Gasping for oxygen in Quito

Hello, folks. I'm in Quito, Ecuador, a city of more than a million people, way up in the stratosphere, surrounded by mountains.

The mountain in the background, directly west of the city, is Pichincha, very close. Pichincha is very big here in Quito. You can get your money from Pichincha bank, eat Pichincha pizza, get a Pichincha haircut.

This mountain, Cotopaxi, is just south of Quito. It last erupted in 1877 and it is currently emitting gas, so the mountain and I have something in common. (That we don't erupt very often. What were you thinking?)

I've been in Ecuador for a little less than a month now, and I've not adjusted to the elevation yet. I wonder if I ever will... Quito, Equador is some 9200 feet above sea level, about one and 3/4 miles up in the air. For comparison, Northstar-at-Tahoe peaks out at 8610 feet, Diamond Peak, 8540. In the Tahoe region, only the tippy-top of Heavenly is higher than my sixth-floor apartment in midtown Quito.

So the act of just sitting around takes more air sometimes than seems to be available. It's a weird feeling, not being able to breathe all you want to breathe. I fight down the panic, I breathe deep, I survive.

Strangely enough, walking around, getting mild exercise, not so much a problem. More strenuous exercise, however, and you feel like you're gonna die. I live on the seventh floor of a condo, and sometimes I go up the stairs just to see how long it takes me to breathe normally after.

I live at a place called Spanish Immersion House, which is in reality a nice two-bedroom apartment with a Spanish teacher/entrepreneur named Ceci. She runs three businesses as well as cooking every day. Makes her own soy milk, the best stuff I've ever tasted.

The "Spanish immersion" part of the deal is that she speaks to me in Spanish, then I respond in such poor, mangled Spanish that she finally gives up and uses English to get her point across. It's a great program!

I went to a five or six Spanish language schools here in Quito, looking for a good place to learn. For whatever reasons, I think cheap labor among them, they only offer one-on-one classes. Just imagine, four hours a day of direct, unrelenting lessons from about three feet away. Nowhere to hide, no relief as the teacher picks on other students, no escape from the steady, intense, and frequently disappointed gaze of El Profesor. Maybe better for your Spanish, but hard on the psyche!

I like group lessons, not just for the opportunity for some slack in the classroom, but also a chance to meet and hang with other expats. Back in Guadalajara, there was a big group of expats at the IMAC Language School, and we'd go to lunch or sightseeing or free concerts throughout the city. At the end of the third week at IMAC, my roommate and I hosted 16 students and friends at a lunch at my apartment in Guadalajara.

But here, there is not the opportunity to rub shoulders with expats or others, and I walk alone for the most part.

Well, not totally alone. One of Ceci's businesses is a facility for children without means, in an economically challenged neighborhood of Quito. I moved here with two weeks to go in their summer school program, and I got a chance to volunteer at a couple of events.

This first photo is of a bunch of us on the way to the Quito Zoo. The second photo is one of the zoo population taking a snack break. We counted the children over and over that day...

I'll be in Quito for a few more weeks, if not longer.

I'm finished with the 300 or so essays for my masters' degree, by the way. I have only the thesis project, a green business plan, to go. Currently researching a business idea I've tentatively names Hydrogen for the Home, but I'm a bit out of my element. (Really, no pun intended.)

More later!

What happened to July?

In our last installment, you may recall that our hero was planning his escape from Nara Visa, New Mexico: a barren wasteland, yet free rent...

Sorry for the dead silence for the last month. I kinda lost my groove there in New Mexico. And then here in Ecuador (real time), I've had some difficulty having a consistent Internet connection...

As July began, I got the hell out of the charmless little town of Nara Visa.

Bye bye, horsie neighbors!

Bye bye, wildfires from 400 miles away blotting out the sun!

I turned the bike east and north. I told her to seek higher ground, not to stop until the temperature dropped to the 70s.


I ended up in Eagle Nest, New Mexico, named more for its high elevation rather than any capacity for cradling eagle eggs. It rained that first afternoon. I got off the bike, took off my helmet, and turned my face to the sky, raindrops mixing with tears of joy.

No shit.

Hello, cool pines!

I stayed in alpine country for the next few weeks, Eagle Nest, Red Rock, Taos in north central New Mexico, and Pagosa Springs in southern Colorado. I hiked the mountains of the continental divide in Colorado, I soaked in sulfer hot springs, I left my environmental studies and the notes from Phil's book in my saddlebags for most of the month...

Of course, I couldn't get away from environmental degradation. I had to plan carefully to avoid the record-setting New Mexico wildfires, and later, the record-setting Arizona wildfires.

