Tangled up in blues

Yesterday didn't turn out like I expected although it started beautifully. K and I headed up high early, catching a view of the golden hue of sunrise reflecting onto the snowy mountains to our west.
The warm sun still glowed on us, and we turned our faces to the sky to feel its warmth.
Because I was in a playful mood, we stopped to use the timer on my camera for a joint photo.
The mountains behind us were gorgeous but didn't show up in our photo.
Yesterday, I dropped K at home, and headed out for a brief ride. At one point, I was pedaling back onto someone's private property. I know the person and have permission to ride on his land, as long as I don't bring other people or let people see me using it. Basically, he doesn't want it to become a public trail. The funny part was that, as I rode through wearing my blaze orange jacket, a person walked into view along the road. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. The only strategy that I could think of was to freeze, but I was wearing that darn jacket. Believe it or not, the person walked within 20 yards of me and didn't notice me, just because I was still. It truly makes me wonder how many tan or brown animals we forest-visitors pass close by without a clue.

As I rode, the clouds gathered over the mountains, seemingly portending the day ahead of me.
After my ride, I drove to my spine doctor's office. After my initial exam, he was alarmed, to put it mildly. He ended up spending 2 hours with me, using his office's imaging equipment to figure out if he had a true emergency on his hands. In the end, he decided that although my physical exam was atrocious (strength losses, asymmetrical reflexes, patches with no feeling on hands and legs), I probably wasn't in immediate danger despite the bone spurs protruding toward my spinal cord in my neck. He ordered expedited MRIs of my entire spine, and we'll go from there.

I go to this particular doctor because he's a proponent of avoiding surgery whenever possible although he won't shy away from it if a patient is in danger. His last words to me yesterday were that I might have progressed beyond the point where conservative management (i.e., no surgery) was even on the table as an option. Coming from him, that's a shocking statement.

You can imagine that I was crushed, completely and utterly crushed. Moreover, within an hour after his exam, every pain flared up, probably due to the strength and flexibility tests that I'd just done. Last night wasn't one of my better ones.

This morning, K and I stuck to our routine, heading out for a ride. I was cranky, to say the least. But, within a few minutes, we saw the biggest deer buck that I've seen in our area in years. His antlers towered above his head, and the muscles rippled in his neck. After calling back K, we watched him, frozen in place, in the midst of the forest. My photos turned out blurry, due to the dark light and dense fog. But, it was a special moment.

We stopped two different places, hoping to see the mountains through a break in the clouds but it was not to be. So, I gazed at my worried K in the fog.
And, she guarded my bike while I tried to discern mountains on the horizon.
I did smile when K sprinted enthusiastically through snow, churning it into the air.
After I dropped off K and started my solo ride, I realized that I was focused on my inner landscape rather than the world around me. I consciously tried to be here and now, enjoying nature rather than stewing inside my own mind. I noticed a Red Squirrel perched atop a boulder working on a Ponderosa Pine cone. He diligently ripped it apart while keeping one eye on me. I took out my camera for a photo.
Just after I snapped the photo above, a gray and white hawk gracefully swooped out of a nearby tree, attempting to snag the squirrel in his talons. Just after the swoop, the squirrel had vanished and some debris floated in the air where the squirrel had sat, either fur or feathers ripped from their moorings.

Then, I heard scratching and saw movement in a dead tree behind the boulder. After scrambling for a view, I spotted a Northern Goshawk perched on the tree skeleton, with no squirrel in his grasp. I wasn't fast enough to snap a photo before he flapped away and out of sight. I borrowed someone else's photo which is shown below.
I stood rooted in place, wanting to know if the squirrel was OK. I felt partially responsible. After all, I distracted him so that the hawk could attack. After a few minutes, my squirrel scampered from under the boulder, quickly grabbed the remainder of his cone, and leaped back to safety. Whew. I didn't inadvertently cause his injury or death. My conscience couldn't have handled that weight today.

