Up and Down Bell Pass Trail

Behold the story of a man's foolishness in quest of a small personal goal, and what he learned from it.

Yesterday is a day I will long remember. I probably pushed myself to a physical extreme that is unmatched in the last forty years, since I went hiking in Communist Romania in the Transylanvian Alps and wound up in the hospital--the only night I've spent in a hospital since I was born. 

At one point, coming down off the mountain, my feverous mind, now four hours in the hot sun, reverted to this incident. At that point I could barely go a hundred feet down the trail at a time, all the while navigating the treacherous loose rocks below my feet.  My trekking poles, which I had used on the ascent only for the last half mile as a convenience, had now become my entire lifeline. I was using them essentially as crutches, my back arched and my chest thrust forward with each heaving motion forward until I ran out of energy again. I pictured myself looking like FDR with polio struggling to the podium in his crutches---or rather, since there is no footage of him in that state, like Ralph Bellamy as FDR in Sunrise at Campobello. 

How had I gotten myself into this? The day had begun with a simple thought to resume hiking on the trails. Three times now I had walked from my front door all the way to the 104th Street trailhead on Bell Rd. I had surely earned it, as part of the rule I made for myself, that I can drive to a trailhead once I walk there. It part of the game I made for myself. It had worked wonderfully for the first couple years we lived here, while extended the range of my walking network further and further, one trailhead further each time. After my recent health incident, I decided I needed to restart. Even getting to the Bell Rd trailhead had seemed like a huge accomplishment again, but now it was easy. Flat ground the whole way. Now it was time to move onto the trail in the McDowell Mountain Preserve.

Bell Pass,  I had seen on the map, is saddle in the ridge of the McDowells where the trail reaches a summit and descends to the other side, into another preserve in the valley of the Verde River north of Fountain Hills, the isolated community on the edge of the metro area where we had lived our first two years here before moving down into the "Valley." I had tried to summit Bell Pass a couple years prior--five?--but had turned back near the summit as my shoes were unfit for the steep rocky last segment, and I had feared running out of water. Probably my shoes were no better this time, but I thought if I brought ample water I'd be ok. I had done similar hikes in the McDowells in years past, and although they were strenuous, especially in the sun, the temperature was not yet brutally hot and I figured I could handle it, so long as I wasn't overcome by flushing in my temples, a lingering effect of my viral attack last year. This would be a good test.  If I could do it, it would mean overcoming my previous failure, which had stuck in my mind as an annoyance, as all such failures do.

When I go hiking, I dress in what I call "Desert Amish." I have my floppy hiking hat, the kind old men like to wear, a loose polyester or cotton white shirt with long sleeves that I leave unbottoned around my wrists, and long tan slacks. I don't understand people who go out on the trail wearing almost nothing, sometimes black gym clothes. It's as if they want to bake like a guinea hen in the oven.  Before my virus attack, I had held the attitude that given enough water, and occasional shade (massive saguaros being your best friend), I could go all day if I had to. 

Also I take it slow. The attitude of so many folks on the trail is to go as fast as possible. I regard this as a leisure activity. The first mile or so away from the trailhead is almost flat, with much of my route this day on top of an old ranch levee. Was it the Bell Ranch? Hence the name of the road and the trail to the top of the ridge? I mused these questions as I walked on the trail until I got to the part where it began a gentle ascents. Even there I am purposely slow. Probably fifty people passed me on the way to the summit going uphill, whereas I never pass anyone. I spent too much time resting, sitting on a stool-like rock in the merciful shade of a Mormon Tea bush perhaps and just staring out at the view. On this day there was a wonderful breeze that kept the air cooler than it would be. I delighted in listening to the wind through the gorge. But I am usually the only person who does this.

It was not surprising therefore that it took me three hours to cover the four miles and 1500 foot ascent to the top of the pass. I finally got out my trekking poles in the last segment more as an aid than a necessity. It was just before noon when I got to the top where a small metal sign marked the summit where the trail forked on the opposite side. The view down into the Verde was exquisite and pristine.  I thought how next time I might descend down a trailhead there and take Uber back to the trailhead where I started. But that was not for today. Instead I lingered there, since I had earned it, and even took a short nap lying on the top of a metal chest that contained perhaps equipment used for maintenance or rescue. The sun was not so brutal so it was nice to rest for the descent and listen to the wind.  Several folks came by on the trail in both directions looking at me like the oddball that I am. I have been taking naps like this on trails since I was in Scotland, where once I woke up on a green cliff overlooking the sea on the Isle of Skye to find myself surrounded by sheep. 

