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Summer 2013
Livin’ It and Lovin’ It in Albuquerque, New Mexico
Duke City Fit Summer 2013
Tubing the Conejos
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Duke City Fit
Summer 2013
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Duke City Fit
From the Publisher
The Lesson of the
Cottonwood Seed Ken Orth
It was early summer... cottonwood
“floaters” danced around… the irrepressible seeds of summer were out in number this day. It was “The Dog Days of Spring,” he mused to himself sitting half in and half out of the shade on a coffee shop patio. His left arm could feel the intensity of the high desert morning sun, and he wondered just what the temperature difference was between it and his right arm… cooly ensconced as it was in the shade of the slatted patio cover. “Must be 15 degrees difference,” he said to himself, and then realized he must have spoken out loud again when the lady at the next table over turned and glared at him. Not for the first time he figured he ought to get one of those bluetooth phone thingys that hang on your ear. Then he could talk to himself at will and no one would know or care. Or, at least they wouldn’t think him mentally suspect, as this lady probably did… they’d just think him rude. The way he considered people rude who chatted away loudly on those things in the midst of a crowd. Those or cell phones. “It is rude,” he thought. As if their private conversations were something that everyone around them should feel privileged to be able to hear. To have foisted upon them, is more like it. “So that’s the choice?”, he thought... being perceived as a mental case, or, just rude. And for some reason, I seem to think that it is better to be considered rude. That just goes to show how crazy I actually am.
Duke City Fit Editor: Ken Orth
Copy Editor: P Joan Orth, RN
Editor@dukecityfit.com (505) 291-0070
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Duke City Fit is solely owned and published by Duke City Fit, LLC. It is published quarterly in March, June, September, and December. Copyright © 2009 by Duke City Fit. All rights reserved. Reproduction in part or in whole without written permission is prohibited. Opinions and expressions of fact within articles are those of the author and are not necessarily those of the editor or publisher. Specifically, the editor and publisher are not liable for actions taken in response to any article. Readers are encouraged to use common sense and consult with a professional before attempting any potentially harmful activity. Duke City Fit encourages your submission of articles, photographs, comments, criticisms, and ideas. All submissions will be considered for publication. Recommended article length is 800 to 1200 words. We reserve the right to edit all submitted materials. Materials will not be returned. Advertising is accepted at the discretion of the publisher. Duke City Fit is printed on recycled paper using soy-based ink. Our mailing address: Duke City Fit, 3801 Big Bend NE, Albuquerque, NM 87111
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He wondered what the difference was between the two. Rude or crazy. “About 15 degrees,” he said, quietly this time, and smiled at his own joke. He looked at the grumpy lady next door to see if she’d noticed. She hadn’t. She was busy trying to pick a cottonwood floater out of her breakfast burrito. “That’s disgusting!” she said, a little too loudly. She could get away with talking to herself because she had a companion at her table, and she was ostensibly talking to her. But in fact, he thought, her statement was actually addressed to her own self… or to the offending cottonwood seed… or possibly, even to the disgusted burrito itself. Certainly not to her table mate who didn’t even want to think about a cottonwood seed in her burrito, much less look at one. She avoided looking at the disgusted burrito by studiously studying her own… picking at it with a fork and turning over things here and there as if to see if a floater had burrowed in somehow, had cunningly hidden itself somewhere within its chile smothered recesses. He was staring, he realized… too late… as if by telepathy she suddenly looked up, directly at him. Considering her companion’s earlier reaction, he fully expected a “what are you lookin’ at?” comment or glare. The crazy guy who talks to himself is watchin’ me. But instead, he got a bit of a sheepish smile… a “hand in the cookie jar” kinda look. “Yah, you caught me,” it seemed to say. “I was looking for a hidden floater in my breakfast burrito. Isn’t that silly?” Her table mate was still busy extricating, and talking to, the now soggy cottonwood seed that ambushed her own burrito, and she missed the whole silent exchange. She mumbled something about moving inside, and they did so... in a couple of waves of dishes and drinks and silverware. Victims, he decided as he watched them. Victims of the relentless cottonwood floater assault. The seeds had won, he saw, where the sun, the wind, the birds, and the heat had failed. Persistent little devils, no doubt about it. Floaters 1, Breakfast burritos zero.
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There actually were a lot of floaters, he realized, looking around. A LOT of them. It was reminiscent of of a gentle snowstorm really, with giant lazy cottony snowflakes dancing around in the shifting breeze. Up and down and back and forth, swirling now and then in miniature pirouettes, white skirts all aflutter. “A Dog Days of Spring Snowstorm,” he christened it. He wondered if he could land a photograph of it on the front page of the USA Today. “Freak Summer Snowstorm Assaults Albuquerque” the headline would scream…”One victim so far.” “And she was such a lovely little burrito,” the grieving mother told our reporter. “She never hurt nobody.” Maybe I am a little bit crazy, he thought, not for the first time, and he checked his glass of iced coffee to see if there’d been a feathery infiltrator into his own food supply... while his eyes and his mind had been distracted. Not yet, he decided… unless… unless the little booger had already landed and sunk. He lifted his glass to stare at the bottom, then glanced around sheepishly to see if anybody was watching. Nope. Nope on both counts… no one was watching and there apparently was no cottonwood seed at the bottom of his glass. Good. It would have been a tragic waste of a floater’s life to end up in an iced coffee, he thought. All that potential, drowned in caffeine. Or perhaps not. Maybe landing in liquid is not such a bad thing. Maybe on the list of possible endings for a floater, a cool watery liquid is actually up there pretty high. Sure beats getting stuck in the corner of a patio, or out in the desert somewhere. And it’s probably a notch or two above getting smothered in red chile. They ARE seeds, after all. Each one, he imagined, had a goal, and it was to land in a
Summer 2013
hospitable place where it could germinate and begin the process of bringing forth a cottonwood tree. “I have a dream,” one of the little fellas says as it dances by. And it IS a dream, he realized, as the light went on. It is a floating, dancing dream. It is a hope for tomorrow. That seed carries with it a tiny package with a huge potential. It carries precious cargo… of life and genes and the future of the species. It is what dreams are made of. And it is actually hard to believe, he thought, looking more closely at one of the tiny little pods at the base of a feathery mass, that something this small could actually turn into a giant cottonwood tree. How can that be? It is rather like a magician pulling a tree out of a hat. A tiny hat. It is impossible. And yet, there it is. Right there before your eyes. It is magic, pure and simple. At least by his way of reckoning magic. It’s more impressive than a card trick, certainly. It’s up there with sawing a lady in half, at least. A tree out of nothing… that’s pretty good magic, don’tcha think?
“So… we’ve got little motes of magic floating around here, is that what you’re telling me?” he asked himself. “And dreams, too.” Dreams and magic are in the air this day. They swirl around my head and stick in my hair. They land in my lap. They are everywhere. Great big dreams and mighty magic… all in a package so small that it can drown in my coffee. “What am I to make of this?” he asked… of himself and of the dancing feathery puffs. “What are you trying to tell me?”... Dreams are alive, my friend. And magic, too. They float in the very air you breathe, and they thrive in the ground you walk. You are not alone in having big dreams. They are part and parcel of what life is all about. They are the very essence of life. So dream that great big dream. And know, in your heart, that every dream, no matter how big or how small, every dream comes packaged together with just a little bit of magic. With just enough magic to get that dream to grow. That is the lesson of the cottonwood seed. That is the way it is. “Pretty talkative for such little seeds,” he said, as he gathered his stuff up and headed for the door. “Now I’m hearing voices from floaters.” On the way, he passed by the lady with the disgusted burrito. She’d evidently gotten the shop to exchange it for a new one. It was floater free. It looked kind of bland, he thought. Lacking in something. Perhaps it had been made in too much of a hurry. “Bad move,” he thought to tell her, but didn’t. “You should have kept that first one. There was something about it. It had a kind of….”
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Duke City Fit Isabel Bearman-Bucher
Wilderness Volunteers
Fable Valley, Southern Utah
Know what you get with 12 volunteers, one ranger and two cooks? A “wildernessvolunteers.org” trip. Know what you get on a WV.org Fable Valley Southern Utah trip? Twelve completely compatible, work-loving volunteers, one great ranger in love with his territory and two cooks, all toting loppers, McLeods, saws, shovels and a collective sense of humor that never gives it a rest ... This writer is a prideful member of Wilderness Volunteers, an organization that gathers folks to work projects in America’s wild lands. Yearly, people who love the out of doors, and who love to hike, work, abide with nature and each other, sign up for trips all over the US, from Hawaii to Maine; from Michigan to Texas. The trips range in ability levels, from the onsite tent car camp, to backpacking. The cost is $299 a trip; an extra donation is gratefully appreciated. The grub is free and cooked by two old hands known as “leaders.” The mission is rewarding. Where else can you have a week-long vacation in some outstanding wild place for three-hundred bucks? Where else can you drag a chair up to a nightly campfire, eat gourmet out of your tin camp plate and be that glad fir everything in the moment. As the day fades away, maybe there’s a song or two, dialog from involved and intelligent people - of course on this trip - we had the jokes. I can’t resist telling one. When we were all gathered for our last night together, pretty much sad about leaving, everyone said that if any one of us ended up in their city, to give a call. “If you get to Flagstaff, call Mike,” stated Reno Dave, the dentist. “If you get to Reno, call 911.” There you go. So, as the day fades into a starry, starry night, I and my best trail bud, Michal, head for our Taj Mahal. The front door zips, there’s the wiggle, nestle and nest into the warm bag, the one last “I’m so grateful for this day,” and comes the forever peace of the prima snooze of the dead. Mostly, it’s starry and temperate in S. Utah in May, but for one year when, it didn’t get above 27 degrees for three days. Our tent was a block of turquoise ice which matched this writer’s morning lips. The best part of a WV trip is penned here, in random order: no soliciting phone calls, no email spam, no cell phone reception, no TV commercials, no political news - no to-do lists, no email ― it’s just meaningful out-ofdoors hard work in a remote and less-traveled space that takes one’s breath away. It’s learning to see with new eyes because Scott, our ranger, always takes the time to show us thousand -year-old ruins, petroglyphs, and toed-up
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pottery shards. It’s camaraderie, sharing of stunning beauty, and this year’s bursts of laughter over some new joke. It’s feeling so connected and liked. Southern Utah is a marvel of four billion years of past volcanic eruptions Its story has chapters of glacial lakes like the Canadian Rockies, swamps like in the Everglades, sand dunes of the Sahara, and shallow seas of the Bahamas. Its magnificent red sculpted cathedral rocks go back 2,500 billion years. Hunters roamed around 9,000 A.D, and by 1300 AD, nomadic tribes were carrying tents on their backs. They’d learned to make baskets for storage, water toting, trays, and hats. Today, it’s a remote, breathtaking journey into untrampled, untraveled and unvisited vistas, slot canyons, high meadows, wild horses .... it’s utterly magnificent. DAY ONE: Trucks with big-tooth tires are loaded with tools, tents, sleeping bags, coolers with food for 15, wood to remake forest service signs. The group has been bumping over tiny high remote roads. We climb 191 N, passing some sign to Natural Bridges and then begin the for-real up on a skinny road with a big drop-off, and unlimited vistas. Juniper turns to Ponderosa. I don’t look down. It’s a swoop into Beef Basin with its green valleys, then more climbing and a final turn to Sweet Alice Springs, our home for a couple of days. My tent bud and I scout out the best place, and find it in a field, accessible by a short cut which involves crawling under a loose barbed wire fence. This is bear country, so we rid our digs of any temptations. The camp fire gets lit by our fire wizard; we drag up chairs, eat a great first meal, get to know each other, and then it’s the gratitude of the heart when the last sun goes away, making way for the huge moon over Dark Canyon.
DAY TWO We’re up early, and hear somebody telling blond jokes before 7 AM. We gather in chairs at our Sweet Alice Spring dining room. We get to the Fable Valley trail head, tools in hand, and look down into the obscure, steep trail that will be our job for the day. It needs widening in some parts, new steps built from garnered stones, engineered so they will resist washouts. There’s Manzanita bushes and Serviceberry to be trimmed, after we take a handful and immerse our noses in same. There’s wash-outs to be filled. No human footprints can be found here, only cows and elk track. Down in the valley for lunch, we find shade. Someone toes up 1,000 year old shards, and we all become the “Pottery Paparazzi,” getting bit by spinning the wheel of fortune ... find the prize - look for all possibilities. DAY THREE Rockin’n’rollin’ on #223 discussing sci-fi and the election. “What’s the difference?” somebody quips. Big truck’s loaded with signs, tools, water, gas. Scott’s got the radio tuned to the Shiprock Navajo station. My head bobs to the beat of ancient chants and drums. The announcer divides language between Navajo and English, discusses snakes, takes calls, wishes people happy birthday, happy anniversary. I look out the widow and see a raven way up there - a dark spot. Somebody’s got binocs trained on it. Maybe something is dead. Radio plays Johnny Cash “Comin Down the Track” train song. We’re parked and walking to today’s job. Fourteen pairs of boots make sand puffer clouds, sinking deeper, going steeply down today’s trail. McLeods start to sing, loppers snap - ant people work. ROCK! Somebody calls as a big’un tumbles down the trail. We all jump to a steep side to let it pass. We build sturdy steps, helping each other. Two o’clock smell of the Utah desert, baked by sun, drifts over us - juniper, sage, ephedra. All is silent, save for the call of a bird, a voice or a laugh, a tool raking. I work and sing. We move along. “HELLO RUIN!” somebody calls. We hike, dropping the work. Paintings in this hangover cave are 5,000 years old. Scott tells us that there was a drought 1,200 years ago so they built barrier canyon style, storing grain, fashioning peep holes to watch their neighbors, who were probably starving. We ford one swamp after our cave experience, we work a trail 1,000 feet down, then try it 1,000 feet back up and out, then hike 1.9 miles back to the trucks.
