Journeys

Technology, getting lost
March 26, 2020

Mr. T(echnology) and I seem to be at war this week. Perhaps if I had not left my IPhone on the hood of the car and perhaps if it had not fallen off on Highway 89 where I found it after it had been run over, Mr. T and I might still be friends; however, that is not the case, sad to say.

As anyone of technological expertise will tell you, it should be a simple matter to replace said phone when one has insurance for just such carelessness, but boy howdy, would they be wrong! The conversations about how straightforward it all should be are nearly as irritating and irksome as the frustration of spending three days working on it non-stop. In this instance, the señor took on the job to get ‘er done when it became clear that I was not up to the task.

Not to be left out of the fun, my computer then declared its inability to absorb one more bit of data because its appetite had been sated. “I’m full”, it stated in no uncertain terms. Once again, the señor stepped up to the plate, simultaneously working on one device in one room and another device in another room.

Adding insult to injury, the current pandemic precludes my myriad in-person social interactions; even those are mostly reduced to dependence upon Mr. T’s abilities to facilitate communication.

Okay, I’m over my little rant, but Mr. T has a lot of ‘splaining to do before he gets back in my good graces. Also, I will not be throwing any more cell phones into traffic.

We get lost . . .

So, the loss of employment results in spans of time to be filled otherwise. No lack of projects in the Wuehrmann household, but springtime and fewer jobs also brings a yearning for the out of doors, thus Ruby’s getting a workout as we grind our way over a few more dirt roads.

Oftentimes, we set off with no particular destination, or at least with the mindset that wherever we end up is fine and dandy. On the day in question, though, I verbalized a desire to return to a certain place on Burro Creek. We camped there on Easter weekend long ago with our friend Casey and Dad and the Hastings bunch. The memory of that wonderful time has long been percolating to precipitate a return.

All well and good, think we. It’s a pretty long drive out there, so we control our inclination to be sidetracked. With nary a stop along the way, we tootle right along to Burro Creek Road, where we are surprised at the juxtaposition of vegetation: how odd and unusual to see saguaros standing amidst juniper trees intermixed with ocotillos, crucifixion thorn and quite a mix of plant life not typically (or ever?) growing together. Our reward for staying the course is to have a walk around, take a few photos and enjoy being out there.

Sensing that our goal is near, we climb back aboard our trusty steed and with excited anticipation, continue toward the creek, moving right along with our rooster tail of dust following . . . until we are startled to see up ahead - not Burro Creek, but a highway! Wait! What? That can't be . . . but sure enough, it was. Up ahead, traffic zipping past rushing to their destinations that certainly were not Burro Creek.

Clearly, we were not actually lost. Oh no, we knew exactly where we were; unfortunately, the where we were was not the where we meant to be, and we were clueless of how to get from where we were to where we meant to be.

A little backtracking ensued, but casting around this way and that did not appeal. Why not just enjoy the where we were instead of spending time looking for the where we meant to be? And so we did: that alluring sand wash that led to who knows where was our route for an afternoon hike, and Burro Creek would wait for another day.

Intentions are fine, but when we are led another way, might just as well relax and enjoy it, and so we did. Weather was sublime and the sights even more so. As we hoofed it down the wide winding waterway, our eyes feasted on wildflowers in abundance, granite hillsides dotted liberally with cactus and varied vegetation. As we lunched comfortably seated on a rock, we counted a dozen different flower types within a six-foot range of our boots!

As always, according to my somewhat limited knowledge of the science of gravity, what goes down must come up. I think that's how it goes . . . at any rate, our hike back seemed about twice as long as our walk in, it being an upward incline and all.

The big surprise of the day - one that seemed slightly on the cool side for snakes to be venturing out - was a rattlesnake stretched full out on the road. Of course that required a stop. I thought at first it had been injured because of its extreme lethargy.

That was not the case as we learned after some prodding with a long stick, but clearly, he had jumped the gun on getting out and about. Despite our gentle molestations, the reptile never rattled nor coiled. In fact, it scarcely moved, so we transported it out of the road to prevent it being run over and watched as it slithered slowly to cover beneath a bush.