Arizona: PicketPost Mountain Coconut Chop Man-Off Challenge
It had been at least a year and a half since the last time I had seen my good friend George. Last I saw him he had finished preparations to ride his bicycle from New York to California (he did it in almost half his planned time, and got Lyme’s disease on the trip. He got better.). I had talked to him a couple months prior and he told me he had just finished the NOLS (national outdoor leadership school) semester in the southwest and was now living in Arizona with his girlfriend, and he had just been granted a backpacking wilderness instructor job in Utah. He invited me out for a visit; so, I went.
George told me we were going to do some hiking, so I thought I might actually bring some supplies. I asked him what I should bring. “Well, something you’re comfortable hiking and mountain climbing in. So, if you’re name is Nash, that means flip-flops.” Flip-flops is exactly what I brought. I would have brought some other things as well, but airport security is still having a power trip, so anything practical, and therefore pointy, was out. The flight wasn’t too bad, as far as flights go. As the plane was loading with people a rather pretty Chinese girl asked if she could trade me seats, so she could sit next to a Chinese guy who I’d assume was her boyfriend. I was feeling especially chivalrous and thought “well, one seat is just as good as the next, right?”, so I traded her. Traded her my secluded window seat, and before I knew it I was in a middle seat. The middle is the worst of the worst. I was sat between a morbidly obese woman and a gargoyle, the periphery surrounded by babies. Really, an unpleasant situation. I glanced over at the Chinese girl enjoying propping her head against the window and having access to an armrest. Bitch. This gave claim to the pessimist saying of “No good deed goes unpunished.” I spent the majority of the flight fighting against this obese woman’s cascading fat rolls for the armrest. It was like an avalanche of cookie-dough filled garbage bags had decided to claim the plane, starting with that armrest. I wasn’t backing down though. I fought valiantly the entire trip, and I’m pretty sure this lady had no idea her right side was even engaged in battle. Gross.
Once I made it to Phoenix I waited on George to pick me up. He had just got his driver’s license a couple weeks prior. He had never needed it before since he was always somewhere with good public transport. Arizona and Utah are not those kinds of places though. After a good 27 year stint without one, he acquiesced. He rolled up in his girlfriend’s SUV and I got in. We began the almost two hour drive to globe where he lived, and spent the ride catching up on old times. After about an hour he pulled the vehicle over at a rest stop and we got out. He pointed to a mountain in the distance. “What do you think about climbing that?” I love the idea! “I knew you would. That’s PicketPost Mountain. We’ll climb it tomorrow.” We got back in the car and headed to the native American reservation where his girlfriend worked to pick her up. She’s a nice girl, but she doesn’t like the effect I have on her boyfriend. My lifestyle doesn’t’ support traditionally functional relationships very well, and her very nature is anathema to mine. She is a bit neurotic, fearful of most things, and somewhat controlling (traditional relationship). Loth to me. I wish George and his relationship only the best, but my presence was clearly a strain. All I cared about though was seeing my buddy and keeping the peace, so I did my best not to bring up things that would exacerbate tensions. Like a new secret team-based adventure I was recruiting for that was still a couple years off (George was the first I recruited and I definitely wasn’t going to mention it to his lady.). “George gets all crazy when he reads your blogs or sees and talks to you. He stays up at night trying to tell me about the most recent ridiculous thing you’ve done. Then he gets ideas.” I think she was just worried that some of me was going to rub off on him (which it had), and take him away (which it was); I tried to console when I could. Despite how bad it sounds, they have a pretty good thing going (if you’re into that kind of thing), and they were just under some stress because George needed to buy his first car in the next couple of weeks before he headed out to Utah for his job. He was not excited to buy a car. I could see why. Not having ever bought or owned a car, I would like to keep it that way. That first night, the 3 of us just hung out and relaxed.
