Odd Days: Durf's not a hypochondriac. Me neither.

Really, I'm not. I have a reasonably high tolerance for pain and I do not run to the doctor when I have a runny nose. However, if I suspect a terminal illness or an imminent catastrophe, I'll be heading out the door in a flash. The tricky part is to be able to identify those illnesses/events. To wit:

1. I woke up one day with a rash on my palm. The next day the redness appeared to be migrating up my arm, following the nerve. And my neck was incredibly sore. I could barely lift my head from a prone position. It was an easy diagnosis: meningitis. I dashed off to the doctor, and as fast as I had diagnosed meningitis, she diagnosed shingles.

2. Last Thursday, I noticed flashes of light in my peripheral vision. At first I swatted at them, thinking I was once again being harassed by insects that swarm around me at night. But the flashes persisted -- that night and again the next. Plus I had a new floater. Uh oh. Diagnosis: Detached retina waiting to happen. Off I went to the doc. Her diagnosis: harmless (operative word) PVD.

Contrast this behavior with Durf's approach to medical care. To wit: We both notice a growth on his leg. I say, "get it checked." He says, "Naw, it's normal." Two weeks later, it's twice the size it was. I say, "Egads, get it checked. It's growing." He says, "No it's not." Two months later it's the size of an orange. I say, "OMG, I can see it growing before my very eyes. Get it checked or it's going to leach all the blood from your brain." So Durf ambles to the doc. He gets his basal cell diagnosis and says, "See, I told you it was nothing."

Colorado score: -1 (Doctor's office is 45 minutes away. I could die before I get there!)

Odd Days: The doctor who lost his patient

In California, I generally loved my doctors. If I didn't, I switched. And for the most part, I felt well cared for. But strange things happened with disturbing frequency. For example, once I went in for an imaging test. I was ushered into the room with the machine and told to undress. And then they forgot about me. Seriously! I won't embarrass myself by telling you how long I stayed in there. Let's just say, I might still be there if I hadn't gotten hungry.

On another occasion a doctor came in and started talking to me about a disorder that I didn't have. Oops, wrong room, I guess.

I believe those things happened because there are too many people in California and too many of them went to the doctor when I did. I know for a fact that the doctors were supposed to keep their appointments to 15 minutes, which makes for a certain amount of haphazardness. And, to be honest, I often felt rushed. You know the feeling...you are about to ask the doctor a question but he has already walked out the door.

Well, that sort of thing doesn't happen in CO. My first eye exam here in this great state took 1.5 hours! I felt as though my eyes were running a marathon. When I see my internist, she comes in, sits down, leans back, crosses her legs and asks to see my list -- but only after asking what adventure I've been on recently. When I cry over a (minor) diagnosis, she doesn't laugh at me, she offers me prozac.

We pay a lot more for health care here, but we get a lot more love.

Colorado score: +1

Odd Days: Twins

I decided to explain why Durf and I both own Subaru Outbacks. I'm explaining it because everyone I know has asked me about it.

Durf and I are rapidly becoming twins. It started slowly, but over the years the morphing into twin-ness has accelerated. Some of you might find that statement pretty hilarious. Even I find it hilarious. On the face of it, the statement is ridiculous, but when I take a close look, I see that it's true.

The latest piece of evidence, of course, would be our identical Subarus. Before that, we both owned Prii. Before that, we both had the same carbon fiber bicycle, the same windbreaker, the same water bottle. The list goes on.

Twenty years from now, we're going to be those two ancient people you see walking down the street. If you don't notice us at first, you'll notice the kids tittering and pointing. Then you'll look. You won't be able tell if the two ancients (that would be D and I) are male or female. However, you will see that they look exactly alike. They are both wearing "I climbed Pikes Peak t-shirts." They'll have on mid-thigh shorts that emphasize their knobby knees and flaps of wrinkled skin. They'll have matching walking sticks (canes, don't you know) and wrap-around sunglasses. And their 20-year-old running shoes will be laced with elastic laces.

All kidding aside, I could offer some well-reasoned explanations for how each of these confluences has come about, but I decided to speak the truth. The truth is that Durf's taste has improved over the years.

Odd Days: The Statistics of Death

A few final (so to speak) words about the Pikes Peak odyssey.

As Durf so artfully described, I deal with my neuroses by obsessing over them. I've already alluded to my detailed investigation into the route up the mountain. I tried to find photos of the scary places to see just how scary they would be. That research produced sweaty feet, as you now know.