Looking closely at the New Mexico forest, you can see how many trees are dying - this from the western pine beetle. Warmer temperatures have extended its range dramatically. I was told by a forest ranger that New Mexico has lost 85% of its pinon tree in the last two years. Soon they will have to choose a new state tree.

Then up on top of the Continental Divide in Colorado:

There was no escape from the nasty wildfire smoke coming up from New Mexico...








Then Albuquerque, a pretty cool city, to repair my sandals, find a Sprint store, make some adjustments on my motorcycle, get in a game of frisbee, do some laundry, get some Thai food, swim. All the stuff big cities are good for.

The frisbee was at University of New Mexico. Due to the motorcycle injury earlier this year, I couldn't run well enough to play in the game, but I got a good hour of throws in. The students were polite and called me "sir."

Sir. Well, you turn fifty, these things happen. I guess I can start calling younger people "son" and "filly" and "whippersnapper."

Then: Arizona. Time to get off the bike and get serious about South America.

But first I had to drive through the aftermath of the largest fire in Arizona history.


On the way to Tucson to drop off my bike, I stopped in Phoenix to see family and friends. 110 to 115 degrees every day. Lots of swimming, either indoors or at night.

Thank you, Matt, for finally turning on the pool light. Made all the difference.

Tucson was not always in the 100s. Woo-hoo! The monsoons came in and occasionally made things tolerable outside. I even recall one afternoon when it was actually pleasant during the day. Yeah, stunning, I know.

I hung with my friend Judy and the wonder wiener dog Abigail, then stripped the bike of its battery and gasoline, turned in its mirrors, and sadly put the cover on. A great bike...

Except for falling off the damn thing that one time (well, falling under it), the bike trip - all 8000 miles - was one of the best parts of this last year. I can't say enough good things about my undersized Suzuki Burgman 400. I had zero issues out on the open road, through five US states and two countries. I was going to sell it once I got back to Arizona, even bought a "for sale" sign, but... Now I envision coming back to San Francisco the same way I left. Some day...

But first: I'm going to Ecuador! In fact, I'm already here. I'll take some photos of Quito, and get right back at you...

Stay tuned.

A Word about the Fourth of July...

Before it's out of your minds for another 11 1/2 months...

Some of you have heard this before, but when I become King of the Forest, we are going to abandon the title "Fourth of July" and go strictly with "Independence Day."

It'll be on the first Thursday in July. That's right, Thursday. Fireworks will be on that Thursday night. Most people will have an unofficial day off on Friday. We Americans will have two four-day holidays per year, instead of just one.

Thanksgiving Friday is one of the best days of the year for commerce and consumption. I hope Independence Friday will be one of the best days for swimming, hiking, family picnics, etc. An unofficial "nature day," except for those parts of the US that are forced indoors by July weather.

The air will be cleaner for a short while, as it is in late November. More people will be with family and friends for one more day. There will be more mini-vacations. The world will not go to pieces if there is one fewer US stock market trading day.

This schedule is far better than having fireworks on a Monday or Wednesday night, no?

I have been advocating this for some years now, but somehow the US government hasn't taken this up yet.

Let me know what's wrong with this idea.

Otherwise, spread it around?

Thanks, and happy Bastille Day (which is going to be the third Thursday of every July, non?)

Empty, New Mexico

We left Amarillo before the wind changed again, and headed to Phil's trailer in Nara Visa, my home for as long as I could stand it.

Nara Visa, population 112 and dwindling, ain't much of a town. There's no commerce any more: three gas stations, two auto mechanic shops, one antique store, one little market, and good ol' Ira's Bar and Package Goods, all closed decades ago.

So the main road - the only one that's paved - is littered with empty, broken buildings, all rusting and rotting, missing a door here, a window there...

Smack-dab in the middle of town is a privately-owned auto junkyard: About twenty cars and trucks, ranging from old to ancient, lined up two-deep.

The oldest is the shell of a Model T, the newest looks like it was a 1970 Ford Fairlane. All rusting and rotting, missing a door here, a window there...

On each car, the owner sprayed "Keep Off," "Get Out," and "No Trespassing."

The guy who owned all these cars died, without heirs, two decades ago. So the cars are still there. Due to deterioration, some now just say "No."

Actually, the theme of Nara Visa seems to be "No Trespassing." Without all the discouraging signage, there would be sooo much homesteading at these prime properties...

The only place where money still exchanges hands these days (unless you count the churches) is the Western Star Motel, which is open on an as-needed basis. You want a room, you call the number on the sheet of paper taped to the window, somebody'll come buy and get you a key. Cash only, please.

