Photos- 1-the beachfront walkway I have now pounded up and down almost every morning this week
2-more of the beachfront run

Day eleven, I sneaked out of the house again, this time at five thirty, for my run. i stealthily dressed in clothes laid out in the hallway the night before, beat the sprinklers across the lawn, and ran to Wailea by way of the road, prefering pavement to sand for a change. I ran horribly that morning, dehydrated since I had not drank much the night before, but the sunrise was beautiful. I watched the sun crawl over the edge of Haleakala, at the same time watching it's new, pink light slide down the islands of Kahoolawe (the uninhabitable island visible from Maui- it has too many unexploded land mines leftover from WWII on the island in in the surrounding water) and Molokini. I ran back along the beach, not listening to my ipod, instead trying to imprint the whole sensation, the waves, the breeze, the sunrise, into my mind, since this woulod be my last run. I got back to the condo, and noticed a few things amiss... BBD's running shoes were out on the lanai, the door was open, the lights were on... I went inside, and he seemed a little squiffy. Apparently, he had not noticed when I got up, but woke up shortly after and impulsively decided to do the one thing that always builds instant brownie points with me- join me on my run. since I had not turned on lights and crashed around getting ready and putting on my shoes and filling my water pack, he thought I must still be in the condo, and when he saw I was gone, he grabbed his clothes, tied his shoes, and tore out the door after me, running along the path I had described to him and never seeing me (because I was up on the road). After a mile of running on the sand beach, he decided he would not catch me, and returned home. I felt terrible after I heard his story. I had begged him the night before to go with me, just once, but I never thought he actually would. I told him i would do anything he wanted the rest of the day, to make up for it. We had by then heard that Turtle Town, a highlight of the snorkel tour, was actually only about a quarter mile offshore (if even. I have no concept of distance over water.), so he smeared on about a quart of sunscreen and i donned long shorts and a long sleeved, turtleneck surf shirt. (I try to avaid sunscreen whenever possible, because of how sick it makes me feel. I must be sensitive to an ingredient, because at the end of the day I have more energy and less raw skin if I just wear clothes instead of sunblock) and we splashed out from Wailea Beach in search of turtles. When I say turtles, I am talking about those huge, green sea turtles in Finding Nemo (for example), with flipper feet, about three to five feet across, huge and rare. We swam out until we reached a coral shelf with deep, inviting caves beneath it, and saw nothing. We hung around, swam in circles, peering down into the murk, and nothing. Finally, feering we had come all this way for nothing, we began lazily paddling back to shore, when Bobby grabbed my arm and began gesturing wildly, and there, swimming beside us, head stuck out of the water as he checked out the activity, was a turtle.

Now, for those of you who might not understand, turtles are kinda my thing. When BBD caught on to this, he began buying me turtles, fuzzy stuffed ones, from everywhere he went without me. I gave them names like Edgar and Otto, very cool turtle names. (then he married me, so turtles ceased to be necessary) My enthusiasm for all things turtle has rubbed off on him, and he claimed, as soon as he got there, that he would not be leaving without swimming with a turtle. And these are no ordinary turtles. They are a symbol of Hawaii. They are huge and beautiful and protected, and they command respect. They are old, one knows by their size. Did you know that a turtle does not die of old age? Their cells regenerate differently than ours do. They grow old, but as far as lifespan is concerned, they could be ageless. They die instead of encounters with fishing nets and boats and predators, poluted water, diseases, anything that kills besides old age.

We followed him for a while, until he sank down to a murky cave under the coral shelf, then we began swimming along the shelf. This time, i spotted the turtle first, what looked like a smooth, round rock drifting along the bottom. We swam closer, until we could see him, and followed him for a while. By that time, we were a long way from shore, so we turned around and began swimming back, and suddenly another one swam beneath us, this one just plain enormous, and close. We watched as he faded out of view into the murk (visibility was less than wonderful that day) and finally, made our way back to the beach, having swam more than a mile.

When we got back to the condo, we brought all of our stinky, wet clothes and towels inside, along with our snorkeling gear, because we would not be using them again. We did laundry, ate more leftovers, lay around, and finally came up with a plan- sleep now, then stay up late, so that we could sleep in the next morning, so that we could be prepered for the loooong day the next day.

Which we did. After a nap, we spent some time by the pool, read some books, ate dinner, channel surfed, and finally got out my computer and watched the movie "Munich". It is about the aftermath, the reckoning, that followed the killing of eleven isreali athletes at the '72 (I think) Olympic games. A depressing movie, and a long one. we stayed up for the whole thing, but not because we wanted to.

There was no run on day twelve. We slept in as long as possible, used the last of the fruit to make smoothies, packed, cleaned, and hung out at the condo until check-out. Since we had ten hours to kill until our 10:40 pm flight, we drove to Lahaina and ate at the Hard Rock Cafe. It was a lot to pay for a veggie burger and a brisket sandwich, but it was our only actually eating out experience while on Maui, if ya don't count Panda Express take-out a time or two. After lunch, we walked down the main drag, a narrow, waterfront street lined with shops and restaurants. Breckenridge without the snow. We even bought tee-shirts and souveniers. Ate Lappert's ice cream on the boardwalk. Wondered through the art festival under the banyan tree. The banyan tree is a landmark of Lahaina. It was planted for the express purpose of shading an entire city block, and it does just that. It's arial roots have grown into the ground and turned into trunks in over thirty (I think) places, it's branches wind and twist overhead, and the area it covers was home, on that day, to a gathering of local artisans in something called the Festival of Canoes. we left Lahaina hot and full, and drove an hour to Kahalui, the airport town, where we found a Borders bookstore and prepared for a bit of boredom by buying reading material. We found a beach six miles out of town, and took a walk while the sun set, then shared one last Panda express meal, even though we were far from hungry, and drove to the airport two and a half hours before our flight. Two and a half hours we were loaded, buckled in, luggage stowed, ready for takeoff...and then the pilot came on and announced that the crew was experiencing a bit of confusion, because the on-board navigational charts were nowhere to be found. So we sat. Thirty minutes later, he announced that come to find out, a change of policy had just been instated, and the pilots were now expected to carry their own navigational charts, instead of relying on the on-board library to provide them. The incoming crew had taken them with them, and the outgoing crew was now without them. Someone would have to drive to Lahaina, through road construction, to bring them back. So we sat. We slept in our seats. Two and a half hours later, the crew recieved their charts, and we could leave. We have never been so glad to have a non-stop flight. When we picked up our luggage, we were two of about five people waiting at the baggage carousel. About 150 more people were milling around the customer service counter, trying to rebook their connecting flights.

