In the News

It's all over the news that the US Supreme Court has overturned Washington D.C.'s handgun ban, which is being touted as a major victory for George Bush. Although the ruling was tight (5-4), the wording on the decision has left a lot of room for overturning other stringent gun control legislation - which has gun rights activists thrilled and gun control fans shaking in their boots. Seems the whole gist of the thing is that we are allowed to have guns for "personal defence", and that it's probably hard to defend yourself and your home if you have to un-do a trigger lock, reassemble a gun from different parts or go buy ammunition before you shoot your attacker. Now, I'm not going to use my blog for a soapbox on this issue (ha - bet you thought that's where this was going, didn't you!). Instead, I brought this here as a response to a less significant part of these legal proceedings:

In this article from the Associated press, the last paragraph talks about the reason for the court case in the first place: Washington D.C. gun-rights activists argued that the ban prevented residents from defending themselves in the dangerous DC neighborhoods. The response from the D.C. government was (quoting the article) "The Washington government says no one would be prosecuted for a gun law violation in cases of self-defense."

Um, am I the only one who thinks that there is another problem here? So, it's illegal to own a handgun, to have one in your home at all. If you're found with one just lying around you could be subject to a fine or even jail time. But if you shoot someone with it, well then you're okay as long as it's self defence. This is like one of those stupid rules your parents had when you were growing up that made no sense at all and always felt random when you got busted on it. You remember the one they usually explained with "because I'm the mommy, that's why!".

I think that this whole "well, it's the law, but we don't really enforce it all of the time" thing is all over our country, and I think it's a HUGE part of our problem. Law is law, rules are rules. If you break them, you get busted. "Loop-holes" are how WAY too many criminals end up on the streets in this country. "Yeah, well you see, members of the jury, I had to pop that no- good drug-dealing dude's a#! because he had a gun to MY head. You see I was out of dope..." Yeah - the magic self defence. Now they get off of the murder rap AND the gun charge.

I say we get rid of any law we don't intend to enforce, replace it with laws that make sense and we can make work. There's nothing harmless or innocuous about silly laws - just think, anyone could be arrested at any moment and jailed for having more than one dildo in their house (because the Arizona law doesn't even define what a dildo is).

Now if only the Supreme Court decision had said something like "your law is dumb - make a better one".

The Hunt for the Wild Boojum: Is it Thorny or Spiney?

There is an interesting phenomenon that occurs when people from more precipitation-prone climes visit the Sonoran Desert for the first time. It usually goes something like this:

1. Photograph first magnificent saguaro you see


2. Stand back, tilt head and ponder deeply


3. Approach slowly, cautiously and:
   

For some reason completely incomprehensible to those of us raised around these bristly flora, tourists are absolutely obsessed with touching cacti - particularly the saguaro. When I finally found a tourist I felt comfortable enough with to ask, their reason was "to see if it was really sharp and thorny".


Well, duh, says the girl who's pulled cholla thorns out of her dog's tongue. Why do you think they're called thorns?


But are they? Are they really called thorns?


A matter not only for the Queen of Useless Knowledge - but closely related to my hunt for the wild Boojum. Well, maybe not closely, but boojums have "thorns" too, so there is a connection here. And I needed a tidy segue into my next informative piece.

A boojum's spikey, happy branches in the sun (wrl)

You see, there is a fundamental difference between thorns and spines - and it helps to define the defense systems of our desert adapted plants from those of more ostentatious species. A thorn is essential a small, leafless stem or branch.

Thorns on a Rose Bush

So, the thorn is a woody appendage, usually connected to a branch, and not really related to the leaves (except perhaps in it's location, such as the velvet mesquite which has thorns tucked into the junction of the petiole and the stem - a clever and sneaky adaptation).


But a spine, ah, a spine is actually modified leaf. I know, pretty amazing, huh. Perhaps this illustration from Wayne's World Online Textbook of Natural History (hey, I only consult the best sources) will help to illustrate this very important difference:

Ach, see! "A" is a thorn - independent of the leaf and woody(can't you tell from the illustration?). "B" is a spine - actually a part of the leaf growth! Coolio!