I often wonder about my accidental effects as I wander through the forest, scaring up animals and doubtless affecting the behavior of others who I don't see. One day, I scared up a mother grouse and almost grown-up babies. Then, about a quarter mile later, I saw a human grouse hunter. I worried about whether my passage had started a cascade of events that led to one of the grouse being killed. I didn't hear a shot so I doubt it. However, the rippling effects of my travels must have profound consequences on some days.

For the rest of my ride, despite my fervent efforts to focus on the forest, I mostly turned inward rather than outward, so I missed any interesting nature stories that might have been along my route. Looking back, I feel like I was riding in a fog. In fact, I was!
When I was younger, I always thought that someday I'd turn a corner and life would become easy. It hasn't happened. But, through my travails, which I know pale in comparison to those faced by many other people, I have learned to seize the day and enjoy good moments to their fullest. That's one good consequence of having had 8 major surgeries already in my life and possibly facing another. Carpe diem.

Powerless but still enjoying nature

Early this morning, K soaked up the sun's rays while patiently waiting for her sleepy and slothful human to head out into the world.
Once I got myself moving, I spent another peaceful morning in our mountains, pedaling through nature. For reasons that elude me, my body still refuses to respond when try to ride hard. When I press the accelerator, nothing happens. My legs don't hurt, and I don't get out of breath. I simply have no extra power. It started after S's death so I'm guessing that it's a case of a sad heart.

As we rolled off our property, K sprinted, nose to the ground, with fierce urgency. When I checked our wildlife camera, I discovered why. Our habitual visitor, Charles the coyote, spent more than a half hour hunting near our bird feeders at about 2 AM this morning. Here, it looks like we caught him howling! He's a gorgeous animal, and I'm happy to have him share our territory.
The start of my ride with K was sunny and warm - classic summertime riding. We rolled along and decided to explore a route that's caught my eye many times as a potential trail route. We started down a meadow toward a gulch (and, as usual, there was a faint trail) when K startled, as if someone was nearby. I've learned to heed K's warnings, since her senses of hearing and smell dwarf mine, so we returned to the main trail. I later figured out from tracks that a biking friend had swooped by on the trail while we explored. His passage was probably what startled K. While we were deep in a pine forest, the world metamorphosed from a sunny summer day to a dark chilly day. The mountains, which had been surrounded by clear blue sky minutes before, had clouds fighting to engulf them.And, a faraway mountain looked surreal, with a rosy hue imbued by the changing clouds and sun.Later in my ride, I spotted a spectacular blooming bush, the Western Chokecherry (Padus virginiana), with eye-catching racemes of tiny flowers.Each flower looks so delicate that it's mind-boggling to imagine them surviving a fierce mountain storm. A blossom has an intricate architecture that makes it almost impossible for a visiting bee or hummingbird to drink nectar without getting a dusting of pollen from the ring of pollen-exuding anthers, that look like small spheres on the ends of thin antennae, surrounding the center of the flower. Then, the visitor almost undoubtedly brushes pollen into the central pistil of that flower or another one. After pollination, the flowers become clusters of dark red cherries. Amazingly, every aspect of this plant, except the fruit flesh, is poisonous. Yet, animals rely on the fruit for calories.I didn't linger at the beautiful and sweet-smelling bush because thunder rumbled in the distance. I hurried home, outracing the storms, which haven't yet exploded with their fury.

A bit later, we noticed a baby red squirrel, less than half the size of an adult and looking fetal, hunkered down in the pine needles, alive but unmoving. He'd probably fallen out of his tree nest which we spotted in a nearby Lodgepole Pine. We kept our eye on him for a while, and then purposely stayed far away so that his mom could retrieve him, if possible. We saw her searching the area as we watched from a window. He indeed disappeared, and for the sake of my heart, I'm going to assume that he's safely back in his nest, curled up with his siblings, and suckling his mom's milk.
Life is precarious and precious. Sometimes we're powerless in the face of nature's whims but life is worth embracing anyway.