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Duke City Fit “GOOD TRAIL! We all agree. Oh, how grateful we are for our faithful leaders who cook a great meal of tortellini and pesto. The sun sets; a massive moon begins its rise. We all sing together, all the stuff we remember when we were kids... Day is done, Gone the sun From the lakes, from the hills, from the sky All is well, Safely rest, God is nye
Garuda Tibetan Tai Chi Lighten your body, Enlighten your mind
DAY FOUR It’s our day off. We take “Wild Cow Point, the so-called road, and go in 8 miles to another amazing ruin. I take a seat with Steve, who often spends an entire month or two out in these wilds, alone. Only Scott and Steve and I will drive down this cliffside. Everybody else bails and will walk the mile. I hang on, glad I’m here. Steve talks himself over rocks, rills, down ditches. We roll right, skid left on loose sand, we list towards the drop off. He muscles the wheel, and we bounce upright, once again. I wave at the walkers - completely relaxed, knowing that this man could pilot a dune buggy on Mars. We make it and wait for the rest. Storm clouds are gathering in the immense sky. I think of Wilson Hurley’s Albuquerque skies at the airport, and think of the great masters I’ve seen. Carrying no tools, we begin walking ten miles. Red arches, cave mouths come into view, seen above giant plots of Lockspur and lavender phlox. Our group is now cohesive, together, easy with each other. We see 2,500 year old petroglyphs that illustrate people with accessories - jewelry, belts. Cow pucky fills the canyon. “Shade,” somebody explains - “shade for three thousand years - man and beast.” We find and share pottery shards. A weathered gray driftwood tree becomes charging steer. Barberry scent fills the canyon. Somebody says that it’s an ancient remedy for indigestion, heart burn, the runs.
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DAY FIVE We pack up and move today to another work site called Hamburger Hills. It’s down below, and is a very popular place for dirt bikes and four-wheelers. We change the high cool for the sweat hot. We line our chairs up in the only shade offered by the side of the trucks. We put up our tents and settle in. DAY SIX We’re at work early, picking up bullet casings, glass shards, breaking down and erasing a dozen old fires. The wind blows sand into every part of us. Somebody makes up a song to “I feel Pretty,” changing it to “I feel gritty, I feel *&%censored, I feel sweaty and dirty and ...” It becomes the mantra as we plant over 80 cactus starts up draws cut by vehicles paying no mind to requested trails. We hump buckets of water pulled from the streams from which we harvested the cactus, and give each new start a big drink. Early on, the wind howls in the canyon. People run up the hill to hold onto one of our cook’s tent, which is blowing to heck and gone. It passes and the landscape turns purple, then deep black, struck by stars. I know it has done this for millions of years, and I’m a part of it tonight. Cool, at last. We say our goodbye’s, sad to be leaving each other. Our leaders list all the work we’ve accomplished, and tell each one of us how special we were to the group. DAY SEVEN Tents come down, breakfast is eaten. We load up, quiet in the trucks driving back to Cedar Mesa Ranger Station. We hug, shake hands, eyes meet one last time, and then it’s time to start our engines and go back to our lives. Michal and I arrive home. We charge through the backdoor, tear off clothes and drop them on the way. The moans from the hot shower tell it all. Clean, we clink glasses, and say: “NEXT YEAR!” Wilderness Volunteers! If it’s your style, go to: wildernessvolunteers.org
Editor’s note - When last we looked at the website, there were still plenty of volunteer openings in interesting places around the country, particularly in the fall after school has fired back up. Check it out.
Summer 2013
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Duke City Fit
? y g n i h T l a c i t p i l l E An Are you kidding me?. . .
Ken Orth & Dave Danemann
Some days I am the Duke City Fit Distribution Manager. He’s the guy in charge of getting all 22,000 papers out to the libraries and doctor’s offices and hotel lobbies throughout our fair city. Some days, it is even planned well in advance that I’ll don that hat on that day… like the day after a new issue finally prints. I can fit up to 3,000 papers in the convertible if I have to, though the passenger seat is full, too, and the shocks are hanging low. I’ll cruise around the city with the radio cranked up high… classic rock with the bass boosted… singing away while I unload bundle after bundle here and there, and all the way over there in Paradise Hills or Taylor Ranch or Corrales. Often, I am still singing or humming or whistling whatever it was I last heard as I stroll into the latest drop spot, be it waiting room or foyer. Sometimes the singing/whistling thing is nixed if it’s a library or somber waiting room… the song is aborted or forced under my breath. Sometimes that is just as well. What in the heck are you doing singing Barry Manilow anyway? Mandy my butt. Have you no pride? In other places though, my singing has become a trademark of sorts. It is expected, if not appreciated. It comes with the papers. There’s a Marriott where it’s a game now to guess what it is I’m singing. Sometimes that ain’t easy. “Is that ‘Riding the Storm Out?’ “ the girl at the Flying Star asked me the other day. I had to stop and think about it. “Yah, it is,” I responded. “REO Speedwagon.” I looked at her differently as she made my latte. (Yeah, latte… vanilla, if you must know… I need warm liquids to keep my vocal chords loosened up). She seemed a little young to know REO Speedwagon. “I saw them last fall,” she told me as she sat my drink down. “REO and Styx together. They were great. Riding the Storm Out is a classic.” Yes it is. Sometimes, when I get back to the car after a quick, uninterrupted drop of papers, the song I cut off when I left the car is still playing when I return. Once in a great while, I’ll be right in sync with the lyrics as I turn it back on. I’ll congratulate myself then. Life is just full of simple pleasures. But most of the time, distribution stops take longer than the remainder of whatever song is playing. (There are exceptions. Don MacCleans “American Pie” can take up to 3 stops all by itself.) Many times there is an interruption to the smooth flow of “leave the papers and go”. Someone wants to talk. It used to bother me a little. Way back in the early days when I had what seemed like a million papers to get out. I had a job to do and a schedule to keep. No time to talk. But I quickly grew out of that. Now, the people and the stories and the comments I encounter are very much a part of the whole experience. An integral, enjoyable, and important part. I actually look forward to it. It’s really not a good delivery day if I don’t have a few encounters. The other day I was wandering out of a Whole Foods Market after filling up their papers… those markets are good cuz they’re busy and loud and cheerful and nobody even notices that I’m singing. Except, well, except for the guys at the table outside. I got a yell from one of those tables. “Uh-oh,” I thought as I walked on over. Either they don’t like “Nights on Broadway”, or they don’t like what I’m doing to it.
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Turned out it was neither. It was a friend of a friend sitting with a friend. And that friend had a friend, I was told, who rode some strange elliptical thingy that I really ought to check out. A strange elliptical thingy? And for this you interrupt “Nights on Broadway”? “Baby come back…” I sat with them and we talked for a while about the elliptical thingy, about which, it turned out, he knew next to nothing except that it was weird. We also talked about hiking in the Sandias and mountain biking, which are not so weird, and I told him to have his friend send me an email, and I got back in the car just in time to hear Jim Morrison sing to me about a mind that was “…squirming like a toad”. Say what? A couple days later, back in the inner sanctum of my office where I don’t have any music playing because I won’t get anything done if I’m singing, I got the email. It was from the guy with the elliptical thing. No kidding. It had a video attached. It WAS weird. “Okay,” I said, talking to an email as if that is a perfectly normal thing to do, “I’m game. Let’s check this thing out.” With that, and a couple more emails, I found myself meeting up with someone new. At a Flying Star, of course. Vanilla latte in hand. I am nothing if not consistent. His name is/was Dave Danemann. The device in question is called an “Elliptigo”. He rode it to the coffee shop and it’s sitting right over there. Like its namesake, the elliptical trainer, the footpads of this thing move in a long smooth ellipse… more like a running motion than a cycling one, and you ride it standing up. Whatever for? Well, it has the same exercise benefits of the elliptical trainer, but you get to get out and move. You can cruise the bosque trail rather than standing in a smelly gym staring at Fox and Friends. Also, it is very similar to jogging, but without the constant pounding on the knees and ankles. “I like that it is like running,” he tells me. I haven’t been able to run since I had the stroke. But my left leg can handle the motions of the ellipse so… Hold on. Just a minute here. Stroke? This story was taking a mid-stream turn. He was running… was Dave… way back when. When he was 21. He was a runner. He had, as far as he knew, no physical ailments. But on that day, something happened. Something went wrong. He didn’t feel right. He couldn’t catch his breath. He felt like he was “sagging”. He finally laid down there on the sidewalk. A passerby flagged down a passing by EMT vehicle and he ended up in an emergency room. It was a stroke. A fairly major blood vessel had gotten blocked and the brain’s blood supply impeded. He was paralyzed on the left side of his body. “It went right down the middle of my body,” he told me. “Right down the middle of my tongue, even. The left side of my tongue wouldn’t work! My left eye, my left arm, my left leg… none of ‘em worked. The left side of my face felt like it was sagging.” So, traumatically, suddenly, began a new phase of Dave’s life. A new chapter. A long story of rehab and physical therapy, and the fight to regain some control of the muscles and nerves that had failed him. Not because they couldn’t do their jobs, but because they’d lost their command post, that spot in the brain that issued the orders. That part had gone south.
As far as the rehab, he surmises, it was probably good that he was only 21 when it happened. He was still young and still angry. He still had plenty of fight in him. It turned out that though the one side of his brain had been shorted out, he was able to “rewire” some of those connections to the other side of his brain. The side that was still working correctly. The side of his brain that controlled his right leg and right arm, now had to learn to do double duty and control the left side as well. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t natural, but it could be done. For a while, when he was trying to get his right hand to move, his left hand would move, too, in a ghostly imitation. And vice-versa. When we walk, for example, the left foot and the right foot simply follow each other almost automatically. Right brain, left brain. We learned how to do it, but we don’t really think about it much anymore. But Dave did have to think about it. At first he had to consciously think about moving his left foot, using the control center for the right foot. Just which foot are you trying to move here, anyway? Later on, he had to concentrate on keeping one foot still while he moved the other, and it didn’t want to stay still. It wanted to move, too. He was teaching a part of his brain to multi-task in a place where it formerly just single-threaded. He got it working, though. Finally. Enough to walk, but not well enough to run. Not ever well enough to run. That was 27 years ago. A lot of water has gone under the bridge since then. Jobs and homes and friends and life in the Duke City. Time marches on and people grow up. Then, a couple years ago, Dave stumbled onto the weird elliptical cycle thingy. The Elliptigo. He’d used elliptical trainers in the gym. A lot. It simulated running in a way that his rewired brain could handle. But he didn’t really like ellipticals all that much.
“I’m a runner at heart,” he told me. “I don’t like standing around in a gym.” Enter the Elliptigo. It was a wonderful solution to the problem. It provided the full body workout of running… “you’re not sitting down, like you are on a bike”… and it allowed him to get back outside and cruise the streets and paths of Albuquerque. Running once again. I had to pause then, in our conversation. I looked at him and I looked at the elliptical thingy, and I couldn’t help but clap my hands a little bit, smiling all the while. A small round of applause for ingenuity and perseverance and… hell, I don’t know what all. I just thought that it’s a wonderful thing, what we can do and what we can accomplish if we put our minds to it. And how things just seem to fit into place sometimes. “So what is the gist of this story supposed to be?” I mused with him after we’d taken his Elliptigo out for some photos and a test ride. “What is the moral of the story supposed to be?” Maybe there isn’t one, we decided. Maybe, like life, the moral is just what you make of it. So we parted then, Dave and I. He went riding off on his weird elliptical thingy, more than a couple people taking second glances at him as he did. He had an appointment with somebody, somewhere. I watched him go, still smiling. Afterward, leaving myself, I strolled out to the convertible. For some reason, I jumped over the door rather than opening it, Route 66 style. Maybe, just because I could. The drive home took me down Rio Grande Boulevard, where the trees are big and majestic and the sun dappled on me through the leaves. Me and James Taylor belted out an ode to the occasion… “I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain…” I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end.
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Duke City Fit Demand Soars For Relief of Severe Neck and Back Pain! People Are Swarming in Overwhelming Numbers For Treatment At The New Mexico Back Institute.Treatments are FDA Cleared, No Side Effects & Best Of All... It’s Non-Surgical & Painless!!
Denver, CO – Recent medical breakthroughs have led to the development of advanced technologies to relieve severe back and neck pain without drugs or surgery. Through the combination of proven scientific principles, the latest technological developments and the brilliant work of physicians and medical engineers– this space age technology is available to the general public via licensed and trained doctors, in its incredible DRX 9000 spinal decompression equipment. The DRX 9000 is an FDA cleared medical technology for providing True Spinal Decompression and has been clinically proven with up to an 88.9% success rate with back pain and symptoms associated with hernated and/or bulging discs...even after failed surgery. WHY SO MUCH EXCITEMENT? Since 60% of spinal fusion surgery patients continue to suffer and conventional treat ments such as medications, injec tions and exercise therapy offertemporary results, the fu ture is bleak. The treatmentprogram at The New Mexi co Back Institute works for:• Back and Neck Pain • Sciatica/Numbness • Herniated and/or bulging “ I had such intense pain from a sec discs (single or multiple) ond herniated disc that I could not walk without the aid of crutches. • Degenerative disc disease Couldn’t shower or even dress and • A relapse or failure was out of work for a month. After 3 weeks of treatments my pain was following surgery GONE! I have recommended this procedure to at least seven people. I • Facet syndromes pray that they try it.” • Spinal Stenosis ~ Eva Wilkstrom, Denver • Spondylolisthesis CLINICAL RESULTS Several university studies at Johns Hopkins, Stanford and Duke have confirmed what doctors in practice have known for years, the treatments plain WORK! Dr. John Leslie, who is a clinical re searcher from the prestigious Mayo Clinic reports a 50% reliefof back and leg pain after 2 weeks and an overall 88.9% success rate at the end of a six week protocol. Our own case studies have shown 50% reduction of disc protrusions after 4 weeks relieving the pressure on the sensitive nerves, thus reducing your pain. HOW IT WORKS The advanced computer system automatically adjusts to the proper angle of decompression, allowing us to target specific discs...that are causing your pain and symptoms.