So, on my beautiful boojum it gets EVEN MORE INTERESTING! (I know, I didn't think it was possible, either). Unlike other desert adapted plants like the barrel cactus and the prickly pear whose spines are essentially always spines and never traditional "leaves", the plants in the family Foquieriacaea (ocotillo, boojum, tree ocotillo) actually grow a leaf with a long, stiff petiole (the part that connects the leaf to the stem). When the desert is drenched with rain during the monsoons, the leaves sprout out from the succulent stems with amazing speed. Then, when the heat is back on and the plant needs to conserve water, it drops the leaves. But the long, stiff petiole is retained and becomes what botanists call a 'fouquieriaceous' spine. Another illustration from Wayne's World:

Here's a close up on the plant. (come on, tell me this isn't sexy)

From "The Ocotillo and the Boojum Tree" by Arthur C. Gibson

In the photo, the leaf is a second-growth leaf, meaning that the original leaf fell off and left the remaining spine, then the wet season, a leaf regrew from the same spot - this one won't leave a new spine. Nature can be so efficient!


So, now if someone tells you that you have a thorny disposition, you will know they're referring to your stems, not your leaves. It'll ease the sting significantly (at least it does for me).


An image for the individual who requested proof of the intimidating Boojum at the Boyce Thompson Arboretum:

More than 35' of Boojum glory! (wrl)

Also of interest, though not really related.... While searching the web for photos for this post, I came across the web site of a couple that did a self-supported (read tent and hauled food) bicycle trip throughout southeastern Arizona on their tandem with their two-year-old in a little trailer behind them. Amazing stuff - they rode from Tucson through Sonoita to Tombstone and back through Green Valley. With a toddler in a trailer. Them's some admirable, but crazy, folks there.

Brevity...

Only a few weeks into blogging and already I have complaints on the voluminous quality of my blog entries. I sincerely apologize - it is a challenge to convey all this critical missing information in an appropriately concise manner. In an effort to address this problem, this blog entry will be light.

Interesting tidbits to share:

• Somewhere in the world there is a murder mystery novel set at a Renaissance Faire. Cracks me up. "Hear ye, hear ye, mi lords and ladies, pray attend. To the individual who left the rotting corpse at the tourney grounds, please move it so the jousting may commence!"


• They're making a new Star Trek movie and Simon Pegg (of Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz) will be playing Scotty. "Och, captain, she's ready to blow!"


• Brendan Fraser is coming out with not one, but two corny "blockbuster" action films this summer: Journey to the Center of the Earth and The Mummy: Curse of the Dragon Emperor - all to be followed by GI Joe next summer. It seems that Brendan has embraced his role in the universe as the plastic all-purpose action figure well, is making money hand over fist and probably only occasionally haunted by his occasional job as a real actor (see Gods and Monsters or The Quiet American).


• A fond farewell to George Carlin - a brilliant comedian and sharp satirist. Perhaps his seminal work:

• And I'll close with a quote from "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver, because it shows that I actually have a soft side:

Life Lesson #54: The Human Herd and National Parks

In spite of all of my schooling and years of experience, sometimes I still make gross underestimations of the human herd as it moves through its annual cycles. Like a group of ungulates in search of better browse, the human herd also moves from place to place seasonally, although rather than browse, this group is searching for something much more complex: the ultimate experience. Individual humans instinctively know when and where to locate the herd, and will be inexorably drawn to it by a fear that they may miss out on something really cool and become an outcast. This is commonly seen at the grand opening event of major retail outlets, professional sporting events, beer festivals and space shuttle launches. In the winter, the herd might niblle on great deals on Christmas gifts at the mall, and during the warm months, the herd frequently migrates out to places of spectacular natural beauty, in the hope that they can capture it and take it home on a t-shirt.

My life lesson occurred this time in Zion National Park on a warm Tuesday afternoon in June. Having spent a delightful weekend in Bryce Canyon - just to the northeast of Zion, I thought I could just take a little detour through Zion, check out some important cultural landscape stuff, and head back to the hot desert floor before it got too late. No problem - just an extra couple of hours added to our trip, and I'd get to take in some fantastic scenery along the way. Right?

Wrong, wrong, wrong. My instinct about where to find the human herd must have been turned off, because I usually use it to avoid the crowd. Bryce Canyon, due to the combination of its more remote location and perceived inferiority to its larger cousins Zion, the Grand Canyon and Yosemite, is a relatively quiet park, with only about 1 million visitors per year (compared to the Grand Canyon's 4 million or Zion's 2.6 million). I was lulled into a false sense of security during my time there by the lack of annoying crowds, the relatively unpopulated backcountry trails and the availability of tables at the lodge dining room. The cool temperatures and whispering pines only helped to cover up the sound of my instinct screaming at me that the herd had descended upon Zion to the west.

