Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 87 - Tucson, AZ - Meeting the "Old Man"

I was actually here for an afternoon and spent the night in a motel. But I will start with the next day...

I was left again for a weekend with no money. There was no wiggling out of the situation. I had $8.75 to last what turned out to be four days and three nights. So I decided to distract myself as best I could. I've been in what I call "starvation mode" before. After the first day it gets much easier. Eating actually makes you hungry later. Not eating doesn't. For short periods of time, this is not a bad thing. But it should be remembered that those short periods of time should not occur too often--if that makes sense? There are many advantages to not eating when you wallk. One is not having to use a bathroom. smile emoticon

After leaving the Howard Johnson's, I decided to take my good friend Jeff's advice and start walking north up Congress. It didn't take long to get to the Downtown area. There one can find the "Tortoise Trail" (a blue line that takes the tourist around all the historic sites--similar to Boston's red "Freedom Trail" going up through the North End).

I did it all, man! And I took the pictures now posted. I was carrying my full pack and was sweating pretty heavily by noon. I stopped at a Circle K (know as "The K" here) and noticed they had a 32 ounce drink for only $0.79. I bought one and lugged its enormousness with me around more of the city. When the drink was gone (lemonade in this case) I ate the remaining ice for about an hour. This is a good way to hydrate. The good thing about sweating a lot is that one doesn't need to pee very often. This is really true as I would find out in the next few days.

Still, I was tired and needed to rest. I stopped in the park where the Poncho Villa statue is. There, I got my first taste of Tucson's large number of homeless people. There were young men in the park wandering aimlessly. A few watched me like stray dogs, wondering if I was moving into their "territory." A few more guys were sitting on the adjacent wall with huge bags and backpacks. Under an overpass were the blankets, clothing and junk food wrappers of those who had spent many nights there. It was sad to see stuffed animals. I felt better about my plan to find a place in the desert, where I could be alone and not hear the continuous sound of traffic. I hear it anyway all the time as you might imagine.

After being in Phoenix, Tucson was at first a disappointing place. And that's really saying something, considering that Phoenix has some pretty rough spots of its own. At least there though, most of the grass was green, the palm trees were well trimmed I only saw a few homeless folks. But Tucson is a whole other thing. It is dustier, dirtier and ALL the streets are lined with trash. There are many streets without sidewalks--something that really gets to me after a while. The grass is yellow, overgrown and unmowed. What sidewalks had cracks and were often buckled--with "warning" considerately painted on the parts that were especially bad. The Tucson Downtown has less big buildings than Portland, Maine. There is some truly great southwestern architecture though. Tucson has played a rich part in American history--one that should not be neglected by the rest of the country.

The real shortcomings of the city didn't show up until a couple days later. But so also did its most redeeming value. For now, I only thought - as I sat there in the beautiful, but sad, park - that Tucson must have very little money. It does its best with what it has. The bus system in particular is efficient and reliable. Good thing too, since most of the lower income people use it every day (as with most cities). Here in Tucson though it is a real requirement. Walking the five to ten mile stretches from one side of town to the other can be brutal, as I would discover. And this is January. I can't imagine July.

I tapped the last few pieces of ice down into my mouth and tossed the tub-sized foam cup in the trash can. My shoulders and back felt better. They had been bothering my up to that point. I did my characteristic lurch forward a few times and then stood up. On ventures around a city it is best to keep the walking stick collapsed and attached to the side of the pack. Though it can help with alleviating stress on my shoulders it really is for outside city limits and off road hiking.

It was about 1:30 pm now and the thought started to tap on my brain that I still needed to double check my route to the trail system west of the city. Google is pretty good with distances but I wanted a street view of the entrance to the trails to get a better idea of the elevations I'd be dealing with. I've become exceptionally good at km to mile to km conversions--my pedometer displays only kilometers. Google said that the trails were about two miles (3.2 km) outside of city limits off of Highway 86 which runs out of the southeastern part of the city.

I walked south back down Congress toward the last night's motel. I like to stick to routes I already know before trying new ones. The night before, I noticed that from the southwestern side of Tucson there were numerous streets running directly east, where I needed to go. That is a merciful thing about these Southwestern states, most have grid layouts.

I took several dead ends before I found 10th Street. I walked way down that street moving almost due east. I passed block after block of tiny pink, white and rose-colored houses, some with smoke coming out that smelled like pork. A few people stared at me, but it wasn't because of the hiking gear, but just because I was a new white face (getting redder with sun) in the neighborhood. EVERY man I walked past said hello. Every woman smiled. There wasn't even the hint of aggression or rejection. This was the Tucson I would later realize I had come to See.