Now, as I finish writing, we are finally home. We hit the road in Phoenix on a few catnaps caught on the plane, after being up for twenty four hours. We drove ten hours to Wendell's house in Cedaredge at nine:30 that night, then, as is our norm when with Wendell (the guy does not sleep until he drops of exhaustion these days, so we often go to bed in the wee hours when we are in Cedaredge) we stayed up until three am this morning. We slept like the dead last night.

This morning, we drove through a green, green Colorado, the Colorado river already swollen from run-off, marveling at the beauty of this place we call home. We almost decided that we would rather live here than in Hawaii.

Every island in Hawaii has something to offer. Something one is loath to miss out on by going instead to another island. The Na Pali cliffs on Kaui, the war history and big city on Oahu, and I am sure the other islands all have their offerings, too, even though we have not been to them. But for the most part, Maui is the one we have been on, most tailored to mainlanders. We saw almost none of the rusted vehicled on blocks, the beach locals living in tents made out of old blankets and holey tarps, or the local's hostility that we ran into on Oahu. There is more going on than on Kaui, more accessible beaches. The crowd in Maui seems to be of the light-skinned, mainlander variety, We did not even see very many Japanese, local or tourists. The ethnic diversity seems to not be as strong on Maui. The landscaping seems to be everywhere, not just in the resorts. The homes have windows, not just bars over sagging window frames. Shingles instead of tar paper. Kaui is as well kept up, but just does not have the things to do, the areas to visit. Mostly, Maui seems to have a lot of sunburned tourists than anything else. So I suppose if one likes to keep their comfort zone close, Maui is the island to go to. More accesible reefs (and reefer, I noticed- maybe that's why many locals seemed to be an extension of the Summit County crowd) more beaches, more hospitable locals, and lots of open country, small farms and ranches tucked behind eucalyptus and fruit trees. More guitars and ukaleles on street corners, more back-to-the-land types. More board shorts and flip flops, less glamourous types of tourists than Oahu. More farmer's market and fruit stands. Less chain restaurants, more local dives.

It was a good trip. But it's good to be home, too. The lake is melted off, there is no snow left in the yard, even though the peaks are still white. On tuesday, we plan to close on the house, so we will be busy, but having fun, too, fixing up our home in Summit County- something we never thought we would be able to do. We thought we would be living in increasingly smaller apartments for as long as we cold afford to live here, and finally we would be forced to leave. So the security this offers us is incredible. It is strange, being so happy to be home.

Description of pictures:

1 and 2. The coast north of Lahaina
3. Sunset from one of "our" beaches close to our condo
4. Golf course in Kapalua
5. Some of that "fresh dirt" lava
6. that surreal evening, waiting on the beach while bobby was snorkeling
7. a stop on the road to Hana
8. The road to Hana (you can see the road carved into the cliff in the background)
9. A ranch near Hana
10. The black sand beach near Hana
11. Your blogger, posing with a rainbow eucalyptus, which loses it's bark every year, revealing it's colorful trunk underneath.
11 and 12. The bamboo forest on the hike to Waimoku Falls
13. Waimoku falls
14. The seven sacred pools in Oheo Gulch
15. Looking across the top of the Haleakala Crater (10,023 feet elevation)
16. The Iao needle

Hello to my peoples, from vacationland.

It is day...lets see...number seven, I believe. Day number two on Maui. We are beginning to settle into our routines here. I make Bobby get up early, and he whines, and gets downright grouchy. but it's a good system, because it gets light about five o'clock here, and then we are ready for bed as soon as it gets dark in the evening.

Our first day on the island we mostly concerned ourselves with preparing for the rest of our stay here. After my morning run, we attended a complimentary breakfast hosted by an Expedia Local Expert in the pool courtyard. The Local Expert presented us with a slew of options, a map of Maui as well as suggestions on activities, a few opinions on which would be the smartest booking options. We have been kinda planning on going on a snorkel cruise while we are here, but have not booked one yet. Breakfasted with fresh fruit, we went shopping and bought all the necessities we could not pack. We found a farmer's market and bought onions, green peppers, tomatoes, mangoes, papayas, strawberries, pineapple, and lettuce. Then we went to Wal-mart and bought dry goods like rice, corn chips, and noodles. Then to safeway (I think it's funny that we got a safeway card in Honolulu last year, and have not used it until Maui this year, even though there's a safeway in Frisco) for apples, celery, carrots, avocadoes, bananas and mangoes (I forgot I had already bought some at the farmer's market) as well as other staples like bread, tortillas, fruit juice and booze. We staggered into our condo lugging our plunder, and have been slicing, peeling, and paring ever since, three meals a day. I could live like this for a long time.

