Covid be done, and it's time to get rolling. Overall, my infection was more of an inconvenience than debilitating - thanks vaccination and boosting! The greatest problem for me was night congestion interfering with my ability to sleep. Some general tiredness, and a headache were second on the list of issues. Headaches are things I've dealt with, oh I don't know, for forever, and tiredness is a tag-along to exercise, so also something I'm used to. Never had a fever, or if I did, it was low enough not to be noticeable. 

I'm hopping into the Swagwagon in a couple of hours and making my way to Carson City. I need to be there no later than Saturday morning, so I can pick up a couple of items that my friend has generously stored for me. They are a couple of antique dioramas that I have given to my daughter. I'm going to schlep them to her mom's house for continued storage until the she-cub settles somewhere semi-permanently on her own and can safely take ownership of fragile items. Dorm rooms across the country don't fit into that category, so to her mom's they go.

I've got a full tank of (rather expensive) gas, my phone filled with a variety of podcasts for mental nourishment, and tortilla chips, Danish, and lemonade for the physical. Let the road trippin' begin.

Update: instead of isolating in my car, I was offered to stay where I contracted it. So, I get a bed and a shower!

It took successfully navigating six countries and nine international flights over eight months for Covid to get me within three days of arriving in the USA. Ain’t life grand?

Symptoms are less than the cold I picked up the last time I was here, and to be honest, I thought about going for a run after the positive test this morning. Trails are empty this early, so I wouldn’t be risking anyone else. But, I didn’t. Instead, I bolted from my friend’s home, and will be isolating in a car for the next week, eating drive-through takeout picked up while masked.

Silver linings:
1. I am in the USA, whet my insurance works, so if things do go south (they won’t), I have coverage.
2. I have absolutely nothing on my agenda until mid July, and I’ll be fine by then.

I guess if I was to get it, now is as good a time as there could possibly be.

I flew from Panama City to Houston, and on to Denver on the solstice. The solstice is a magic time of (in the northern hemisphere) long, languid summer days. Maybe, just maybe, a smidge of that magic extended to me encountering not one, but two experiences with remarkably small number degrees of separation. If you're not familiar with the idea of degrees of separation, it's the number of people who are needed to connect between any two randos. There is a game called Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon where one could try to link an actor to Kevin Bacon through six people or fewer. Given that, I was under the impression that six degrees was pretty standard. Turns out that's pretty much an urban myth, though, as research collated under the Wiki page linked to above attests. I apparently bucked the odds on my trip home. Let me tell you a couple of stories.

I was sitting relatively comfortably in my 4B seat, when a young dude points to the man in 4A and asks if he's ticketed for 3A. Turns out, the guy is in the wrong row. The young dude - let's call him Garrett - says no prob, I'll take 3A. Guy next to me barely can manage a grunt (what a dickweed) and we take off. Upon landing, Garrett and I approach immigration and passport control at the same time. It's a disaster. HUGE line and only one window open for US citizens. Garrett and I start to chat, as the line barely moves, turns out, we are on the same connection to Denver, and our convo changes from the drunken lout in 3F who not only spilled his drink (I think it was the 3rd double vodka) on his neighbor, but mangled his neighbor's plug for his USBs when he got up to use the head. I watched as the kid with the vodka-soaked pants picked it up from the deck and tried to straighten the bent prongs.

Anyway, Garrett and I switch to other topics, mainly whether or not we're going to make the connection, given we have about 80 minutes. He's somewhat concerned, because he's traveling with a lot of photography gear, returning to base after a shoot in Colombia. Apparently, toting a large amount of expensive gear subjects you to focus. Through the convoluted directions conversations take, we hit on trail running in the west, and he mentions shooting at Western States a few times, and capturing Jim Walmsley. I said, I know Jim, but I know his wife better. He says "You know Jess? Are you from Flagstaff?" Boom. One degree of separation.