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The gentle decompressive forces utilize a logarithmic curve to avoid proprioceptor (pain) response, which would create muscle spasm. The split table design decreases friction and allows gentle separation of the vertebra to reduce pressures on the tissues causing pain and encourage hydration of the discs. PAIN-LESS TREATMENTS Patients describe the treatment as a gentle, painless, intermittent pulling of your back. Many patients actu ally fall asleep during treatment! A spinal strengthening and stabilization program is often included with thetreatment protocol in order to achieve optimal long term results. The number and duration of treatments are determined by the supervising physician. Many patients get substantial, immediate relief after just a few treatments. GETTING STARTED Call one of the Albuquerque area clinics to schedule a no-obligation consultation. Only a consultation and evalu ation by the doctor can determine if you qualify for thistreatment and the number and length of the care plan. The New Mexico Back Institute has more experience with decompression than any other health center in New Mexico. MENTION THIS AD FOR A COMPLIMENTARY CONSULTATION
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Running Longer, and and
Dr. Jason Karp
Longer,
Longer Still Dr. Jason Karp is a nationally-recognized running and fitness expert, 2011 IDEA Personal Trainer of the Year, and owner of RunCoachJason.com. He holds a Ph.D. in exercise physiology. A prolific writer, he has more than 200 articles published in international running, coaching, and fitness magazines, and is the author of five books, including Running for Women and Running a Marathon For Dummies.
The long run is, unsurprisingly, the key component of marathon training. Of all the different types of workouts you do, the long run most closely simulates the marathon. So runners tend to pay a lot of attention to the long run — and for good reason. Doing so goes a long way toward effecting the physical changes you need to, ahem, go the distance. You can make the most out of long runs with the help of the guidelines in this chapter. Pacing, hydrating, fueling before and during, your mental approach, what you wear, and when and how often you take long runs, are all things you need to address. I often get asked if it’s okay to break the long run up into two runs on the same day, either because of lack of time or to reduce fatigue. The short answer is no, it’s not okay. Make time in your schedule to always complete your long runs all at once. Their specific endurance and metabolic aspects can only be obtained by continuous running. If you break up your long run, you won’t deplete your glycogen fuel tank, so you’ll miss the opportunity to make all of the great body and mind adaptations mentioned above. You’ll also miss the opportunity to callus your mind for the distance. Unless you plan on running the first 13.1 miles of the marathon, stop for a frappuccino break and read the newspaper at Starbucks for a few hours, and then hop back on the course and complete the next 13.1 miles, breaking up your long run isn’t going to help you come race day. Try to do your long runs in the morning, just like the marathon itself. Use the long run as a marathon dress rehearsal. Wear the same shoes, socks, and clothes (yes, even underwear and sports bra) you plan to wear in the race. Practice the same hydrating and fueling strategies, using the same drink and carbohydrate products that you’ll use for the race. Practice drinking out of the paper cups they hand out on the race course. (It’s harder than it looks!) Preparing Yourself to Run Long Sounds obvious, but the only way to prepare yourself to run long is to run long. Running long gives beginner runners the confidence to complete the marathon. Running long gives advanced runners the chance to get creative and add faster-paced running so they can learn to run hard when fatigued and improve their marathon time. The following sections explain the physical and mental effects of running long and provide some useful preparation tips.
Summer 2013
Understanding how running long changes your body and mind When you run for a long time, a lot of interesting adaptations occur in your body, including: * Greater fuel storage: When you run long enough, you deplete (or severely lower) muscle glycogen, your stored form of carbohydrate. Carbohydrate is your muscles’ preferred source of fuel, so getting low on glycogen is bad for muscle function. However, your muscles respond rather elegantly to situations that threaten or deplete their supply of fuel: They synthesize and store more glycogen than was previously present, which increases your endurance. Empty a glass and you get a larger refill in its place (much like cocktail parties). The more glycogen you have packed into your muscles, the greater your ability to hold your marathon pace to the finish line. * Greater reliance on fat: When your muscles run out of carbohydrate, they’re forced to rely on fat and so become more effective at using fat for energy. Because the marathon is longer than what you can run on the amount of carbohydrate in your muscles, forcing your muscles to “learn” how to use fat more effectively helps you maintain your pace in the marathon. * Increased capacity to make more glucose: Your liver, sensing your low fuel tank, takes things that are not carbohydrate — namely, amino acids and lactate — and converts them into carbohydrate, in the form of glucose, so you have more quick fuel and can sustain your marathon pace. That’s called gluconeogenesis — literally, the formation of new glucose from non-carbohydrate sources. This process is a very cool aspect of metabolism. Imagine if your car did that when it starts to run out of fuel. Imagine if one part of your car — say, the battery — senses when the car’s fuel tank gets low and takes another part of your car — say, the back seat — and converts it into gasoline so you can keep driving on the highway. This process keeps blood glucose levels from dropping too low. Thanks, liver! * Stronger muscles, bones, tendons, and ligaments: Running for long periods is tough on your muscles and joints, so they adapt by becoming stronger to handle the stress of pounding the pavement for 26.2 miles. * Greater psychological strength: When you run for a long time, your legs aren’t the only body parts that get tired. Your mind does, too. This psychological aspect of long runs may be just as important as the physiological reasons for doing them. If the farthest you’ve ever run is 5 miles, running 10 miles, much less 26.2 miles, may seem overwhelming. But when you add a little stress at a time, you prepare yourself to handle longer and longer runs.
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Duke City Fit Let’s Hit the Jemez
Ken Orth I’ve got some good news and some bad news for you. The good news is that there is a wonderful hiking/biking trail up in the Jemez Mountains that ends up (or starts) along the East Fork of the Jemez River. It works its way through some beautifully divergent landscapes. The bad news is, it ain’t easy. The trail has some serious ups and downs. If you’re biking, as we were, you’ll probably be walking your bike up a few of the inclines. They are not only steep, but consists of various combinations of deeply rutted single track, loose sand, exposed gnarly tree roots, and/or big, loose treacherous rocks. And to really put a stamp of “why am I doing this again?” onto the whole thing, there are no less than a half dozen big downed trees blocking the trail in various places. Not just little downed trees that you blithely step over. No. These are big trees that you must navigate your way over, through broken jagged branches. You and your bicycle, if you are so equipped. Not an easy task. And by the 4th or 5th one, you’ll be asking yourself the question. Or another… “just whose idea was this?” So, if you’re looking for a gentle ride through the forest and along the river, this one probably isn’t for you. It’s one of those where you’ve got to kind of “earn” what you get. But, if you have the time, the ambition, the moxie, and perhaps, just a little bit of the crazy, you might just find that this trail will reward you in ways that you could never have imagined. It was, I confess, my idea to bike the East Fork Trail. I wanted one up in the mountains that would be a reasonably cool summer destination. And… we haven’t done this trail in many years. As a matter of fact, we don’t get up into the Jemez much at all anymore. And more’s the pity. My problem with the Jemez is that it is often relatively crowded with people, particularly on weekends. I don’t want to drive the hour and a half up there only to be confronted with Texas Lexus SUV’s and Hawaiian-shirted tourists in flip-flops. I can do that at Old Town. So, I avoid the Jemez on the weekends. And that is my advice to you. If the weekends are all you have (or if you have an aversion to climbing over downed trees) then there are probably better choices. Just read about it here, within these few paragraphs, glance at a couple of the pictures, and leave the dirty work to the crazy few. Then lay back and imagine the wind in your hair and the aspen leaves dancing in the sunlight. Save the trip until you can take a sick day on a Wednesday. The trail along the East Fork begins with the drive up to the Jemez. And what a drive it is. Once you get through Bernalillo, with the near-mandatory stop at Badass Coffee, and a questioning gaze up and down the Rio Grande to see what the flow is like, there’s a nice cruise into the red canyon badlands. I’m always looking at the mesa here or the butte there, marveling at the many pastel shades of orange and red in the ancient rocks. The horizontal layers of prehistoric seabeds or ash falls… brought to dazzling life by the angular ferocity of the early morning sun. Then there is the long straight approach to White Mesa, dead ahead. ‘Tis gypsum that has painted it white and that casts the angry glare. But my mind wanders to the bike trails that are right behind it. The trail that circumnavigates that canyon back there and dances along the top of the Dragon’s Spine. Another day, I mumble, and in the rearview mirror I notice my son looking longingly at it, too.
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“We’ll go bike White Mesa one of these days,” I tell him. A cloudy day. For the Mesa is an exposed, hot place. The winding road 4 through the pueblos and Jemez Springs is it’s own adventure. Can you pass up the Walatowa Visitor Center with its 3-D map of the Jemez? Can you just drive by the many turnoffs for access to the River J? How about road 376 down through the Gilman Tunnels and the Guadalupe Falls just beyond? Battleship Rock? Spence Hot Springs? Jemez Falls? Can you pass them all up? You can, and you must. Mark them down in your mind for the return trip, or the trip of another day. Just a little ways past Jemez Falls we find the sign and the parking lot for the East Fork Trailhead. This is where we set out and are immediately forced to lift our bikes up and over a wooden cattle gate. It is an omen, as it turns out, of the many liftings that are to come. The trail, Trail 137, ascends. Sometimes gently and sometimes with vigor. Through a dense evergreen forest… dense in that strange way that is a forest in a desert, with sandy trails and massive boulders and a sprinkling of prickly pears here and there… all intertwined with towering lodgepole pines and big fat ponderosas, their long needles blanketing the sky and carpeting the ground. And the smell of evergreen tangy in the air. We ride single file in silence, we three… my wife, my son and me. Partly, we are quiet because the uphill trudge soon has us breathing hard… working hard. And partly because the forest here demands it. This is not the verdant, rain-soaked, benevolent forest of the Olympic peninsula. This is a rugged place, somewhat stark and somewhat mean. This is a tough place to live to an old age. These trees, with their lizard-like alligator hide bark did not make it through lightning fires and windstorms and drought by being “nice”. They are not nice. They’re crotchety old men, these trees. They worked for what they’ve got. The worked for their little bit of crusty turf. And it just seems fitting that we have to work to ride among them, huffing and puffing and feeling our knobby tires slipping in the looseness of that same sandy soil, laced with needles and pine cones and gritty granite nardules. The trees demand a certain reverence, and they get it. A certain reverence tinged with a bit of fear and a little bit of awe. Especially, it seems, when the trail squeezes tightly between two of the ancient angry bad boys… the rough and ridged bark on both sides just hoping for a careless rider to stick out an elbow or a knee just a little too far. The price will be some blood for passing here, and in the long course of this trail, we all three will pay that price. Either here on the gnarly bark, or on the jagged branches of the downed trees, or on the rose bush thorns that infringe upon the riverside path that is to come. Soon enough, though…here… far above that as yet unseen river, the massive evergreens give way to a sudden and unexpected grove of white-smocked aspens. Denser. Thinner. They are like a ballet troop that got stranded here in the courtyard of an old folks home… surrounded by grumbling, doddering old men watching them from the shadowy sidelines. The aspens are laughing, it seems, at their aged, rigid counterparts. Their thin branches are dancing in the breeze, far above… long and lithe and supple. Their
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Duke City Fit leaves are twinkling in the sunlight. Way up there where the hawks and eagles dare. They are alive, these aspens, and they fairly sing with the energy of living. “Come and dance,” they seem to say. “And wiggle your fingers in the clouds.” I stop for a moment and lean against a particularly thick and tall one. How old he is, I know not. But he is far older than me. And he has the blood of the Jemez in him. And the scarred mark of a bear down his side. For a brief moment, even briefer on a cosmic scale, a mere heartbeat or two, we share the glory of a sunny day up here on this rocky ridge where aspen trees should not grow, but do. Before long, we begin to descend down toward the river, which we can hear long before we can see. The forest is very dense here, the sun shuttered out. Many trees have fallen, helter-skelter on the steep slope… some propped up at angles against their still-straining-to-stand comrades. Some have fallen right across the narrow trail that is our course down. It is work getting ourselves and our bikes over them, through the broken branches and scarred trunks, our feet often failing to find good purchase in the soft and shifting soil of the forest floor as we heave our bikes up and over and into the air at awkward angles. Again, and again, and again. “Whose idea was this anyway?” my son mumbles during one of the trunk transversals, wiping a bit of blood from a new scrape on his calf. There is, however, a real exhilaration to the ragged descent, and a triumphal moment when we round the last switchback and find ourselves emerging out onto the banks of a lazy mountain stream sparkling in the sun. A sun which we haven’t seen much of for a while. It’s a thin little valley that houses the East Fork of the Jemez River. There are big boulders scattered about that the gurgling stream must navigate around, under, and through. And by big, I mean BIG. Some are the size of a bus, or a small house. These boulders must have made quite the ruckus when they came tumbling down to take up residence on the valley floor. They diverted the stream then, like the bullies that they are, but I notice several places where the giggling, mild-mannered stream has worn deep, significant grooves into the solid rock. Given time, the river will seemingly win this struggle, and eventually regain control of its usurped land. The trail along the river is a pleasant ride or walk that crosses the water perhaps 8 or ten times on narrow little unrailed footbridges. If you are riding, those bridges test your mettle, and your ability to ride straight and true. A wobbly veer off the edge will land you in the shallow water. We all know that it is easier to stay straight on a bike if you maintain some speed. It is quite another thing to actually DO it on a long, narrow bridge. The
son shoots across them fearlessly. The wife walks them. And I… I enjoy the trail immensely. Down here it is actually easier to walk much of it than it is to ride. There are rocks, and roots, and ruts aplenty. And a few spots where wild roses grow. Or gooseberry bushes. They both have thorns and they both encroach upon the trail, threatening scratches to wayward ankles and calves. It is not a hollow threat, and we all three get to taste a bit of their vengeance. We find a break spot along the river that is satisfactory to all. My son is up atop a bus size boulder, a spot from which he can gaze down upon everything from a regal height. I, however, need a rocky beach where I can shed my shoes and wade into the water without having to deal with mud. My wife doesn’t care. She’s not going to climb a boulder or shed her shoes. She is content with the ambience of the valley, the river, and her family. Really, I think, that is why we are here. Why I am here. For these few moments of peaceful solitude in God’s backyard. This is a place where so many different pieces have fit together into a magnificent whole. The rocks, the mountains, the trees, the playful water, the crystal sky, the cottonswab clouds… and indeed, even the work that it took to get here… some scratches and some sweat and some anxious moments… they all combine to make the East Fork Trail more than a trail. It is the East Fork Experience. It is truly unique, and imminently worthwhile… if you’re just a little bit crazy.