Finally I decided it was time to descend. It had been a victory to get to the top. I had not felt one symptom of the previous viral infection that had plagued me last summer in the heat. I had felt no vertigo. My head was clear. It was lighthearted, although exhausted. I had half my water left. I figured it would take me an hour and half to get back down to the car.

It wound up taking over three hours---longer than the ascent. It would become an ordeal I will never forget, but one I am thankful for, as it revealed many things to me about my physical condition, and also my spiritual condition. 

The first sign of trouble was that almost immediately while descending I could feel the tops of my thighs quivering like jelly. This is not good, I thought. Here is the weakness in my muscles I was wondering about, that has crept up on my me during my inactivity in recent years. But this was only the beginning.

Immediately I knew I was going to have to rely heavily on my trekking poles during the descent.The trail had felt like a fun challenge on the way up. Now looking down, it appeared to me to a treacherous minefield of possible mortal danger. Within the first half mile I was using my trekking poles to keep me from keeling over sideways and backwards. No longer was my mind wandering in thought. Instead I was laser focussed on the ground in front of me, making sure I stayed upright.

But I knew the quivering in my thigh muscles was a bad sign. Yes it was due to the weakness in my muscles, but the acute situation was made dangerous because it told me that I had used my glucose stores. To wit, I hadn't eaten enough before I started out. So I kept having to stop and rest almost constantly to build up a little glucose again to have the raw energy to keep going. But I could feel myself getting progressively weaker, even though I still had miles to go on the descent. Even the smallest gradient downward felt like a challenge. Looking down at my feet, I thought how the next few steps, were I not careful, could result in a blow out knee, a sprained ankle, or worse. Perhaps I would find myself waking up in the hospital after hitting my head on a rock. 

Moreover, I was going through my remaining water too fast. I realized I would run out, so I began to conserve, and this began to bring on dehydration, Every year people die on the trails here, usually in extreme heat (which was not the case today, thankfully), in part because they start out with not enough water. How foolish they seemed to me, and here I was, having put myself in the same danger.

I had barely gone a mile back down the trail when I felt as if my strength was giving out. I began to think about nothing else but food. Why hadn't I been satisfied just to go to Costco today? I could be eating a hot dog there right now. Oh, for a Costco hotdog. All sorts of food went through my head. Little Debbie oatmeal cream pies. I could have eaten an entire box. Apropos of nothing, blackened salmon with a chimichurri sauce. Mmm.

Eventually, however, the dehydration crept in and I thought of nothing else but a tall glass of strawberry lemonade, which would solve so many problems, giving me enough sugar and water to make it back. I remembered that there was a Walgreen's at the stoplight near the trailhead. I fantasized about walking in and finding a strawberry lemonade there.

The uphill flow of hikers had trickled off by now, since it was afternoon, but occasionally people came back, often running uphill. In my pride, I did not want them to see me looking like FDR, grimacing as a tottered on my "crutches". So I would stop and lean against my poles, since I could barely stand without their support at this point. 

The thought that I was in serious danger took ahold of me. I kept looking up in the sky thinking I might see turkey vultures circling me. I have learned they check you out on their patrols even when your gait is strong, circling a time or two above your head before moving on. Would I have to fight them off with trekking poles.

With miles of rocky descent ahead of me, and barely creeping along, I found a rock as a stool in partial shade of a bush and maneuvered myself onto it to rest. I knew I had to keep going, but the danger was now overwhelming me. So I did the thing I have learned to do in such situations---I called upon my guardian angel, who, according to Church doctrine, freely chose to be my protector at the beginning of time and whose sole responsibility is that protection, and to serve as my personal messenger to the throne of God.

"Guardian Angel...," I said in desperation (I have learned your guardian angel has a name, but you cannot know it until you die, and should not name them). "I need your help badly. Please help me down off this trail, without injury or harm to my body." With thoughts of strawberry lemonade in my head, I added, "and if possible, could you give me a miraculous burst of energy to carry me forward."