Second story: As I was sitting in Tocumen airport in PC, I noticed a woman who was sitting opposite me. No biggie, I notice all kinds of people. She was reasonably notable by what she was wearing. Again, no biggie. I board, I fly to IAH in Houston, I disembark, Garrett and I queue FOR FUCKING EVER (as I mentioned above) to get through immigration and passport control, and I head off to the gate for my flight to Denver and with all the time in the world, settle in the oh-so-very comfortable seats to wait for the boarding call. Turns out, I had plenty of time. I spend it looking around, wondering if Garrett was going to make it. He'd been called aside at passport control, as he expected he would.

As I'm looking around, I notice a woman who arrives at the gate with a sheen of sweat, and breathing heavy. She'd moved with alacrity to get there. I figured she'd also been caught up in the queue at immigration, but behind me somewhere. There was something familiar about her, but I wasn't sure if it was the same woman from Tocumen. She now had on a sweatshirt, and in Tocumen, was wearing a mask. She noticed my attention, and I apologized, saying she looked like someone I'd seen in Panama City. She smiled and said it was her.

So far, not a remarkably low number of degrees. Kind of interesting we were traveling the same direction, but no biggie. I asked how long she'd been in Panama, and where she'd been. Turns out, she had been staying in the same building I was in Coronado (18th vs 10th floor) and knew several same people at Picasso. Boom, once again one degree. Oddly, we never ran into each other though. Funniest part of this encounter was her job. She's a "reiki master" which, as I understand, it a "healing hands" kind of thing. What's funny is she does what she does remotely, via Zoom. What a scam. She knew it too, based on the smile she gave when she told me.

The world is getting smaller, and I think six degrees may be reasonable assumption now, or in the very near future. Especially if you factor in citizens of industrialized nations only, and allow for "knowing" someone to be, say, a social media mutual follow. Given those, six might be high.

It has come to pass. Yesterday I said hasta luego to my apartment in Coronado for the last time. I packed my Black Hole and electronics bags, emptied the fridge, closed the windows, left the key in the lockbox, and walked away. Good for me, I didn't even look back. The apartment wasn't especially great, but the views and the time I was there certainly were. I met some really amazing people, and had some really good times. Good times like running (when not rolling my ankle, or ninja-like avoiding getting bit by a dog) in Coronado or El Valle, or even along the Cinta Costera in the city. Great, great people I've met while I've been here: John, Micah, Sam, Porfiro, Glennon, Carolina, the entire running Bennett family (wow, what a set of genes there!), Glaren, Liska and, of course, the incomparable B.

Did I say the people here were/are great? If I was remiss, allow me to rectify. They. Are. Awesome. It didn't matter that we could communicate only on my rudimentary Spanish, and gestures, some of my fondest memories are sharing the trails with fellow trail runners. When I went down (two fucking times!) last week, each fellow runner in my cohort offered assistance. Language was/is irrelevant. Compassion and caring on the trail are always paramount. When I finally made it to the end where the food was amazing, and beer cold, I nearly instantaneously had a plate of arepas and a cold Balboa cerveza, thanks to B who was waiting for me. And I had barely hobbled to where I could sit, when I was offered a bag of ice by a fellow runner. I don't remember who it was or even if that person was one of the guys I was running with when I went down. I was in need, and need was offered. No questions, no hesitation.

I leave the country mañana, flying back to the States. Tal vez vuelvere. I am pretty certain I will, but the circumstances of it are unknown. Who knows, maybe I'll train enough to participate in the Rieto del Indio. Not the 160, but maybe the 80? I believe it's in March of '23. Now there's an event for you ultra runners who might be reading this. How many of you can say you started a race with your feet on the sandy beach of one ocean, and ended it diving into another? Yeah, you've run 160K in nice temperate climates, and on clearly defined, mostly dry trails. Wanna give it a go in a tropical rainforest? Let me know, I know the peeps here, and my ankle knows the conditions. It's still pissed off and swollen like a Crimson Tide supporter during a loss on the gridiron.