I should have listened. Zion National Park, with it's proximity to the very convenient Las Vegas International Airport, it's reputation for swimming holes and shady slot canyons, and it's catchy place names like 'Court of the Patriarch' and 'Altar of Sacrifice', had drawn the human herd to it like mullets to a Monster Truck Rally. Literally thousands of people swarmed the canyon floor, armed with digital cameras, aluminum walking sticks and idiotic hats - each one determined to return home with stories that are better than those of their friends and neighbors. People who have not read the post on hiking etiquette. People who will stop their cars in the middle of a busy park road to take a photo of a chipmunk. People who will feed that chipmunk a bit of nut to get a better picture and don't care if that same animal will later chew a hole through my pack to get at my trail mix because it's learned that people mean yummy eats. People who, in general, wouldn't know a quality wilderness experience if it came up and bit them on the nose.

Needless to say, I had a great time.

Add to the crowd the fact that the temperature on the Canyon floor topped 101º that day, the mandatory shuttle buses were un-air-conditioned and subjected to frequent long delays and the fact that the human herd in the park was of the international variety, and you have a recipe for disaster. As opposed to the patriotic herd at the shuttle launches or the soccer mom herd at toy stores during Christmas, the international herd is generally generously seasoned with individuals from Latin America, Asia and Canada, with a special extra dose of my personal favorite: the European. Europeans are characterized by an enthusiasm for long hikes and garlic-laden foods as well as a distaste for bathing or the use of deodorant. Although usually pleasant to deal with one-on-one, being surrounded by (in this particular case) French tourists on a packed shuttle bus for nearly a half an hour in post-centennial heat is tantamount to torture. Yet, myself and thousands of others gladly shuffled aboard for our own little personal rides to hell. All that beautiful scenery all around, and what did I get to see? The armpit hair of a 60 year old in running shorts.

So, what is the real lesson here? We could talk about the carrying capacity of our National Parks, and whether or not systems should be in place to limit the number of visitors present in the park on a given day (thus ensuring everyone who visits has a more valuable experience, and helping to prevent damage to the natural resources parks were created to protect). We could have a debate about the NPS's policy of prohibiting private vehicles in the busier parks (which I entirely support - but there needs to be sufficient shuttle service to adequately serve the number of visitors). There's even a subtext in here about avoiding the bus seat that is under the up-raised arm of a euro-tourist fresh off the Angels' Landing trail.

But I think the real lesson for me was that visiting our wonderful National Parks is best done in the off-season. Though trails may be icy, the historic lodges may be closed and it will be a little less fun to buy an ice-cream cone from the cafeteria, falls and winters will present a Park experience that might just allow one to have that private moment of peace that is better than any photo and encounter a type of nature that far exceeds a road-side chipmunk sighting.

However, if you're the type of visitor that complains if they have to walk more than 3 feet from their car, will rate their whole experience on the variety of double-xl t-shirts in the gift shop or how actually knows many times your child can push the button on the talking display at the visitor center before you get kicked out, then by all means: visit in the summer. You'll fit right in.

Some photos from my trip:

This Weekend's Forecast for Tucson:

High temperature for Friday: 103º

High temperature for Saturday: 104º

High temperature for Sunday: 106º



Going to Bryce Canyon for the Weekend: Priceless

There are some things money can't buy, and one of them is a forecasted high of 76º. For everyone else, there are Supergulps and Garden Hoses in the back yard. Have a good weekend, suckers!


Here's a great way to use a little water, looks like it might keep you cool, too...

More New Music

Check out the Reverand Horton Heat. For those of us who are in love with rockabilly, he rocks... For those of you who don't usually like rockabilly, he might change your mind.



He'll be in Tucson July 7 at the Rialto - and I've read that he puts on an amazing, rocking, greasy good time!

What the Heck is Tovrea Castle?

Recently, I spent a lovely weekend in the Phoenix metro area with friends to celebrate my very auspicious birth. I know, some of you are wondering if it is even possible to spend a lovely weekend in the Phoenix metro area (and others are doubting the auspiciousness of my birth), but there are certainly a number of things that make Phoenix entertaining: professional sports, free dinners with mom, roller-coaster like freeway interchanges and posh clubs (note the plural that sets it apart from Tucson) to name a few.

Although as a second-generation Phoenician I feel that the city has always harbored a habit of bulldozing anything unique or interesting, there are a couple of funky spots that have somehow managed to avoid the dozer's blade. Among my favorites is the weird building that you can see on a small hill to the west of the Loop 202 Freeway between Washington and Van Buren - Tovrea Castle.