Eventually, after about six km (about 4 miles) I came to Ajo Way (Ajo Highway). And, right there at the corner was a McDonald's. I smiled.

I stopped in and got a drink (they are all $1.00, with free refills for the duration of the stay). I hauled out the laptop and fired its dusty ass up--something I always hold my breath for. This Toshiba Satellite - despite being rather heavy - has been a workhorse computer like no other. It has its sick days, but generally speaking it is super reliable and tough as steel.

I got online easily, touched base with you all and posted some pictures. Then I carefully re-checked my bearings for the hike out of town. I was happily surprised to see that Ajo Highway WAS Route 86! I just needed to head west and I'd find my much anticipated sleep spot.

It was nearing 4:00 pm. I still had a good 1.5 hours until sundown. It takes me about an hour to walk three miles with the pack. McDonald's was located about four miles from the trails. It was time to leave. I had no idea what to expect in the desert. But one thing was for sure: It would be a brand new experience.

As Iwallked down Ajo I thought much. I was tired after the ten miles of walking around the city. I'd had a good night's sleep (the bed at the motel was especially comfortable); didn't dream much, but slept well. As I often do, I replayed the last three months of events over in my head. I sometimes think it is unbelievable how much I've seen. But I recalled that it DID happen. I guess that's why I take so many pictures and videos. I need to prove to myself that I actually am doing what I set out to do. I have noticed that for the last month or so when I wake up in the morning it takes a while for me to figure out exactly where I am. Definite sign of constantly traveling.

I relived Boston, then South Boston, Southwestern Massachusetts, Rhode Island--my new friends there and the "Transformation," Connecticut, Pennsylvania--and new friends there, the train ride to Chicago--and all of that city's majesty, then Missouri--with the strange set-up of events there; all my old and wonderful new friends, then the frustrating diversion into Arkansas, the adventures of the bus ride and then seemingly-unending train ride over Christmas Eve and Christmas, the educational experience of New Mexico--getting to meet more online friends in person for the first time, and now Arizona and my recent passage through Flagstaff, beautiful Sedona, meeting my great friends in Phoenix and my now I was approaching my first night sleeping in a desert.

Overall, I felt more spiritually awake than when I left Maine, more physically experienced, more in awe of what I feel has been asked of me, more certain of the coming of a Great event, but much much less confident in my little human animal-self--the regular old "me" that I live with every day. I felt that what I am doing is less in my own hands now.

Ironically though, I have the growing sense of unseen protection and support. I feel that has grown. I - especially at night outside - feel that a group of "beings" surrounds me, camps with me, WALLKS with me. I have become of interest to them, or so I wish. OR, I am completely self-deluded and should seek the nearest mental health service center.

On the road as the sun touched the tallest peaks of the surrounding mountains, I wished almost desperately that my sense of unseen teamwork would somehow be confirmed for me; just to give a little touch of strength; to let me know I was on the right Path. On that night - in splendid isolation - I would try to make direct contact...

I knew I had come too far on Route 86 when I began to see houses creep into view up ahead. Google showed that there was only about a two mile stretch where the wilderness could be accessed between the edges of settlements. THIS was the time to venture north off the road. I looked carefully both ways since I was on the left side of a four lane highway and needed to cross. When only a few cars were coming I made my dash.

There was a small dried up gully on the other side of the road when I got there. The ground was really rough, with sharp rocks of every size. I took a breath as if diving into deep water and hopped down into the ditch. I had the walking stick extended now, since hiking out of town, and I'm glad I did. It was hard going from place to place while trying to avoid the smaller cactuses. I knew that a face plant into one of them would spell disaster. I wanted to keep my eyes and my pretty little smile as long as I could. Moving slowly was an absolute requirement. The sound of the highway slowly began to recede behind me as the incline grew in front of me.

I reached a cliff-like area that has precarious natural stairway to step up. So I began to climb. The larger rocks were deeply cracked and one of them split and fell away beneath me, causing me to briefly fall forward and grab onto a higher step. I nearly always keep the strap of the walking stick around my wrist, but not this time. It began to slip out of my hand, but I caught it by the foam rubber located just below the handle. I had to laugh to out loud.

The painstaking climb up the cliff, sweating my ass off, was one of those memories that will stick clearly with me for the rest of my life. It was dangerous and exciting. It reminded me of the feeling I used to get at the beginning of this journey when I would go through a scary physical challenge - just making it - and then be filled with the desire for more challenges. That hadn't happened for a while.

At the top of the cliff I found what I later learned was called "Explorer Trail." I headed east up a rather steep hill toward a very large cactus. It seemed like a marker for me somehow. The Spark flashed a definite consent for this idea.