I'm likely going to miss the warm, less likely to miss the humidity. Thankfully my hair doesn't go too wild in it. Though the fact I pretty much don't have any to speak of might influence that a bit. I'm definitely going to miss the people. That's why I stayed as long as I have. People. And sunrises. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

B and I flew back from Quito to Panama City on Saturday afternoon, did a quick stop at her apartment to collect her running gear, and car, and we were off to El Valle de Anton, a beautiful town nestled in a valley of steep green mountains. We'd signed up for a 24K trail run with the El Valle Running group – a fun bunch of trail locos.

The drive got a smidge more interesting as darkness fell. Here near the equator, length of the days don't vary much, and when the curtain falls at the end, it falls quickly. 6:30 pm or so, and boom, darkness. Usually not a terrible thing, even on narrow, curvy, steep mountain roads, but the weather thought to make it a bit more challenging. As soon as we turned off the Pan American Highway for the 24 or so kilometers to El Valle, the cloud spigots opened, and let loose with Noachian levels of rain. It wasn't hairy, because any hair would have washed away. B did an amazing job keeping us both moving forward and remaining on the sometimes barely visible road. We got to the place about 8-ish, and had a nice pre-run pasta dinner before hitting the sack. The run had a 6:00 am start, and a 5:00 am meetup for fresh baked bread and outstanding Panamanian coffee. 

The day dawned misty and wet. It was going to be a damp run. It's not like I'd be cold or anything. Or dry, even if it wasn't drizzling. I'd soak my gear through in an hour anyway, and this way, I'm constantly on the rinse cycle, washing off the salt. 

The first 8K or so were a blast. Through the dense forest, crossing the Rio Indio time and time again, and even simply down the streambed. We climbed out of the river canyon, crawling through the mud under a fence, and started down a road. Yeah, a road. That's where it happened. I rolled my ankle. Not the worst one, but the snapping sound is never fun to hear. I didn't fall, but did the multi-hop until I wasn't moving forward. I checked, and it still flexed, though it hurt a bit. Forward or back, solo on the road? Forward it is, without hesitation or doubt. 

Fast forward another 5 minutes or so. Boom, again, though I wasn't on the road anymore. I'd taken, oh, I don't know, six? steps on the trail. And yep, same ankle. When I did it this time I chanted the injury mantra in syncopation with my one-foot hops until I came to a stop: Fuck, fuck fuck.

Well, now. two rolls on the same joint. Movement? Check. Pain? Manageable. It's uphill anyway, which is easier. Press on. The next 5K or so were challenging. Waist high steps in mud? check. Rocks and unstable footing? Check. Hidden trail due to overhanging vegetation? Check. Pain? Still manageable. Movement? Who cares, at this point.

I got to the aid station (a truck with a cooler and water - the cooler housing Powerade y cerveca). Since I was starting to get cramps in my adductors in addition to my baby cows, I figured the Powerade would be the wise choice over the beer. I can get beer at the end, and it's only another 8-10 K away. Wash down a couple of Oreos, and I'm off with a group of others that had congregated at the truck. We spent probably 20 or more minutes hanging, eating, drinking and getting photos, and that was probably my mistake.

I got about 1/2 K or maybe a bit more, and the ankle said, "What the fuck, dude?" It was a gentle downhill, and even that was really uncomfortable. I realized the route was going to hit significantly steep, unstable, narrow, muddy, rocky portions for the majority of the distance back. I reluctantly, but probably smartly, stopped, and threw in the proverbial towel. I trudged like the defeated piece of shit I felt I was back to the truck to get a fucking ride to the finish. 

In a valiant attempt to put a positive spin on a situation where there really isn't any, I am claiming three consolations to being a worthless quitter yesterday:
​

1. I got several early beers
   
2. I saw a cool flower that I otherwise would not have
   
3. The colorful reds, and burgeoning blues and purples of the skin around the swelling on my ankle

Yeah, fucking great.