(click link for credits)

Now, when I was but a wee desert rat with dirty feet and cactus thorns in my fingers, seeing Tovrea Castle usually meant I was on my way to the zoo, and (as is the case with many dirty-footed, thorny fingered imps) I LOVED the zoo. So the good connotations started there. You see, when I was but a wee desert rat with a sunburned face and grit in my ears (as opposed to the old, wizened desert rat I am today with a sunburned face and grit in my ears) Tovrea Castle (and what is known now as the Carraro Cactus Garden) was still pretty well in the middle of nowhere. True, somewhere was encroaching fast, and on all sides, but there was still a lot of open desert that way, and I'm not even sure those pesky transportation planners had even begun to dream they'd need a freeway out in the middle of it all (unless they foresaw hordes more kids making an exodus for that zoo). In addition to the mystique of a really cool building on top of a saguaro-studded hill near the zoo, there was the whole mystery of why anyone would build something so utterly cool (or so I thought) in the middle of nowhere. I was still being indoctrinated (read brainwashed) as a suburbanite at the time, so I couldn't imagine why you'd want to be out there in the middle of the desert with nothing near by but the zoo (and that boring old botanical garden - why would anyone want to go there?). Why, you'd have to ride your bike forever to get to Thrify for your ice cream. Whoever built the castle must've been a little crazy - perhaps even like a mad scientist or crazed former civil war general missing an eye. It was right up there with finding out who was buried in Hunt's Tomb (hint, his name is Hunt)!

Well, as mentioned earlier, I'm old and leathery now from all the sun, and the city has completely engulfed the magical Tovrea Castle - but unlike many other chunks of desert in the valley, the roughly 46 acres of property around the castle has remained free of Circle-K's and taco shops and the wedding-cake-shaped house on the hill is still a major Phoenix landmark (they call it a point-of-pride). Though the remaining property is only a tiny portion of the original spread that accompanied the house, what is preserved paints a picture of early development in Phoenix and the kinds of people it took to make it out in the arid nowhere (or a picture of the kinds of crazy you had to be to live that far from a Thrifty Drug in 1930's Phoenix).

So, repeating too much of the history which is already readily available through the City of Phoenix website... This slightly crazy Italian-turned-San-Francisco business man Carraro moves out to Phoenix and purchases roughly 277 acres of creosote flat near the base of the Papago Buttes. His vision was for a sparkling desert resort, thick with cactus gardens and lush desert vegetation. Beginning in 1928, he designed and built an Italianate mansion which was to be the centerpiece of the resort, with a tiered design and crenelated walls. He put a Russian immigrant, Moktachev, to do his gardening (because no one could plant saguaros like a Russian, evidently). In true Arizona style, however, surrounding land uses negatively impacted his dream. Cattle and sheep farms, meat packing plants and unruly neighbors drove Carraro to sell the property to another wealthy family, the Tovreas. No mad scientists or civil war generals - just some disappointed developers. It may not be equal to the overactive imagination of a certain ten-year-old, but that's Phoenix.

Carraro Cactus Gardens during Restoration

The Tovreas (or more accurately, one crazy old lady) lived in the property until the death of the family's reclusive matriarch in 1969. Then the property was vacant until the City of Phoenix purchased the house and the immediate few acres in the early 1990's. (My dad always said that my grandfather owned briefly during that 20 years. I sorta figured he was full of it, but it made for a cool story to tell on the school bus ride to the zoo). Then the race was on to buy the rest of the land before the developers put mega-lo-marts on it. Bit by bit the city acquired all the taxpayers would permit them to until it had the current 43 acres. (Note in the aerial photo how sensitive surrounding development was to the historic context...a freeway, apartment complexes and several distribution warehouses. Hooray for zoning.)

The City of Phoenix originally bought it hoping to turn it into a park where we could all play among the cacti and learn about our not too colorful history, but there were several problems. First, the reason that the land had been little more than creosote flat when Carraro got there was because it couldn't naturally support the denser, upland Sonoran vegetation he was looking for (such as mesquites, blue palo verdes, and most importantly saguaros). Although we (yes, me too) love planting these species in the lowlands, they usually occur on mountain slopes where they get a little more precipitation than in the flat valleys - and Phoenix is a very flat valley. Have you seen many true valley saguaros? They usually look awful. Even though the castle is on a small hill, there were no arborescent cacti present prior to development - which means that the conditions aren't right for saguaros naturally. So, once the gardens were abandoned and additional water was no longer available, the plants began to decline. No one wants to picnic among dying saguaros and tree snags (with the possible exception of the Addams Family, and I'm pretty sure they live in Southern California), and some of the plants were even dangerous (sorry, Mrs. Smith, a saguaro fell on little Timmy during our field trip to Tovera Castle. We sent him to the nurse.) . Then there was the wood frame and stucco house - which I have heard from rumors was never well built in the first place (hooray for building codes). Of course the rumors also said that the house was haunted, but that would only increase its appeal for many visitors...