Despite the sparse population, there are three active churches -- well, two and a half. The Methodists are in full throat every Sunday morning, the Assembly of God assembles regularly, but the Catholic Church, easily the most beautiful building in town, actually the only nice-looking building in town, stands empty most of the time. The priest comes by and unlocks the doors twice a month, in order to hold mass in Spanish. I wonder if God'll forgive me for going to Mass just to brush up on my Spanish. I wonder then if he'll forgive me for being an atheist...

While on the subject of that which god has forsaken, I present some photos of the trailer I find myself trying to live in. It ain't easy, I gotta tell you. This crappy little oven, baking in the sun, overrun with rodents, shower not working, flooring missing in places, is my reward for working on Phil's book. Woo-hoo, I am so lucky.

But I'm here anyway, I decide to give it a try. Phil is so earnest. He seems to be able to live in this shithole. So I'll try to keep an open mind. Plus my motorcycle is still strapped down in the van.

While we were in Amarillo, Phil picked up an old evaporative cooler. and installed it in the living room window the day after we returned. Did I mention that it was 100 degrees outside, and god knows how hot inside the uninsulated metal box?

The cooler wasn't. If you stood in front of it, you got the benefit of air circulation, but there was something wrong with the water circulation. Phil worked on it for a few days, but...

I had two fans in my bedroom, and by midnight it began cooling off. I started taking walks in the middle of the night. Kinda spooky in the land of decrepit buildings, a ghost town in the making, but at least I was out of the trailer. As I become used to the heat, I start taking my walks at sunset, when it's only in the 90s. Anything's better than just sitting in that damn trailer. You can study only so many hours in the day. There's no radio reception, the internet connection is too slow to download any entertainment or use Skype, there's no TV, there's no cell phone signal. There's just the couch, and the evaporative cooler.

And then there's the flies and bugs at night. They gravitate toward light and warmth, so when I retired to my room, it was attack city. Phil said that he learned long ago, on his solo trek on foot across the Australian outback, that the key to bugs and flying things is just to let them do their thing. Get used to it, and you'll sleep like a baby.

I haven't gotten used to it. I don't think I ever will enjoy having some tiny winged creature crawl all over me, in my eyes and nose and elsewhere.

We put screens up, but it's a lost cause. In this trailer you could let the cat out without opening a door.

So I wait each night for the light of day. The bugs stop attacking when the sun comes up. I generally sleep from 6 to 8 am, before my south-facing windows turn the bedroom into my private oven.

And in the daytime in my fog of no sleep, I look cross-eyed at Phil's book material and try to make heads and tails of it. I don't get too far.

We get my bike out of the van. I take it for a test run. It feels good to be back on the bike, even in the 100 degree weather. I start looking at maps of New Mexico, plotting my escape.

Phil's landlord brings in an actual working evaporative cooler, I think from an airplane hanger. It's a bit noisy - in the 80 or 90 decibel range - but it cools like a jazz band. I sleep in front of it, or try to. The bugs...

Phil's also made some improvements around the house, mouse traps and such. He put up a kind of shade for my bedroom windows, to cut down the sun, but it blew away that first evening (It's frightfully windy here). He's really trying, because he knows I'm disappointed. And if I leave, he's on his own in this shithole. I think he'll see it as a personal defeat.

Our agreement was that I would work on his book in exchange for housing. But in a month, I've slept about two nights. And in the daytime, I'm a captive of the 100 degree nothingness outside and in. So I'm thinking - Thanks but no thanks.

I can work on his book anywhere. In fact, in order to do the supporting research,I have to go elsewhere, since the internet connection at the trailer is so frail.

But I try: I think if I can get some exercise, maybe I can sleep, and all would be well (enough). At a church social event, I met two kids, ten-year-old Chet and big sis Kaitlin. We played basketball, Kaitlin kicking our butts. I promised to bring my frisbee the next day that isn't windy.

A few days later, it was calm at sunset, so I rushed over to the kids' house, to get some throws in before it gets too dark. They're home but they don't answer the door. Frustrated, I walk around town, twirling my frisbee, begging with my eyes: "Bring out your children. It's not too windy!"

People see me walk by. They're not used to someone walking around, so they just stare. I realize now that this last entire month, I never saw anyone walking anywhere, ever, in Nara Visa. That's why god invented trucks, I guess, so you could go four blocks, (which admittedly is clear across town) to get your mail and your gossip at the post office.