Quiet day. The big event was moving from on Airbnb in the center-ish part of the city near Carolina Park back to another in the Historic District. It’s a bit closer to the airport for our grand exit on Saturday, and a hot springs tour operator is located here, and that’s on the Friday agenda.

Spent some time walking and photo-ing. That was my job. I think I did okay. ¡Disfruta!

Much like the title, I got high in Ecuador. In fact, I got higher than I have ever been before. No, you silly goose, I’m not talking about los drogos or anything like that, I’m talking true heights: elevation. Prior to my excursion yesterday, the highest point I’ve stood in the world is the summit of Mt. Elbert in Colorado at 14,433 feet (4400 meters). I’ve been on the tops of several other of Colorado’s Fourteeners, notably Pike’s Peak, but, Elbert was my highest — until yesterday.

The day dawned with sun and some clouds, a perfect start. B and I had a nice breakfast of eggs (I ate hers too. No, I didn’t simply distract her with a “Hey, look at that!” while pointing at something behind her and Bogart them, she offered. I guess less than cement-set heuvos revueltos aren’t to her liking. Of course, being the gentleman that I am, accepted her offer, and snarfed like less than a gentleman.) We packed up (we moved residences), parked our bags behind the reception desk, hopped in a taxi and motored to the TeleferíQo cable car to ride up to about 13,000 feet (4000 meters). We got there early, before it opened, because of the weather forecast: afternoon chance of rain beginning about 2:30: 100%, and lasting through the evening. No thanks. Neither of us relished the thought of hiking down in mud and rain, so it was early, in order to be back ASAP. I thought we could do the round trip in less than 4 hours, and since the cable car began operations at 9:30, that’d get us back by 2:00-ish, factoring in the time it takes to ride up.

We rode up in the second car of the day. The first car was a family on vacation from Wisconsin. I sleuthed that fact much like Holmes would’ve by the plethora of Wisconsin-based clothing they were sporting. Equally obviously, they weren’t going to the summit, as the teen daughter was wearing pink Crocs. I guess B was my Watson.

I also scoped out the others lining up early, and it appeared I was the only one in shorts, and B in leggings. Neither of us had trekking poles, either. Huh. We both had multiple layers on above, and raincoats and the lower part of my REI zip-offs in my pack, but still... were we deluding ourselves? The temperature was in around 50°F/12°C — not unpleasant in shorts when expending effort. I guess time would tell. We rode to the top, disembarked, and off we went. Target: Cumbre Ruca Pichincha.

The beginning of the 5K to the top was a threaded, mostly double track, moving inexorably up. Most of the time the grade was not terrible. The surface was mostly decent, some mud, some gullies with puddles, with the occasional pile of unmelted hail along the way from the previous day’s storm. B and I held a nice pace, grooving and checking out the local flora and fauna. I especially liked the pink fauna.

That was the first two thirds. We made great time on the way. I don’t recall specifically, but I’d guess we did that in just about an hour. The last third, though. That was a different story. The last third climbed as much as the first two thirds, and where there was a trail, it was skirting cliff faces and boulders that made footing treacherous at best. The last bit was a scramble first through such loose sand and scree as to lose most of the distance of the step each time. One foot forward, nine inches back. It pretty much was a suck fest. Not only because of that, but the clouds had decided to take up residence, so that we really couldn’t see where we were going: just... up.

Once we got past the loose scree, things got worse. Now it was the scree-source, rocks that required hands and feet and waist-high step ups. Perseverance is B’s middle name, because she kept on keeping on. And... we finally summited 15,406 feet! My new all-time high. Woo!. It was a great feeling to make it. Maybe it was the light headedness of being oxygen deprived. Either way, I’m taking it. Now, it was time to descend. Up is one thing, down is much more challenging. For me, once we got past the rocks, it was time to channel The Police song “Walking on the Moon” cuz it was all giant steps. B was not quite so into the method and came down under more control. That’s probably why she didn’t end up on the ground like I did. Heck, I only did three times and only one of those really hurt. No blood, though, so an all around win.

