ONE WEEK into my eighth year on the road, last day of January …
Quartzsite, Arizona, a tiny desert town that exponentially swells in population during the winter. But this particular morning, it looked like the population would drop by one.
That one happened to be me. Action …
The helicopter blade started whirring. A female paramedic poked her head inside my bubble and asked, “John, are you going to be alright?" I raised my thumb. The whir changed in pitch and next thing I was floating. Me being me, I already had my phone out shooting video.
Of my own death? Who knew? I had no control over the situation. Strapped to a gurney, suspended above the ground, I had no choice but to surrender. In surrender, I found a certain sense of peace.
Never waste a good heart attack, I was wont to say after my first one some eight and a half years before. A lot of good lessons came out of that. Now, maybe an hour and a bit into my second event, I'm about to learn a few more.
I'd started the day with the sensation of an elephant crushing my chest. Goddamnit! was my reaction. As if in response, the elephant crushed harder. Fuck! I was in serious trouble. Somehow, I managed to crawl out of my van and into a folding chair and dial 911. The operator assured me an ambulance was on the way and she would stay on the line with me till it arrived.
As it turned out, I happened to be camped opposite a van that had the word Buddhist in its signage. The owner, Dani, and her daughter came rushing out. This was reassuring. If you have to have a heart attack, who better to have it around than a Buddhist?
OM OM on the range.
Dani talked to me reassuringly as her daughter rushed into my van to retrieve my charging cord and other items in anticipation of a hospital stay. Dani also got on the phone with my sister in Florida and let her know what was going on. She held the phone to me. “Do you want to talk to her?”
I shook my head no. I lacked the strength, the breath, the ability to talk. The only thing working were the tears running down my cheeks. Shit! This was embarrassing.
The EMT people on the scene gave me nitro and baby aspirin and fentanyl. Gradually the elephant eased off my chest. But they had one look at the printout from an EKG and informed me I would be going for a helicopter ride.
They got me onto the gurney and prepared to load me into the ambulance. “Any questions?” one of them asked. This was my cue. If you’re going to die, die laughing. Moment of truth: “Yes,” I replied. “What's the capital of Bulgaria?”
Yeh, I really said that.
Quartzsite, Arizona, a tiny desert town that exponentially swells in population during the winter. But this particular morning, it looked like the population would drop by one.
That one happened to be me. Action …
The helicopter blade started whirring. A female paramedic poked her head inside my bubble and asked, “John, are you going to be alright?" I raised my thumb. The whir changed in pitch and next thing I was floating. Me being me, I already had my phone out shooting video.
Of my own death? Who knew? I had no control over the situation. Strapped to a gurney, suspended above the ground, I had no choice but to surrender. In surrender, I found a certain sense of peace.
Never waste a good heart attack, I was wont to say after my first one some eight and a half years before. A lot of good lessons came out of that. Now, maybe an hour and a bit into my second event, I'm about to learn a few more.
I'd started the day with the sensation of an elephant crushing my chest. Goddamnit! was my reaction. As if in response, the elephant crushed harder. Fuck! I was in serious trouble. Somehow, I managed to crawl out of my van and into a folding chair and dial 911. The operator assured me an ambulance was on the way and she would stay on the line with me till it arrived.
As it turned out, I happened to be camped opposite a van that had the word Buddhist in its signage. The owner, Dani, and her daughter came rushing out. This was reassuring. If you have to have a heart attack, who better to have it around than a Buddhist?
OM OM on the range.
Dani talked to me reassuringly as her daughter rushed into my van to retrieve my charging cord and other items in anticipation of a hospital stay. Dani also got on the phone with my sister in Florida and let her know what was going on. She held the phone to me. “Do you want to talk to her?”
I shook my head no. I lacked the strength, the breath, the ability to talk. The only thing working were the tears running down my cheeks. Shit! This was embarrassing.
The EMT people on the scene gave me nitro and baby aspirin and fentanyl. Gradually the elephant eased off my chest. But they had one look at the printout from an EKG and informed me I would be going for a helicopter ride.
They got me onto the gurney and prepared to load me into the ambulance. “Any questions?” one of them asked. This was my cue. If you’re going to die, die laughing. Moment of truth: “Yes,” I replied. “What's the capital of Bulgaria?”
Yeh, I really said that.
Flashback, the Grand Canyon
The views are spectacular heading up. The ascent is considerably steeper than when I first set out. At numerous points along the way, the trail runs close to the edge of a ravine. I'm one mishap, I realize, from doing a Wile E Coyote over the side.