Much more reassuring was the research I did on the number and types of accidents that have occurred on the mountain. My research produced a surprisingly short list of 13 accidents in my lifetime.

Upon further reading, I discovered that two of the accidents did *not* result in death. Of the fatal accidents, three were the result of snowboarding and mountain biking misjudgments (euphemistically speaking). And since I'm not a member of the high-testosterone-leap-before-you-think club, I figured I had the number of deaths worth obsessing about down to eight -- a fairly manageable number. I was feeling better by the second.

Then just before we left, I read the story of Inestine Roberts who was found dead of unknown causes in a snowbank on the mountain in 1957. At first I was unsettled by this discovery. But soon I learned that she had gotten into some sort of altercation at the summit. Whew, good to know. She had apparently stomped off the peak in a huff and headed back down the mountain -- in the dark, through the snow. Even more reassuring: that trip was Inestine's 14th. She was 87 years old when she died and had completed her previous trip up the mountain when she was 86. Good lord, if an 86 year old woman could climb that mountain, surely I could too. Statistics were in my favor. Common sense was in my favor. I just had to make sure I didn't get into any fights.

Colorado score: +1 (trail altercations are rare)

My birthday card.

Amen!

Odd Days: Birthday Torture

Today is Durf's birthday, but I'm probably not allowed to tell you that. I love birthdays and celebrating them is one of my favorite things to do in life. But Durf likes to fly under the radar. Could be because he blushes so easily. Or it could be another reason. In some respects he is such a performer. But when it comes to birthdays, he likes to hide out. This is a lesson I have *not* been quick to learn.

Years ago, I had this t-shirt made:


And indeed, I'm wearing it today. The thing is, I'm not allowed to wear it outside -- not even to get the paper!

I have learned that if I plan anything for his birthday, I should let him know in advance -- preferably a year in advance, so he can steel himself. No surprises, that's the rule. I learned that lesson 25 years ago when I told him to get in the car and then drove to the airport. Holy crap, I thought he was going to have a...well, a cow (that's a euphemism).

But in the end we (even Durf) always have fun. And the adventure usually makes for a good story *after* the fact. Durf loves to tell a good story.

Happy birthday, honey. Don't worry, nobody will be reading this but you.

Guest post: Pikes Peak.

I didn't suffer any anxiety prior to the climb. I thought there was a possibility I wouldn't make it, having exercised mostly my butt for a year (except for going up and down the stairs to my office in Tarrytown), but that didn't bother me. Trying was what mattered.

We were somewhat surprised to see three other cars in the parking lot when we arrived at 3:30 AM. Apparently we weren't the only crazies in the area. We threw on our packs and were on our way.

I'd brought a headlamp with 3 LEDs and it was bright, so I was selected to lead. We yelled out "WHOO WHOO!" every couple of minutes to let the bears know we were coming. As you now know, we weren't eaten. That was good.

The first 3 miles of the trail are called "The Ws" because they're steep switchbacks. (A switchback is a turn of more than 90 degrees.) There is general agreement among climbers that The Ws are the most difficult part of the trail, excluding altitude issues. We knew enough to go slowly and not burn ourselves out early, not that we had much choice.

My right hamstring tweaked a couple of times when stepping up on boulders. That freaked me out a little because in my running experience tweaks like that sometimes preceded strains, which would have made it impossible to continue up and very difficult to get back down. I switched to my left leg for high steps and had no further hamstring problems.

There were few respites - level areas to recover a bit. Any that appeared were only a few yards long. The trail just went up and up. It wasn't demoralizing, because we expected it to be tough, but after a while I was wondering if the darn Ws were going to go on forever. I kept hoping to see the trail level out after a switchback, but it was just more grade. Finally, at about the time it was beginning to get light, the trail got easier and wider. The Ws were over.

The next 3 miles, to Barr Camp, are considered the easiest part of the hike, and they were. There were long respites, the grades were less severe, and the trail was wider and smoother. We were in a great mood, chatting, laughing, and enjoying the hike and the scenery. Then we arrived at Barr Camp.

We spent about a half hour there, taking care of necessary business and relaxing on what was a very pleasant day. We were somewhat surprised at how many people were at the camp - of course, as Twila mentioned, many of them were part of a Boy Scout troop. The Barr Camp people told Twila that the 3 1/2 hours it took us to get there indicated a brisk pace. YAY! They said that it would probably take us 4 1/2 hours more to reach the peak, which pecked around in my brain. We'd already done The Ws, the hardest part, so why would it take longer to go the rest of the way?