By the time we had finished our shopping, it was raining, so we drove a few miles up to Makena, Big Beach, where the trees were dripping, but the rain was not falling, walked down the beach for a while, then kept driving until we passed a large backhoe, behind which the entire stretch of land, until it dropped into the ocean, was dug up, turned over in massive chunks of dirt. We actually puzzled over it, why the need for such massive, deep digging, until I looked closer and realized, this was not a new construction site, this was what a lava flow looked like. We felt a bit silly, but hey. How were we to know? They should not park machinery so close to it, leading people like us to make the wrong associatons when presented with such a foreign landscape. It really did look like a garden, freshly turned with a spading fork, but on a macro scale. last years potaoes in this garden would have been about the size of our rented Pontiac. We parked where the road ended and hiked into the lava field a little way, until it looked like no new scenery was going to present itself, then turned around. For kicks and giggles, we walked down to the Wailea beach, by all the grand resorts, and swam out. We had on our swimming goggles, and as soon as we stuck our heads under the water, found ourselves mesmerised by the world down there, fish we had never seen before. We dived for a while, snorkled without snorkels, coming up for air when we needed to breath (I am the world's worst at holding my breath. I start getting panicky and oxygen deprived after about twenty seconds) before we came to the inevitable conclusion- we needed snorkels. Back to Kahalui we drove, and spent some more time in Wal-mart. Cheap, but not too cheap... we finally settled on some, and brought them home, to be used in the morning.

This morning, I got Bobby up at six o'clock, and brought his breakfast to him in bed. No, this is not because I am such a doting, submissive wife (oh, wait... maybe it does) but rather, because he is too large for me to pull out of bed, and the consequences would be too dire were I to try it, so i must resort to other games. I know that chewing takes enough mental energy to keep one from falling asleep, and once the sugars from his meal hit his bloodstream, he will be much more alert. And although he would rather lie there and sleep than sit up and chew, he must take that first bite because I am standing there doing my best chef routine- as if my entire world hinges on what his impressions of my culinary creation are. So yes, i shamelessly admit that breakfast in bed is one of my weapons I pull out when I want him to get out of bed early, instead of letting him fall back asleep. Sure enough, before long, he came stumbling out of the bedroom, plate supported by a weak, wobbly wrist, halted when he realized that the living room was open to the entire out doors, set down the plate and stumbled back down the hall to find some clothes. He finished breakfast outside on the lanai, and before long, was all excited about snorkeling. yes, I connive. No I do not apologize. I pride myself on being good at only a few things- mostly things involving balance and endurance, such as snowboarding, and there are other things which I strive every day to be better at. Cooking and zen, for two, and for three, nonverbal control of my world. It just makes things easier. Ok, admitting that might come back to haunt me some day.

We stuck our faces under the water at Kamaole III beach, the one we are closest to, and paddled around for a while, delighting ourselves with being marine creatures among marine creatures, then went to Ulua beach, this one with a nice reef around it. This one had such a wonderful array of tropical fish, we stayed out until we were thouroughly waterlogged, came back to the beach to grap our waterproof disposable camera, then headed back out. we snapped some really good pictures, (we think), came back to the beach, only to realize the camera was full of water, inside the case. Only then did we remember dropping it earlier. Sure enough, closer inspecton revealed a cracked case. So much for our pictures. but we still had fun, even though it took a few hours for the red ring encircling our eyes and nose from the goggles go away. We had some time to kill, and wanted to work on the tan, so we let the chlorine water in the pool wash away the salt water, then positioned ourselves on lounge chairs for about thirty minutes. All the factors for a good sunburn lined up just right, because we both have fiery burns. It was a nasty surprise for us. The burns are in patterns to suggest they happened in about a fifteen minute space of time, since that was all the time spent in the position that presented those particular parts of ourselves to the sun. BBD got it worse than i did. He shaved his chest hairs because they are causing his chest to itch, which makes him scratch it, which reminds him that he has a painful burn on it.

He tried to nap after lunch, but I wouldn't let him (oh, i can be relentless), insisting that if he slept now, he would not be able to go to sleep until late tonight, and then he would want to sleep in in the morning, and all my hard work this morning would be shot. So he dragged himself out of bed, and we drove to Lahaina, a historic whaling town. I felt like I was back in breckenridge, except with the pacific as a backdrop, instead of ski slopes. It was cutesie, but i find myself increasingly annoyed with towns of that nature. We drove on to Ka'anapali, with it's big resorts and shopping mall with overpriced surfwear and clothing that could be worn no where but here, and not even here unless you are a tourist, art and jewelry stores, also overpriced, and it was in one of these impractical board and boardwear stores (we were shopping for another pair of swim trunks for BBD- didnt find any) that I looked up and saw, on a bigscreen TV, a shredder, bursting through about three feet of freshies, a frontside board grab, a faceshot of snow, and as wrong as it felt, i wanted to be there. Oh boy. What is happening? Who am I? At that moment, I really wanted to trade my sweaty armpits and frizzy, humidity-destroyed hair for my new plaid snowpants, and a big, fluffy snowdrift under my snowboard with it's woodgrain graphics and the few stickers and decals i have gotten for free over the years and slapped on it. Surfing sucks. You heard that right. It sucks. If man was supposed to surf, we would have been born a little more amphibious. So much work for a few second's ride. But a mountain, a guaranteed ride down after all the work of getting up, marshmallow softness, knife-edge corderoy, ice, corn, bulletproof, bumps, glades, cruisers... ok, so maybe if we had been meant to do that, we'da been born a little more... furry. But it still seems natural to our species.

Don't get me wrong. I am loving it here. It is icy and snowy at home, and I am basking in perfect temeratures, day and night. Plants, trees, green, green, green. Coral reefs, golden sand, cool shade and salty breeze... it's almost heaven. It would be if snow fell here, warm snow. But, somehow, i think the vacation is achieving it's desired purpose. It's making me appreciate my home again.