​We did get some views through the clouds on the way down, intimating what it would be like on a clear day. Of course, on a clear day, I’d have needed sunscreen, which I didn’t take.

We made it to the cafe at the top of the cable car at an elapsed time of 3:58:37. Nailed it! And as we started in on some refreshments (passion fruit cheesecake and mocachinos), the rain came with a vengeance. It was even cold inside the gondola on the ride down. Still, I’m glad I didn’t wear long pants. My ego is pretty chuffed about being the only person on top in shorts. B and I were only passed by a few people: all in their 20s and a couple of local guides who weren’t a lot older. There was nobody over forty except us, and no women except B. Like George Zimmer for Men’s Wearhouse would say, “I guarantee it.” I’m fit and she’s a beast. Good combo.

Yesterday was tour day. We had booked a tour through Viator for both the cable car (TeleferiQo) and a visit to the equator. Our guide was Christian, and he met us at the Grand Plaza and we were off in the car, battling traffic northward. I’m glad we didn’t go south, as the backups were pretty significant. Apparently, it’s not uncommon for commuters to spend 2+ hours to go from one end of the city to the other. There aren’t really a lot of highways, like, say, LA, and the number of people in the city (more than 2 million) is nothing to sneeze at. Combine that with montane geography that forces the city to extend along only two axes (in this case north and south), and you have a recipe for congestion. The buses are crammed and constant, but still, trying to get everyone where they need to be is a battle.

Anywhoodles, we made it to the Mitad del Mundo monument after a reasonably pleasant drive. This is the location where, in 1736, a group of French determined was where the equator was. I would link to the Wikipedia article here and now, if my blog hosting company allowed me to create hyperlinks using their mobile platform. But, it doesn’t, and their website doesn’t play nicely with Safari on my iPad. So there ya go. Given the state of tech at the time, those boys performed superbly. The monument is impressive, but not in the right spot. We briefly stopped, snapped a few photos, and moved north 250 meters to where it was determined to be by GPS. The monument was cool, but the empty building next to it was equally photogenic.

The real location of the equator is a much smaller, much more relatable place: the Iniñan Museum. Low key environment, and a guided tour with experiments! With an entry of $5 it is by far the best value. We got to see Coriolis forces in action, tried to balance eggs on nails, and supposed other effects of physics on the exact equator. Call me skeptical on some, but it was fun nonetheless. And, I got to kiss from the northern hemisphere, a beautiful woman in the south. That alone made the admission worth it! The llama? Yeah, I don’t know either. Weird dude at the entrance, just standing there with his mouth wrapped around the stick.

The next stop on the tour was the cable car TeleferíQo. It took us up to a viewpoint that sits more than 13,000 feet above sea level and about 4,000 above the city. On a clear day, the views of the city and surrounding volcanos must be spectacular. Since we are returning this way tomorrow to hitch a ride up to this point to continue to the summit of Volcán Pichinca, I’m hoping for clearer views earlier in the day. Even so, today was a Good Day, finished off with a nice meal at a restaurant filled with antiques while the clouds unleashed a fun fun fun thunderstorm. I’ll be thankful not to be on the mountain tomorrow in a deluge like this one. Hail, heavy rain, lightning and thunder. Whee!

The second day here in Quito we spent mostly on our feet. We started with a short, but challenging, run early on (5K), a nice breakfast with some tree tomato juice. I’d never had it. It’s kind of like a cross between actual tomato juice and a weak citrus. It’s really mild flavored, and has a consistency more like tomato. Not bad, but I won’t seek it out.

One highlight of the walking tour was the Mom o’ God statue on the hill after what seemed like 1000 stairs. Stairs are normally not a big deal, but after the run, and simply being here at a higher than usual elevation, made it rather more difficult. My legs protested a bit on the way up and back down. Not to be deterred, though, they gamely carried me to a cafe where I was able to resuscitate them with empanadas and the local Pilsner. Achievement unlocked.

