One of the best parts about getting outside is the dwelling there. Sure, it’s nice to have a stable shelter over your head. A warm shower every now and then. The four-burner stove and refrigerator and comfy bed in my apartment go a long way. But there’s something to be said for setting up camp, both the short- and long-term kind. It’s fun to cook sizzling bacon on a camp stove (moi, at right, makin’ bacon) and roast marshmallows over an open flame. I’ve been vehicle camping on these last few road trips, and even though this has kept me from venturing too far off of the beaten path, I’ve felt way closer to the rock and dirt of living than I do in my Vail, Colorado studio apartment.
On a recent trip to Indian Creek, Utah I camped with a few others on the road near Hamburger Rock. Each of us had a different camp plan. Jim and Arita had the family camp going on, with two tents and a superstar six-year-old who slept in one of them:
Jay and Mandy camped out of their truck, which has a pop-top camper shell. This thing was very house-like, with a refrigerator and freezer, a two-burner stove (both propane fueled), and a spacious sleeping space:
I just parked my van…
…and bundled up in my sleeping bag on the pull-out bed/seat.
This vehicle was made for camping and has many fun features, including a table that pops out for dinner parties and several storage compartments that help me stay organized on the road.
The social aspects of this type of camping generally center around the campfire. Thankfully, Jay and Mandy brought some wood—and dessert. The sweet treat was a banana, partially unpeeled, with Rolo chocolates stuck in between banana slices. We wrapped them up in aluminum foil and set them on hot coals to melt. And within a few minutes, we had a gooey dessert that rivaled the best S’mores out there.
Dog days. The phrase usually refers to the longest days of the year. Those hot, sticky summer ones when the sun shines on late into the evening. When Sirius—the Dog Star—once rose with the sun. But now, the days are getting shorter, and I find myself still trying to hold on to the summer as long as possible. Don’t get me wrong—I love winter. I live in a ski town, so I get my fair share of the snow. But I’m not ready to shovel myself down the stairs in the morning. Not just yet. My efforts to keep winter at bay have involved making a few recent road trips to Utah, where the sun still burns against the red rock faces and where it’s still possible to go out rock climbing in a tank top. 
I’ve never been disappointed by books from the Best American Series. As Houghton Mifflin says, this series is “the original showcase for the year’s finest writing since 1915.” And since these publications were released last month, this is an exciting time of the year for good reading. Although the series includes a number of books (best travel writing, best essays, best short stories, best non-required reading, best recipes?!), I tend to go for its Best American Science and Nature Writing, being the nature buff that I am. In this year’s edition, the topics range from psychology and biology to carbon footprints and electronic waste. Readers will find a lot of hope in these essays about developments in medicine, technology, and science. But, as most of the essays on topics of nature and environment reveal, we need more than hope to solve the global environmental crisis. Ultimately, these essays offer readers the information they need to begin making more informed choices about things such as waste disposal and carbon emissions, for starters. The only hope is in this area is that we start making more of the positive changes now, with this new information fresh on our fingertips. Final word: These writers exude passion for their subjects, and the essays they write will wow readers into a rapt state of reverence for all of the awe and wonder in the natural world. 
A few days ago, I returned from a four-day/five-night camping and rock climbing adventure in sunny Utah. But as I was unloading my gear back home in Vail, Colorado, it started to snow. The snowstorm ended up being the first big storm of the season here in Colorado, blanketing the hills and finally covering the ski slopes. I can’t say I’m much amused. Yet. In order to prolong my denial that winter’s fast approaching, I’m devoting this post to the sunny skies I just returned from in Utah. To days out climbing in a tank top with the sun on my back. To golden desert sunsets. And lizards, and other creatures who can’t deal with the cold. 
Working for the weekend? You’re not alone. Being a bit more restless than usual, I’ve been plotting weekend getaways like no other. Since my first autumn trip out to Utah’s canyonlands two weekends ago, I’ve been making plans to return. This time, for an extended weekend getaway. So for the next five nights, I’ll be out of cell phone range, out of email range, out of warm shower range. I’ll be camping in one of the places I love most in this world: Indian Creek, Utah. Indian Creek is about 45 minutes by car southwest of Moab. It’s perhaps best known by rock climbers of the trad variety. Canyon after canyon of perfect Wingate Sandstone splitters rise out of the red dirt here. Coyotes howl at night.