Saguaros in their happy place (near Picacho Peak)

A saguaro in a less happy place (click link for credits)

So, the tireless folks over at City of Phoenix have restored the gardens, tending to the sick saguaros like patients in a sanitarium, and are in the midst of restoring the building for tours. The current schedule calls for the building itself to be open for tours in 2009 - only forty years after the last inhabitant quit the premises. No doubt I'll line up with the rest of the saps and pay my dollars to see what the inside of that fascinating structure really looks like. It'll be money well spent after a lifetime of curiosity - and who knows, afterwards, I might even go to the zoo.

Cool Stuff from My Garden

Not as much time to post today as usual, or maybe I'm just feeling lazy. Actually, it's probably just that I feel like all this effort on my blog is a bit wasted since like two people are reading it, and they're only doing it to humor me. Go ahead, prove me wrong.

I planted an artichoke in one of my 1/2 whisky barrels early last fall. It grew like a weed and earlier this spring I harvested several small artichokes. The were a bit bitter, I think because I left them on the plant too long hoping they'd get bigger. I think that's probably the trick with this plant, since there is very little change from early budding to ripeness. Artichokes, like most plants, are mute, so they can't tell me when their sexual organs are ready for me to chop off with a sharp knife and plunge into boiling water... Probably wouldn't share, even if they could, hu?

For those of you who don't know this, when you're eating an artichoke - like broccoli and cauliflower - you're actually eating the flower bud. However, unlike broccoli and cauliflower (which are in the cabbage family) which send of literally hundreds of little tiny blooms off of their buttery tasting stalks, the artichoke (in the thistle family) is one massive bloom. After eating the first few of my harvest and feeling somewhat disappointed, I let my artichokes go to check out what this massive thistle would look like. It's reported to be quite pretty, and makes a charming dried flower according to Martha. This morning I was treated to this:

It's about as big as a medium-sized grapefruit. The other three buds on the plant are getting ready to go, too. Even though it made me late for work (and that never happens, honest), I stopped to capture it's purple glory. Admit it, you're jealous that I have one and you don't. There's just no way you could be as cool as I am.


Because this site is all about the useless information, I did look up a few things for you... The artichoke is relatively low in nutritional value per pound - the average artichoke yields only 25 calories (but that's before the butter or aioli I can't imagine not dipping them in). Though it's quantity of various vitamins per-pound is high, especially vitamin C and potassium, you have to work pretty hard to get at it, and you'd have to eat a number of the prickly buds to hit your average daily allowance. It's also difficult to grow retail-quality artichokes: yields per acre are low and it isn't well adapted to the climate of the United States anywhere except California (where, evidently, everything white people like to eat can be grown). Evidently the folks over there take it pretty seriously, though. They devoted a whole Advisory Board to it.

California Artichoke farm. Just another way that man is modifying the earth to produce tons of exotic fruits far from their native habitat.

A tip for cooking these buggers that I got from Alton Brown... Submerge the bud in salted, boiling water, and place some sort of weight over the top to keep then from bobbing to the surface. Not allowing air access to the green part of the artichoke during cooking keeps them from turning all brown and smelling bad. You can tell it's done when a knife inserted in the base slides in without any effort on your part. Don't worry, after 20 minutes submerged in boiling water, even you would be too dead to complain about a knife in your bum.

The disadvantage of letting my artichokes go to seed is that it is in the pot I wanted to put a tomato in. The tomato is still in a nursery can and is struggling. The season of these two plants overlaps too much, and they should be planned for different parts of the garden - at least out here in the desert.

Click here to see a video of a crazy guy who made an ocarina out of a big broccoli stalk. Crazy stuff out here on the web.