Afterward, we visited the botanical gardens and ended up the day at another microcerveceria, this one called Sinners. I liked this one even more than Bandidos, but it wasn’t quite as convenient to the hotel, and we needed a cab at $3 to get us back home for the night. Ahhh, the price we pay for sampling the world’s beer, eh?

Tomorrow is a tour to the equator and up the cable car. Whee! But, some pics, mostly of flowers, to finish this off.

We, yeah, that’s a we, there, left Panama on the 4th of...June heading to the equator. B and I went from steamy, sea level tropics to high altitude, not steamy cloud forest-type climate. The weather app says the humidity is right around 80% and the clouds hovering over the peaks seem to support it, but with the temperature in the mid 60s F / high teens C, it didn’t feel humid at all. I was mostly comfortable in a tee shirt, especially when the sun was blazing. It feels a lot hotter when I’m this much closer to it!

Flight was quick, and immigration and customs was equally quick. Swap out my Panamanian SIM for an Ecuadorian one ($30 for more gigs than I’ll ever use), and we were off to get a cab to the Hotel San Agustin central to the historic district. The cab ride was quick to start, sloooooow to finish. Mucho traffico in the narrow streets of the old city. Our cabbie, when we arrived at the hotel, simply stopped and turned off the car in the right lane. Seems to be the thing to do, since there are no places to park.

We got checked in, grabbed some rain gear for the inevitable T-storms that would be marching in later, and started to explore. On my personal agenda was going to a microcerveceria that was highly rated. I wanted to try some local, really local, beer. It didn’t open until 2:00 pm, and we found an interesting street market with mostly food and veg, some cool looking churches and a bullfighting ring. I didn’t get a photo of the ring, because it was behind a fence and as such, not photo worthy. Interesting nonetheless. It appeared to be still in use, which to me, is kind of ick.

Finally, Bandido Brewing opened. And the beer? Quite good! They had a selection of six, ranging from a mild ale, to a saison, to a nice chocolatey stout, and we tried them all. My faves were the stout and Alta Amber - classified as an American Amber Ale. We washed down some excellent nachos featuring vegetarian black bean chili and mango chunks! No real spice to speak of, but very flavorful. What we decided was definitely lacking was tee shirts with their excellent logo. They ran out six months ago, and haven’t gotten any in. Such a shame, black shirt with the logo on the back and “Bandido Brewing” on the front would be most excellent, dude. I’d snap one up, and I don’t buy shit.

Stuffed with both beer and nachos, we did what any sane person would do: seek out more food and chocolate. We spent the rest of the daylight hours meandering purposelessly through random streets, with some general idea of where we wanted to be: Plaza de San Francisco, and later, the Basilica del Voto Nacional. Along the way we discovered a family-run organic chocolate shop overlooking the plaza called Minka. I had a mochachino to die for, and B had a chocolate caliente thick enough to eat with a spoon. We bought chocolate covered cacao beans, and a ginger & chocolate combo.

While we were there overlooking the plaza, the rain came. Along with lightning and thunder. For the first time since December and Sicily, I was glad for the disco ball running raincoat. We put on the gear, and kept wandering. It was definitely not tropical warm rain, or tropical warm air. It kind of felt nice, actually not to be sticky with sweat nonstop. One thing of note about Quito though, you are either walking uphill or down. The only flat places are the plazas.

When we returned to the hotel for the night, I was pleasantly surprised to find an Amazon Firestick plugged into the TV, and that my muscle memory on how to use its remote hadn’t disappeared after 9 months. The Netflix selections seem to be the same as in Panama, though I didn’t see if Bosch was available on Prime. Maybe tomorrow night, after another day of city exploration. Later in the week, we’re planning the hike up a hill. We found some stairs to practice on, too. That’ll be fun.