Rio Rancho 896-4700 909 36th Place SE
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If You’re Going To Jemez Springs
East Fork Trail - 137
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East Jemez Falls Campground
Fork
Jem
ez R
iver
137
137
East Fork Trailhead 4 Jemez Falls
Conchas Picnic Ground
Take 550 through Bernalillo to San Ysidro, then 4 through Jemez Springs to signed East Fork Trailhead (about mile marker 30). The Conchas P.G. is about mile marker 34. The Trailhead has sign on road. The trail is marked with 137 signs. At one point, about 1.5 miles in, a ski trail (marked by blue diamonds) goes off to right. Stay to left on Tr 137. A marked side trail left down to the “Jemez Box” is steep and not recommended with bikes. There is a cattle gate at EF Trailhead and along descent to river. Trail is fine for hiking, especially along river at Conchas picnic ground.
Summer 2013
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Dynamic Fitness Lifestyle Nutritional Knowledge is POWER for Living Dynamically!!! The Truth… The Whole Truth… And Nothing But The Truth About Meatless Diets! Here’s hoping to find you loving life and living it to the fullest! As the summer of 2013 is upon us and scandals are running amuck, I am highly motivated to shed some much needed light on another scandal that I believe has gone on for way too long. The so-called “Meatless Health Message!” I am going to lay out as many facts in this article as possible. Hoping that this information encourages you to do some specific research on your own. Especially if you are practicing some form of meatless diet or are quite possibly contemplating this lifestyle. I am a firm believer that information without action leads to destruction. So please use this information wisely! Contrary to what some may think, vegetarianism and veganism are not simply present-day fads. Diverse cultures worldwide have practiced these lifestyles since ancient times. The actual number of vegetarians globally is unknown. However a recent Gallup Poll puts the percentage of adult Americans who consider themselves to be vegetarians at roughly 5%, and those who consider themselves to be vegans at nearly 2%. And according to the Vegetarian Resource Group, there are approximately 7 million people practicing some form of meatless regime in the United States alone today. What’s the difference between Vegetarians and Vegans? Vegetarians basically practice a meatless diet. A diet that is void of poultry, pork, beef, fish, shellfish and other sea creatures. Some will eat eggs and some may even eat fish. Vegans practice a lifestyle that entirely eliminates all animal related products. This includes abstaining from eating all animal related foods, using any animal based products, as well as refraining from using any product that was originally tested on animals. This also includes wearing clothes that were made from animals; leather, fur, wool, silk, etc. There are different kinds of vegetarians, but only one kind of vegan. There has and always will be a debate over the extent to which a person must go to be considered a vegetarian verses a full fledge vegan. I have had people tell me that they were vegetarians but when it came down to it, all they had eliminated was red meat from their diet. So you see a vegan is a vegetarian, but a vegetarian is not necessarily a vegan. Based on the numbers quoted earlier we can most certainly see that this style of eating has its devotees, but, it also has its fair share of critics. I being one of them! With that said, we will take a close look at the science, to which IO am highly committed. Starting with data that I have personally gathered during my 30+ year career. I believe that you will soon begin to see how propaganda that’s been taken to heart has misled many to bear crosses that weren’t theirs to bear in the first place. After performing InBody Bio-Medical testing and studying comprehensive lifestyle and wellness evaluation profiles on many individuals who boasted about their vegetarian and vegan based diets. I unfortunately discovered that most of these good people were carrying an excess of body fat and were quite deficient in lean body mass. Not to mention most of these individuals also suffered with digestive problems, somewhat compromised immune systems, thyroid issues, low libidos, skin discolorations, complained of lethargy, muscle weakness and low endurance levels despite their efforts to participate in moderate forms of exercise. Hence their reasons for coming to me in the first place.
Summer 2013
However, I must come to the defense of these folks… By empathetically saying that after decades of misleading media hype pertaining to how animal fats and cholesterol are the cause of everything from obesity to heart disease to all forms of cancer; I can compassionately understand why so many people have yet to fully understand that cutting organic (hormone and antbiotic free), free range, grass fed meats is utterly absurd. Especially, if one’s goal is to be strong, healthy, lean and physically fit! Before I go on, please note that I said organic (hormone and antbiotic free), free range, grass fed meats. With that said it is the meat and meat by-products from animals that have been caged, corralled, improperly fed and injected with antibiotics and various hormones that have been shown to cause health related problems. So doesn’t it make more sense to blame the negativity on the unnecessary additives, improper feeding practices and inhuman raising conditions of these beautiful creatures rather than the meat of organic (hormone and antbiotic free), free range, grass fed animals in the first place?
Dwain Kindelberger
Still not convinced? “Well scientific evidence clearly confirms that human beings need the nutrients contained in meat for optimal health, particularly and especially animal fats. I know this goes against the current views on clogged arteries and heart disease… But contrary to the widely accepted view, which many believe is more pharmaceutically contrived, than scientifically based. Saturated fats do not clog arteries or cause heart disease. In fact, the preferred food for the heart is saturated fat. Studies have clearly shown that saturated fats lower a substance called Lipoprotein(a) or Lp(a), which is an accurate marker for one’s proneness to heart disease.
Sports Medicine, and is
Saturated fats also play major roles in our body chemistry. They strengthen the immune system and are involved in intracellular communication, which means they protect us against cancer. They help the receptors on our cell membranes work properly, including receptors for insulin, thereby protecting us against diabetes. The lungs cannot function without saturated fats, which is why children given organic butter and organic whole-fat milk suffer less often from asthma than children given reduced-fat milk and margarine. Saturated fats are also involved in kidney function and hormone production. Saturated fats are required for the nervous system to function properly, and over half the fat in the brain is saturated. Saturated fats also help suppress inflammation. And finally, saturated animal fats carry the vital fat-soluble vitamins A, D and K2, which we need in sufficient amounts for overall health and wellbeing. Human beings have been consuming saturated fats from animal products, milk products and tropical oils for thousands of years without the health concerns we are experiencing today. I passionately believe that it is the advent of modern day processed vegetable oils (more specifically, soy oils and GMO’ed corn oils) to blame. The use of these oils and other products related to soy and GMO’ed corn and wheat can be paralleled to the rise in modern degenerative diseases. Not the consumption of saturated fats. (For more information on this subject matter, please refer back to my articles “The Truth, The Whole Truth and Nothing but the Truth… About Soy” in the Spring Issue and “The Power of Nutritional Knowledge for Living Dynamically” in the Winter Issue of Duke City Fit or feel free to call me at 505.899.1700). What it comes down to is this... We are meat-eaters and we have always been meat-eaters. We are also vegetable eaters and we have always been vegetable eaters. The key is to eat vegetables with sufficient amounts of animal protein and visa-versa for optimal health and wellbeing… Be sensible and eat that which has been organically given to you!
has been a Personal Trainer since 1981. He is a graduate of The National Academy of the owner of Designer Bodies Exclusive Personal Training and Nutrition Management Center.
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The information contained in this article is not meant to treat, diagnose or cure any ailments or diseases. Please consult your physician before starting any exercise or nutrition program.
Until next time… Eat to support long term goals, not short term satisfaction… Your future self will one day say “Thank you”!
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Angel Peak Scenic Area
The Angel Peak Scenic Area is a spectacular bit of Badlands (10,000 acres) in Northwest New Mexico near Farmington. It is composed of deeply eroded sandstone capped mesas and slope-forming mudstones. These badlands, 60 million years in the making, feature the prominent 7,000 foot Angel Peak, which can be seen for miles in all directions. But the banded colors of the canyons and the sculpted spires cannot. For those, the short drive back to the canyon rim is required. And a short nature hike here and there. These photographs were all taken just before and after sunrise from various spots on the rim of the badlands canyon. Being BLM land, you are free to wander it at will. But so are the rattlesnakes. Perhaps it is best to enjoy lunch and the views from one of the several covered picnic tables along the rim. Clockwise from right: The Badlands Canyon, Angel Peak at Sunrise, The Spires in Still Life, and Castle Rock Awakens. For more information on the Angel Peak area, see “What’s Up With Angel Peak?” on page 21.
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Oil... Oil... Oh Fickle Oil Ken Orth with Dr Michael James
I have been engaged in a long-standing love affair. Decades long. I fell in love back in my college days and have never gotten over it. She has, in fact, climbed in my estimation over the years. She has infiltrated into more and more aspects of my life, and has proven herself to be even more well-rounded, strong, and healthy than ever I could have hoped for or imagined possible. “She”… is peanut oil. Peanut oil. It began, as I said, in college. Long, long ago. I was the owner of one of the few popcorn poppers on the entire small college campus up there in northern Iowa. Certainly, it was the only one in our dorm. I popped corn, and as is its wont, it lured people in. Strangers, friends,… girls. I didn’t mind sharing my popcorn. That is, after all, what popcorn is all about. I was not, however, independently wealthy and it reached a point where I felt I was unable to supply half the campus with endless amounts of the aromatic manna from heaven. I let it be known, in circumspect and subtle ways that I would appreciate whatever assistance my roommates and dormmates could possibly supply… “Tom, you free-loading leech,” I said to one particularly freeloading leech. He had the nasty habit of leaning over the bowl as he crammed fistfuls of popcorn into his gaping maw, so that the ones that missed would fall back into the bowl. “That’s nasty,” I’d tell him while yanking the bowl away, dubiously looking at its remaining contents. “It’s better than letting them fall all over the floor,” he’d mumble through a mouthful. “No, it’s not.” Now, I knew, and he knew, that one of the major benefits of popping corn was that occasionally one or more of the people lured in through our open door would be of the female persuasion. Girls. Hungry coeds. “Tom, we can’t have you dropping kernels back in the bowl, especially when there’s girls in here. And you can’t be sitting around in your boxers, for heaven’s sake. And you can’t be calling the unpopped kernels ‘old maids’ “ “Come to think of it, why don’t you just make yourself scarce when girls walk in?” Mumble, mumble, scratch. Anyway, the call went out for help with the popcorn supply situation, and the campus responded. It turned out that, being Iowa, there were some students whose family farms actually grew corn. Among them, some actually grew popcorn! I had no idea. Soon, I had multiple garbage bags full of fresh, unpopped popcorn kernels stashed in my closet. Unlimited supplies. Hallelujah, brothers and sisters! We were, as they say in Iowa, in hog heaven. But it got even better. One girl… I think her name was Judy… was from Clinton, Iowa. Her dad drove a peanut oil truck. Say what? A peanut oil truck. A tanker truck. He delivered peanut oil in big ol’ tanker trucks, and when the deliveries were complete and the papers signed, there was always just a bit of peanut oil left in the bottom of the tank. And that remnant peanut oil… well… he would diligently drain it into old one-gallon milk jugs. So here you go… how about a couple gallons of peanut oil to go in there in your closet alongside your garbage bags of home-grown popcorn? Hog heaven indeed! I fell in love with Judy. Or I thought I did. What I actually fell in love with was the peanut oil.For one thing, it not only worked for popping corn, it worked better than the oils I had been using… which were cheap vegetable oils and/or Crisco (whatever that really was). The peanut oil popcorn tasted better, by far, and it didn’t leave that sticky, messy residue buildup in the popper. Yep, I was in love. And though Judy went and left me for an accounting major from Minneapolis, peanut oil has stayed with me over all these years. Through thick and thin. My love grew a few years later when I discovered that the secret to the best fried chicken I’d ever tasted was that it was cooked in peanut oil. It
Summer 2013
wasn’t just for popcorn anymore. Oh, how I love thee… let me count the ways… With all of this background in mind, you may well appreciate the dissonance that came into my life recently when I learned… when I was forced to reckon with… a new suitor for my oily affections. How could you?, I chastised myself. After all these years. Who is she? The shameless hussy. She comes from the tropics. She is natural and smooth and oh so tasteful. Clean and healthy. She has been the much maligned victim of rumor and innuendo over the years. Of misinformation and jealousy and greed. But she has come back, and has re-emerged stronger and more vibrant than ever. And she has won my heart. She is coconut oil, and I love her. Coconut oil? Are you crazy? Have you slipped so far into your dotage that you have allowed yourself to be seduced by this tropical sweetie? Do the words “saturated fats” mean anything to you? Are you looking for clogged arteries in your later years? What are you thinking? She isn’t right for you. We were brought together not long ago by an esteemed and trusted mutual friend. A blind date, as it were. The friend, Dr Michael James, has become my trusted “go-to” guy over the years for natural health advice. And when, during a two-day Wellness seminar, he dropped her name into the preferred cooking oils discussion, I was caught off guard. We have been led astray, it seems, when it comes to fats and oils and their rightful, natural place in our diets and in our lives. The thing is, we need fats, more than we know. More than we have been led to believe. Fats are essential building blocks for our brains, irreplaceable and necessary. If you go fat free, you hurt your brain, pure and simple. And perhaps more insidiously, some of the imitation “fat free” oils, particularly the partially hydrogenated oils, not only do NOT supply the proper cerebral building materials, but they substitute inadequate impostors. The brain uses these substandard materials in its building, unaware that it is damaging itself in the process. Some of these other oils, these man-made, genetically altered, highly refined monstrosities like soybean oil and Canola oil, may in fact cause more harm than what little they are purported to help. Certainly a body with a diet heavy in these oils is quite probably vitamin deficient, or on its way to becoming so, no matter the supplements. So, the suggestion I received from my learned comrade when it comes to oil, is to avoid the unnatural oils as much as possible (most particularly the hydrogenated oils), and to start using natural, unrefined, extracted oils. Coconut and Olive oils. Those are the babies with the most going for them. The ones who will love you back and help you to grow. Physically and mentally. But, there is a bit of a catch. Not all coconut and olive oils are created equal. There are ways of extracting the oils… and there are ways. To reap the benefits of these oils, they absolutely must be “unrefined”. Period. Refining, either chemically or with high heat (or usually both), renders them inadequate for their loving duties. If they do not explicitly say “unrefined” somewhere on the label, they are frauds and impostors and unworthy of our affection.