We stopped at Kapalua and wondered down to the shore, through a portion of the golf course that hosts the Mercedes Benz Championship on the PGA tour. It really is picture perfect. We passed an ancient graveyard, now a protected culteral and historical site, and made our way to the cliffs at the edge of the golf course. I suppose i have to grant, in it's manicured, perfect, every-blade-of-grass-in-place way, it was one of the more beautiful places I have been in. I of course left my shoes in the car, thinking I was just gonna read the black and bronze plate explaining the burial sites, so I made my way along the lave cliffs barefoot. The rocks had all been worn round, so I did not risk cutting my foot on a sharp piece of lave, but I did stub the piggie who had none, this time on the right foot. Even Bobby, walking beside me, heard it pop. At first I was convinced I had broken it, but four hours later, I can wiggle it painfully and though it is swollen, it is still pink, not purple, so perhaps things just got rearranged. I will be very surprised if I am actually buried with all ten of my toes intact.

Back at the condo, dinner made and eaten, we are feeling fairly ready for bed. The effects of the generous splash of coconut run in my fruit smoothie was making me a bit woosy, making the typing a chore, but it has passed, and I now I am steadily getting drowsier. it is sad indeed, since that was not even a shot's worth. And it is cheap rum, less alcohol content. I simply can't hold my booze. i'm a lightweight. And it seems to be getting worse. But then, i have barely sipped a drop of the stuff since I was ten pounds heavier than I am now, so maybe that makes a difference.

Tired. Must sleep. Big day tomorrow (doing what, I don't know yet)

Day ten. Ok, this keeping track of the days has gotten tedious. I have a three day gap here, and I cannot for the life of me tel you what we did on each day. But I can recount the high lights. One of those afternoons (it might have been day eight) we did nothing. We sat in the condo, beside the open lanai door, and watched tv while it rained. I read another novel. The tv remote does not work to decrease the volume, only increase it, so we argued about the TV being too loud, and I kept gettin up to turn it down. We needed that one day of doing absolutely nothing, of being bored. One day, and no more. It helped us realize that we really are vacationing, not a single thing we need to do. That was the day I got up early and went for a run, up the beach to Wailea, and realized i had wasted a lot of energy running the other way, into Kihei. Toward Wailea was much nicer, waterfront walkways where the beach was not runnable. The sand right here is condusive to running, at least along the water. It is very fine and firm as long as it is slightly damp. But if one wants to enjoy it without dodging too many people, especially on the beach-front walkways, one must be up early. I try to hit it at six thirty, and be done by seven thirty, because just before eight, everyone wakes up and the walkways no longer belong to just the runners, but to ambling retirees and motorised carts hauling lawn care equipment, as well as tables, chairs, umbrellas, and food for the outdoor restaurants and resort "ballroom" areas. And after eight, the families hit the beaches, and one may as well just walk no faster than the flow of foot traffic. The run starts at Kam III beach, just outside our door, on a gravel and woodchip path through a protected native bird nesting area, goes across the Kihei boat ramp, teeming with departing fishing, scuba, and snorkel expeditions at six-thirty, across the grass of the first of the Wailea resorts, then hits the beach for a half-mile or more. It is a broad, flat beach, studded with lava outcroppings, a wide area of sand smoothed by the waves breaking on it. After that, it climbs onto a foot bridge, which turns into the beach walk that separates all the uppity Wailea resorts from the beaches, and finally turns into a paved walkway along the cliffs that winds through several ancient culteral sites, and is well signed, making it a culteral and botanical tour. It ends at the last resort before the beaches are claimed by lava, and here, one must return either the way one came, or by the road. By the time one turns around, the sun is well up, and the sweat has begin dripping, even where there are no clothes to encourage it. It is a good way to start the morning. I have begun doing it every morning. By the time I get back, BBD is up, and may have even found his way to the beach. On that morning, I met him in the park that separates our condo from the beach, and followed him down to the water, where i stripped off shoes and socks and dived into water that felt like pure heaven, while he wandered around and snapped pictures. We returned to the condo, I grabbed an apple, and we scratched off to Wailea beach to snorkel. The water was less than pristinely clear there, so we had to go out a long way to find clear water, and by that time, we had to dive down a long way to see the fish and coral. I don't know why my ears are so sensitive. I used to dive to the bottom of the ten-foot deep Leoti pool, and sure, my ears hurt a little, but nothing like they do now, under five or six feet of water. But I almost want to scream from the pain, so diving is not something i do, unless hot on the tail of some really bizarre or beautiful fish, and then, not for long. And after that, I sat down, and realized my constant activity of the morning was catching up, and we proceeded to do nothing for the rest of the afternoon. At dark, we finally got achy enough to want to do something, so we went back to Ulua beach, and he swam out, in spite of the fact that it was overcast and threatening rain, and the beach was deserted. He saw a turtle, which made him even happier, while I sat and drew pictures in the sand, and took pictures. There were two other people in the water, standing on surfboards, paddling them around on the calm water. They gave the scene a very surreal feel, with the water the same gray shade as the sky, two grayer figures suspended between the water and the sky.