I pause to take photos. The sky is purplish-grey, the canyon purplish-grey. Together they create an ethereal effect—rock melting into sky, sky solidifying into rock. Way off in the far distance, clouds are congealing into a deeper purple.
I put my phone in my pocket and resume my hike, the trail leading me up a slope away from the edge of the ravine.
Lightning! Thunder! Way off in the distance. I take in the sight, grateful it's not me out there.
Then, in the time it takes to draw one's breath, the temperature drops at least 30 degrees to freezing. Lightning! Thunder! This time directly overhead. Then sheets and buckets of rain. But that is only a minor inconvenience next to what is in store. In the time it takes to draw in another breath, I'm up to my calves in a rushing ochre current. The water is surging down the steep trail, which is acting as a channel.
Reflexively, I turn facing uphill and sink my hiking poles into the ground, steady myself, and take stock. Not far off, on higher ground off the trail, is a shelter. Do I make a mad dash for it?
Highly risky, but equally risky is staying put. The ravine is but a first down or two behind me and I cannot hold out against the onrush for long.
Then, in the time it takes to draw another breath, the storm ceases with the same abruptness it came, taking my ochre river of doom with it.
I'm drenching wet and chilled to the bone, but I'm feeling both a sense of relief and exhilaration. When my thinking comes online a second later, I also experience an overlay of awe and wonder.
But I have little time to reflect on all that. My body is screaming what the fucking fuck fuck just happened, and I need to tend to that. And the most challenging part of the trail lies just ahead, a series of heartbreaking switchbacks that I will have to negotiate with an anvil in my backpack, and it will be a race to the top before dark sets in.
“Lucky to be alive,” says my alter-ego, Squinty the Prospector.
“Reminds me of the monsoon season of ‘88, me and me trusty mule, Plato …”
Right, Squinty, thanks for sharing.
“Don’t lose yer beard over it,” he assures me. “I did stupider things. That time with Raven Woman …”
Right, every sidekick needs a main character. So who was I, the sidekick or the main character? That's a question for later. A daunting hike awaits. I need to clear my head. Only later will I realize that a lot of the old me got washed away in that ochre-drenched torrent.
God and I may have issues, but He does see that proverbial banana peel—you know, the one we're about to slip on. Back down the trail, I almost slipped bigtime, which must have induced a hearty chuckle or two. But, you know, I'm not about to deprive the Big Guy of his fun, because—you know, there are lessons to be learned, and I wasn't about to learn them by playing it safe. I need to be on the road, where I am constantly tested. Less risky, all things considered, than staring up at a ceiling fan back in my old life. God seems to know that. Much as I hate to admit it, God is sometimes right.
The views are spectacular heading up. The ascent is considerably steeper than when I first set out. At numerous points along the way, the trail runs close to the edge of a ravine. I'm one mishap, I realize, from doing a Wile E Coyote over the side.
I pause to take photos. The sky is purplish-grey, the canyon purplish-grey. Together they create an ethereal effect—rock melting into sky, sky solidifying into rock. Way off in the far distance, clouds are congealing into a deeper purple.
I put my phone in my pocket and resume my hike, the trail leading me up a slope away from the edge of the ravine.
Lightning! Thunder! Way off in the distance. I take in the sight, grateful it's not me out there.
Then, in the time it takes to draw one's breath, the temperature drops at least 30 degrees to freezing. Lightning! Thunder! This time directly overhead. Then sheets and buckets of rain. But that is only a minor inconvenience next to what is in store. In the time it takes to draw in another breath, I'm up to my calves in a rushing ochre current. The water is surging down the steep trail, which is acting as a channel.
Reflexively, I turn facing uphill and sink my hiking poles into the ground, steady myself, and take stock. Not far off, on higher ground off the trail, is a shelter. Do I make a mad dash for it?
Highly risky, but equally risky is staying put. The ravine is but a first down or two behind me and I cannot hold out against the onrush for long.
Then, in the time it takes to draw another breath, the storm ceases with the same abruptness it came, taking my ochre river of doom with it.
I'm drenching wet and chilled to the bone, but I'm feeling both a sense of relief and exhilaration. When my thinking comes online a second later, I also experience an overlay of awe and wonder.
But I have little time to reflect on all that. My body is screaming what the fucking fuck fuck just happened, and I need to tend to that. And the most challenging part of the trail lies just ahead, a series of heartbreaking switchbacks that I will have to negotiate with an anvil in my backpack, and it will be a race to the top before dark sets in.
