusement of extraordinary heat would be lost if not for the miracle of central air conditioning.   We’ve never used our air for more than a few weeks, since we are not normally here for much of the warm season.   A setback thermostat and judicious use of natural air for morning cooling will help, but I’m still not looking forward to May’s electric bill.   If we were here in the summer I’m sure we would encounter sticker shock, but we’re just summer poseurs — we won’t be here for the long slog.

dsc_9887.jpgdsc_9886.jpgIn fact, we might soon encounter the opposite conditions.   Last June in Vermont we had several days that were cold enough to require furnace during the daytime, with cruel humidity.   So Eleanor has gotten to work on protecting our catalytic heater, with a custom cover.   Catalytic heaters can be killed by dust, and we travel to dusty places all the time.   Today she sewed up this neat cover, which is secured to the heater with little magnetic strips.   It comes off in a second and goes back on just as easily, with the magnets holding it tight during travel. Perfect!   (click the photos for larger views)

Perhaps in a month I’ll be eager to escape the heat, but probably not.   I am sure I will be pining for the dry air later this summer. There is something about life in the desert that appeals to me.   The heat isn’t just an obstacle, it’s an interesting aspect of being here.   It is the reason that we have lizards in the bougainvillea, and all sorts of other fascinating life.   We’ll absorb the heat while we can, in case we encounter a cool and rainy summer again in the northeast.

Travel by motorcar

Today Eleanor and Emma return home.   For me, this is spectacular news, since they’ve been gone 11 days and I’ve missed them.   Of course, it would have been even better if they had returned yesterday, when they were scheduled to fly back.   But airlines and airports and thunderstorms in Newark collaborated in that way they do, so that instead of flying back, they spent four hours in the Burlington, VT airport idling.   After several changes of departure time because of traffic control delays in Newark, the final straw came when it was announced that the Dehavilland Dash-8 turboprop had a flat tire.

As Dad always says, “Time to spare, go by air!”   Jet travel is convenient, but there are times when I’d rather hitchhike across the USA than go to the airport.   Fortunately, I have an Airstream, and that’s waaaaay better than hitchhiking.

For us, travel by Airstream has been a relatively recent discovery.   We only started in 2003 (and I was so inspired by it that five months later I quit my job and started Airstream Life magazine).   The joy of slower travel in our own rolling home was a revelation, which literally changed our lives. But the principles underlying why it is so much better are nothing new.   Travelers have roamed Europe for hundreds of years in rolling caravans, of which the horse-drawn gypsy vardo is but one example.

Within a short time after the arrival of motorcars, people discovered that they also provided a great travel experience.   What was more logical than to take a motorcar and a vardo, and put the two together?   Everyone who travels by RV (whether motorhome, travel trailer, or pop-up) is participating in a great tradition that goes back hundreds of years.   And believe it or not, the excitement you feel and the convenience you enjoy in your modern RV today have been identically enjoyed by many generations before you.

Want proof?   Check these quotes from the book “Motoring Abroad,” by Frank Presbrey, published in 1908.   (Google books excerpt here.

“There is a great advantage in traveling by motor car abroad.   One is not a slave to exacting time tables.   There is no dyspepsia-breeding nervousness over this or that annoyance of travel by railway;   there are no hurried meals, no hustling porters.   The car-window views which you have of the country when riding in a train are exchanged for a wide view on all sides.

“One of the particular delights of touring in an automobile is that one may indulge to the fullest extent in what might be termed haphazard decisions.   Sudden whims to change the route or to visit this place or that may be indulged without the annoyance of exchanging or redeeming railway tickets.   If you happen to be passing through some little village that strikes your fancy, or chance to come across an inn which looks particularly inviting, you do not have to ask the conductor for a stop-over check, nor hurry to the luggage van to get your luggage out.   You may stop at will and start at will.

“If there is anything which robs a trip of much of its pleasure it is a slavery to an itinerary and a time table.   To go and come at one’s own sweet will is productive of far more pleasure, rest and enjoyment than to follow some one’s else [sic] itinerary, whether it is the ‘man from Cook’s,’ the man who makes the railway time tables, or the man who drives a stage coach.

“We made our entire trip, from start to finish, without definite plans for more than a day or two in advance, and even these we frequently changed on the impulse of the moment.”

Well, that sounds just like most of my reports from the old Tour of America blog. We spent three years looking out the window and traveling with very few definite plans.   I think Mr. Presbrey would like traveling by RV if he were around today.

Of course, he might have different expectations in some departments.   On p. 276-6, he makes this observation:

“Unless the owner intends to drive the car himself it is best to take over with him his own chauffeur.   He can be sent over in the second cabin on the same steamer with the car.”

OK, so perhaps the experience today isn’t exactly the same …

Staying busy

I find myself in a rare state: alone, and with little to do.   Eleanor and Emma are off on a trip without me, and they’ve left me alone in the house with a stack of ready meals in the fridge. I’m hardly ever left on my own these days, and for the past month I’ve contemplated what I would do with the time.

My first thought was to pack up the Airstream and go somewhere, but at the moment I’m actually finding Tucson more appealing.   This is spring in Tucson, meaning excellent weather, lots of local events, and no reason to leave.   This is peak season for hiking, camping, bicycling, browsing, and projects.   So instead of the Airstream, I’m trying a “staycation” here.

I do still have work to do, but I’ve settled into a routine: up at 6:30 or so, work steadily until after lunch, do some projects around the house, then go out for some air and exploration.   Each day I try to examine some previously-unknown aspect of Tucson, preferably something that nobody else in the family would enjoy being dragged around to.