With that I rose from my rocky bench and carried forward, feeling at least the courage that I was going to make it. Yet the boldness I felt soon faded and I found myself waddling like FDR again, grimacing as I struggled to keep from falling sideways. 

In the midst of this, I saw a young man in his twenties in a hiking hat and shorts coming up the trail towards me. I had already stopped to rest and was leaning against my poles, as by now I could not even stand upright without them. He hadn't seen me looking like FDR.

Nevertheless with about twenty feet separating us, he asked me, "hey is everything all right? Whenever I someone resting like that, I always ask me." Normally I might have felt piqued by such a comment but in this case I was relieved. I lied and told him I was ok. He walked a little closer and at that point I saw he was wearing a shirt that indicated he was a ranger for the conservancy agency that maintained the park. My attitude changed.

"You wouldn't happen to have any water, would you?" As if waiting to be asked that question, he said sure thing. He slung off his back and brought out a plastic bottle of water and handed it to me. "Most important thing is water and electrolytes," he said. Then produced a little pouch of the latter. He handed it to me and I saw it was from Walgreens.

"It's strawberry flavored," he said. "I hope that's ok."

"That's fantastic," I said, taking it from him. "You are a godsend." 

He went into a rather long digression telling me not to be embarrased about this, and that he himself had suffered such incidents on the trail. 

He even offered to accompany me back to the trailhead. I thought it about it a minute and then, no I think I will be ok. I still had over two miles to go. I hoped I would not come to regret that.

As it happened, that answered prayer turned to be what I needed to bridge the gap in my water supply. It wasn't sugar, but it would do. Still the last mile even on the levee trail seemed impossible. By then I had been in the sun almost six hours and the backs of my hands were red. I knew my face would be as well. I had but a few swallows of water left. Even on the flat ground,  I had to stop every hundred feet to rest and even the smallest gradient felt like a mortal danger without my trekking poles.

By this point, I was going on sheer willpower to reach the trailhead, where my car stood ready to carry me to Walgreens. My lips were parched and my eyelids heavy from fatigue, despite my need to watch every step below me.  By this point my thighs were a mass of pain, barely able to support my weight. 

In my degraded state, I had reverted to remembering that ordeal in Romania in 1985, and what it had felt like to finally reach Istanbul, a paradise of food. Under my breath I kept repeating the words I had said at the first bodega in the train station, and for days after my arrival: "portakal suyu...portakal suyu...". It kept me moving forward to say this. 

It felt like a miracle to finally reach the car, which was not too hot despite having sat in the sun all day. With my last ounce of strength I lifted my legs into the car and pulled the door shut. I never felt so good to put the keys in the ignition and hear the car start. In two minutes I was parked in front of the drugstore I had fantasized about for the last two hours. My vigor restored for the moment, I hobbled inside looking like a beat-up rat and made my way to the beverage cooler, where despite an almost empty shelf (hello, Communist Romania!), I found a single small plastic bottle of orange juice which I seized as my prize (in Turkey, in the old days at least, it would have been in a paper carton). The strawberry lemonade would have to wait. Portakal suyu it shall be!

Epilogue:

After getting home and pulling myself up the stairs, I found a plate of food waiting for me. Jessica had already eaten. She didn't even ask why I had been gone all day. After a short recovery I told her my story. 

I mentioned that I was quite thankful for the whole episode, as among other things, it showed me that I am heartier than I thought.

1. I felt absolutely no lighthearted fuzziness or vertigo during the entire time! This was a huge comfort to me.

2. I had wondered where my muscle weaknesses were, and this provided an exact diagnosis of that. I now know exactly what I need to work on, to rebuild my balance. 

3. I no longer feel as if I am old and decrepit (with the caveat that one's body at 60 does not recover as readily aas t 20).

4. I could probably do the same hike again in the near future, but with new shoes, more water, and (above all) plenty of snacks.

In fact, I intend to do similar hikes in a more limited fashion, as this will be exactly what I need to rebuild the strength in my legs.

Jessica, however, lovingly castigated me over the dangers of rhabdomyolysis . In fact, I had severe leg cramps last night in bed whenever I bent my legs, and I sit here typing this, I am on guard against my pee turning brown. But I think I'm going to be fine.

And of course Costco awaits. I'll never think of the hotdogs the same way again.

portakal suyu