Sunburn

A local organization called Healthy Communities of Inyo County once held a 24-hour relay race when I was in high school (They might still do it. Hell, I don't know). Various schools from around the county had teams to run a relay race for-- big shock-- 24 hours straight. They offered food and games and movies and stuff, and it was all based on the Bishop Union High School football field. It essentially became a tent city of teenagers for a day, like a Hooverville of hormones and acne, and my friends and I spent the race walking and running (we were lazy so we mostly walked it) through the day and night.

In my infinite teenage boy wisdom, though, I neglected to bring poles for my tent.

Or a hat.

Or sunscreen.

Or anything to shelter my white ass from the elements.

So, after being outside and directly exposed to the sun for what seemed like an eternity, especially after spending most of my free time indoors up until that point, my pasty complexion turned to beet red. Blisters formed on my shoulders. The flesh on my nose and arms shed like snake skin. Everything hurt, everything sucked, and I spent a few days inside watching myself go from crimson red to freckles on white.

Since that point I've had pretty bad sunburns; hiking around without thinking to put sunscreen on my neck, a camping-and-climbing weekend last year where I ended up looking like a lobster by the end, but I typically only end up pink this time of year-- regardless of how much sun I get, really. Even when I have SPF 50 on I get a little red, and I'm almost sure if I sat indoors in a room with a window I'd still end up needing aloe vera after it's all said and done.

This weekend I plan to go hiking in Vasquez Rocks, just south of the Antelope Valley. It's probably going to be in the 80s and 90s, with plenty of sunshine and no shelter from it. I have a feeling that, even with sunscreen and a hat as a precaution, I'll be coming out of this weekend as the poster boy of potential melanoma or, at best, pinker than usual.

I can't handle the sun, but I like being outside, so you see my dilemma.

I guess I'll have to sport the adventure hat this weekend like I did in Death Valley:



That, along with a gallon of Coppertone and a little luck, might get me through the summer without bursting into flames.

My Messy Apartment

Having company over is really nice. It's great to see friends from out of town, and it's cool to know I'm saving them money by letting them crash on my pullout couch, so it works out well on the rare occasions someone comes to visit. A couple friends are staying at my place this week, and the company has been really awesome, but the clothes, hiking gear, and camping equipment that came along with them makes it look like an REI exploded in my front room. Sleeping bags, puffy jackets, boots, and other miscellaneous stuff is scattered on the floor along with my backpack, Camelbak, running shoes, and other crap. It's fine that there's clutter; it happens with company. It's funny to me, though, that usually my living space is so neat and clean despite being a slob not that long ago.

I was never one for organization as a kid. There would be a trail of stuff, like clothes, toys, food, trash, and so on that lead to me. It carried on into adulthood, where thoughts of Eh, I'll vacuum later and The dishes can wait another, like, couple weeks, right? would come to mind, and I didn't really mind the grossness and the clutter I lived in. After all, I live alone, why should I care who sees my filthy existence? I rolled with sleeping on the sofa in the front room, eating chips off my chest, throwing trash wherever, and essentially living like a complete blob of a slob.

One day, though, I woke up, looked at the sorry shape my apartment was in, and decided to clean. I didn't care if anyone else had to see the mess or if anyone would see it clean. I had to live in it, and that was enough for me to get motivated enough to dredge out the old greasy pizza boxes and empty cans from the apartment, put the clothes away, and sweep up. I've done my best to maintain a comfortable and clean space ever since, not only for guests, but for me too. So far I've done pretty well to keep it nice, and I'm pretty happy about it.

At least having company over is a good excuse to let the place get messy for awhile. It lets me be lazy for a few days.

Saturday

It was windy Saturday afternoon. Storm clouds were gathering in the Inyo Mountains to the east, and dusty whirlwinds spouted up to the north end of the valley. I hiked through what seemed like endless scree hills, occasionally seeing the stray wildflower or cactus among the rocks, until I reached the crest of the hill. Rolling brown mountains were set across a blue and gray sky, dark clouds drifted southbound, miles of rocky desert opened up from the narrow canyon wash to the valley floor, the blue-gray Sierras jutted upward in the west, and a few more miles of downhill scrambling came into view ahead of me.