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Tuesday’s expedition was to the University of Arizona’s Steward Observatory Mirror Lab, which is where world class telescope mirrors are being made.   These days all the big telescopes use gigantic mirrors to collect light from the very edge of the universe and literally the beginning of time.   Making a perfect mirror of perhaps 8.4 meters across such as the Large Binocular Telescope project requires, takes a couple of years and about $23 million dollars.

dsc_9404.jpgThe tour is conducted in a white box that is hunkered down in the shadow of the U of A football stadium. It’s rather academic, and I felt like I was back in college.   The docent started in a conference room with a 40 minute discussion about how the mirrors are made, with bits of astronomical fact tossed in, until I felt that I was prepared to make a mirror myself.   It turns out that you don’t need a fancy “clean room” at all, you just need a big warehouse and a gazillion dollars of specialized equipment, plus a staff of couple dozen wizards.   Far more important than dust control is temperature and humidity control.   We were welcome to just walk in and stare without any special concern for cleanliness, which surprised people on the tour, considering that the polished surface of the mirror will be accurate to a few atoms when it is done.   In the photo you can see an 8.4 meter off-axis paraboloid mirror (part of the future Giant Magellan Telescope) being slowly polished.   That’s one of seven such mirrors to be made.

I can recommend this tour to geeky folks like me who get a kick out of science projects.   It’s a bit too long and too academic for younger kids (unless they’ve got a Science Club badge on their shirt and a pocket protector).

Wednesday’s outing was to explore Tucson’s camera shops.   As you may have heard, Ritz Camera, the nation’s largest camera chain, is closing hundreds of stores across the country. In many towns, the local camera shop is a thing of the past, and with them have gone many of the knowledgeable staff.   Now people mostly buy cameras at Ritz (or Wolf, which was part of the same company), Best Buy, or online. It’s hard to get the same level of service and information from the chain stores, so I’ve always been a bit disgruntled at the homogenization of camera stores.

Now, with Ritz shutting down both locations in Tucson, we were left with a bit of a vacuum.   So I went out to check the local places that deal in cameras to see who would fill the gap.   Our local Tucson Camera Repair has stepped up to become a Nikon dealer (full retail price across the board, but at least they have selection and service). Monument Camera is sticking with its specialty of used and often ancient gear, so no joy there.   Greg’s Camera And 1-Hour Photo is stocking a small amount of Nikon and Canon gear, and Jones Photo is still just a film-processing shop.   Overall it was a bit disappointing but still better than Ritz.   If I want a large camera store with tons of selection, I’ll still go to George’s Camera in San Diego, or try to find something suitable in Phoenix, and for low-low price via mail order or Internet it’s hard to beat the prices of the NY stores (of which Adorama and B&H Photo/Video are the majors).

I’ve found that exploring the city is best done slowly.   In each category of shopping or entertainment I am methodically working through as many options as I can and making mental notes, as I did with the camera shops.   Partially this is because we have a lot of guests from out-of-state and they always want to know where to go for things.   I’m expected to know the best pizza place, the best camera store, the best hardware store, RV repair, auto service, Mexican lunch, steakhouse, hike, bike trail, RV park, etc.

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I also want to explore slowly to find the best places for our needs.   For two years I’ve been trying different places to get my hair cut.   I’ve tried barber shops, chains, swanky salons, and hole-in-the-wall hacks.   I haven’t been the same place twice in two years, and finally I think I’ve found the right place.   The guy who cut my hair is named “Nino” and right there he’s got approval from Eleanor, who believes that only Italian men can give really good haircuts.   Nino is friendly but not too talkative, mature but not too old to deliver a stylin’ cut, helpful but not pushy with “product.”   Best of all, when I come home with a fresh haircut I get fast approval from the ladies of the household, rather than the disdainful, “Who cut your hair this time?   Don’t go back!”   (To which I usually reply, “Hey, it was only six bucks!”   Nino is $20, which is way over my usual cheapskate limit, but if it makes the wife smile then I guess it’s worth it.)

dsc_9612.jpgThursday’s outing was to the International Mariachi Festival, which is held annually in Tucson in April.   This is a unique and fantastic opportunity, so I had to go. (I’ll bet they don’t have a mariachi festival in your town!)   I love mariachi.   It’s fun, colorful, and always makes me think of good times on the road.   When I hear mariachi on the radio I know I’m near Mexico, and the sun is shining and the air is dry.   It makes me want some roasted chiles for lunch.

On Saturday they have a big concert with all the professionals, which costs $40-84 for a ticket.   This year Linda Ronstadt will be there. On Thursday they have the concert of students who have attended the festival, and that’s just $10, which is more my price range.   The mariachis started very small, with kids who appeared to be as young as six or seven years, and gradually worked up in age to the more accomplished musicians.   No matter — all were entertaining and the costumes were spectacular.   Mariachi is much more varied than I had thought, so each musical presentation was a pleasant surprise.

Photographically, it was a challenge to get usable shots.   The lighting was fairly dim and the colors kept changing.   I shot over 200 images at ISO 1600 and considered myself lucky to get a couple dozen worth keeping.   (What I really needed was a long lens faster than my f/4-5.6 200mm zoom, but the pro f/2.8 version weighs three times as much and costs as much as a used car.)   Still, some of the better shots can be seen on my Mariachi Flickr album here, if you’re interested.

I have a week to go before the ladies return home, so that means a lot of time left in my staycation.   I wonder what else Tucson will have to show me?