Day nine, I did not get in the water, not even once. It is possible for me, if not for BBD. He really is happiest in the water. Some of the best times we've had together have been in or on the water, and i think it is because there, he finally really forgets to worry about things. Maybe there is a phychological explanation, having to do with being weightless and washing your cares away, I don't know, but for him, water works. Instead, after my run, we threw some food in the car, stopped at a gas station to fill up with $4.29 gas, and hit the Hana Highway. Hana is not, as suggested by the name, the destination of the Hana Highway. The road itself is the destination. There are 61 one-lane bridges on this road, and six hundred curves. The road to Hana is included in many poeple's must-do list for Maui, and it was, indeed, beautiful. We stopped at several waterfalls, several viewpoints, and had a picnic lunch in Hana, at the famous black-sand beach, flanked by lava tubes and blowholes. Hana is tiny, one inn, one restaurant, both rediculously overpriced, a place where everyone would love to live in theory, but is just too isolated to be realistic as a home. It does have a unique sub-culture though, so isolated that it is much easier to support local growers than pay delivery trucks to bring groceries over that road. Farms and fruitstands abound, and the people there are proud of their sustainability.

At the end of the road is an entrance to the far end of Haleakala National Park, and a hike we had already decided to take. It is a trail that winds up Ohea Gulch, through a surreal forest of bamboo, banyan, and guava trees, two miles and five hundred vertical feet, until it ends under the several hundred foot Waimoku falls. We lounged in the damp shade, water droplets falling around us for a half-hour, then made the two mile return trip in good time. At the point where the stream from the falls meets the ocean, is a series of seven pools, cascading one to the next, each one deep and inviting. These are called the Seven Sacred Pools, a name the locals find irritating because there is nothing sacred about them. The name was a shameless marketing ploy, along with the carefully planted rumor that in ancient lore, the seven pools represented seven something-or-others. Emotions, or beliefs, or something like that. I'm a little fuzzy on my fake history, and can't remember where I picked up that fun fact to varify it. Bobby swam in the lower pools, while I climbed to a few higher ones. Swimming is discouraged in them, because in the event of a flash flood, the only way out is out to sea, but it does not seem to deter the three hundred (or six hundred- another unvarifyable fact) visitors that drive the road to Hana in a given day.

And now, day ten, the day not yet over. I forwent the run in favor of a bit of snuggling, a leisurely breakfast, and an early departure. Everyone says we should watch the sunrise, or at least the sunset, from the Haleakala crater. Haleakala is the ten thousand foot volcanic sentinel of Maui. We deviated, because we are deviants. Well, actually we are lazy. One must roust at about 2:30 am in order to make sunrise, and we could not be sure of the clear view at sunset that we knew we would have mid-morning. The volcano on the Big Island has been sending vog (I still do not want to believe that's a real word) over here, obscuring the crater ever since we got here. This morning was the first time we were able to see it. We drove to the top, watching the landscape morph from tropical to sub-alpine, to a moonscape. As we were preparing to leave, Sky, a bouncy, blue-eyed brunette with a natural history degree, arrived and shouted to all who would hear that she would be giving a natural history degree. We stayed, to learn about tectonic plate movements and volcanic hot-spots, eruptions and erosion. Then we wondered around the visitor's center just long enough to learn nothing new, except for the identinty of the unusually large spider perched on the wall of the observation deck at the summit, and breath dep breaths of wonderfully thin air, not realizing until that moment how much the air at sea level makes you feel like you are breathing soup.

Just down from the summit, we swung over and picked up Chelsea, a hitchhiker in a big, floppy hat, dirty linen pants, and an overnight pack. She had spent the night in the crater, and the rest of her party was hiking all the way down the back side, to Hana, but she had to be to work tomorrow, so she hiked back out the way she had come. She is doing an apprentice-ship on an organic farm in Hana, three days a week growing coffee, papaya, every imaginable fruit and vegetable. The farm is completely sustainable, the employees living almost exclusively on what it yields. It sounded, when she talked about it, pretty much like eden. The manager lives in a banyan tree, in a treehouse complete with stained-glass windows. Occasionally, meals are provided by local health-food restaurants, cooking with consideration to any diet- raw foodism, veganism, you name it. A place for nuts like me, with urges in the direction of an all-natural lifestyle, to live it out to their heart's content. It could only work so well here, in a place where one has only to drop a seed into the ground to watch it grow. But before you say it, be sure that B already has. He is a city boy, he tells me before I even have time to sigh a wistful sigh, and if i want that sort of lifestyle, I'll have to do it without him. And that is where my passion for it breaks apart, because as healthy and good as natural sustainability is, what good is it if mixed with loneliness?

After dropping Chelsea off, we grabbed lunch and did a bit of shopping, then drove to the Iao (pronounced ee-oh) Valley, the scene of one of the bloodiest battles over land ever fought between the local people. In the heart of the valley is a needle-like cone, flat on the top, used as a lookout during war times, and, as Oahu soldiers closed in, as a retreat for the local Mauians. By the time it was over, the stream in the bottom of the valley ren red, and was dammed by their bodies. How completely pointless, all the wars faught over land, when in the end, even the victors will lose it to an even bigger rival. All it took in this case was a union of greedy American plantation owners, a few strategic lies, and a queen who loved her people so much she chose abdication over more bloodshed.

And now we are back at the condo, letting the day wear on at it's own pace, the lanai shaded behind the palms. Maybe, if I am lucky, I will be able to get online long enough to post this, maybe even add some pictures.