Beyond “unrefined”, there are a host of descriptions that can and should be found. Virgin or extra virgin. Cold-pressed or expeller extracted. Love them for what they are, naturally. And while unrefined coconut and olive oils are to be revered and exalted (and loved), they each have their limitations. Olive oil, for example, cannot tolerate much in the way of heat. It is altered by heat. Better to use it uncooked, or lightly cooked. A subtle sauté, perhaps. Coconut oil, though, can handle a little bit more in the way of heat. She is, after all, a tropical girl. Also, she is solid at room temperature (below about 75 degrees), and can be used in many of the recipes in which our mothers used shortening. (Shortening, by the way, is that partially hydrogenated stuff, as is margarine, and is to be avoided at all costs). Okay, okay… so you say. But what about popcorn? What about my manna from heaven? What about that pheromonally intoxicating aroma that can, even to this day, draw my wife out of her yoga poses in the far reaches of the house out into the kitchen? I am here to testify that popping it in coconut oil has taken popcorn to an entirely new level. Above and beyond even the lofty heights achieved with peanut oil. Aroma. Taste. Flavor. We have turned a corner in my house and, I’m afraid, we can never go back. There is, to be sure, a slight flavor of coconut when it is used. Both in the air and in the food. The kitchen smells great. But it is ambiguous and rich… even “buttery”… and were you not to know what it was exactly, you might be hard-pressed to guess it. My younger son, who leaned toward the “ease” of microwave popcorn when he had to make it (heaven forbid), has become a convert and now proudly makes his own with coconut oil. His friends request it of him when they are over. And my older son, never much of a popcorn aficionado, has taken it up as well. He is also firmly entrenched in using coconut oil for his scramble eggs. You just wouldn’t believe what it can do for eggs! And sautéd rainbow chard. And those chocolate chip cookies that call for shortening… oh baby. So, in short, the word from here is to give it a go. Make the switch. Say adieu to those alien oily impostors and try to work more coconut oil… unrefined coconut oil… into your diet. You’ll not only enjoy the flavors and aromas, which actually even SMELL healthier, but you’ll probably start thinking more clearly. Really. Your brain will finally be getting some of those building blocks that it has been longing for. Meanwhile, me and peanut oil… well… it’s changed between us. She is refined. She has not the natural beauty and taste of my newly found tropical sweetheart. She does, however, still have a place in my heart and in my memories,… and in my deep frier… an occasional high-temperature place where even coconut oil fears to tread. But my culinary life, my love, my lady… she is coconut oil now. And I sit with her, in my patchwork, flannel boxers, my face over the bowl so the kernels don’t fall on the floor. And I call the unpopped ones “old maids”. And I watch the door, and I wonder who may come wandering in.
For More Info About Coconut Oil... Where to get it and How to use it, See “Coconut Oil?” on Page 21
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Duke City Fit
KC - qigong
Qigong
Ken Orth with Loretta Shiver
I am amazed sometimes at the simplest things. That I can stick a letter in my mailbox today and a couple days from now it will be in Aunt Margie’s hands in Kentucky. It’s amazing. Similarly, I can sit here on the Flying Star patio and instead of gazing out at the mountains as is my normal habit, I can look down at my big toe, right now, and make it wiggle. Way down there… at the end of my leg. It is not unlike the letter in that: I send out a message from here… “here” being somewhere in my brain… and the message is received way down there. And its really a fairly complex message if you think about it. Written in some kind of code… tighten these muscles, relax those, repeat. Certainly I, me, didn’t think about which muscles needed to do what. I simply thought “wiggle”, in some abstract way, and sure enough, the darn thing wiggled. It’s as if, in that letter to Aunt Margie, which was a birthday card by the way… it’s as if I’d not only said Happy Birthday, but why don’t you jump up and down a few times just for the heck of it? And she did it! Without question. Amazing. Even now I’ve noticed that my left leg, which is crossed over the right one, is bobbing up and down. Just whose idea was that? I don’t remember telling it to bob up and down. In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. Who is in charge here, anyway? Sometimes I get the feeling that my brain is just a useful tool my body uses to get things done. Stomach is wanting latté, get those feet moving. However it works… blood, nerves, impulses, responses… there is no doubt at all that something is coming and going along channels of some kind. There is an energy flowing. A force of some kind. Messages sent and received, and responses returned… my toes might well say “hey, no bobbing just now, the big toe is up against a rose bush down there.” So stop it. That energy flow, that life force circulating through the body, has been known, described, documented, and experimented with for a long, long time. Several thousands of years. The Chinese called that life force the “Qi”. (Chee.) It flows in everyone. When that flow is free and unobstructed, that person experiences health and vibrancy. When, on the other hand, a thing or things disrupt that flow, or plug it up, ill health and disharmony result. Headaches and joint pains, for example. Out of their long, centuries long, study of the Qi, several sciences have emerged. One that is familiar to many, at least by name, is the science of needles. Acupuncture. Acupuncture seeks to influence the flow of Qi along basic lines, called meridians. Acupuncture is older than western medicine, by far, and is recognized by many as an effective treatment for various aches, pains, and illnesses. Another discipline born of that ancient study of Qi, is a method of influencing the energy flow through a series of movements and poses. This discipline is known as “Qigong” (Chee-gung). The concept behind Qigong is basically the same as acupuncture in that it recognizes the disruption of those same lines of energy, the meridians, as a root cause for health issues. And it seeks to open the channels and allow energy to flow more freely, encouraging vitality.. But unlike acupuncture’s use of needles to influence that flow, Qigong uses gentle, fluid movements and poses. The two, acupuncture and Qigong, are rather like two side of the same coin. Complimentary to each other, they offer differing ways to access similar issues. Sometimes, for certain people and certain issues, one or the other may be more or less effective. Quite often, however, they can be, and should be used in conjunction with each other. Qigong is not to be confused with the oriental arts like yoga or Tai Chi. Though they
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are similar in that they use movements and poses, in Qigong it is the focus and the breath that matters most. The focus is on the Qi. The flow. The intent, the purpose, the very essence of Qigong is internal and personal. It is joyful. It is healing. Self-healing. It is the cultivation of good energy from within. With Qigong, it is not so much how it looks, or how exact it is, but rather how it feels… acknowledging that each person is different, with differing limits, goals, and issues. When Loretta hurt her foot, for example, and was forced to stay off of it for a while, she was nevertheless able to do her Qigong forms from a seated position. And still found them effective. In a way, that is what sets Qigong apart. The goal, the strategy, is is to find your own way to influence your own flow by using, as a basis, those forms and movements that have been used and proven to be effective for many others over many centuries of practice. And unlike the other arts, most Qigong forms are neither numerous, nor complex. In fact, they are few and simple. Each person (or practitioner) moves to their own capacity, gradually developing more range of motion, strength and endurance. Most can learn a set in just a series of a few lessons, and should be able to do them on their own, if they so desire, fairly quickly. Breathing is important in Qigong. Perhaps it is because breathing is a flow itself. Your breathing is a tangible, easy way to feel a flow within yourself. It can be tangible and meditative if you allow it to be. If you make it so. An interesting thing about breathing is that many people, if not most, do not breathe very deeply. In fact, most of us spend most of our time breathing with fairly quick, fairly shallow breaths. Take a quick look at yourself even now and notice your breathing pattern, if you can do so without changing it. Pretty shallow, huh? I look at mine and it is obvious that I am using much less than my capacity. Regularly and constantly. I have only to take a DEEP breath to verify that. I am simply not getting as much oxygen into my system as I could. As I should? What organs are suffering, even minutely, from this lessened oxygen supply? My brain, I know, requires a goodly amount of oxygen. Am I short-changing it a little? A lot? Every day, with every breath. How is that effecting my Qi? My flow of energy. My life force. Is there what might be considered a blockage of sorts, and is there a way to correct it? Here then, is a simple Qigong breathing exercise. An exercise that you can easily do from your seat. Right here and now. Lets go ahead and try it. I am. Focus on your breathing. Take a normal breath and relax. Feeling that focus, locate the base of your spine in your mind. While breathing in… a long, slow breath… bring that breath up along your spine, your neck, the back of your head up to the top of your head. Then, while exhaling slowly, let the breath move down the front of your face, nose, chin, chest, belly and eventually back to the base of your spine. Repeat the entire flow about five times. If you’re like me, you’ll start getting the feel of it around breath number 3 or 4. It becomes a flowing, circular thing. If you’re a Qigong regular, you’ll probably et it right from the start. Repeat this exercise throughout the day. It only takes a minute or two. Do it whenever you feel like your brain could use a little more oxygen. Whenever you think it’d be good to lower the stress level a little bit. Whenever you feel like your chee could use a little gunging. In a similar way, the Qigong movements and poses, about 18 in the set that Loretta uses, are meant to open your internal flow. The entire set takes about a half hour or so. Continued on Next Page
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Qigong
Duke City Fit
All of them involve focused breathing and gentle movement, and all of them are meant to enable you to relax, let go and allow the breath and energy to flow freely throughout your body. Here… here is a little example that I like. Raise one of your arms up to about shoulder level. Then put it back down. Notice how it felt. Do not pay attention to the looks you’re getting from the other people in the room. Now raise the arm again, but this time imagine that there is a string attached to the back of your hand and like a puppet, your hand is slowly being pulled up by that string. Then lowered. Notice a difference? I don’t know what the difference is, but it sure feels different. It’s being pulled up rather than being pushed up. It’s looser, less stiff. My mind is playing with me. My imagination is changing things. I like it. And that is kind of an intro as to how one uses Qigong. Its purpose is to enable you to find an internal focus and to use it. In a practical, meaningful way. In a method that has been around since… well… since our ancestors, yours and mine, were hurling spears at each other. How’s your Qi today?
Qigong / Meditation Seminar with Steven Ridley
September 14-15
Madonna Center Albuquerque, New Mexico September 14 - Qigong September 15 - Meditation 9am - 4pm each day One Day $90, Both $160
Loretta Shiver is an accredited Qigong instructor who began teaching Qigong in 1988. She offers classes at various locations, studios and centers, including CNM and APS. She has worked successfully with students of all ages. Loretta has offered Qigong in the Park for over 15 years. It is free and open to all ages and skill levels. See our calendar for more info, our go to qigonginthepark.com Loretta has been a student of Steven Ridley for years and is offering a workshop with him in September. See her ad on this page.
“The reason I practice Qigong is because it provides me with energy, good health and leaves me feeling revitalized.”
Coconut Oil?
- Robert Dillon, Doctor of Oriental Medicine
Continued from Page 19 As we said, if you’re going to use coconut oil, you have to pay attention to “what kind” of coconut oil it is. It absolutely must be unrefined. Some of them note that on the front label, some on the back. But if it isn’t on the label somewhere, don’t buy it. Never use hydrogenated coconut oil. Coconut oil is solid up to about 75o. Similar to butter. If it gets warmer than that, it will turn to liquid. It is fine either way, and does not go bad and does not require refrigeration. As a solid, it can be used in recipes that call for butter or shortening. Coconut oil does have that “coconut” flavor and aroma to it, though various kinds have it to various degrees. Some less, some more. It is a relatively subtle flavor, though, and works very well for most recipes. In fact, it “perks up” many, like popcorn or scrambled eggs. And it makes the kitchen smell great. We have found that there are a number of places to get unrefined coconut oil, although regular grocery stores are currently not among them. Sprouts Markets carry several brands, both in the health food section and in the cooking oils and their own Sprouts brand in the cooking oils is the least expensive we found in town. Be Healthy Corner (see ad page 18) also carries it. Online, we found it at Vitacost.com (where we get many of our health items in bulk). Their own VitaCost brand in the large 54 oz jar is the least expensive anywhere. Several people, Dr James included, have recommended “Tropical Traditions”. They have a good selection of coconut oils, as well as other organic health items. They are online at: tropicaltraditions.com
(505) 681-1924
LShiver@comcast.net
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What’s Up With Angel Peak? Continued from Pages 16 -17
The Angel Peak Scenic Area is in northwest New Mexico about 30 miles southeast of Farmington/Bloomfield on highway 550. The turnoff to Angel Peak is near mile marker 137, which is the distance on 550 from I-25 at Bernalillo. The road back to the badlands is passable gravel, and the first mile goes past natural gas sites. It gets better. The gravel road skirts around the edge of the canyon and passes several view and picnic areas. Each has its own unique view of the badlands and is worth checking out. The road eventually gets back to a campground at about 6 miles. Their is a short “nature trail” around the end out of the campground that should be taken. It provides great views of the canyon and Angel Peak itself. The campground has 9 sites, 2 or 3 of which are on the rim itself. They have covered picnic tables and firegrates, though wood collecting is prohibited so you must bring your own. There is no water, so you’ll have to bring that, too. There are pit toilets. I’m not sure that I would recommend camping at Angel Peak unless your plan is to catch the “magic hours” at sunset and dawn for some possibly spectacular photos. Angel Peak is a truly unique scenic wonder, unlike any other. It should be on your list of places to be visited when you are in the neighborhood... on the way to Durango or Mesa Verde. Plan a picnic lunch (there is a gas-station/mini-mart at mile marker 139 for unplanned lunches). You will not be disappointed.