In the morning George and I set off for PicketPost Mountain. The mountain gets its name from a mailbox that’s at the top of the mountain. Inside are journals and adventurer’s logbooks that people have signed. We began climbing at around 9am, but it was so hot we decided to leave the trail and climb up the broad side in the shade. Much much more difficult, and therefore adventurous, and therefore fun. I spent the next few hours ascending in flip-flops (and sometimes barefoot) and getting my body pierced by agave cactuses.
Aaahh, the desert. I hate it. A bunch of sand to get everywhere, batter and blind you, but no ocean. In the daytime it’s too hot, and in the nighttime it’s too cold. It can’t support much life, but the life that it can support is spikey and poisonous and bitter about being there. It want’s everything to suffer and then get out. The desert is truly nature’s ghetto. That being said, it really can be beautiful.
After a few hours of light hearted frolicking we made it to the top. We celebrated the traditional “Nash-style” way, at least according to George. He had bought a coconut the night before, and proceeded to carry it up the mountain. So, in celebration, I chopped the coconut open (perfectly) and we drank it’s juicy innards in victory (Being George, he even took a video of the event).
Afterwards we had a bit of a rest and read through the adventurer’s logbooks. Normally people write a short sentence about the climb, wish everyone else goodwill, and sign and date the entry. One guy though, took up a whole page! He wrote this long diatribe about how humanity had become weak and lazy and how he was far and away the most manly person to have ever climbed the mountain. George said “man, this guy sounds like the type of guy that would climb up here later and look for his entry to see if anyone replied. We should write him a reply!” Which I did. On top of his entry, to the side, I wrote (not verbatim and far less eloquently, but this was the gist): ‘Dear Sir, while I agree with a number of your declarations, I must contest your claim that you are the manliest person to ever climb the mountain. On top of my separate accomplishments, I climbed the mountain in flip-flops and barefoot; upon my arrival at the top I chopped a coconut open with my bare hands. There is video evidence available on YouTube, and if you would fancy a proper man-off, contact me here: ~” That’s right, a man-off!
I love claiming the position of alpha male and then being the guy that has a tea pot with a little kitty and other such feminine whimsies. It’s funny.
After George and I got done signing the log proper, we began our descent, fully intending to say on the trail to avoid danger and getting lost. We may have been on the trail a grand total of 10 minutes before we somehow last it for good. I have no idea how, other than to say I’m Nash and we just kind of wandered away, even though we were actively trying to stay on it. While on the way down we harvested some prickly pears and a heart shaped prickly pear pad, to be eaten over the next couple of days. (Pro Tip: If you’re adding cactus pad to an omelet, cook it first and separately from the eggs, or it will turn your food to boogers.) We descended down numerous steep surfaces that made backtracking all but impossible, so we had no choice but to stay the course. After we were good and lost, we came upon another guy who was lost. He seemed attracted to our confidence and joined our party. At one point George was dangling flush against a cliff side saying “This isn’t the way! Don’t go this way!” I was in a tree, sure my way wasn’t correct either. I’m pretty certain our 3rd man quickly discovered we had no idea what we were doing. At one point he said “..Flip-flops? Nice. Wait! Are you Nash?” Yes. “I read your entry in the logbook!” At that point he began going through the stages of finding out about Nash, though he went through them all in about 10 minutes. At first he was fascinated and wanted to learn more, surprised I was even a real person. 10 minutes later he could not wait to escape from my presence. The beautiful part was that there was no escape, due to our location on the mountain, so for hours this guy had to put up with me and George talking about the most ridiculous things. At least we ran into him AFTER we got the genius idea to chop an agave stalk down. Now we know there’s no water in there… Leave No Trace!! We finally got down the mountain, made it back to George and his girlfriend’s place, and relaxed the night away.