I finally saw Chet at the post office the day before I left. I told him I stopped by to play frisbee and was sorry I missed him and Kaitlin. He said yeah, well, gotta go. Spooked, he was. You know, I met their mother, their stepfather, shook their hands at the ice cream social. When I stopped by their house, and they peeked at me through the curtains, I had a frisbee in my hands.

But I guess they couldn't reconcile the fact that I was an adult with wanting to get exercise. They knew I only had the motorscooter. I wonder if they thought I was going to abduct their children on foot, somehow get them on the scooter, using the frisbee as a weapon...

Never can tell what cityfolk are likely to do, I guess. They also knew I am from California. I downplayed San Francisco, I am ashamed to say. No need giving anyone an excuse to load the shotgun and/or get the rope.

At the end of one month, I got the fuck out of town.

Next blog: Liberation!

The Fecal Fogs of Amarillo

Though a cat person, I really enjoy these dog-sits. In Tucson last month, I chaperoned Abigail the occasionally anxious dachshund whilst her momma was tromping around England.

And now in Armarillo, trying to match wits with a wily schnauzer named Dobby (pronounced: /dAHbi/). Ten days dogsitting, in this pretty little neighborhood, with neat brick homes, trim lawns, and a little park nearby.

Dobby is to be walked twice a day. We take the alleys, so that she can antagonize as many of the doggies stuck in their back yards as she can.

Oh the sniffing, the barking, the bodily functions. Such happy times for a dog. The routine: entice other dogs to fence. Sniff, growl, bark. Repeat as necessary. Then urinate on something as you turn away. That's something I want to get good at: urinating in disdain...

We take these neighborhood tours early in the morning and quite late at night, cuz it's 100 degrees outside. On occasion Phil takes me to visit various friends or do errands. Amarillo seems like a nice place. It kinda drives me crazy that they water their lawns like they're in a contest, despite a long and nasty drought, but hey, we're in Texas, which is spelled "d-e-n-i-a-l", so what do you expect?

The other biggie that Amarillians are in denial about: airborne fecal matter. When the wind is blowing the right way, it's pretty fucking nasty.

Where's that coming from, you ask? About 50 miles from Amarillo is the bustling town of Hereford, Texas, with a million residents: 15,000 humans and 985,000 head of cattle.

Cattle farts, times one million. With all this methane, people here don't need matches to light their cigarette.

I am told that back in the day, the wind-borne smell was only "occasional," and so the distant tinge of natural fertilizer was tolerable, or at least to Texans. But nowadays, the operation has been beefed up and a million cattle stand where there were but a few thousand. What's worse, the antibiotics and hormones that go into plumping up the beef get "processed" and released into the air by those million head of cattle. (Well, you know, not the head...)

These additives make a tart super-toxin out of the floating cattle-farts. (Add it to diesel exhaust and you've got a super-efficient carcinogen delivery system.)

So when the wind is blowing just the right way, your eyes smart, your nose burns, you keep your mouth shut and you get your ass back indoors.

Fortunately, the Shit Winds of Hereford only blow in Amarillo's direction about 25% of the time, and it's a pleasant place otherwise. I mean that. I'm not saying that because of the looming trip back to Nara Visa...

Not to be outdone, Phil takes his cat Smokey for a walk, too.

The Road to Disenchantment

I'm a New Mexican now, at least for the time being.

It was not easy getting here. My mentor, Phil, has two vehicles - well, I think he's got five or six vehicles, at least a majority of parts thereto, but for our purposes he has the 1991 Chevy van, and the 1977 Honda Civic. My motorcycle was partially dismantled and loaded onto the van and strapped down; the Civic was fitted with an overhead carrier and hooked to a trailer. Poor little thing. Phil's cat Smoky rode with him in the van, I followed behind in the Civic. It was tough getting it up the slightest incline. I couldn't get it going more than 20-25 miles per hour uphill, and with semis bearing down on my ass at more than double my speed, it was pretty thrilling.

Phil and I switched cars after about an hour of sheer harrowing hell.

Unfortunately, the van was worse. The steering wheel was nothing more than a suggestion. Wide swings of the wheel right then wide swings left kept the vehicle going in a relatively straight line. Too wide, however, and the van would begin to sway, too narrow and the van would move left or right according to some inner voice.

We were going "the Safford way" in order to enjoy the rugged scenic beauty of Eastern Arizona. Narrow roads alongside cliffs and gullys. White knuckles on the wheel; trying to remember if I told Sungmi that I loved her the last time we talked...