Got to Maui. It's 9:15 pm local time, but it's 1:15 home time. So tired... BBD is out hunting for food. At this point, i am happy waiting til morning to eat. Our two hour wait at the Phoenix Airport turned into a four hour wait, then a five and a half hour flight. Maybe I can actually blog about the last two days, not that it's so exciting, in the morning. Actually, I can just recap it now. A hasty camp pick-up, a drive to Phoenix from Sedona, (BBD saw those big saguaro cactuses for the first time) a swim in a tepid swimming pool, a bit of a sunburn on our white tummies, a walk through a mall, another sub sandwich. Next morning, a transfer and condensing of all our luggage as we packed for Hawaii, a trip to Wal Mart for a bigger suitcase, lunch of fast food chicken, a small tiff as we parked and found the airport shuttle, a wait at the boarding gate, an announcement that the plane was in the shop, more waiting, more announcements, dinner of a veggie burrito in the airport, and finally, a flight during which I read an entire novel. One I have been waiting for in paperback for a really long time, paid good money for in Borders, and now it's done. Gone in one flight. Another brief tiff getting off the plane after I discovered I had left my jacket with my ID on the plane, and had to wait for the staff to bring it out to me (as is our m.o. when we come to HI, I am already trying to lose my ID.) Another few sharp words over trying to find the condo in the dark, and here we are. Maybe now we can be sweet to each other.

More when I have more to report... if I am lucky enough to keep this tentative internet report.

Note- I really can't control where the pictures end up within this post. I would love to make them correspond with the subject they illustrate, but my formatting is limited with a free blog. The lists each day will help you identify the pictures, even though they are in random places.

Day 1- Angel's Landing.

Well, actually, today is technically day two of the Vacation, since we left last night. But it is our bonus day, because we were supposed to wait till this morning to leave. By leaving after work last night, we got a good three hundred miles behind us by bedtime, slept in a cheap, stinky motel in Green River, Utah, and hit the road by seven o'clock this morning after a breakfast of apples and mangoes from our lunchbox. At noon, we rolled into Springdale, the gateway town to Zion National Park, located a campsite and paid for it, and found our way into the park.

Last year, while soaking in a motel hot tub in Moab, we struck up a conversation with two hikers who had just come from here, who highly recommended Angel's landing as a worthwhile day hike. now, I don't know how many of my faithful few blog-readers have hiked in Zion, specifically Angel's Landing, but all i can say is, it is by far the coolest hike I have ever done. I can only hope the pictures I will post to this blog will pretend to do it justice. The first two miles are fairly easy, a steady climb, but on a wide, paved trail winding into a canyon, then climbing it's wall. But then, oh, yes. Then. the paved trail ends in a flat, sandy area, wide enough to accomodate about a dozen milling hikers, before it picks back up, this time in singletrack, a chain leading the way over the rocks. It is not for the faint of heart, nor the flat of foot. It dips, winds, and climbs, all the while edging closer to the edges of the massive slickrock fin it sits on, either side dropping a thousand feet to the valley floor. Ominous signs warn that hikers can and have died on this trail, or rather by slipping off of it, so to not leave the trail, stay away from the edges, and use the chain provided as a handhold. We went up, we went down, we climbed and clambered over rocks with hand and footholds chisled out of them, until we stood fifteen hundred feet over nothing but rocks and air, the wind tugging at us, daring us to peer over the edge. The view was amazing, as I hope the pictures can show those of you who will never be able to make the hike, but the star of the day was the trail itself. Jelly knees quivered a time or two, but the whole day was pure fun, climbing on top of the world, sun and lizards and chipmunks, sunbaked earth, damp canyon bottoms, cactus flowers and toe-blisters. Ok, so the toe blisters not so much, but it's all part of the game I suppose. I was rather beside myself with happiness over the challenge, although BBD's only concession to the query about his feeling about it all was, If you're happy, I'm happy. Better enjoy it, cause we aint doin it again. But he did quite well.

We dined at the Pizza and Pasta Co. in Springdale, and found our way back to the campground. BBD got a back rub, since he was so game all day, we both had eight-minute showers (all our tokens would allow us) and now, as I type, the tent is up, the bedding is down, and all around me, the campground is settling in. As is the norm around our great country's national parks, conversations in German, Russian, or Polish or Czech (at least, those seem to be the main ones, when one bothers to ask) are being held loudly in neighboring tent sites. It is good to be tenting again, the first time since the Scott Park last fall. We have our routine down, and with the bedding we have, the awesomely soft roll-up backbacking bed pads, we are quite comfortable in our green and purple Coleman tent that Uncle Leroy and Aunt Mary gave me when I was 14. Hardly any gift could keep giving as that Coleman tent has. (So if you read this, L and M, thanks again. It has blown across a pasture, gotten wrapped up in a barbed wire fence, taken us honeymooning, weekends at the lake, been an extra bedroom when the house was too full, kept off the rain, withstood the wind, had bird droppings and insects of unusual size, and even a person or two rolled up in it, and it is far from done. It will see many more of the best times of our lives before it is ready to be retired.)
(Pictures- 1. the last half-mile of the Angel's landing trail. The trail goes straight up the spine of the rock wall in the left half of the picture.
2. BBD taking a break on the trail. That's an eight-hundred foot drop, by the way, just below him.
3. A typical portion of the trail. Thank goodness for the chain!
4. Me at the top. The view is so worth the hike. Hey, just the hike is worth the hike!
5. The view I am facing in the previous pic.