The next day was spent casually kicking around globe, the town he lived in. I also discovered the town had all manner of eggnogs, which assured George and I gained considerable weight in the week I was there. At the town’s Tea/Coffee house I met George’s friend Eric, who is a fighter and boxing coach. George had told him all about me, so apparently he was excited to meet me. He was super nice, and invited me out to his boxing class, which I certainly wasn’t going to pass up. The class was good, and afterwards he and I engaged in some light sparring. His hands were as good as you would expect a boxer’s to be, and even caught me with a few good surprises, though I returned a few of my own. I don’t know how long our match lasted, but it was light when we started and dark when we finished. I had made a new friend. We talked for a while afterwards, and then George and I headed on our way.
One of the days George, his girl, and I went to Phoenix for the Arizona state fair. It was fun and featured the odd assortment of fried things and doodads that state fares are known for, but one thing that struck me as odd was the deep fried alligator’s tongue. Not because it existed, but because it existed there. Are there Alligator’s in Phoenix? Is there even water enough to sustain one? After the fair we went and had expensive sushi. Tasty. That night we rented and watched The Avengers.
Another day George and I spent playing outside like we normally do, in an abandoned baseball field. He showed me just how good he had become at slack lining (very good!) and we spent the day throwing Frisbee, boomerang (which took me about an hour to get), doing handstands, and napping in the grass. George also introduced me to an old book he had come across called the art of hand balancing. Not only it is an expertly crafted tutorial, but it’s also full of Nash-Style stories from the author, only written in 1920s English. Brilliant! On the way back from our play day we saw a havalina walking in a wash. Fascinating as they are, I know exactly how dangerous wild bovines can be.
One of my final days was spent rummaging through Globe’s “Pickle barrel Trading Post”, a crafty old store which I would say is the cultural center of the town. They had good craft things, which I intend to use later. At a Safeway we were mistaken for highschoolers! That made my day, since I don’t think I was said to look like a highschooler even when I was in high school.
Time flew, and the day of my departure arrived. I didn’t have to leave until late in the evening though, so on the way to dropping me off at the airport it was decided that they would stop and get George a car. “Shouldn’t take long.” Yeah, I knew that one. It took all day, even though George and his girl had picked out the car before we even got there. I thought it was funny that given George being an upstanding citizen with a job and work history that the car man said there was no positive spin they could put on him to make the creditors see him in a better light. What!? George having trouble getting financing? If that was the case with someone like him, what would happen if someone like me tried to get a car!? Good thing I have absolutely no interest in that sort of thing. As I watched the car man take pieces of George’s soul bit by bit over the course of many hours, the car man turned to me and said “we have coffee and tea in the back. Help yourself.” Haha! Don’t mind if I do. Over the course of the next several hours I made many trips to the coffee/tea area. While filling up my cup with a drink I would chat up the lady working the area while craftily and nonchalantly filling my pockets with tea bags and hot chocolate. I liberated a whole shipment of exotic beverages during that little car buying jaunt. In fact, it’s been some time since I actually purchased house tea. There’s always some hostel or car dealership or something that says “help yourself”. I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise. At the end of it all, George was the proud owner of a brand new car.
We all went out for celebratory sandwiches, courtesy of coupons from the car man. After the food George drove me to the airport. “You know, the first time I ever drove on my own was to pick you up from the airport, and the first time I ever drove my own car was to take you to the airport.” I thinks it’s interesting that memorable firsts in people’s lives can be linked with me. Who knows how many moments go by in someone’s life when you are privy to some first time/ significant event and you never know it? I heard it said that “Everybody is somebody’s somebody”. Woah.
George dropped me off and we parted ways in our characteristically care-free manor. Now it was up to me to navigate the Phoenix sky harbor, “friendliest airport in America.” Friendliest? If by friendliest they mean “handsy-est”, then yeah, I agree. I got “patted down” by a large black man. He started in on his big speech about “I’m going to touch you here, so on and so forth.” Just go, I said, it’s not my first time at the rodeo. “Mine either. That’s why you WILL listen to this.” Ok. What followed was the most vigorous public fondling I have ever received. It was like being forced to participate in my own raping. Friendliest indeed.
The rest of the flight was uneventful, save for being in the middle seat again; this time between two people who may have pooped their pants.