I soon found out. We left the camp and were immediately on "The Hill That Goes On Forever And Ever". There weren't many switchbacks, just up and up and up. It was unrelenting. There were no respites at all. That was when we started playing Tag-and-Go with the Boy Scouts. They were nice kids, but the pleasant solitude we'd experienced on the first half of the hike was permanently gone.

I was still the anointed leader. It was my headlamp that got me that job in the first place, but by then I think it was that I was likely to be the slowest hiker. I definitely wanted the Boy Scouts to pass us, but, as Twila described, they were prohibited from doing so. It was disheartening to be plodding along, struggling, cursing the hill and having ever agreed to do the hike, and hearing the kids laughing and talking right behind us, as comfortable as if they were walking on the beach. Not that I'd want to be 15 again, no way.

We stopped for a break and the kids stopped with us (of course). I decided to eat some M&Ms for energy. As I was gobbling, a blue M&M popped out of my hand and onto the trail, and one of the scouts immediately said, "You left a trace." Somehow I avoided ramming my hiking stick down his throat. The kids then got into a discussion about why dogs can't digest chocolate, though I can't recall the details, and there were certainly no dogs within miles. I calmly explained to the scout that I had not left a trace, because I had not, in fact, left. It was probably his first lesson in advanced philosophy.

Eventually the long hill ended, which meant that there was an occasional respite. But then there was a sign that said we'd only gone 2 miles, and that we still had 4000' feet to climb. It was still a mile to the timber line. Finally I realized why the second half of the hike takes longer. Well, partially realized.

The hike remained difficult. That wasn't going to change, actually, except to get more difficult the higher we got. The problems were grade, altitude, and the trail itself - many times we had to clamber over rock fields.

Twila, as you know, had different demons. She was by far the best physically conditioned in our group, but she'd built herself into a near frenzy of worry about her acrophobia. She'd done extensive research about possibly scary parts of the trail, ostensibly to assure herself that there would be none. That wish wasn't to be realized, so she was probably twice as fearful as she would have been if she had done no research at all. I'm well-trained in how to deal with her acrophobia - don't draw attention to it, keep moving. But even I made a mistake. We had paused in an area where there was simply no place to fall, and I remarked at how beautiful the mountains were. That was not the right thing to say, because between us and those mountains there was a long way down, and she was already freaked out.

There turned out to be many places where the trail was very narrow, the footing was marginal, and the drop off was severe. I kept moving and Twila kept moving behind me. I don't know how she managed to get past a couple of those places, but she did, and I'm proud of her.

It seemed like forever, but eventually we reached the timber line. The signs at those significant markers were anything but encouraging. It was always still too far to go and too many feet to climb. We were in JAM territory - "Just Always Move". We knew that would happen, so we just kept moving.

Our biggest error was that we hadn't restocked our water supply at Barr Camp. We would have had to take water from a stream, but we had iodine. The problem was that we were using CamelBaks, which are water bladders that were in our packs. Because of the design, it wasn't easy to tell how much water we had left. I'd started with 64 oz, and it felt at the camp like I had enough left - which was far from accurate. Twila had started with 40 oz. Before long, as we began to gasp for oxygen, we knew we also had to severely ration our water usage. Fortunately, Kathy had a couple of bottles of water in addition to her CamelBak, and she shared it with us. She'd carried that weight a long way, and her generosity was very welcome. I'm going to be much more careful about water on future hikes.

The sign at the timber line that said 3 miles to go didn't exactly fall on the positive side of the equation. It had been hours since we'd left Barr Camp, and we'd only covered half the distance. But all we could do was JAM, which we did. Well, not the 'A' part. We stopped more frequently to rest and get more oxygen. We were playing leap frog with the scouts and a few other climbers.

The 2-mile sign was welcome, but it took a long time and a lot of work to get there, and it still seemed like a long way to go, especially since there were no trees and we could see how far we still had to climb. I tried to put a positive spin on things: "Think of it this way. When we get to the 1-mile marker, we'll only have 1 mile to go!" Call it oxygen deprivation.

As we were struggling, there were several runners who passed us, running up or down the trail. One of them was a young female doctor from the Air Force Academy who was training for the Pikes Peak Marathon. She had a dog with her, so I was really happy I'd picked up that blue M&M. She was chatty, and we were only too happy to stop and talk. Or stop and anything, I guess. She offered to give us a ride down from the top, but she probably forgot to consider that she'd be there an hour and a half before us.

