Day 7 – Chaco Canyon

feet chaco

It’s been a week now since I left on this grand adventure. I had expected to blog every other day or so, but it isn’t working out that way. Either I can’t get a signal on the phone or the wi-fi in the hotel is wonky or non-existent.

Today we were at Chaco Canyon. Maybe later I can write about it, but right now I’m still digesting all that has happened. It’s been good – all good.  I’m very tired, but happy.

Day 1: Ona to San Diego

Today was the day of hurry up and wait. My flight out of Yeager Airport wasn’t until 5:15. From there I spent approximately 3 hours getting to Dallas and then another 3 hours getting to San Diego with 2 hours of sitting around time at the first two airports.

Both flights just dragged, I think because I’m keyed up and excited. On the last flight, in particular, whole geologic eras would pass only for my watch to indicate 5 minutes.

But I’m here now. My plane finally landed at midnight my time, 9:00 California time. San Diego is bigger than I realized. I’m in a cute bed & breakfast. I’ve unleashed the foot from the ace bandage and am sprawled on the bed. I’m exhausted, but too wired to sleep.

Tomorrow we’re going to the farmer’s market, Old Town, and capping the day off with Ethiopian food.

The cast of characters have assembled – good times ahead.



Oh for Pete’s sake. . .

brokenfootSo, of course I broke my foot four days before I leave for the Great Southwest Ash Dash. It’s almost appropriate given HMO’Keefe’s interest in bone.

Last night was rough. I was in a lot of pain and certain I would have to cancel. I was bereft beyond words and under the influence of hydrocodone. It was not a pretty sight.

So the breaking of the foot is not even an interesting story. I merely stepped on my right foot wrong, wobbled, caught myself and then gaped in astonishment as my foot exploded into fiery pain. I hobbled about a bit until it was clear something was really wrong. My mom dragged me into the nearest doc-in-a-box where they pronounced me broken, sent me home with pain pills, crutches and dire warnings about putting any weight on my foot.

Last night was just awful.

This morning I saw the cutie-pie doc that did the three foot surgeries following my car accident. He’s a bona fide sweetie, nice to look at it, and a really caring guy not to mention competent. You can’t ask for more in a doc other than looking older than 12. He’s nearly my age and looks like he’s skipping school and hanging out in an orthopedic practice.

He tells me that I was lucky. The fractured bone usually completely separates in these types of fractures and he has to pin it back on. I didn’t separate. Consequently, I’m in an ace bandage and walking boot with news that once the swelling goes down, I’ll feel a whole lot better. The really good news is that the swelling should abate before I get on the plane. Yes, I can still go although I won’t get to wear my spiffy new hiking boots and the suitcase needs to be re-packed to accommodate my needs-based itinerary of lots of sitting.

My co-travelers are being real troopers about my limited trooping ability. I’ve been blessed with some really wonderful people in my life. So the epic trip now has a heroine with an obstacle as all good epics must.