I had climbed a mountain in flip-flops, seen an old friend, made a new one through the martial arts, eaten a lot, and challenged a stranger to a competition of manliness. Not a bad way to spend a week, I’d say. Typical week in the life of Nash.
-Nash
“Slow and steady wins the race… except in races.” -George
George told me we were going to do some hiking, so I thought I might actually bring some supplies. I asked him what I should bring. “Well, something you’re comfortable hiking and mountain climbing in. So, if you’re name is Nash, that means flip-flops.” Flip-flops is exactly what I brought. I would have brought some other things as well, but airport security is still having a power trip, so anything practical, and therefore pointy, was out. The flight wasn’t too bad, as far as flights go. As the plane was loading with people a rather pretty Chinese girl asked if she could trade me seats, so she could sit next to a Chinese guy who I’d assume was her boyfriend. I was feeling especially chivalrous and thought “well, one seat is just as good as the next, right?”, so I traded her. Traded her my secluded window seat, and before I knew it I was in a middle seat. The middle is the worst of the worst. I was sat between a morbidly obese woman and a gargoyle, the periphery surrounded by babies. Really, an unpleasant situation. I glanced over at the Chinese girl enjoying propping her head against the window and having access to an armrest. Bitch. This gave claim to the pessimist saying of “No good deed goes unpunished.” I spent the majority of the flight fighting against this obese woman’s cascading fat rolls for the armrest. It was like an avalanche of cookie-dough filled garbage bags had decided to claim the plane, starting with that armrest. I wasn’t backing down though. I fought valiantly the entire trip, and I’m pretty sure this lady had no idea her right side was even engaged in battle. Gross.
Once I made it to Phoenix I waited on George to pick me up. He had just got his driver’s license a couple weeks prior. He had never needed it before since he was always somewhere with good public transport. Arizona and Utah are not those kinds of places though. After a good 27 year stint without one, he acquiesced. He rolled up in his girlfriend’s SUV and I got in. We began the almost two hour drive to globe where he lived, and spent the ride catching up on old times. After about an hour he pulled the vehicle over at a rest stop and we got out. He pointed to a mountain in the distance. “What do you think about climbing that?” I love the idea! “I knew you would. That’s PicketPost Mountain. We’ll climb it tomorrow.” We got back in the car and headed to the native American reservation where his girlfriend worked to pick her up. She’s a nice girl, but she doesn’t like the effect I have on her boyfriend. My lifestyle doesn’t’ support traditionally functional relationships very well, and her very nature is anathema to mine. She is a bit neurotic, fearful of most things, and somewhat controlling (traditional relationship). Loth to me. I wish George and his relationship only the best, but my presence was clearly a strain. All I cared about though was seeing my buddy and keeping the peace, so I did my best not to bring up things that would exacerbate tensions. Like a new secret team-based adventure I was recruiting for that was still a couple years off (George was the first I recruited and I definitely wasn’t going to mention it to his lady.). “George gets all crazy when he reads your blogs or sees and talks to you. He stays up at night trying to tell me about the most recent ridiculous thing you’ve done. Then he gets ideas.” I think she was just worried that some of me was going to rub off on him (which it had), and take him away (which it was); I tried to console when I could. Despite how bad it sounds, they have a pretty good thing going (if you’re into that kind of thing), and they were just under some stress because George needed to buy his first car in the next couple of weeks before he headed out to Utah for his job. He was not excited to buy a car. I could see why. Not having ever bought or owned a car, I would like to keep it that way. That first night, the 3 of us just hung out and relaxed.
In the morning George and I set off for PicketPost Mountain. The mountain gets its name from a mailbox that’s at the top of the mountain. Inside are journals and adventurer’s logbooks that people have signed. We began climbing at around 9am, but it was so hot we decided to leave the trail and climb up the broad side in the shade. Much much more difficult, and therefore adventurous, and therefore fun. I spent the next few hours ascending in flip-flops (and sometimes barefoot) and getting my body pierced by agave cactuses.