Day 2- Weeping rock, Emerald pools, Lake Powell

(Pictures for this day- 1. Zion Lodge, in the heart of the park
2. the waterfall between Middle and Lower Emerald Pools
3.the path to the Emerald pools)

Ok, so word to the wise. If you plan to camp at Zion National Park, get there early. Like six o'clock am, so you can be the first through the gates. it's a good idea to get inside the gates early if you want to park you car at the visiters center, eliminating the need to ride the shuttle from springdale. The park has the capacity to park about a fifth (I'm guessing) of the visiters through it's gates. And those who park there will not be moving anytime soon- they are probably out hiking, making use of the shuttle that leaves every seven minutes. It is actually a really good thing to have the shuttle. It keeps the park quiet, the only activity being foot activity. It is readily accessible, stopping at every point of interest, coming and going, and if you are lucky, the driver will actually enjoy his/her job enough to give his/her passengers moer than the names of the stops, but will include fascinating bits of human and geological history. It did interest me how readily one could pick up on the religious beliefs of the individual drivers, since there were some who did not hesitate to rattle off the estimated age of the formations, and others only stated that the park was old- many thousands of years. (Let me just say, in regards to my own beliefs, that while I claim a very literal belief in the Bible, if not all things mainstream Christianity, the Earth's age is one thing about which I believe that God laughs at us, trying to determine from our meager amount of written history. For someone eternal, who was intimately involved in the history of the entire universe, not just this tiny pebble we live on, which is the center of our tiny consciousnesses... our quests for make-or-break facts that will then determine our belief in him just seems a little bit rediculous. I allow myself a belief that there is much about this earth that written history does not begin to cover, and I think that God is ok with that- because why should my awe of Him be limited by what I do not know?) But back to my word to the wise. If you do not get a spot at the quieter in-park campgrounds, there is always the Quality Inn motel, RV Park, and campground in springdale, just a mile or two away. All went well, all stayed warm except the part exposed- our heads. But as soon as a bit of pre-dawn gray began to show, the people next to us began packing up camp. Aparently they had a thing with keeping their car door locked, because every few minutes they hit their keyless entry, beep-beep-beep. Twice, they hit the panic button, and the horn blared for what seemed like minutes before they found the right botton to get it shut off. And finally, they had slammed all the doors, honked oll the horns, pushed all the air out of their air matresses, chattered and argued and packed as much as they could, and then they left, but not before letting their car idle with the headlights pointed right into our tent. I became irrationally convinced that with their total ineptitude, as they left they were gonna accidentally slip the car into drive instead of reverse and manage to actually run over us. I curled up into a ball, realizing how stupid that sounded, but half convinced it would happen, since they were obviously parked nosed up against us. They finally left, and we began to fall back asleep, when suddenly, not eight feet away, the rv parked with it's butt toward us started up, diesel engine rumbling, exhaust fining it's way inside. It idled, while we muttered. After it left, we lay awake, watching the tent walls grow gradually lighter, loath to get up and face the cold until the sun had actually climbed over the canyon walls, which it did about three hours later.


Every time I am in the canyon country, I am constantly looking around me, wanting nothing more than a degree in Geology, wanting to know how the layers got there in the first place. How they were exposed has a simple answer- wind and water. Even the trails but a few years old have begun to sink into the rocks, tiny pieces of sand carried out by millions of hiking boots and tennis shoes. But how they settled in the patterns they did, layers diving haphazardly into layers, angles askew, always merits some neck-cranng moments as one contemplates it all.

We rode all the way to the end of the shuttle route, marveling at the sheer height of Angel's Landing from the bottom, getting out at various stops. Our first hike was not really a hike, just a half- mile ramble up to weeping rock, a juncture where the water that seeped into the top layer 1,200 years ago and began working it's way down meets a much harder, impermeable layer and traveles horizontally, until it pours out of the face of the canyon and falls to it's floor, meeting a much dirtier world than it landed on. Plants grow on the vertical walls, and the mist chills the air, creating a cool, green world just a short hike from the baking valley floor. We got off the shuttle again at the Temple of Sinawava, the end of the shuttle route, and rambled along the river. The narrow slot canyon that contiued on from that point was closed since it is runoff season. I want to go through a slot canyon at some point. Problem is, they are dangerous places in the event of a flash flood, and fragile places, often closed to the public, reserved for guided tours only. Many of them require swimming. On the way back down the canyon, we disembarked at the Zion Lodge, where the trailhead to the emerald pools is located. I expected the Emerald Pools to be a bit more pool, and a bit more emerald, but hey. Who would actually hike to something called the Reddish-Brown Puddles?Three tiers of puddles, spilling over into each other. The bottom two were beatiful, supporting a fragile desert ecosystem between them as the water from the middle pool spilled into the bottom pool, wildflowers growing out of cracks in the walls, the trail hugging the canyon wall behind the thin sheet of falling water. The top one was a short, but hot hike higher, and could almost qualify as a pool. It was there we stopped and dug out the organic nuts and apples i have been carting along with me. I even remembered a bag for the aple cores, now that my backpack is all sticky inside from having to carry apple cores in it down from the top of Angel's landing.

We rode back from the lodge to the parking lot in a shuttle full of tired, crying kids and frazzled parents. Parents who are kids our age, still fit, still active, still not ready to settle for minivans and disney world. Still gonzo at heart, in spite of the fact that they have to do their hiking with a child or two balanced on a hip. Moms who stay home to take care of them, who spent every waking minute providing constant supervision, and dads who, on this vacation, are proving the rare treat of their constant presence. I watched one little tableau in front of me, how the little girl claimed the seat beside Daddy, and the little boy, sitting beside Mommy, began trying to squirm off the seat, out into the aisle, and began screaming when she would not let him. But then Daddy pulls him onto his lap, the screaming stops, and the kid's happy again. Mommy sits completely alone, and looks a little bit betrayed, and daddy reaches forward to rub her shoulder, to let her know he still likes her, even though the kids dont. It's a vacation for him, the kids love him because it's a novelty not having him at work, and for her, it's just an extension of the job she does all day, every day, only more stressful because nobody's in a familiar place and there is no naptime. It led into another "when do we have kids" discussion once we got back to our car. This seems to be a hot-button issue with people who already have or have had kids. When we talk like this to them, we are sublty or not so subtly accused of being selfish, of choosing to miss out on the blessings of parenthood, of being immature and irresponsible. We feel a bit isolated by it all, because while we know that a vacation like we are on now would still be possible with kids, it is certainly easier without them. Just give us a little time, so we can enjoy a few experiences that will be next to impossible for the next 18 to 25 years. From about four months after conception until high-school graduation, every moment will need to be planned around that child (or children), and at least give us credit that we are mature enough to realize that. Of course, we do not even know yet if children are possible for us...

