Snow and desert

I saw my oncologist yesterday. He says that my PET scan showed that some lymph nodes in my chest are hyperactive or "hot" -  a characteristic of cancer cells and abnormal cells. He thinks that it's "probably not lymphoma" but did some blood tests as another check. If those tests are normal, then he'll follow me for the next 6 months to make sure that those lymph nodes and lung nodules don't grow. If they stay stable, that'll be great news. In the meantime, I also have to consult an expert on autoimmune diseases since they can cause lymph node and lung pathologies.

I feel as if I should be very happy that it's "probably not lymphoma". As I snowbiked out of our clearing with K this morning, I glimpsed blue sky in between snow-laden pine trees and focused on it to try to chase away the gloom.

I also played with K and tried to share her enthusiasm for the day. In the photo below, she was very curious about something up in a tree, and her bipedal antics made me smile.

Yet, despite my best efforts, I kept feeling gloomy and seeing the darker tinge in every scene.

Perhaps it's the loose ends have me unsettled. The word "probably", the blood tests, the need to watch for growth of bad things inside me for the next half year, and the specter of an autoimmune disease. Or, perhaps I'm simply emotionally exhausted. I'm not sure what it is - but I certainly don't feel the happiness that I expected. I hope that the incredible joy of living returns soon.

As an antidote for gloominess, I thought that I'd tell you about one of my favorite desert mountain bike rides that I took last week. The memories might help me! And, perhaps you'll enjoy hearing about it.

Near the middle of last week in the Moab area, I started my ride, as I almost always do, with K by my side. I admired how the red rocks complemented her rusty chocolate fur.

We headed up a slickrock slope, an apron for a huge butte off to our right, and K charged ahead. I had to ask her to "wait" before she disappeared over the top. She stood like a statue on the horizon.

We paused together at the apex of the slope to enjoy the view of the gargantuan rocky sculptures that dwarfed us.

Because I don't take K on super long mountain bike rides anymore, we soon returned to camp so that she could ride in the Labmobile to meet me at our next destination. I had the pleasure of doing a point-to-point mountain bike ride to meet the rest of the pack at our next campsite.

I set out again, with the goal of circumnavigating a huge rocky and sandy canyon before slipping through a slot in the cliffs to travel over to a nearby canyon where we planned to camp next. I took one last long look down the canyon where we'd camped for a couple of days. It's one of my favorite places in the Moab area.

After more uphill pedaling, I soon left the slickrock and started through the sand. Snowbiking has improved my "sandbiking" skills immensely so I could ride even in the loose sand. I saw no one else during my entire ride... so my shadow was my only companion!

Near the top of the canyon, I climbed out of the sand and onto the rocky apron of a hulking butte that sits prominently on a hill. As I rode, I heard birds twittering and noticed some yellow leaves. I spotted something that looked like a mirage - a small pond in the desert left over from a recent rain. It was an oasis for numerous birds flitting about so rapidly that I couldn't identify them.

After reflecting on the miracle of a pond in a desert, I pedaled around a gorgeous butte that's shaped like a huge ocean liner. There was absolutely nobody else around, a rarity near this butte. My bike looked like a child's toy at the base of the butte.

I swooped and sped along it's base, and then I looked back over my shoulder to see red rock and snow in one view.

To slip through the slot to the next canyon, I rode past a cluster of towers known as "Determination Towers". I've always thought that their name is appropriate because pedaling through the sand to get to them requires amazing determination!

I made it, and I pedaled through the magic door that led to the adjacent canyons. The adjacent canyons are also known as "washes", which means that torrents of water course down them when intense rainstorms hit the area. It was clear that a big storm had filled the washes with water recently.

I met the pack in a dry part of one of these canyons where we camped under skeletons of Cottonwood Trees and played on slickrock.

We watched the sun set over the cliffs as another day in the desert ended.