Aaahh, the desert. I hate it. A bunch of sand to get everywhere, batter and blind you, but no ocean. In the daytime it’s too hot, and in the nighttime it’s too cold. It can’t support much life, but the life that it can support is spikey and poisonous and bitter about being there. It want’s everything to suffer and then get out. The desert is truly nature’s ghetto. That being said, it really can be beautiful.
After a few hours of light hearted frolicking we made it to the top. We celebrated the traditional “Nash-style” way, at least according to George. He had bought a coconut the night before, and proceeded to carry it up the mountain. So, in celebration, I chopped the coconut open (perfectly) and we drank it’s juicy innards in victory (Being George, he even took a video of the event).
Afterwards we had a bit of a rest and read through the adventurer’s logbooks. Normally people write a short sentence about the climb, wish everyone else goodwill, and sign and date the entry. One guy though, took up a whole page! He wrote this long diatribe about how humanity had become weak and lazy and how he was far and away the most manly person to have ever climbed the mountain. George said “man, this guy sounds like the type of guy that would climb up here later and look for his entry to see if anyone replied. We should write him a reply!” Which I did. On top of his entry, to the side, I wrote (not verbatim and far less eloquently, but this was the gist): ‘Dear Sir, while I agree with a number of your declarations, I must contest your claim that you are the manliest person to ever climb the mountain. On top of my separate accomplishments, I climbed the mountain in flip-flops and barefoot; upon my arrival at the top I chopped a coconut open with my bare hands. There is video evidence available on YouTube, and if you would fancy a proper man-off, contact me here: ~” That’s right, a man-off!
I love claiming the position of alpha male and then being the guy that has a tea pot with a little kitty and other such feminine whimsies. It’s funny.
After George and I got done signing the log proper, we began our descent, fully intending to say on the trail to avoid danger and getting lost. We may have been on the trail a grand total of 10 minutes before we somehow last it for good. I have no idea how, other than to say I’m Nash and we just kind of wandered away, even though we were actively trying to stay on it. While on the way down we harvested some prickly pears and a heart shaped prickly pear pad, to be eaten over the next couple of days. (Pro Tip: If you’re adding cactus pad to an omelet, cook it first and separately from the eggs, or it will turn your food to boogers.) We descended down numerous steep surfaces that made backtracking all but impossible, so we had no choice but to stay the course. After we were good and lost, we came upon another guy who was lost. He seemed attracted to our confidence and joined our party. At one point George was dangling flush against a cliff side saying “This isn’t the way! Don’t go this way!” I was in a tree, sure my way wasn’t correct either. I’m pretty certain our 3rd man quickly discovered we had no idea what we were doing. At one point he said “..Flip-flops? Nice. Wait! Are you Nash?” Yes. “I read your entry in the logbook!” At that point he began going through the stages of finding out about Nash, though he went through them all in about 10 minutes. At first he was fascinated and wanted to learn more, surprised I was even a real person. 10 minutes later he could not wait to escape from my presence. The beautiful part was that there was no escape, due to our location on the mountain, so for hours this guy had to put up with me and George talking about the most ridiculous things. At least we ran into him AFTER we got the genius idea to chop an agave stalk down. Now we know there’s no water in there… Leave No Trace!! We finally got down the mountain, made it back to George and his girlfriend’s place, and relaxed the night away.
The next day was spent casually kicking around globe, the town he lived in. I also discovered the town had all manner of eggnogs, which assured George and I gained considerable weight in the week I was there. At the town’s Tea/Coffee house I met George’s friend Eric, who is a fighter and boxing coach. George had told him all about me, so apparently he was excited to meet me. He was super nice, and invited me out to his boxing class, which I certainly wasn’t going to pass up. The class was good, and afterwards he and I engaged in some light sparring. His hands were as good as you would expect a boxer’s to be, and even caught me with a few good surprises, though I returned a few of my own. I don’t know how long our match lasted, but it was light when we started and dark when we finished. I had made a new friend. We talked for a while afterwards, and then George and I headed on our way.