Summer 2013
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Dr Elaine
Let’Somebody’s s Talk gotAbout Pain to do it...
Arthur Guyton, in his Textbook of Medical Physiology, described the purpose of pain as “a protective mechanism for the body: it occurs whenever any tissue is damaged, and it causes the individual to react to remove the pain stimulus.” Even sitting too long can create ischemia, which can cause actual tissue destruction from the pressure of the body on the tissue. This is why when you sit for too long you begin shifting back and forth. It relieves the ischemia in the lower part of the body. Pain can be created by exercise, trauma and physical stress. It can be caused by diet, nutrition, biochemical factors and underlying disease. It can also be created by mental or emotional stress. There are two types of pain: acute pain and slow pain. Acute pain begins within about one-tenth of a second when a pain stimulus is applied. If you put your hand on a hot burner on the stove, you would react very quickly to keep your hand from burning more. This is a fast response and is a great protective mechanism. Slow pain begins within seconds or within minutes after the stimulus and continues for several seconds to several minutes after the stimulus. This is what happens very frequently with individuals who have been in a car accident. The person thinks they feel fine after the accident, but then within a day or two they are in intense pain. That all sounds very scholarly, but what does it mean to me in my everyday life? Pain is subjective which means that it is different for every person. It is an important signal to us that something has gone wrong in our body. Some tissue is being damaged. Because each of us perceive pain and suffering differently, one persons knee injury may be perceived completely differently by another person even though the injuries might be identical. As a practitioner, it is our job to find out the level of injury as well as the level of perceived pain. This can often determine whether or not an injury will leave permanent
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Summer 2013
Dr Elaine Adams residuals. It is important when dealing with pain, especially with athletes, that it be responded to quickly and taken very seriously because the brain begins to paint its own picture. As tissue is damaged in our body, a decrease in brain activation begins to occur. This can occur through any mechanism, which creates a decrease in the energy flow (afferentation) to the brain. This decrease in the energy flow creates a biochemical reaction, which leads to pain. This pain reflex can become so ingrained that it doesn’t even require a stimulus to get the pain going. This can come from a spinal misalignment, not exercising or any other situation that leads to a decrease in this stimulation to the brain. Most of us think that the pain is in the injured body part, but truly most of it happens in the brain. Pain is commonly treated with nonsteroidal anti-inflammatories (NSAIDS), which include both aspirin and nonaspirin compounds. These NSAIDS create an adverse reaction in the gastrointestinal tract and can also lead to kidney impairments, but used in the short term it can certainly decrease the inflammation to an inflamed area. Keep in mind that the undesirable effects come into play very quickly. So NSAIDS should be used for only a few days and then give your body some recovery time. An alternative for dealing with pain is to alter your diet and your supplement consumption to avoid inflammation. An anti-inflammatory diet would be one low in dairy, and in meat, such as beef, liver, pork, and lamb. These foods create arachadonic acid, which contributes to the pain cycle. Sources of linoleic acid such as vegetable oils, nut oils and corn oils should also be avoided. Sugars of all types should be avoided. The type of diet that you want to consume includes low glycemic index foods with a low glycemic load. Whey protein isolates are also a good source of protein in the diet. Soy protein and lean meat proteins also might be added. There are many supplements that can be added to your diet to reduce an active pain loop. These include ALA, EPA, DHA, GLA which are the famous omega oils. Vitamin D therapy is also indicated in pain relief. We have protected our skin from the sun so well that we now know that our population is suffering from Vitamin D deficiency. There have been studies that have shown that simply supplementing with Vitamin D can eliminate as much as 95% of your musculoskeletal pain. Another method of blocking pain is to stimulate the pain blocking mechanism in our own body. Stimulation of certain areas of the brain (the periaqueductal gray or the raphe magnus nucleus for those who want to know) can block almost completely even the most strong pain signals. This pain control system is activated within the spinal column. Chiropractic adjustments stimulate this pain control system. The adjustment stimulates the release of enkephalons and serotonin which both relieve pain and stimulate relaxation. Many chiropractic patients would love to take a nap after their treatments even if they arrived with pain. Tactile signals (hands on treatment) also depress the pain signals from the area of the body being treated and may also decrease pain signals remote to the area being treated. (Do you rub a sore spot?) In my office I have always had massage therapy available. Different massage techniques along with the hands on chiropractic can relieve pain that doesn’t even respond to the opiod drugs that have become such a problem in our society. I have had many patients go into the emergency room and receive injections of opiod pain killers that only made them sleepy and loopy, but didn’t really relieve the pain. We have been able to treat the pain with hands on and the patient’s pain level will drop significantly. This may explain why chiropractic also helps to relieve referred pain. So respect the pain signals that your body sends. Remember as an athlete, the burn is good, but true pain is telling you to listen to your body and respect what it’s telling you. It’s telling you that your body is in trouble, but solve the problem using the natural methods that your chiropractor can offer you. I’m happy to answer any questions that you might have. Pain is very personal and each situation should be evaluated.
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Duke City Fit
My Poor Grapes Jim Steeves
My little run of Ruby Seedless grape vines – two plants strung along 13 feet of wires – are on the south side of our house, right out there near the front entrance. While it doesn’t seem like much, my two plants produce masses of wonderfully sweet grapes starting in late July. We gorge ourselves and share them with our neighbors. Eaten alone or with cereal, they are delicious. I feel sorry for my vines at this time of year though because they don’t understand, perhaps they can’t, that this time of year in Albuquerque is a tricky time for fruit-bearing plants. When April arrives and a few warm days sneak up on us, my vines are tricked into thinking it’s time to send out leaves. I want to tell them to hold off for at least a couple of weeks because every year those few warm days will be followed by freezing temperatures at night. The result is guaranteed: dead black leaves that look horrible on the vine. A quick squeeze of the hand and they crumble away. I know they will soon be replaced with new ones but I wish I could persuade them to wait until at least May. Even then, one cold night could do it again, but anytime in April is a foolish, energy wasting gamble. Perhaps I expect too much. I only planted them eight years ago. It took a few years before any grapes were produced but, oh my, in the past four or five years the quantity has been overwhelming. Folks passing by on the sidewalk on the other side of our wall, just five feet from the vines, often stop to comment about how nice it is to see them and ask if the grapes are good. I tell them that the vines are both wonderful producers of really sweet grapes and are almost care free. Though I write “almost” care free, there are a few occasions when some big fat, green pest gets into the vines and munches on the leaves. It hasn’t been a problem and thus I anticipate no need for insecticide. It’s probably a stretch to say that roadrunners have been helpful but I’ll recount one experience in which a roadrunner’s visit was most definitely welcomed. I had been standing quietly near the west end of my grape vines, looking off into the sky for a moment when I realized a roadrunner had come to within three feet of me and the vines. I moved only my eyes so as not to scare it away. After just a few seconds, he or she jumped up into the vines and returned immediately to where it had been but with a big green insect the size but not the shape of a dollar coin in its beak! It had to have been one of the bugs that dined on the leaves. The bird swallowed its prize and then jumped up on the wall and down to the sidewalk on the other side. Two summers ago, however, the story was dismal. We had a squadron of robins or robin-like birds – skinny creatures - that had never before bothered with my grapes. I should explain. There are my grapes and there are their grapes - three separate grape plants elsewhere in our small back yard. They are a different variety and neither as sweet or seedless – though I wouldn’t think birds would much care about the seeds. Birds like seeds, don’t they? Again, those grapes for just for the birds.
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898-3562
SW Corner of 4th & Alameda Enter on 4th, Across from the Church
Well, two summers ago, they decided my sweet grapes were number one on their diet and they ate all my grapes that year. I shooed them away time and again but they only flew across the street; waited me out and returned for more. We got no grapes in 2011. War was declared. I bought a package of netting and covered the vines last year. It worked. I imagine that the Federation of Robins in Albuquerque (if there is such a thing) must have declared our address a horribly unpleasant one and either they went elsewhere or perished. Frankly, after the frustrating experience the year before, I couldn’t have cared less. Seems to me that if an animal can’t find food in one place, it shouldn’t be there. They wouldn’t be anywhere in Greenland I’m sure and, anyway, aren’t robins supposed to eat worms? I know that doesn’t sound charitable but I bought and planted those vines; I schlepped them home; I dug into the hard ground and planted them. I tend them after all the leaves are off in the Fall and again in the Spring and, on especially hot days, I give them an extra drink of water. The birds do nothing but poop on the wall and I could do without that. In fact, since there are three grape vines just for the birds it seems to me that they’d be grateful rather than rapacious. Ripping off all my grapes in 2011 has earned them the back of my hand and I feel not a shred of guilt. When I think of the robins that used to live in front of my apartment building in Germany, I wonder why there are robins here. We have neither grass nor worms. Those birds in Germany would take hold of a worm and back up a foot as they hauled it out of the ground. Both the birds and the worms were enormous. A worm ten inches in length would have fed the whole flock of growing chicks with some left over. My ground is mostly caliche and is covered with rocks. Why aren’t these robbing robins in Germany or Georgia instead of Albuquerque? As I pinched off the dead leaves this afternoon I thought it time to write a few words in honor of the fine harvest we can expect in three or four months. My neighbors have taken nearly as much interest in our harvest as we have. I wonder why. Inspired to grow some grapes? We talked with the folks at Alameda Greenhouse (ad above), and they have several grape plants in 5 gallon buckets. Plus, they can give you all the advice you need on growing ‘em. Additionally, if you have questions for the author, Jim Steeves, just email them to us at Duke City Fit and we’ll get them to him. Good luck! editor@dukecityfit.com
Summer 2013
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Uncle Uncle KC’s KC’s Corner Corner
d e p p a r T
It was a quiet Monday afternoon, as many Mondays are. The major event, which I have witnessed many times through the big bay window in the front room, was the garbage truck coming by. First, up the street on the other side, then just a couple minutes later, back down on our side. If I happened to be sitting here at my desk in front of that window, which I often was on lazy Mondays, I’d actually watch the truck do its dirty civic duty. How could I not? It would announce its impending arrival long before it got here, with that uniquely garbage truck sound… the revving diesel engine, the shifting of gears, and that slam-bam-clunk of a garbage can being hoisted up and over… then the whirrr-wham back down to the pavement. It is a fascinating spectacle to me. Strangely so. Perhaps, morbidly so. I have a clear, unobstructed, front-row view as it heaves our big, black receptacle skyward and then dumps our weeks worth of family refuse into its gaping, smelly maw. Sometimes, as it dumps our stuff, I notice bits or pieces of of something flashing by that I recognize… a box or a catalogue on its way into garbage purgatory. Other times, I don’t actually see it, but I recall ephemerally, something that I know is in there. Something that is now exiting my life forever. A birthday present wrapper, or a busted Kentucky Derby glass. But on this day, on this quiet Monday, as I watched the truck I saw none of that. Rather, I saw in my mind’s eye the neighborhood boys playing soccer there… right there… right there in the street where a garbage truck now huffed and puffed and took our stuff away. It was not so very long ago the boys played there. They’d made a soccer goal out of two-by-fours. And they had orange cones. And I’d watch them
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The R
through my window even as I now watched the garbage truck. I watched it haul away my past. Even as the boys had been hauled away, eventually, by proms and schools and girls and soccer teams…. down the street and away in a hazy cloud of diesel smoke. I was reminiscing, I knew, because my older boy had dropped by briefly just before the time-traveling garbage truck had arrived. He’d stopped in to grab his hiking stuff and some water, then headed back out again for a solitary stroll into the Sandias just up at the end of the street. Back in another day we’d have headed out together, he and I. Boulder hopping up the mountain in quiet camaraderie. Sometimes we still do. But not often. And on this day it was evident from his demeanor that it was a time for solitary reflection… a mind-clearing, Waldenesque walk into nature. Dad’s presence was not desired. And that’s okay. I get that self-same urge myself now and again. It was, after all, a lazy afternoon. He’d gone, and I’d watched him go through my bay window on the world. And I’d watched the garbage truck go… the ghostly soccer players riding along on the nonexistent sideboards, waving good-bye. And the afternoon had devolved into a sleepy world of story ideas and lengthening shadows. The phone rang. Abruptly and loudly yanking me out of my half-somnolent reverie. It was my boulder-hopping son. “I’m okay…” was how he initiated the conversation. That’ll wake your ass up pretty quick. And get your feet off the desk. “I’m okay, but a rock has rolled onto my leg and trapped my foot and I can’t get it out. You need to come up here and help me get it loose.” There was more to the conversation as I hustled around the house throwing my boots on and grabbing my hiking paraphernalia… are you hurt, is it bleeding, is it broken, do I need to call for help? Where are you? “You know the big cracked boulder where Warren fell and broke his neck? I’m just above and behind that. I’m close enough that I could throw a rock and hit it, if I had a rock.” “Great,” I thought. “Just great.” You’re a few yards away from the spot that tried to claim our street-soccer playing neighbor boy. The spot that took a significant chunk out of his life and changed it forever. And now its got ahold of you? “Great,” I said, “I know where it is.” As he knew I did. “I’ll be right there.” “I’m okay,” he reiterated as I headed out the front door. “ I’m okay… but hurry.” Like Cecil the Seasick Sea Serpent, I felt like yelling out, “I’m a comin’ Beanie-boy, I’m a comin’.” Perhaps I did. Truthfully, I was kinda glad he was located where he was… up there behind the fateful rock where our friend and neighbor had had his encounter with the meaner side of the high desert. I knew the spot well, having visited it several times, taken pictures, and written a story. And certainly, I glanced up at it every time I passed below. I also knew that it wasn’t exactly easy getting up there. It was not on a hiking trail. It was more of a place where teenage boys, immortal and fearless, boulder-hopped and played with fate. It was not really a good hike for an aging soccer player, freshly sprung from a dreamy retrospective on life… with more than a touch of fear in his heart. It was, therefore, a rather cautious climb up. Even more cautious than is normal for me, which is pretty darn cautious. I was hurried, but careful. It would not do to have the would-be rescuer break his leg on the way up. It wouldn’t do at all. Even so, I was out of breath and sucking the thin air before I was a third of the way up the steep 20-minute climb. It is a boulder-strewn face, and you have to pick your way from tilted, weathered monolith to cracked and crumbling, tilted, weathered monolith. It is like a maze, with an occasional dead-end on a boulder over a chasm that is too wide or too deep to jump across. You circle back then, wasting time and energy. Strangely enough, THE cracked boulder of infamy was always in sight up there, like a signpost. Reassuringly so. An obvious goal that grew closer ever so slowly. Agonizingly slowly. I noticed during my ascent, more lucidly and from further away than I ever had before, the little monument that had been created in front of the infamous cracked boulder. It dangled there from the branch of a twisted, stunted piñon pine… leather and beads and feathers and something shiny. It was a signpost, much of it put there, solemnly, by own son to commemorate his friend’s brush with fate. It unerringly pointed the way now.