Now that was a tangent. Sorry. We left the crying kids, their nearly in tears moms, and made our way out of the park the long way, following the original highway, through the mile- long tunnel built in the thirties for much smaller vehicles than we drive these days, and as I fell asleep, hit the open road for Lake Powell. It is wonderful being the passenger when Bobby is driving. I do not worry about him falling asleep. he takes each querry about his wakefulness as an insult, so I let my head loll and my eyes close and go ahead and "try to snore", as he tells me afterwards that I do.

We honeymooned at Lake Powell, and this is the first time we have been back. It is interesting to see how our perceptions have changed since then. It is almost our sixth aniversary, after all. We are now far more interested in what the area has to offer. We still can't afford much, but we have gotten good at finding our way around places and doing the things we can do for little or no money. We lounged by the pool, not long enough to burn but long enough to create a tiny tan, to be added to incrementally before we hit the merciless Hawaii beaches in three days. I read an old Dean Koonts paperback, since just lying by the pool is akin to punishment for an activity junkie. I can devour a 500 page paperback in a day. I have a real problem bringing enough material along with me to keep myself entertained while BBD relaxes. What does he think about while he lies there for hours? Do his thoughts run in loops like mine do? Does he notice his skin heating up, every sweat pore opening, until he convinces himself he is miserable? Does he imagine bugs landing on him? Do his warm, wet swim trunks stick to him, making him feel like he peed himself? Is he worried about sunburning the bottoms of his feet? What would one do if one did that? That would be awful. Does he pass the time trying to itinerize the rest of the vacation, only to realize how rediculous that is? Does he start pondering imponderables? Does he get annoying songs stuck in his head? How is all of that relaxing? Maybe I am a strange child, but for me, if my body is relaxed, my mind is anything but. The best way to clear my head, rezero the whole wadded up mess up there, is by getting out where the breeze is cool, the view is nice, and the trails are long. I do my best thinking when I am forced to follow actual trains of thought to block out the pain of physical exercize, and it feels wonderful to let the worked, stretched muscles relax while I write, (can you tell I am being forced to sit at the moment?) read, or listen to music. Oh, dear. My mind and my body being on the same page is about as likely to happen as Bobby and Susan getting their timing right and actually wanting to do the same thing at the same time.

Poor man is out looking for someone to cut his hair. It is cold country hair, cute as can be, thick and about three inches long, sunbleached on the ends. He is ready for summer hair. Can't blame him. He has more hairs per square inch on his head than anyone I know.

So tomorrow, we have no plan. perhaps a rock beach in a canyon cove. Bobby wants so desperately to rent a boat, but we really can't afford it. The water's cold this time of year anyway.

Day 3- Sedona, Arizona

(pictures for this day-
1.View from our hotel toward lake Powell, over the Page Golf Course
2.BBD at glen Canyon Dam
3.The town of Sedona, as seen from the airport
4. Our campground in Oak Creek Canyon
5.Your favorite blogger, reporting on the day's activities
6.Grand Canyon country, after we left Page
This morning, we wondered aimlessly through the visitor's center at the Glen Canyon dam, shared a footlong at Subway (we can eat for $2.50 apiece now, with their now five dollar footlong promotion- we order a turkey sandwich with every veggie the little sandwich-builder can put on it, no cheese, then i pick off he turkey and give it to BBD.) Bobby got a haircut at wal-mart before we left town. I still experience a bit of shock looking at him. His head seems like it shrunk.

And with no further ado, we left town. I was sleeping soon thereafter, and really did not fully awake until we started into the mountains around Flagstaff. I hope I don't pay for that tonight. We streched our legs before heading into Oak Creek canyon, which opens into Sedona. As we wound our way through the snlight dappled by towering, leafy trees (which i wish i could identify for you, and i would try if I had the internet handy, but unfortunately this campground does not even have water, let alone wifi) and pine trees, we passed several campgrounds, and kept driving, thinking that we would surely find something closer to town. When we got to town and inquired, however, we discovered that no campgrounds are allowed within eight miles of town, only day use areas. Not sure why, unless it is to keep the plebian masses well out of sight. By the time we had puttered around the art district, driven to various viewpoints, snapped our pictures, scoured the town for an affordable meal (Quizno's- our second sub sandwich of the day), it was getting late, and the most promising campground had been filled. We drove up-canyon, until we found one perched above a stream, and nabbed a spot, even though the only spot left was one right next to the highway. Our lack of commitment has struck us in the rear again. But other than having cars whizzing by seventy feet away, it really is a beautiful, peaceful evening. We gathered wood from down by the stream (of course, I dropped a sturdy, jagged stick on my toe- the one who had roast beef- and mangled it beautifully, since I was wearing flip-flops at the time) and time will tell if we managed any brushes with the poison ivy growing down there. I am pretty sure i did not, but I am suspicious of BBD, since he never can identify the stuff. Makes me feel downright useful when he calls on my limited knowledge of native flora and fauna. And now, we are slapping at our first mosquitoes of the year. I hear it snowed five inches in Summit County last night. Man, it's good to be outa there.


Now, BBD is whining because he is bored. He's not even sure we want a fire, since we have nothing to roast in it. he's wondering around, pointing the camera at things, occasionally even taking pictures. Poor boy. Perhaps we shall have to just go to bed early, since there is nothing else to do. The line between relaxing and boring can be so thin sometimes.