One of the days George, his girl, and I went to Phoenix for the Arizona state fair. It was fun and featured the odd assortment of fried things and doodads that state fares are known for, but one thing that struck me as odd was the deep fried alligator’s tongue. Not because it existed, but because it existed there. Are there Alligator’s in Phoenix? Is there even water enough to sustain one? After the fair we went and had expensive sushi. Tasty. That night we rented and watched The Avengers.
Another day George and I spent playing outside like we normally do, in an abandoned baseball field. He showed me just how good he had become at slack lining (very good!) and we spent the day throwing Frisbee, boomerang (which took me about an hour to get), doing handstands, and napping in the grass. George also introduced me to an old book he had come across called the art of hand balancing. Not only it is an expertly crafted tutorial, but it’s also full of Nash-Style stories from the author, only written in 1920s English. Brilliant! On the way back from our play day we saw a havalina walking in a wash. Fascinating as they are, I know exactly how dangerous wild bovines can be.
One of my final days was spent rummaging through Globe’s “Pickle barrel Trading Post”, a crafty old store which I would say is the cultural center of the town. They had good craft things, which I intend to use later. At a Safeway we were mistaken for highschoolers! That made my day, since I don’t think I was said to look like a highschooler even when I was in high school.
Time flew, and the day of my departure arrived. I didn’t have to leave until late in the evening though, so on the way to dropping me off at the airport it was decided that they would stop and get George a car. “Shouldn’t take long.” Yeah, I knew that one. It took all day, even though George and his girl had picked out the car before we even got there. I thought it was funny that given George being an upstanding citizen with a job and work history that the car man said there was no positive spin they could put on him to make the creditors see him in a better light. What!? George having trouble getting financing? If that was the case with someone like him, what would happen if someone like me tried to get a car!? Good thing I have absolutely no interest in that sort of thing. As I watched the car man take pieces of George’s soul bit by bit over the course of many hours, the car man turned to me and said “we have coffee and tea in the back. Help yourself.” Haha! Don’t mind if I do. Over the course of the next several hours I made many trips to the coffee/tea area. While filling up my cup with a drink I would chat up the lady working the area while craftily and nonchalantly filling my pockets with tea bags and hot chocolate. I liberated a whole shipment of exotic beverages during that little car buying jaunt. In fact, it’s been some time since I actually purchased house tea. There’s always some hostel or car dealership or something that says “help yourself”. I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise. At the end of it all, George was the proud owner of a brand new car.
We all went out for celebratory sandwiches, courtesy of coupons from the car man. After the food George drove me to the airport. “You know, the first time I ever drove on my own was to pick you up from the airport, and the first time I ever drove my own car was to take you to the airport.” I thinks it’s interesting that memorable firsts in people’s lives can be linked with me. Who knows how many moments go by in someone’s life when you are privy to some first time/ significant event and you never know it? I heard it said that “Everybody is somebody’s somebody”. Woah.
George dropped me off and we parted ways in our characteristically care-free manor. Now it was up to me to navigate the Phoenix sky harbor, “friendliest airport in America.” Friendliest? If by friendliest they mean “handsy-est”, then yeah, I agree. I got “patted down” by a large black man. He started in on his big speech about “I’m going to touch you here, so on and so forth.” Just go, I said, it’s not my first time at the rodeo. “Mine either. That’s why you WILL listen to this.” Ok. What followed was the most vigorous public fondling I have ever received. It was like being forced to participate in my own raping. Friendliest indeed.
The rest of the flight was uneventful, save for being in the middle seat again; this time between two people who may have pooped their pants.
I had climbed a mountain in flip-flops, seen an old friend, made a new one through the martial arts, eaten a lot, and challenged a stranger to a competition of manliness. Not a bad way to spend a week, I’d say. Typical week in the life of Nash.
-Nash
“Slow and steady wins the race… except in races.” -George