Trail Etiquitte For Dummies

Alright - now, I know that not everyone is as wonderfully brilliant as your trusty little backcountry maven here, but really. Proper trail etiquette is really just a matter of common sense, courtesy and forethought that helps everyone to maximize their ability to enjoy the hike. Here are a few general guidelines to keep in mind when you put your boot to the trail:

• People coming up-hill have the right-of-way: Although it may not seem to some that the laws of physics apply to them, momentum is a very real force and the perception of momentum is a very real psychological tool. When you're sweating up a hill - particularly when you have a heavy pack on - you don't want to loose your momentum (real or perceived). Being younger, faster, or better dressed does not exempt you from this rule - in fact, it doubles the penalty. Step aside and salute those who are working harder than you.
  
  
• Respect the expanded personal-space: There's a reason some crazy folks choose to drive out to the trail head and walk for hours on end, and it isn't just because it gives us a reason to buy some killer shoes. For some of us, we feel an almost unquenchable urge to escape the oppressive crush of people that defines our everyday lives. So, it logically follows that when we're out there attempting to reconnect with a more natural population density, we don't want to have strangers riding our bumpers (friends are okay). Give it a little space, dude. This holds doubly true if you're in a chatty mood, if you are accompanied by child under the age of 18 or if you smell like Mango body butter. (Noted exception: on especially crowded segments of trail, required personal space may be contracted for the sake of convenience - but conversation is to be limited to the condition of the trail, a debate over the pronunciation of Teva or the correct way to punish squirrel-feeding tourists.)
  

There is just about the right amount of space between the photographer and the next group on the trail here on the Tonto in the Grand Canyon

• Trail cutting is just plain stupid: Somebody, at some point, decided the trail should follow a certain alignment, and it is highly unlikely that you know more about trail design than that person (unless you're me, Justineoo or Steve Anderson). It may not seem logical to you as you're ploughing through the universe, oblivious to things like erosion hazards, sensitive plantings or really cool vistas. In fact, the design may seem unnecessarily easy, and 'wouldn't it be easier just to trample this poor little flower in my pursuit of a faster up-hill record'. Do the natural world and other hikers a favor: follow the creator's little path, no matter how silly or simple it may seem. Not only might you save the trail crew a little work down the road or prevent the death of the last Ajo Lilly on the mountain - you may give the trail designer a needed ego boost. (If you find yourself frequently desiring to cut the trail or if you are regularly frustrated by trail design, I recommend off-trail hiking. Try it blindfolded with your right hand duct-taped to your abdomen. Give yourself a real challenge, you ambition junkie. Or, better yet, become a landscape architect.)

• Let Hiking Dogs Hike: The proper way to approach a dog on a trail is with a cheery disposition and a general 'I don't care' attitude. This will accomplish a number of things. If the dogs are friendly, they'll approach you and gift you with slobber and tail wagging (perhaps even a nose to the groin, if you're lucky). If they're not, they'll walk right past you because you are not presenting a threat to them or their human pack mates . If you hate or fear dogs, then it is much more likely that the dog encounter will be brief and painless. Practicing any of the following alternatives could result in a less desirable encounter, including barking, biting, and possibly even a walking stick in the eye: waving hands frantically, running up to the dog with your face at nose level, shouting (especially "control your dogs"), screaming, running or siting any form of leash law out loud. (Note to dog owners: keep an eye on your pooch friends - it's easier to remove a chunk of cholla from their paw then their mouth, which is where they'll put their paw just after getting cholla in it. Careful watching helps other times, too, but the cholla thing is big. Trust me.)

• Share the trail with other users: Equestrians, mountain bikers and even OHVers use many of the same trails as hikers. Of course, this completely sucks for everyone involved, but is a necessary byproduct of some people having strange hobbies (what's wrong with walking for pete's sake). Etiquette says that hikers should step to the side of the trail and allow these deserving, honest folks to pass and enjoy their day. That's all well and good, but if I'm gonna automatically yield right-of-way like a second-class trail user, then I want something in return. Equestrians should clean up after their horses or find a way to keep their animals from crapping all over my walking surface. Mountain bikers should have to replace all of the rocks that they break loose as they tear up a steep slope. And those OHVers should be required to use vehicles that emit no more carbon and noise than I do after a dinner of dehydrated tuna and broccoli. After all, we all just want to 'leave no trace', right?

Wow, hiking maven, this has really enlightened me! I want to go hiking and practice what I've learned! Well, young padawan, watch for my 'hike of the month' blog that I may or may not write in the near future. If you're really desperate, check out this really awesome hike in Zion National Park. The good part starts a ways down the page (or up the trail, however you look at it).