When I got to the top I was certain that this was where I would camp. The ground was level and relatively free of the golf ball sized stones that I didn't need under my rib cage while I slept. There was a power line running down the trail on either side of the ridge. I thought this was a bit unfortunate scenery-wise, but the guy wire for the wooden power pole ran at a high angle right over the flattest part of the clearing--perfect to attach a tent to.

I had a short inner debate with myself as to whether a tent was even needed. The night was likely to be cool - not cold - and for once I was actually legitimately allowed to camp, so there was no big risk of being discovered and asked to leave. Besides, no cop in his right mind would sacrifice the chance to stop a speeder on the highway in order to climb up what I had just climbed up and move me out of there!

It was, in a word, *Perfect*. I decided against the tent, knowing that if I folded the tarp in half it would better smooth out the sand under me as a base. Since I didn't need my fleece jacket, and after laying out the tarp, I carefully folded the sleeves of the jacket under and laid it down as an extra layer of padding. I did secure one grommet of the tarp to the guy wire, so that it wouldn't move during the night or be flapping around if a breeze came up. There are pictures of all of this here at Facebook.

While trying to hang my Romines Dealership hat on the spines of a baby saguaro, I simultaneously stuck my left lower leg and the middle finger of my left hand with the spikes of a jumping cholla (usually small and viciously appointed with mid-sized spines).

Jumping Cholla

Simple Tarp and Coat to Put the Sleeping Bag On

I reached down to my leg and discovered that the three spines had easily passed through my pant leg and thick socks into my flesh. I pulled two out with no issue, but the third was much smaller and broke off at the base, leaving a tip that - though I attempted to dig it out later - is still there. My finger was fine. Not enough muscle tissue to embed. But it bled like crazy. It dripped on my jeans. Little did I know yet that it would be joined by the blood of another creature in a couple of days...

The pack was resting on the sand and I took a big haul off the Camelbak canteen. I always put my left hand on the bulge of it to gauge how fast it is being depleted. I crudely measured that I drank about 1/4 of it (10 oz).
I felt good.

The sun was now behind the purple western mountains and the wispy clouds were painted with fluorescent orange, tipped with glowing pink highlights. The distant highway shown with the car lights of hundreds of people going home for the day or out for the night. In places like this, one really gets the sense that the world is working working pretty much like it should. It was the realization of my formerly spoken-of dream. I watched the world from afar. And....it was good. It is a GOOD world. I am happy to be alive in it.

The shadows settled in and the lighted tips of the saguaros saw their day end as they have for so long. The large cactus I named the "Old Man" had probably seen over 50,000 sunsets. Stop to think about that.

As Civil War soldiers headed across this land, the Old Man watched over them. Maybe one of them stopped up here and looked at him when he was just a baby. To have been present during the growth pains of this great nation was an energy that flowed out of the Old Man...and into my soul. Now he stands as best he can. Birds have made nests in him. His spines at the base are gone. The water barely makes it to his extremities. But he is proud and so very tall and straight. He is the sentinel of the mountain where he is slowly dying. He is the watcher of world--the noble father of the desert. And he would watch over me as I slept that night.

Just for a dry run I decided to build a fire. I planned to spend the last of my money on some meat the next day to cook up here at the campsite. There was no problem finding wood on the thirsty trees. A camper always must be vigilant with fire. But the spaces in between bushes and other plants was wide enough that there was little risk of it getting out of control. I found a good open spot and cleared two concentric circles of softball sized rocks just to make sure. In the center I made a bed of tiny twigs and then placed larger sticks on top of them. Short arm-thickness wood was placed along side to burn for a coal bed.

I had no problem lighting the fire it flared up immediately--ambitiously. Within an hour or so I had my coal bed and stood there warming up beside it. Then I walked back down to the path and found myself pacing back and forth. It was only about 7:00 pm and I wasn't ready to sleep. I looked up at Orion then over at the Big Dipper. I found the North Star and peered out in the direction of Maine. I imagined myself being lifted up high enough to see the curvature of the earth. Somewher e in the Northeast was my home state. People were settled in for the night, perhaps beside fires of their own. It was time to try communicating with my unseen team...

I stood as solemnly as I could there on the rocky path. I raised my arms to the space above me and said loudly, "Here I am. I've done what you have asked. Would you show yourselves? I know you are there. I can feel your presence but I desire to see you. Would you please meet with me?"

I felt a warm shiver. It was the Spark. It was telling me to look without my material eyes. I tried. I tried so hard. I could *feel* not only a few presences but hundreds. They "stood" in circles moving out from my location, across the desert vistas. But I *saw* nothing. I knew that *they* knew how desperately I wanted to actually SEE even a glimpse; a ray of light, a form of some kind. But there was nothing to behold.