Then the rubber stripped itself off the left rear tire. The van careened out of control, which wasn't dissimilar to what I had been doing for the last hour, the steering's so bad. This all happened on a flat patch of road, else there would be no more blogs.

Phil had a badly balding spare at the ready, and we limped on it to Safford, the next town. Luckily there was a tire store with used 16.5 tires - a rare size - and the stripped 1969 tire was removed from the 1991 van. I think we upgraded to the 90's.

We'd been on the road for about two hours at that point. Some 600 more miles to go, and I'm scared out of my wits. Phil, he's calm as a morphine addict with a fix. "These are great old cars. Go forever."

We had lunch in Safford.

East Arizona is pretty, rugged, and at times quite beautiful. We wound around and up the Mogollon mountain range and into its shadows. Pretty, but all I can thing about is the one new used tire between the two vehicles. I was getting used to the boat-like steering of the van, but the roads were getting narrower and narrower, the margin on each side slimmer and slimmer.

Irony 101: I just finished a 4000 mile trip through Mexico on an undersized motorcycle, and I was scared out of my wits driving a four-wheeled vehicle.

It took two days to get to Nara Visa, New Mexico, less than ten miles from the Texas border. Surprisingly, both vehicles made it, the cat made it, we made it.

Unfortunately, "it" was a 1980-style mobile home baking in the sun. Easily 110 degrees inside at 6 pm. No insulation, no air conditioning, inconsistent flooring, and mouse droppings everywhere.

Surprise, surprise. Welcome home.

Phil was unapologetic. He had a few fans, some of the windows opened (especially the broken ones) and it would cool off at night at some point. Mice won't kill you. What was I, a pussy?

Yes, I'm a pussy. And an idiot for being here.

Fortunately, we only had to spend one night in this shithole. A schnauzer named Dobby was waiting for us in Amarillo, Texas. Save us, Dobby!

Lies, all lies

I'm glad nobody's reading my blog, because, as it turns out, I've been lying through my teeth.

My last post told of coming to Tucson to sell the bike and use the proceeds to live in Ecuador and finish my schoolwork.

Not a grain of truth! Well, I am in Tucson, but not for long. But the bike's staying with me, I'm not going to South America, and it's going to take a bit longer to finish my schoolwork after all.

Instead of northwestern South America, I'm going to try eastern New Mexico. Almost all the way to the Texas border, actually. A very very little place called Nara Visa. (I believe the name means "why the f--- are we stopping here?")

Nara Visa, New Mexico: look it up on Google maps. For a laugh, take a look at "street view" for any of the four streets. Or, you can look it up in a dictionary under "desolate." No restaurants, no grocery stores, no 7-11s. No stores at all. I hear there was a gas station once.

Not much there, but it is the home of renowned architect Phil B. Hawes, my degree program mentor for this last 8 months. Phil, who studied with and under such luminaries as Buckminster Fuller and Frank Lloyd Wright, is most famous as the architect of Biosphere II, the largest man-made enclosed structure on earth (except it's no longer completely enclosed).

Phil is getting up there in years - he turned 77 last week - and he feels a need to pass along some of what he's learned along the way.

And even though he's been subjected to more than 70 essays written by yours truly, he thinks I'd be helpful in researching, organizing, and writing his book.

Working title: "Snappy Working Title: How to create and maintain a 100% sustainable community" by Phil B. Hawes with Douglas McAbee.

And so tomorrow, at the crack of lunch, we're on our way to the high plains of northeast New Mexico. Frankly, I'm scared. Scared of not knowing how to write a book, how to get it published. Scared of driving my motorcycle to Armarillo, Texas to buy bread and cheese. Scared of living in a place where the closest commercial activity of any kind is 30 miles away.

To help with my main fear, I bought "The Elements of Editing" and "Getting Your Book Published for Dummies." I hope to find a happy medium between "editor" and "dummy."

To help with the other fears, I've packed away tins of tuna, tons of pasta, and tubs of peanut butter, not to mention as much soy milk powder and breakfast cereal as I can carry.

As far as the Texas situation goes, I am told it would be best to keep my mouth shut about San Francisco (or any part of California really), peace, justice, race relations, climate science, and generally alternatives of any kind on any subject.

Our agreement is that I'll work on the book three days a week, and work on my sustainable studies the rest of the week. At least until my head explodes.

Ecuador is on hold, but not out of my mind. How long will it take to make this book happen? I have no idea. But if all goes well I will celebrate in South America. And if all goes not well, I can hide out in South America.

The only difference is whether I have to change my name or not...

Wish me luck. (Especially about keeping my mouth shut in Texas!) Next post, Armpit, New Mexico!