“Lucky to be alive,” says my alter-ego, Squinty the Prospector.
“Reminds me of the monsoon season of ‘88, me and me trusty mule, Plato …”
Right, Squinty, thanks for sharing.
“Don’t lose yer beard over it,” he assures me. “I did stupider things. That time with Raven Woman …”
Right, every sidekick needs a main character. So who was I, the sidekick or the main character? That's a question for later. A daunting hike awaits. I need to clear my head. Only later will I realize that a lot of the old me got washed away in that ochre-drenched torrent.
God and I may have issues, but He does see that proverbial banana peel—you know, the one we're about to slip on. Back down the trail, I almost slipped bigtime, which must have induced a hearty chuckle or two. But, you know, I'm not about to deprive the Big Guy of his fun, because—you know, there are lessons to be learned, and I wasn't about to learn them by playing it safe. I need to be on the road, where I am constantly tested. Less risky, all things considered, than staring up at a ceiling fan back in my old life. God seems to know that. Much as I hate to admit it, God is sometimes right.
Flower and I have reached a modus vivendi, an accord, a meeting of the minds. We have decided that each other falls into the mostly harmless category and we go about our appointed rounds accordingly. My amygdala is now wholly nonreactive. I pee freely in the forest, looking out at yellow eyes. I ply back and forth between clam and van, Flower practically by my side.
You know, I'm actually getting to grow fond of the critter, even looking forward to his visits.
In the hammock. Skritch-skritch.
Thanks for the butt-rub little guy.
No worries, mate. Have a good day.
I love you, Flower! If this has been a test, I've aced it. I now feel I'm walking the earth as an incarnation of Francis of Assisi, Patron Saint of Animals. Only in the many pics of Francis I pull up, I fail to pick out a skunk in his forest following. Raccoon, check, Deer, check. Skunk demonstrably absent. Am I breaking new ground here?
Final exam. Two in the morning, snoozing in my sleeping bag, inside my clam. I feel my legs being gently massaged. Ahh! Uh, wait a second. I prop myself up and switch on my headlamp.
Flower! Somehow, he swam across the moat, breached the razor wire wall, and dynamited his way into my clam. I am now sharing my sleeping quarters with a skunk.
But rather than declare DEFCON ONE, my amygdala is responding as if a pet cat has jumped onto my bed. Aww! So cute!
Hey, Little Guy. So good to see you. I'm tempted to give him a pat on the head, but decide not to press my luck. Instead, I casually make for the door. Flower follows like a pet cat waiting to be let outside.
His nose is now against the door flap, waiting expectedly. To reach the zipper, the back of my hand has to touch Flower's nose. No worries. I'm not suppressing fear. My breathing and heart rate are normal. If anything, I'm feeling warm fuzzies.
I gently yank the zipper. The flaps part, and Flower is off like a shot. “There ya go, good buddy.”
I'm back asleep within minutes.
Yeh, Little Guy. We shared some good times. Did we ever.
You know, I'm actually getting to grow fond of the critter, even looking forward to his visits.
In the hammock. Skritch-skritch.
Thanks for the butt-rub little guy.
No worries, mate. Have a good day.
I love you, Flower! If this has been a test, I've aced it. I now feel I'm walking the earth as an incarnation of Francis of Assisi, Patron Saint of Animals. Only in the many pics of Francis I pull up, I fail to pick out a skunk in his forest following. Raccoon, check, Deer, check. Skunk demonstrably absent. Am I breaking new ground here?
Final exam. Two in the morning, snoozing in my sleeping bag, inside my clam. I feel my legs being gently massaged. Ahh! Uh, wait a second. I prop myself up and switch on my headlamp.
Flower! Somehow, he swam across the moat, breached the razor wire wall, and dynamited his way into my clam. I am now sharing my sleeping quarters with a skunk.
But rather than declare DEFCON ONE, my amygdala is responding as if a pet cat has jumped onto my bed. Aww! So cute!
Hey, Little Guy. So good to see you. I'm tempted to give him a pat on the head, but decide not to press my luck. Instead, I casually make for the door. Flower follows like a pet cat waiting to be let outside.
His nose is now against the door flap, waiting expectedly. To reach the zipper, the back of my hand has to touch Flower's nose. No worries. I'm not suppressing fear. My breathing and heart rate are normal. If anything, I'm feeling warm fuzzies.
I gently yank the zipper. The flaps part, and Flower is off like a shot. “There ya go, good buddy.”
I'm back asleep within minutes.
Yeh, Little Guy. We shared some good times. Did we ever.