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I saluted the dangling memorial as I finally scrambled by it, and I gave more than a passing glance at the flattened, torn-up place below it where our friend had lain immobile until he had finally been hoisted out on a litter by a rescue team. Not so very long ago. Up and around the cracked boulder, yelling all the way, it was with no small relief that I finally heard, then saw, my prodigal son. He managed a smile and quietly said, “I’m okay.” The rock that pinned his left leg was a BIG rock. Or a small boulder. He told me that he’d been coming down from above when he stepped on it and it rolled. He fell in front of it and it ended up on his leg. It was egg-shaped, and fortunately the small end was on his foot. He had said that it would move, but that he couldn’t get enough leverage from his position to move it enough. I hunkered down there, braced myself, and gave it a
tug. Surprisingly, for its size, it moved more easily than I anticipated, although only a couple of inches. That was enough, though. He pulled his leg out, leaving his shoe behind, and I let the rock settle back down into its new position. His leg, his ankle, his foot… none of them appeared to be broken. In fact, he said, his foot didn’t even hurt much. It was the other leg, the free one, that had gotten scraped up and had fallen asleep from its weird position. He stood up and danced around, returning circulation, while I retrieved his wayward shoe out from under the wedged rock. We worked our way back down the mountain rather more quickly than I would have thought… impelled perhaps by gravity and gratitude and gravitas. The tearful reunion with his mother in the gravelly arroyo bottom would’ve made for a grand photograph, and it occurred to me that I should definitely take a camera along on any future rescue missions. He was back to school and back to work the next day
with naught to show for his encounter but some nasty scrapes and a good story. I stole the latter. Or should I say, I borrowed it. I needed a story, had actually been looking for a story, about the dangers of hiking these high desert watermelon mountains. I got it. And the moral is: Be careful what you wish for. I have often said it, and I truly believe it… these mountains are like a carnivorous plant, they’d like nothing more than to take your 180 pounds of organic matter and use it for fertilizer. They will if they can. My son and I, later, reflected back on what happened on the day he got trapped. What happened and what could have happened. Without going into a bunch of gory hypothetical details… He could’ve smacked his head and knocked himself unconscious. At that time of year, staying there overnight probably would not have been fatal, at least from a hypothermia point of view. But, he could’ve broken the leg, ankle, or foot… and… it could have been bleeding. It could have been bleeding badly. That in itself, or in conjunction with being unconscious, could easily have been fatal. Had the rock that pinned his foot not jammed up against another rock, it could have, and probably would have broken something. Also, in revisiting the site later, we found that there was another, even bigger rock that had apparently come loose either with or shortly after the event. Had that one tumbled down the same path… well… we both figured you wouldn’t want to be pinned there watching that behemoth tumble toward you. Another thing to be grateful for. The mountains let him by with a few scrapes and a slap on the wrist. The point is, I guess, that there are multiple dangers in these mountains, and tumbling rocks are just another addition to a pretty good list. They play rough, do these Sandias, and you’d be well advised to always keep that in mind when you venture forth. Especially if you are new to them. Or, perhaps even more especially, if you are so used to them that you are getting a bit complacent. Who me? “You . . . And your pretty little dog.”
A brief perspective on the photographs...
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The photo immediately to the left is of the spot where I found my wayward son and from about the same perspective. The difference was, “The Rock” was on his leg, not vice-versa as here. Opposite page, big photo of him standing... he is standing at the spot where the rock was when he stepped on it and it rolled. He ended up in the bottom right corner pinned in the bush with “The Rock” on his leg. Opposite page, photo top right... dad coming back down afterward. The large boulder on the skyline directly above his head is “Warren’s Rock”. Not easy to get to. Or return from.
About Hiking in the High Desert
We couldn’t just leave it at “You know the mountains might try to kill you, right?” So, we’ve got to do our civic duty and run a story about hiking preparation. You will find it on the next page... High Desert Hiking 101.
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High Desert Hiking 101
Thinking about hiking? Our editor, an Eagle Boy Scout, helpless hiking addict, and longtime resident of the high desert... shares some thoughts on what you should take along.
“On Your Person” Ken Orth
O
ccasionally I stare up at the Sandias, framed in puffy white clouds as they are this day, and something in me yearns to walk one of those craggy, shadowed valleys. Or, I’ll drive across one of the Rio Grande bridges and glance longingly at the massive cottonwoods of the bosque, knowing that a trail winds there among them, quiet and still save for the wind in the dry leaves. My heart walks there briefly in those moments, buoyed by the knowledge that such places are close by and that soon enough I’ll find some time to tread those trails in truth. For truly, though there are as many ways to experience the grandeur of our land as there are people to conjure up those ways, there is something sublime about the simpleness of a walk, a hike, a wandering stroll, or a strenuous climb. It is our legs, of course, that pulled us out of the trees so long ago, and onto the pathways of terra firma. It is our legs that traverse those trails still, and they tie us to the past and to the land in a way that no mechanical contraption can ever approach. We walk, because thankfully, we can. Yet for all the simplicity of the hike, there are things which must be considered before embarking onto a trail into the wilds. For this is a rough land here, ancient and rugged. It is enchanting in its beauty, but can be unforgiving of silliness and mistakes. With that in mind, we hereby present to you our DCF primer on hiking the high deserts -- “On Your Person” -- what you wear and carry on your hiking adventures. We’ll try to keep it brief and simple... we’re talking day hikes here, not overnighters... in and out while the sun still shines. If you’re new to this unbelievably beautiful land or to hiking itself, we’ll get you started on the right foot, so to speak. If you’re already a veteran hiker (or think you are), come on along anyway, to see what we’ve missed or what you’ve missed, and to share some tales of what we’ve learned. By far, the most important pieces of equipment that you must have are those things down there upon your feet, hiking boots and wool socks. Accept no substitutes. Whether you are wandering the desert or slogging through bogs, your feet must get you where you’re going and they must be protected. Good thick rubber soles can grip the granite, turn aside cactus spines, and cushion the sharp edges of volcanic rock. If your ankles are the least bit gimpy, high-toppers will give you that added support. Those tennis shoes you’ve been wearing for years will get your feet into trouble, and if your feet are Wool Socks, snug, in trouble, you’re in trouble. warm, happy feet. Likewise, you should always be wearing wool or wool-blend socks inside those boots. Period. Wool retains its ability to insulate even when damp... from sweat, slipping into a creek, or getting caught in a sudden, chilling mountain rain storm. And the wool will dry out quicker when hung over a branch on your lunch break. Good socks are like a good referee in a basketball game or a soccer game.... if you never notice they’re there, they’re doing a good job. Next, for a hike of any length, you’ll need a day pack. I ALWAYS bring Hiking Boots, good mine along even if it’s a short hike, traction in loose soil. because it makes me feel safer
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knowing I’ve got my essentials. And you never know when a short hike might turn into a long hike. The pack need not be big or fancy. Lightweight is good. External pockets for easy access to water bottles scores a plus. A safe, zippered pocket for things you’d rather not lose (like car keys, for example) also gets extra points. So what, pray tell, goes in this pack? At a minimum, as we’ve already mentioned, water. The longer the hike, the more the water. Use whatever plastic bottles you’ve got available. Several little bottles make it easier to distribute the weight than one big bottle. After you’ve filled and capped each bottle, give it a good squeeze to ensure that it’s not leaking. You reduce the risk of leakage even further if the bottles are standing upright in external pockets. As for what is actually inside the pack to be leaked upon, we offer up these possibilities. Remembering back to that safe, zippered pocket of which we made mention earlier, it contains what I refer to as the “essentials”. One of these is a zip-lock, quart-size bag containing a first aid kit (bandaids, antiseptic wipes, ibuprofen, aspirin, and antacids), a compass, matches, and a lighter. Elsewhere in the zippered pocket we usually have tossed in the topo map and little bottles of bug goop and sunscreen, neither one of which is ever used very much... the bug goop because it’s just not needed much around here, (but when you do need it, you’ll be very, very grateful to have it)... and the sunscreen because it’s just backup, we put on the real stuff before we set out on the hike. And finally, our safe pocket also contains tissues or toilet paper. Or an old sock. Just kidding. A note on the toilet paper. Grab one of the nearly exhausted rolls from your bathroom, flatten it, and toss it in a ziplock. I won’t go into the story about a camping trip with the Boy Scouts in the Boundary Waters of Canada when hungry ground squirrels devoured the toilet paper and shortly thereafter people’s socks started mysteriously disappearing. Ahem. Anyway, in the rest of your pack, aside from the water and the essentials, you’ll stash your spare clothes and munchies. We’ll get to those. But underneath it all, buried at the very bottom, is an allpurpose, multi-tasking, big old plastic garbage bag. The main purpose of this item is to be used as an emergency rain jacket in the event of sudden precipitation. A hole in the bottom for your head and one on each side for your arms and you’ve got yourself a quick, lightweight raincoat. And if the day stays its more typical sunny self, use the bag as a table cloth, ground cloth, sit-upon, wet-swim-trunks bag, or, gasp, as a garbage bag. Believe it or not, a buddy and I actually once spent a lost night in the Pacific Northwest curled up in garbage bags in a light mist waiting for the sun to rise. Don’t ask. Suffice it to say that I have never, ever been so thankful for having such a simple item in all my life. There is always at least one in my pack. Now that we’ve covered your feet and your pack. let us move on to the accouterments of the welldressed and accessorized high-desert hiker.
Bandana, color coordinated with shirt. Very stylish.
Walking Stick, a previous year’s model. Simple elegance.