Watching the looming gray cloud cover overhead while I made my way down a wash in cloudburst conditions (like an idiot would), feeling the sun burning my face, the wind cracking my lips and stinging my eyes, wondering where my hiking companions had gone and where the car was, I remembered why I've liked hiking for so long. The pain in my legs woke me up. Tumbling rocks that some lizard knocked over kept me alert. A couple bites of beef jerky and a couple slugs of water from a beat up Nalgene bottle with a Patagonia sticker on it kept me moving. I was a little lost in the desert and mountains, and I soaked in the moment with the sun and sweat and dust on my face.

Now I’m sitting at work, answering phones and doing the usual clerical and concierge stuff. I’m showered, wearing leather loafers instead of hiking boots and a tie around my neck to help me look relatively professional instead of a bandana over my nose to help me breathe in the dust. I’m a little sunburned and there’s a small cut on my nose but otherwise I’m as clean cut and as white collar as can be. I’m drinking from a beat up Nalgene bottle with a Patagonia sticker on it still, reminding myself that I still get lost in the middle of nowhere and that I still live life beyond the office. My legs still get sore from wandering around in the middle of nowhere and my face still gets pink from being out in the rays for too long.

With nearly perfect weather and a new vehicle capable of going places, I have the opportunity to get lost in a lot of new and different places. As time goes on I'll be able to go to Yosemite, or to the coast, or into the redwoods, or pretty much anywhere I can lose track of reality for awhile. So far my year has had a lot of adventures, and something different comes along every weekend. I hope it keeps it up like that.

I look forward to beating up my Nalgene in some new places.


(DISCLAIMER: This is actually reworking of a post I made a couple days ago in another blog I have, but I liked writing it and I couldn't think of what to write today, so enjoy!)

Watering Sidewalks

Being a kid in the Owens Valley had its advantages; safe streets, individual attention at school, outdoor recreation, tight-knit communities, everything about as perfect as a Norman Rockwell painting crossed with an Ansel Adams photograph. I didn't have to worry about smog, traffic, classroom overcrowding, gang violence, or any of the commonplace city issues, since Independence was, and is, a tiny middle-of-nowhere town. There was one thing, though, that was an issue drilled into me for a long time, and that was the environment. Considering the majority of Inyo County is owned by the Bureau of Land Management, the National Park Service, and the Forest Service, conservation comes to mind a little bit. Plus, having the the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power own more land here than the residents of the county while they divert water via an aqueduct makes for some opinions about water.

When I moved to Lancaster a number of years ago I noticed how many nice, green lawns there were in the nice, new suburban developments. I also noticed swimming pools in back yards, fountains in front of some businesses, and misting lines on some restaurant patio awnings. One thing that never really settled well with me in Lancaster-- and most of Los Angeles County, really-- was their sidewalks. It wasn't that they had more gum to step on than regular sidewalks or that they were any grosser than anywhere else... it's because, every time anyone waters their lawn, they water the sidewalks too. It's not like the sidewalks need it to grow or anything (that's not how cement works) but it almost seemed like some tract homes would point their sprinkler systems more into the street than they would toward their lawns.

I know it's hot in LA County. The climate of the OV and the AV are surprisingly similar, with hot, dry, windy summers and cold, dry, windy winters, but a lot of people don't really know that close to half of their water comes from my neck of the woods. Because it's so hot I can understand wanting a swimming pool, or a drinking fountain for when you're thirsty, or just having water in general, but some wastefulness with the wet stuff can be avoided. California is in a state of emergency thanks to drought, and it's not getting any better, so whenever I see the water that's been diverted from my backyard to water the sidewalks of someone's front yard in Palmdale I get a little peeved. For all the things we do with water-- we drink it, swim in it, poop in it-- letting it pour into the gutter because you can't manage to get it onto your pointless lawn is really dumb.

There are clouds hanging over Mt. Whitney today, and a fresh dusting of snow underneath them. Some snow's fallen in Mammoth Lakes and June Mountain over the last week or so. Maybe if we're lucky we'll get some rain down in Lone Pine, but in the meantime I'll stare at the sidewalks of my apartment complex and wonder why the hell it's so easy to miss the grass in the courtyard.