Blowout: Tallies of the American West Item Type text; Electronic Thesis Authors Wicker, Thomas Aaron Publisher The University of Arizona. Rights Copyright © is held by the author. Digital access to this material is made possible by the University Libraries, University of Arizona. Further transmission, reproduction or presentation (such as public display or performance) of protected items is prohibited except with permission of the author. Download date 27/09/2021 20:10:24 Item License http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/ Link to Item http://hdl.handle.net/10150/322084 Abstract Blowout: Tallies of the American West is a work of creative nonfiction that details the author’s 108-day journey across western North America during the summer of 2013. The narrative is delivered as a series of small stories, each denoted by a tally number from the notebook the author carried in his pocket every minute of the journey. Some of the most notable counts include 11,423 miles traveled by car, 485 miles hiked, 22 national parks, 7 bears, and 357 items tallied. The story focuses largely on the social aspects of the modern wilderness experience. While its tone is light-hearted and its action is fast-paced, Blowout covers a wide range of themes, including adventure, relationships, the environment, and personal growth. Wicker 1 Backflips onto Jagged Rocks: 1 To the right of the trail is a waterfall. It flows from a gap in the red and brown walls of the canyon, tumbling into a turquoise pool that we can barely make out through the mist. There is no sign and no trail, but a faint line on our map indicates the name Navajo Falls. After a quick discussion, the five of us decide we haven’t backpacked 10 miles into the Grand Canyon to not explore every waterfall. Brian leads the way across the slope toward the water. He is usually the one at the back of the group saying, “Guys, I don’t think this is a good idea,” but the fine spray floating around us puts all those thoughts out of mind. While the route is unclear, we have all scrambled our ways across more perilous slopes before. We don’t even have to go up or down, but only move horizontally about 100 feet across a rough rock outcropping. Brian places the hands at the ends of his long arms carefully, and slowly sets each Teva in the appropriate foothold. Toward the top of the last section of rocks is a small white object. When we climb just beneath it, we discover the whiteness is a wooden cross, no larger than foot tall, with a cluster of cream and yellow flowers at its base. The photo of a young Supai girl is set in the center of the cross. Travis leans in and reads the inscription aloud: “In Loving Memory.” Hmm, I think, already taking my next step forward. I don’t have time to stop and contemplate the face of the girl with the curly hair. I’m sure something happened here that made people sad enough to place the cross, but I can think about that later. The waterfall is waiting. We continue moving toward the water without another word. Brian places his hands on the ledge below the cross to lower himself down. His body dips beneath the edge, and he reaches his toe down toward an outcropping on the wall below. He misses. Wicker 2 Brian’s body lurches downward, his foot shaking for a hold and coming down on nothing. He loses his grip on the shelf, and his still-upright body falls briefly until his feet land on the point of a rock protruding from the wall. His knees bend, and he reaches his hands out toward the wall; but it’s too late, because he’s lost the brief hope of balance, and the weight of his upper body pulls him backwards. Brian’s head falls back into the air behind, his feet kicking out toward the wall. As his upper body continues plummeting, a rock jutting out from the wall collides with the back of his knees, sending his legs over his head, and turning Brian into a full backflip a dozen feet above the ground. ********* Wicker 3 Mountaintop Ices: 1 “To the start of a true journey, filled with the best people and the best places this continent has to offer!” I twist open the top of the Andre champagne bottle, and with a pop, foam flows over my hand. Five of my closest friends clap as I raise the bottle to my lips. After a long swig, I pass it off to my girlfriend, Danielle, and clap for her too. As the bottle makes its way around the circle, I turn my head and take a long look at the surrounding landscape. It is day one, and we are at the top of Picacho Peak, a 1,500 foot spike of rock rising from the Sonoran Desert north of Tucson, Arizona. In every direction, the valley floor is filled with the iconic saguaro cactus, which I know I will not see again for the next fourteen weeks. After we come down the mountain, I’ll be taking my Chevy Cobalt north and west, beginning a rough clockwise circle through the wilderness of western North America. To my right is Brian, my best friend and loyal outdoor companion. He and I have both shaved our faces clean for the occasion, enthusiastically accepting it as our last shave of the summer. Brian grabs my shoulder with a muscular hand. “You ready for this?” he asks with a smile. “When do you think we’re gonna get sick of each other?” “Probably sometime later today.” I look up at him, half a foot taller than me with a mass of dark brown hair fluffing out from the top of his head. “How far away is Vancouver?” He tilts his head up and to the left, a sure sign that he’s calculating something. “My flight leaves seven weeks from tomorrow.” I nod my approval. It takes a special kind of bond to spend every minute of every day with someone for seven straight weeks, and I hope it’s a bond that will form sooner than later. “Even if we end up hating each other,” Brian says with a definitive stomp on the rock, “it beats working at Red Lobster.” Wicker 4 “Tucson will surely miss its best lobster wrangler,” I say solemnly. “Now, everyone get together over on this rock. I want to get a photo of us up here with Tucson in the distance.” Earlier this morning, I changed my Facebook profile picture to a blank screen with the words “Gone road tripping, see you in the fall,” written across it. I then called my mom, gave her my password to the website, and asked her to change it to something only she knew. That means I won’t have access to Facebook all summer, which will hopefully allow me to focus completely on the trip. It also means I get to post all my epic summer photos in one album the day I get back, I think as I pick up the backpack with my camera inside. I imagine all the photos of me atop various mountains of the west, each one more badass than the last, with virtual “likes” raining down on them from every corner of the Facebook world. I fumble inside my pack for the brand new DSLR: a Canon Rebel T3i that I have spent the last few months rapidly attempting to learn how to use. I am eager to take my first photo of the trip; but all visions of grandeur are interrupted when my hand makes contact not with a camera, but first with a glass bottle. I hear Larry, my roommate, laughing robustly from behind me, and I let out a loud groan. I pull the bottle from my pack: a Smirnoff Ice. Now all five friends are laughing. I shake my head and take a deep breath, understanding the dreaded implications of coming in contact with a hidden Ice. I lower to a knee and chug the repulsively sweet alcohol as my friends clap in unison. I finish it, hold the bottle upside down to prove it’s empty, and let out a burp that echoes all the way down the mountain. “So proud,” Danielle says, shaking her head but reaching out to embrace me nonetheless. She pulls me close and whispers into my ear, “I wish I could be with you the whole summer.” “Don’t I know it,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “But you’ll be with me and Brian for the next ten days. And then…” Wicker 5 “Canada,” she says as we look into each other’s eyes. Only a few days ago, Danielle booked her flight into Vancouver and out of Calgary, giving us two weeks in the middle of the summer to explore the Canadian Rockies together. “Oh please,” Brian utters from behind us. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Brian,” Danielle says, breaking away from me with a soft jab to the chest. “I’ve already nominated you two for bromance of the century.” “What happens after Canada?” Larry asks. He, along with my friends Taylor and Lauren, are here just for this summit, and are then headed back to Tucson to continue their own summer plans. I glance at Danielle, who brings her eyebrows together in concern. “Not sure, Larry,” I say.