Arizona: mountain climbing and Husky melting

By saying that our visit to the Arizona desert was going to be most excellent, I meant for human kind. Not canines. Specifically, not snow canines.

By now, you have probably noticed the dog in tow. For every photo there isn’t of me, you will find two of him (my existence is implied. I’m the photo taker.) His name is Dodger and Rob adopted him last November from a Siberian Husky Rescue in Illinois. 

Dodger:

1. Beautiful
2. Three-ish
3. Howls. Yodels. Doesn't bark. 
4. Affectionate before 10am
5. Enjoys our company, but consistently plotting escape
6. Ignorant to perils of traffic
7. Sheds a lot
8. Likes to eat field mice. Likes to eat all small creatures, actually. 
9. Has a self-imposed bedtime
10. The car is one of his favorite places (but we'll see if that changes after what we're about to subject him to)

Oh, just posing I'm sure.

Dodger got lucky. He started life in Southern Illinois, was probably beaten (he had some quirks at first that suggested such), and then escaped to live life as a street thug. He was picked up by the pound, and then snagged by the Husky Rescue (most likely from death row).

He was heartworm infected. After treatment, he did a brief stint in a foster home and then landed right back at the shelter. The foster family’s permanent dogs didn’t like him.

When we met Dodger, he was kenneled outside in the rain. His cellmate Dasha had just deposited a turd on their igloo home. He was the one for us.

Lisle, the day before we departed. Dodger's fourth-ish home. 

In Arizona, we were staying with Rob’s uncle, Ron, his wife Maria, and their 3 kids. Dodger would also have dog-company in the form of Copper, a female chocolate lab mix. Copper was a humbling (and sorely needed) experience for Dodger. When Dodger has the social upper hand, there’s relentless humping. Gender doesn’t even matter.

As she wasn’t going to let sexual harassment fly, they got along splendidly.

Our first excursion was to the Superstition Mountains with Ron and Little Ronnie. This was a hike off the beaten trail. We had to hop cactus, scale boulders, scramble steep grades, and battle heat. 

Luckily, it wasn’t quite warm enough for rattlesnakes and scorpions. The whole hillside looked like a snake nest, actually. 

Superstition Mountains, and the last time we had an actual trail to follow. 

I got bold and jumped down a ledge, only to land on a cactus. After yelling the F-word in front of youth, I yanked out 6 barbs and soldiered on.

Lesson learned. 

Dodger had to soldier on, too. 

In hindsight, it was perhaps a poor choice to bring him. This was no ordinary walk. Luckily, he only weighs 50 pounds and comes with a harness handle. Rob lifted him up many a boulder to freedom.

Dodger, not in husky paradise, receiving first aid
(in the form of Rob man-handling a thorn out of his paw).

The photo below is of a Jumping Choya. They are about the size of my fist, dropped to the ground by the mother choya, and all over the place. 

A hell seed. 

If they stick to your boots or pants, under no circumstances should you grab them off with bare hands: they are day-ruiners covered in fishhook barbs. 

Using two rocks to squish the Choya and yank it off is standard procedure. When you drop the nasty thing back on the ground, it tends to “jump” down the mountain in search of its next victim. 

This is why my mom stays indoors unless there is a beach involved.
She is willing to brave beach sand. 

...almost there. 

Being spring, the desert was all in bloom. 

Little Ronnie summits.

Now, we have to battle cactus going down. Rob has to battle his long, sweaty hockey mullet, too.
Mother choya on the bottom-right. 

We survived the cool (albeit treacherous) hike, did a little more exploring, and then headed back to town. An evening walk would conclude the night.

And by walk, I mean we had Dodger pulling Rob on a bike; Ron and Alison on roller blades; Matt on a long-board getting yanked off curbs by Copper and repeatedly eating it; Little Ronnie and Maria also on bikes; and me on a scooter. Scooting at speeds I've never scooted before. 

Most bad-ass looking family unit rolling through the HOA. 

The next day, Maria took us to Camelback Mountain for another uphill climb. We were told that this was “customary torture” for visitors, but “worth it.” Dodger was spared and left home with Copper.

Accurate Description. Locals use this mountain for laps. I was lapped by the elderly. It was a beautiful hike, though, and full of challenging sections.

It was understood that by undertaking the hike, you were responsible for any unfortunate circumstances that might befall you (dehydration due to poor planning; bee disturbances; steep slips; gila monsters; et cetera.).

A nice dose of personal responsibility.

Assistance rail, to decrease the likelihood you fall to your death. 

Bee hive that Alison spotted. Tread quietly. 

Another interesting thing I noticed on the mountain was the vast assortment of people. 

Muscly gym rats left the gyms to power their way up. Long distance runners sprinted off boulders. Day-hikers like us meandered up behind them. Tourists, tanned locals, idiots without water, old, young, really old, really young. 

Despite it being a weekday, there were crowds (spring break week, it turns out). I didn’t mind, though. People-watching is turbo-enhanced by perilous conditions.

Pilgrimage. 

Fine specimen. 

One of many breaks that Matt and Alison probably didn't even need. 

The view.

Our 3-night stay in Arizona was most excellent. I’m a stranger to desert conditions, but it has an appeal all its own. Driving by a mountainside dotted with huge Saguaro Cactus makes me grin like an idiot.

The Saguaro Cactus are native to Arizona.
They can get old: it takes up to 75 years for this cactus to create its first arm.
People landscape with them, but it costs a pretty penny. Like, $3,000 worth of pretty pennies. 

Rob and Dodger lead a pack of kids to school on our final day. 

Next, on to Oceanside, California. Because my greedy parents didn’t bestow upon me a prolific trust fund, Rob and I must work to obtain the gas money to finance our 4,500 mile+ adventure. 

This is acceptable, though. I can think of worse places to do hard labor.