Yet... I felt the Spark tell me that it wasn't time yet. The invisible ones empathized with my human need to see. But it was important that the time be right. I couldn't force it. I couldn't even beg for it. It suddenly occurred to me that the Spark was right. I felt humbled and foolish for trying. I looked down in disappointment. I was disappointed by not getting my wish, but I was more disappointed in myself for trying to achieve what was not yet mine to have.
I scraped the barren sand with my boot. I felt the hardness of the ground beneath my feet. Then I looked over at the Old Man silhouetted against the fading of the day...

And I was Strengthened. I perceived that I was truly Loved from both above and below. A single word penetrated my consciousness. It filled my soul like with its energizing Power: "Patience."

Day - and night - one was winding up. I was hungry. I dug through every pocket of the pack and found a small bottle of green olives from a salad I made in Sedona. I ate a couple, but they made me thirsty, and water was at a premium. I checked my food pocket on the vest and found some wrappers, and voila!, the last half of a bag of chocolate covered raisins. I devoured them and burned the wrappers in the dying coals of the fire.

I unzipped the sleeping bag and crawled in at about 9:00 pm. It always warms up quickly. It is quite an amazing thing. It can protect down to just below 20 F. It keeps heat in and forces moisture out and it is thin enough to fit in the bottom pocket of my backpack (about the size of a small loaf of bread).
The ground was hard, but there were no rocks sticking into me. It was Saturday night and in the western town of Drexel Heights below police and ambulance sirens blared out their warning songs. They raced between Drexel Heights and Tucson, up and down Route 86.

I concentrated on the idea of going to Avalon Organic Gardens (I'll call it AOG for short). I had not had a very successful email exchange with either their shuttle or main office. Frankly, what I felt I was getting for my $155.00 was really just a bunch of hype. I might have been wrong but that's how I felt at the time.

They do have a very successful self-sustaining model for their community. But the community itself - though filled with smiling, shiny happy people - was not the kind of thing that I was interested in for future low income housing plans. It is formed around a "Spiritual Leader" named Gabriel.

They have a restaurant in Tucson called the Ascension Cafe--a vegetarian, gluten free and vegan establishment priced on the higher end of the scale (one bowl of soup can run you $14.00). It has dozens of 5 star reviews from several different online sites. Many were written by tourists and local Tucson residents.
I like that Ascension Cafe food is supplied by AOG and other local sources exclusively. THAT is a truly progressive way to do business. It is staffed by AOG members.

To outward appearances, the members of AOG live in perpetual joy. No socializing conflicts are ever present at least in the Facebook community. But nothing in this world is ever perfect. That's for sure.

It was with all of this in mind that I began to slip into unconsciousness, and began to dream. I rarely ever dream about things that I am currently doing or concerned with but this was this night was the exception...

* * * * * * *

In the dream I was visiting Gabriel (leader of AOG) at his personal residence. His wife Niann led me in graciously. She was sweet and warmhearted. I sat down in a very nicely appointed room to wait for the man himself.

After some time and light chatting with Niann, Gabriel entered and smiled widely. I rose and shook his hand. He asked me to sit and sat down opposite of where I was. Gabriel has black eyes; piercing, yet - at least as I perceived in this dream - insecure, almost frightened.

He's a fairly good looking man. Actually he has a hairline somewhat like I do when my hair is down. Thank you, thank you... As we made some small talk I began to notice that there were mirrors everywhere in the room.

He looked down at the table--also a mirror, and without missing a beat, glanced up again and over my shoulder at Niann, saying nothing to her. She got up, walked over to a cabinet and got out a small black velvet box, handing it to him gently.

He nodded to her. She sat back down. He had not broken his train of thought, and asked me about my journey. As I spoke, he reached down to the velvet box and slowly opened it. I thought that this might be a gift for me, or some treasured relic he wanted to show me. But, instead, he pulled out a pair of brilliantly polished golden tweezers. I stammered a bit in my recounting of the trip across country, distracted by this strange behavior. It tried not to show my reaction and continued to speak, now a bit irritated that he didn't even seem to be listening.

He raised the golden tweezers to his right eyebrow, all the while looking down at the mirrored table, and plucked one stray hair. I stopped talking. He didn't even notice. Niann cleared her throat and his eyes rose to meet mine. I smiled, thanked them both for their time, turned and walked out the door.

As I shut it I looked back around at them, Niann waved, but Gabriel never looked up again.

* * * * * * *

[See Next Posts for Days Two and Three.]