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Duke City Fit referred to as GORP (Good Ol Raisins and Peanuts). We make it up with Chex mix, peanuts, raisins, and M&Ms. If we’re having a picnic lunch, it’ll often be triscuits and cheddar cheese served with apple slices. Personally, I never go on a hike without a bag of sunflower seeds. The “Cracked Black Pepper” seeds are our current faves. Summertime in these parts also sometimes brings with it another little blessing that can wreak havoc on the unprepared or unwary... they are called afternoon thunderstorms. (They used to be called “monsoons”, but monsoons have all but cklist e h disappeared from or weather patterns these days.) C e ik yH It can, however, still cloud up and rain heavily DCF Da in a matter of moments. Especially in the late afternoon. Keep an eye on the sky and don’t get __ Boots cks So caught on a ridge or down in an arroyo. The __ Wool Pack former just begs for lightning, and the latter may __ Day ttles Water Bo flood without warning. __ Kit First Aid Finally, remember that hiking in the Land __ Matches of Enchantment can be a blessing beyond __ Compass measure. It can renew you, build you up, make __ p a M your heart sing. But it can also test your mettle. __ ug Goop B When you go hiking, tell someone where _ _ you’re going and when you expect to return. Sunscreen __ per Keep in mind that cell phone coverage may Toilet pa __ e g ba bag r not exist in the spot where you get yourself a G __ re clothes in trouble. Use your map and stay tuned to a p S __ the trail itself. In the gravelly desert soil, d o o F __ a especially after our summer rains, the trails n a d __ Ban e if It is my opinion that one should always have a bandana in one’s n can be difficult to find sometimes. Pay K et __ Pock possession when hiking. Additionally, to look the part of a seasoned New attention. Be especially wary of letting little es ss la g __ Sun Mexico hiker, said bandana should be visible. This tells other hikers (and kids or dogs lead the way, you’ll be down a t a __ H k knowledgeable black bears) that you are an experienced hiker. It can be c dead-end arroyo before you know it. ti S ing __ Walk tied around your head hat-style, it can be tied around your neck, it can be With that admonition, we’ll wrap up a make-shift handle for your walking stick, or most commonly, it can be this monologue. Take it all with a grain a er __ Cam dangling from your back pocket. It too, is truly a multi-tasker. Use it to wash or two of salt. Use it as a basis for your __ GPS your face or dry your feet. Wet it and tie it around your neck on a scorching own hiking preparation list, or use it as culars day. Use it as an emergency bandage on the palm of the hand you scraped __ Bino an emergency fire starter. Regardless, get tion f Destina when you slipped in the scree on the way up Cabezon Peak. o out there and do some hiking, you’re in e n eo m fy So But whatever you do, don’t blow your nose on it. Borrow someone else’s __ Noti the perfect place, and you’ll be a better to do that. person for it. Another item I’d not be without is my trusty pocket knife. Swiss Army. With tweezers, scissors, and a corkscrew. The tweezers are the most important. They will be used for pulling cactus spines out of human flesh. Preferably not your own. Sooner or later, it will happen. And speaking of pocket knives, it is my sincere opinion that you will be served best by getting the genuine article, not a cheap knock-off. That lesson was brought home on a hike one time in the Sierras of California when a good friend of ours was espousing the virtues of his recently purchased, incredibly cheap pocket-knife... comparing all of its features to my more expensive model. At a break by a waterfall, he used the corkscrew on his new knife to pull out the cork on a bottle of wine. Or I should say, he attempted to pull out the cork. After screwing said pocket-knife corkscrew into the bottle, he pulled it out with a vigorous tug. Literally. The cork stayed put in the bottle, and the corkscrew came out as a long, straight wire. He stood there holding an 8-inch piece of wire sticking up into the sky from between his fingers and we laughed till we cried. I believe that old, strange-looking knife is lying on his mantle to this day as a monument to frugality. We laugh about it still. To finish out your high-country hiker bedecking, I’ll toss out a final three items for your consideration... sunglasses, a hat, and a walking stick. The sunglasses need little discussion. Some wear them. Some don’t. In the long run though, the ultraviolet rays here at altitude will do their retinal damage, so keep that in mind. Dark glasses, methinks, muddle and obscure too much of our beautiful landscape. I am reminded of a friend who chastised me for wearing yellow shades. “The land around here is brown enough already without you making it worse by wearing yellow sunglasses.” So I tried his blue ones and he was right, the world did look brighter and greener through them. I now often experiment with other colors, including red or pink. Talk about sunsets! Hats, of course, are also pretty self-explanatory. I rarely wear one because it cuts off too much of the sky. That, and I like the wind in my hair. But when the sun is low, a hat with a brim can be critical in seeing the the rocky, uneven trail descending below you. And I have a friend who always wears a red baseball hat and swears that he sees many more hummingbirds on his hikes... often right in front of his face. Walking sticks. Many people swear by them... from a stick you pick up trailside to a spring-loaded, shock-absorbing, titanium based nordic pole. They are, in essence, a third leg and can be incredibly helpful if you’re unsure of your footing, especially descending steep trails or crossing mountain streams. When we hiked the White Mountains of New Hampshire we were always amazed at the walking sticks leaning up against the trailhead signs at nearly every trail. You’d use one on the trail then leave it at the sign afterward for the next hiker. I always used one there. It seemed like the thing to do. As for clothing, the basic is to dress for the weather but to anticipate the worst. Layers is the keyword. Layers. Multiple thin layers are much preferable to one heavy layer. This is true for insulation purposes (the pockets of air between layers makes for great insulation), but also makes it easier to ad or subtract as your body and the weather dictate. Wool or the newer fleece-type synthetic materials are the clothing of choice. Remember that cotton, when it gets wet, is absolutely abysmal as insulation and it feels terrible. That includes t-shirts and jeans. Foodwise, take what you’ll like, take what you’ll eat. It does no good to to take along granola and dried papaya if no one will eat it. A favorite standby of ours is lovingly
Summer 2013
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Duke City Fit
2013
Events in red require preregistration or reservations
Summer Calendar
Ongoing Farmers Markets: Downtown Farmers Market, Saturdays 7am-noon, Robinson Park at 8th & Central Gina Meyers 243-2230 Nob Hill Growers Market, Every Thursdays 3pm-6:30pm, Morningside Park at Lead & Morningside SE Catherine Gordon, 934-8960
June - July - August
Rio Grande Nature Center Nature Walks, Free, Sundays, 10am, an insightful nature tour of the bosque, preregister, 344-7240 Open Space Sunday Morning Hike, Free, 9am (Some start earlier), every Sunday out of various Open Space locations. For info & to register: Bill Pentler 452-5222 cabq.gov/openspace
ABQ Uptown Growers Market, Starts June 29, Saturdays 7am-noon at Loui- This Time. This Place. Photography Exhibit, Free, Until June 30, 9am-5pm, siana & Indian School (NE parking Open Space Visitor Center 6500 Coors lot) Nancy Erickson, 865-3533 NW, exhibition of photos taken by local photographers & Open Space enthusiasts. Northeast Farmers Market, cabq.gov/openspace Tuesdays, 3 pm-7 pm , West side of ABQ Academy, 6400 Wyoming Blvd. NM Volunteers for the Outdoors, Enter campus at Burlison go right Various trail cleanups and construction (south) and the market will be on the around town. Possibly one near you. right hand side Contact 884-1991 www.nmvfo.org Jedrek Lamb 858-8887 Presbyterian Farmers Market, Tuesdays, 7am-1 pm , at Presbyterian Hospital parking lot at 1300 Central SE Nancy Erickson 865-3533 Corrales Growers Market, Sundays 9am-noon, Recreation Center 500 Jones Rd & Corrales Rd, Mary Jane 898-7927 Ongoing Qigong in the Park, Saturdays & Sundays 9-10am: every Saturday at Altura Park located at Hannett and Morningside NE, Every Sunday at Robinson Park at 8th & Central, Qigong practice for all, Loretta 681-1924 qigonginthepark.com Yoga With a View, $15, 8-9:30am, Every Sunday, Open Space Visitor Center 6500 Coors NW, Yoga in a beautiful setting (1st class is $5) contact 897-8831 Open Space Sunset Series, $2 parking, Various presentations every Saturday night at 7pm, Elena Gallegos Picnic area, east of Tramway on Simms, Info&Directions: Bill Pentler 452-5222 cabq.gov/openspace Rio Grande Nature Center Bird Walks, Free, 8am, Saturdays & Sundays, join a naturalist for a quiet bird walk, preregister, 344-7240
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Old Town & Sculpture Garden Walking Tours, Tuesdays thrru Sundays, Free, Sculpture Tours 10am, Old Town Tours 11am, ABQ Museum 2000 Mountain Rd NW 243-7225 Best Masters Swim Program, $40/ month, 6-7am, Monday-Friday, Rio Grande Indoor Pool, 2312 Arenal SW, for adult swimmers/triathletes, coached by Lobo record-breaker Ashley Grisdale 314-0418 Rio Grande Nature Center Bird Walks, Free, 8am, Saturdays & Sundays, join a naturalist for a quiet bird walk, preregister, 344-7240 Rio Grande Nature Center Nature Walks, Free, Sundays, 10am, an insightful nature tour of the bosque, preregister, 344-7240
June 16 JCC Fathers Day 5K Run/Walk, 8am, a healthy fun run/walk to start off your Father’s Day, contact: 507-6216 www. active.com 15th Annual Butterfly Run, 5k/10k, 7am, Pojoaque Pueblo, www.pojoaquewellness.com June 20 Bike Maintenance Basics, Free, 6-8pm, REI Clinic Room 1550 Mercantile Ave NE, how to lube a chain, fix a flat tire in record time, and make other minor adjustments, 247-1191 June 21 Rio Grande Nature Center Full Moon Walk, $3 Parking, The Bosque comes alive under the light of the moon, Call for time & reservation 344-7240 June 22 Pollinator Awareness Day, Free, 10am4pm, Open Space Visitor Center 6500 Coors NW, Annual event with honey tasting and beekeepers Q & A, info: 8978831 cabq.gov/openspace Full Moon Run by Heart n Sole Sports, Free, 8:45pm, location TBD... along bosque or UNM golf course or ???, call HnS for location & info: 884-7653 June 23 Cherry Garcia Run, 5 & 10Ks, 7pm, A flat and fast course run on paved roads in the scenic North Valley, www.irunfit.org. June 24 New Mexico’s UFO Mysteries: A Visual and Musical Exploration by Norio Hayakawa, Free , 6:30pm, A fascinating program on UFO’s with cosmic wave keyboard, Esther Bone library in Rio Rancho 950 Pine Tree Road SE, 8915012 x3128
www.dukecityfit.com
Duke City Fit June 29 6th Annual Jim Thorpe Native American Championships & Open Community 5K, SW Indian Polytech Institute 9169 Coors NW, 710-3323 www.sportswarriorstc.com Under the Same Sky -Open Space Sunset Series, $2 parking, 7pm, Wondrous storytelling by Susi Wolf certified storyteller , Elena Gallegos Picnic area, east of Tramway on Simms, Info&Directions: Bill Pentler 452-5222 cabq.gov/openspace
July 19 Hoof It to Happy Hour 2013, 5K, 6pm at Balloon Fiesta Park and ends at Happy Hour, benefits New Day Shelter, www. active.com Albuquerque Philharmonic Orchestra, Free (Donations accepted), 7:30pm, 1st of 2 chamber orchestra concerts, conducted by David Felberg in Keller Hall at UNM Center for the Arts 433-7445 www.nmapo.org Rio Grande Nature Center Full Moon Walk, $3 Parking, The Bosque comes alive under the light of the moon, Call for time & reservation 344-7240 July 21 Full Moon Run by Heart n Sole Sports, Free, 8:45pm, location TBD... along bosque or UNM golf course or ???, call HnS for location & info: 884-7653
July 4 July 4th Family Fun & Games at Paradise Hills Pool,, noon-3pm, 5801 ParadiseBlvd, 898-0956 July 6 - September1 Alluvial, Multi-Media Art Show, Free, 9am-5pm, July 6-Sep 1, Open Space Visitor Center 6500 Coors NW, artists will interpret & explore the concept Alluvial cabq.gov/openspace July 13 Bike Commuting Essentials, $10, City of ABQ Esperanza Community Bike Shop 5600 Esperanza NW, Learn to fix a flat, basic bicycle maintenance tips and basic principles of biking safely in Albuquerque. Julian 225-8537 Rock-N-Glow 5K, 6:30pm, energized with music and glow-in-the-dark swag, Balloon Fiesta Park, benefits Ronald McDonald House, www.rocknglow5k.com July 14 Lavender Festival 5k Fun Run/Walk, 8am, Los Ranchos de Albuquerque, www.lavenderinthevillage.com
July 26 Albuquerque Philharmonic Orchestra, Free (Donations accepted), 7:30pm, 2nd of 2 chamber orchestra concerts, conducted by David Felberg in Keller Hall at UNM Center for the Arts 433-7445 www.nmapo.org July 28 Women’s Distance Festival, 7am, 5k walk/run, state’s premieir women only running event, Southwest Indian Polytechnic Institute www.abqroadrunners.com
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Shoes Included !
Expires 8/31/13. Must present coupon for discount.
Open Bowling All the Time !
Sandia Bowl 293-5675
11342 Lexington NE Albuquerque, NM 87112
www.sandiabowl.biz
Run, Registration Closed, 7am, premier race in the southwest, starts on 333 one-half mile from Tramway, shoulder parking allowed on Tramway, finish at the Crest, www.abqroadrunners.com
August 3 Taos Ski Valley Up & Over Trail Run, 10K high altitude challenge with 2,612’ elevation gain in 1st 3 miles, www.taosskivalley.com/trailrun 800-517-9816
Rio Grande Nature Center Full Moon Walk, $3 Parking, The Bosque comes alive under the light of the moon, Call for Albuquerque Color Run, 8:30am Crazy colorful 5k for all levels , your time & reservation 344-7240 moving body plastered in an explosion of vibrant color with all your friends Balloon Fiesta Park colorinmotion5k.com
Summer 2013
Any Friday Night Bowl all Night... 8pm to Midnight $ 00 per Person
Cochiti Lake Triathlon, Beautiful setting and challenging courses! August 3 www.chasing3.com Advanced Bicycle Mechanics, $20, City of ABQ Esperanza Community Bike July 29 Shop 5600 Esperanza NW, Learn about Peace Corps Informational Meeting, bike maintenance, brakes, derailleur Free, 6-7:30pm, REI Clinic Room 1550 adjustments and shifting systems, headMercantile Ave NE, Peace Corps sersets, bottom brackets, and wheels Julian vice is more than a job and goes beyond 225-8537 adventure; an opportunity to learn more about the world within you and the world August 4 around you 247-1191 48th Annual La Luz Trail
July 15 Chunky Monkey, 5 & 10Ks, 7pm, Valley High School www.irunfit.org. Wines of Enchantment - Jim Hammond booktalk, Free , 6:30pm, a Guide to Finding and Enjoying the Wines of New Mexico, Loma Colorado Rio Rancho Main Library, 755 Loma Colorado Boulevard NE, 891-5013
• COUPON •
August 10 Bike Commuting Essentials, $10, City of ABQ Esperanza Community Bike Shop 5600 Esperanza NW, Learn to fix a flat, basic bicycle maintenance tips and basic principles of biking safely in Albuquerque. Julian 225-8537 August 11 Rio Grande Half Marathon & 5K, National Hispanic Cultural Center, benefit Special Olympics New Mexico www. active.com
August 11 Basics of Honeybees -Open Space Sunday Morning Hike, Free, 9am instruction and activities on beekeeping by Beekeeper for the Open Space For info & to register: Bill Pentler 452-5222 cabq.gov/ openspace August 20 Full Moon Run by Heart n Sole Sports, Free, 8:45pm, location TBD... along bosque or UNM golf course or ???, call HnS for location & info: 884-7653 August 22 Rio Grande Nature Center Full Moon Walk, $3 Parking, The Bosque comes alive under the light of the moon, Call for time & reservation 344-7240 August 24 Live-Love-Tri, 7am, Rio Rancho Aquatic Center, NM’s only all women Triathlon, www.livelovetri.blogspot.com
September 1 Dam to Dam Run, 5 & 10Ks, 8am, at Starbucks on Academy along dam arroyos, www.irunfit.org.
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2817 San Mateo NE
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884-5300
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heartnsolesports.com
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Our Fit Will Help Fix Your Gait All of our staff is personally trained by a professional gait analysis expert. Always fitting you in the proper footwear. Guaranteed!
“Everyday Footwear” at Heart & Sole We now carry the finest in casual, comfortable, functional footwear from top makers like Chaco, Keen, and Sanita. We take the same care to get you the perfect fit in casual footwear that we have always taken with our athletic shoes. Everyday footware that is not only incredibly comfortable, but good for your feet!
Rated Among Top 10 Running Stores in America. Again! The Running Network and Footwear Intelligence have honored Heart & Sole Sports as a Top 10 best rated running store in the entire United States and Canada ! Six years in a row! Our customer’s faith and confidence in our services has made this happen. We thank you.
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