Finally the 1-mile marker did appear, and that one was encouraging. It was about then that we could see the top of the roof of the building we were hiking to. It was still a long way up, but we almost jumped for joy when we spotted it.

By that time I'd embarked on a new strategy: shorter but more frequent breaks. We'd hike perhaps 40 yards, then stop for 30 seconds. We didn't sit, just leaned against a rock and tried to breathe. That worked remarkably well for a while. It was amazing how much easier the first 10 or 20 yards after a break were. I kept thinking, "This will take a while, but we'll make it." The breaks became less effective the higher we climbed, but... we were closer!

Finally we arrived at "16 Golden Steps", which are steep switchbacks just before the summit. From the descriptions I'd read, I thought they'd be even more difficult than The Ws, but I knew that being so close would be enough motivation to keep us going, no matter what it took. As it turned out, they were nowhere as difficult as I'd feared. I was so happy that we were near the end that I might have floated up them.

It was a great feeling and sense of accomplishment to reach the summit. After some mutual hugging and backslapping and photos, we wandered around to take in the magnificent views.

The summit was like the worst of tourist traps. There were zillions of overweight tourists who had ridden up on the train and then immediately rushed into the building to load up on special doughnuts "that can only be made at 14,000 feet" (we eventually split most of one and it was nothing special). I did my best by wandering around with my pack on, my hiking stick in my hand, and an exhausted look on my face, but no-one paid any attention. PPPBBBBBTTTTT!

I discovered then that I'd left my camera on the mountain, maybe at the blue M&M place, and having to wait 6 hours for a train was a bummer, especially since my well-exercised butt got sore on the hard seats. But we'd climbed Pikes Peak, and I was proud of all of us.

Odd Days: Pikes Peak Pix

The captions tell all:



















The night before, Kathy & Dan look oh-so-relaxed.




















Durf, on the other hand, looks...well...not as relaxed.




















Kathy treating a hot spot somewhere before Barr Camp. Still looking relaxed.




















Dan at the summit, looking tired. Too tired to muster an exhilarated grin.



















Durf comes a little closer. A tired but happy grin. Note that I managed to cut off the part of the sign that says "summit." My brain lacked oxygen, don't you know. BTW, the summit is now at 14,115 feet, but most signs have not yet been updated.



















That's Twila doing her caged animal pose. All of us were happy to be on the train after waiting six hours for four seats.

Note there are no pictures of spectacular vistas. My eyes were glued to the trail for reasons I have explained ad infinitum. But I will post a couple of scenery pix that Kathy took. Soon.

Odd Days: Whooo Hoooooo

On Wednesday the 13th, four people, each battling his or her own demons (fear of altitude, fear of lightning, fear of heights, fear of hiking), climbed to the top of Pikes Peak in a single day with no ill effects to speak of. Yippeeee!

That's not to say it wasn't a challenge, or that we didn't have a bruise here or a sore muscle there. I for one was leaning so far away from the edge of the trail at one point that I banged my shoulder into a rock and now have an interesting groove there. (Hopefully it will scar!) I am soooo grateful that I didn't bounce off the rock and over the edge on the other side of the trail.

Because we started at 3:30 a.m., we didn't run into humans until we reached Barr Camp, which is the halfway point. We inferred that most people split the hike into two days because Barr Camp was heavily populated (maybe 20 people?).

And now an anecdote: A troop of boy scouts left Barr Camp a little before we did. We played leapfrog with them for a while until half of their group started to lag. We went on, but each time we stopped to gulp some extra air, three or four of the boys would catch up to us. We told them to go on ahead but they all exclaimed, "oh no, you are going the perfect pace for us." We thought, wow, these polite energetic 14 year olds want to hike with *us*. How cute. How sweet. So we moved on and they would trail along behind us.

As the air got thinner, we stopped more frequently, arms akimbo, gasping for air. But when the boys ran up, they always seemed dreadfully chatty and not the least bit breathless. And still, they stopped to join us and wait for us to go on. Finally, we noticed that one of the boys was a tad impatient with the length of our rest periods. He would stand up and sort of lean forward, like he wanted us to get a move on. So I said, "Why don't you guys go on ahead, we need to rest a bit more," whereupon another of the boys blurted out, "We're not allowed to pass you."

The jig was up. We were sharing supervision duty and didn't even know it!

Colorado score: +1 (Duh!)

Odd Days: Pikes Peak

I'm squeaking in under the wire on this odd day. Midnight is just around the corner. Happily, all four of us reached the summit and have retuned to our hotel tired but victorious. More to come on the next odd day.