Mike Roselle teams up with Josh Mahan to write Tree Spiker, the latest in the area of nonfiction enviro-action-adventure (if such a category exists?). This book’s lengthy subtitle—From Earth First! to Lowbagging: My Struggles in Radical Environmental Action—gives a good overview of its contents. Roselle’s tactics as an environmental activist make him loved by some and despised by others. This man has stood his ground in front of charging bulldozers to prevent the logging of old growth forests. He’s been involved in high-profile protests against acid rain and crook timber lords, hanging banners from Mount Rushmore and the Golden Gate Bridge, respectively. And as one might expect, he’s been arrested many, many times. The co-founder of Rainforest Action Network, Earth First!, and the Ruckus Society, Roselle has devoted his life to environmental causes, and this book takes a good look at the trajectory of his (sometimes) dangerous yet purposeful career. Roselle’s been around long enough to see protests turn violent and witness a new breed of eco-terrorists in action. But in Tree Spiker, he explains why he ultimately supports environmental protest that remains rooted in the tradition of nonviolent, civil disobedience. Roselle writes with environmental journalist Josh Mahan to produce this book that will be at home on the shelves of every muckraking, monkey-wrenching nature lover out there, and it will certainly inspire many of its readers to action. 
You’re either a re-visitor, or you’re not. Edward Abbey was a re-visitor. He returned to Utah’s deserts season after season to work as a park ranger at Arches National Monument, before it turned into “Arches Natural Money-mint,” as Abbey calls it in his Desert Solitaire polemic on industrial tourism. I’m a re-visitor, too, meaning that every once in a while a place gets stuck in my consciousness, and then I dream of returning to it again, and again, and again. There’s Trof, my favorite diner in Manchester, England. Otto, my favorite pizza joint where I hang out with my sister in New York City. Mount Sanitas, my favorite hike/trail run in Boulder. MBC, my favorite micro brasserie in Chamonix, France. And then, on a much grander scale, there’s Utah’s canyon country. 
Title: The Fallen Sky // Author: 
Well, here I am back in Vail, Colorado. I’ve nearly unpacked all of the things I stuffed into a storage unit for the summer and am slowly working my way through a mound of mail that accumulated in my absence. When I found a check for $148.00 with a “void after 90 days” stamp on it, I wished I had made an effort to put someone in charge of my mail while I was away, as it’s beyond the 90-day limit on that one. The guy who sublet my apartment kept it in great shape, and the guy I asked to look after The Old Lady kept her running. For those of you who don’t know, The Old Lady is my 1970 Volkswagen van. Mostly, this vehicle gives me fits. But I’m attached and can’t bear to get rid of it. Lately, The Old Lady has been running pretty well, but it has ongoing electrical and fuel system issues. I started it the other day, put on my headlights, threw it in neutral, and hopped out to see if my taillights were working properly. But when I walked around to the rear of the vehicle, I saw gasoline (!) spewing out from somewhere, forming a glossy puddle on the black pavement. I switched her off ASAP and walked over to The Vail Garage to consult Peter, my mechanic. The photos will help illustrate how I ended up getting The Old Lady to the garage:
I’m back in Vail, Colorado now after spending the summer in Chamonix, France. Overall, it was a good and productive summer of writing, collaborating with others, climbing, biking, exploring, etc. I spent four days during my last week in the Alps climbing from the Envers des Aiguilles hut with Kristy, Mark, and Cedric. Kristy had been planning this trip all summer, and I must say that it was more than a fantastic way to spend a final week in the place I love. Cedric and I sport climbed a bit below the hut after our hike in on the first day, and then we all set out together the next day to climb a route called La Piège, on the Tour Verte (2670m)—pictured at right. Kristy and I climbed together with the guys ahead of us, but both teams had difficulty route finding, and Kristy and I ended up on the summit with them just a pitch behind. Here’s Kristy, relaxing on top:
