The Zion Observation Trail

~ judyrutrider ~ 12 Comments

Despite discouraging signs at the dirt road that led to the trailhead, we, in our all-wheel drive vehicles (a Pathfinder and a Subaru) blithely motored down the mostly dry road for about four miles.

By discouraging I mean signs that said, “Road closed for winter”, “Park at the shuttle: no passenger cars beyond this point”, and “No parking on the side of the road”. Presently, we encountered a young man walking who advised us that the road turned really ugly up ahead and we should turn around while we still could. Our intrepid drivers deemed him a bitch, which I guess by the context meant an unadventurous soul, and continued full speed ahead. After slip-sliding through a few muddy spots we crested a rise and spotted two vehicles ahead, one of which was mired to its axle and the other maneuvering to extricate it, both of which blocked our progress.

Everyone bailed out to lend a hand. The women hoisted flatish rocks into the slick-as-snot ruts while the men cheered them on. The portly, middle-aged man driving the pick up truck shouted instruction to the person behind the wheel of the stranded car. Meanwhile, I hoofed it up the road with Sadie to do some reconnaissance. We found that the trailhead was only about 1/2 a mile farther up the road, so we trotted back to let the wrecking crew know that if we illegally parked where we were, we could walk from there. By this time, the now unmired vehicle was straddling the hump between the ruts, but still facing an uphill grade, with rim-deep slime for traction.

The man driving the pickup truck offered to transport everyone to the trailhead in the bed of his truck and it was deemed a splendid idea by his family and our group. We (or I should say, they) were happy to lend their weight for added traction. MFN Tamera opted to walk with me as her dog was too nervous to ride in a truck with a dozen boisterous hikers and there was no way I was going to ask Sadie to jump into the truck bed.

The truck bounced and slid and churned up the hill with the passengers screaming with delight all the way. “That hurt my butt!” one youngster exclaimed which served to affirm my decision to walk.

The trailhead parking lot was empty, for obvious reasons, which boded well for having the trail to ourselves. This was a good thing as dogs aren’t allowed in Zion National Park and Tamera and I had been unaware that the trail was actually in the park when we agreed to walk this path. Clearly, it was too late now to turn back. The path meandered through trees and shrubs with very little climbing, or at least a gentle grade but after about two miles, I began to question the 3-mile description of the trail.

A couple of miles later, the foliage thinned and almost without preamble, Zion Canyon appeared below, and when I say “below”, I’m talking thousands of feet below. The shuttle busses were smaller than matchbox toys and it looked like, with the right apparatus, one could pee on them.

I believe that protruding outcrop across the canyon is Angel’s Landing, one of the iconic trails in the valley.
The walk back to the cars seemed mostly downhill and was easier than I had anticipated.
We made some feeble attempts to drain the road.

At Mt. Carmel Junction, the need for ice cream and coffee couldn’t be ignored. Stunned but not deterred, we shelled out $5.00 for an ice cream bar and an additional $5.00 for a cup of coffee. Worth every penny at this point!

On the way back to Kanab, we stopped at the roadside Sand Caves, a popular stop on the side of Hwy. 89. It was just an easy mile or so to the caves.

Sadie the Klingon Dog and me
Do these pants make my butt look big?
After another ten miles of hiking, Sadie was done.

The following day, everyone was tired and or sore and decided to head for home. Sadie and I couldn’t resist stopping in Valley of Fire on the way even though we didn’t have reservations to camp. In the past, we have been lucky to find people in the group camp area who were willing to share their space with us for the night and this was no exception. The first group I approached said that they weren’t even spending the night and I could have their campsite and even declined when I offered to pay the $25 fee they had paid to reserve it. The entire group area was nearly deserted except for the wild life.

This fellow was so curious that he followed us for several yards.
Evening in the valley

The drive home was uneventful. We made a few stops along the way to stretch and this road, less traveled, beckoned. But “I have miles to go before I sleep”.

Buckskin Gulch: A Bucket List Hike

~ judyrutrider ~ 8 Comments

The sky over the trailhead was perfectly blue and cloud free. Exactly what you want when hiking the world’s longest slot canyon. Different sources claim different lengths, 12 – 20 miles, of continuous slot canyon make this a world class hike in any book.

A few miles off Hwy. 89, a well-graded road took us to a trailhead that began with a four and a half mile stroll down a sandy wash. Recent rains made the sandy footing comfortably firm, yet forgiving to septuagenarian joints. Several cow paths crisscrossed a shallow stream, some of us chose the high road while others stayed near the stream.

There were very few cow patties on the high road and plenty of grass.
Sometimes the stream disappeared beneath the sand.
Interesting side drainages presented themselves.
Feast or famine for this tortured tree.
Canyon walls rose ahead.
At the confluence of the wash and Buckskin Gulch, large sand deposits were being eroded by more recent storms.
The opening would have been inviting if the sand hadn’t looked so unstable.
Milk chocolate mud stuck in Sadie’s paws.
First we chose to climb the canyon that presented on our right as All Trails said this was only a mile and a half and ended at another trailhead.

We followed this canyon to its end, then retraced our steps to explore down canyon.

Signs of high water reminded us of the very real danger of flash floods in these slots.
Tamera and Lucy avoiding pools of quicksand to pose for pictures.
Nostrils of some hidden monster?
The sound of our footsteps reverberated in the silent canyon.
The debris from previous floods hangs high over the stream bed.
Five to beam up.
We lost count of the many carved alcoves.
Eroded sand deposits.
A tired, muddy Sadie Klingon dog.
Moss lends a splash of green.

Since I was the weak link, being the oldest and weakest in the group, it was left to my discretion as to when to turn back. Knowing it would be uphill on the way back, good sense would have dictated that I should have turned back long before we did. But who could resist seeing what was around the next bend…just one more. Finally, an arbitrary time was set. Since thunder storms generally form in the late afternoon, we needed to be out of the canyon by 3:00, so the turnaround time was set at 1:30. It was hard, seeing the blue skies above, to worry about theoretical flash floods.

The return trip felt like a different trail. The angle of the sun, the rays that penetrated the depths of the slot illuminated shapes in new ways. Bird residents carried on conversations with each other and a pair of ravens scolded us as they flapped low, overhead, up the canyon to a guano-draped ledge, where they did their knock, knock, knock greeting as if urging us on.

Back at the confluence of the sandy wash and Buckskin Gulch, we debated about the best way to return to the cars at the trailhead. I had already exceeded my known limit by at least three times, so we decided that I, escorted by Tamera, Tara (my two favorite nieces) and Kristie, would re-ascend the mile and a half slot to the road. Cindy and David, taking Kristie’s car keys, would travel back up the sandy wash, 5 miles to the cars, then drive up the road to the second trail head to pick us up. Worst case, we figured, would be that we walked about three miles on a firm, smooth road back to the car.

The short hike to the second trail head was so exciting that all exhaustion was forgotten. There were a couple of rock chocks in this part of the slot, one of which Sadie had no trouble jumping up, but the second one was undercut and higher than I thought she could safely jump without loosing her footing and falling backwards. There was no place for her hind legs to find purchase. Fortunately a strong, young man came down the canyon with his two big dogs, two children and a woman. He offered to lift Sadie up the chest-high (for me) rock. The look on Sadie’s face was priceless as she looked at me questioningly when this stranger lifted her like she hadn’t been lifted since she was a puppy. We proceeded up canyon until we reached the ladder that was not dog friendly. Fortunately, there was a bypass trail.

These sandstone ledges are imminently scalable by man and beast as they provide limitless traction.
The view from the bypass trail into the slot where a ladder provides egress for monkeys and humans who do not suffer from acrophobia.

A short walk up a sandy wash brought us to the road where other hikers were coming in and out in their Jeeps and Subarus.

After a couple of considerate souls had paused to ask us if we had enough water for our dogs, before motoring on down the road, we settled in to walk back to the cars. After a few hills, the road was beginning to look endless…albeit beautiful. My pace was slowing noticeably.

Note, afternoon clouds rolling in.

At last, a van bearing the logo of a tour company and traveling in our direction, slowed to make sure we were okay. Sure I was okay. I’d already walked 14 miles but what was another 3? But, they informed us, we had about FIVE AND A HALF MILES to go to reach our cars. Tara told the two women that they would take Tamera and her little dog Lucy to the first trail head where our cars were parked. If they had any reservations, her authoritative tone brooked no dissent. About a half an hour later, Tamera returned in her Pathfinder to pick us up and by the time we got to the trailhead where the other car was parked, we could see Cindy and David laboring up the wash.

As we settled into the comfort of the car, ideas of food came to the forefront of our imaginations. Using the sporadic cell service, we zeroed in on a vegan restaurant in Kanab.

Peekabo Restaurant served craft beer, Willamette Valley pinot noir, and fabulous thin-crust pizza.

We returned to Rainmaker Lane to play more cards, drink more wine, and plan tomorrow’s hike. Remembering Sadie’s reproachful look as I had gone into the house, leaving her in the garage, I bade my companions good night. I needn’t have worried as she was sound asleep on her bed in the Wanderlust.

Dog tired.

A Woman and Her Dog: Journey to Kanab

~ judyrutrider ~ 8 Comments

Since the anticipated Valley of Fire trip that had been planned last month got rained out, you can imagine my excitement at planning another trip for mid-March. MFN Tara mentioned that she had a house reserved in Kanab, Utah where there was room for me and my dogs. Planning ensued.

I hate driving, so I planned a route that would allow for relaxed days, filled with hiking and exploration, interspersed with a couple of hours of travel. Sadie and I are about the same age, so we need frequent stops to stretch and pee. Molly had stayed at home with papa as her legs don’t allow her to hike anymore.

It appeared that Terrible’s casino was closed, so we took advantage of the cracked and overgrown parking lot to take a brisk walk. We both found enough privacy to take care of business.

Interstate 15 is as boring as any highway, so I left it as soon as it was practical, choosing instead a road that rather meanders through the hills just north of Lake Mead, Highway 167. This lightly-trafficked road (at least at this time of year), has numerous turnouts with clean restrooms and trails leading away from the road that lend themselves to short hikes.

A hot spring with Lake Mead in the background.

I’d reserved a campsite, through Hipcamp, at a farm in Overton where I found all the amenities I needed.

Friendly neighbors
A loo, complete with outdoor shower
Rural solitude
Morning coffee before hitting the road

I headed for my next reservation, a Tiny House, in Apple Valley, where MFN Tamera was meeting me from Denver. I was forced onto the interstate highway again to ascend the Virgin River Gorge, but before St. George, I exited and took the Southern Parkway (Hwy 7) which passes the Sand Hollow Resort and reservoir.

This resort, along with 13 other local golf resorts, uses 12% of the available water in this parched area; but never mind because they bring in millions of tourist dollars. Oops! Did that sound a bit controversial? I try not to do that in this venue. There was no evidence of the looming water shortage as new housing tracts lined every buildable acre from the freeway exit almost to Hurricane, while heavy equipment was scrambling to build roads to accommodate the new residents of these outlying communities.

No water guzzling landscaping here, only faux grass and cinder gravel and a water-saver shower head, so stingy that the instant-hot water heater didn’t work consistently.

I arrived at the Tiny House before check-in time and before Tamera arrived. She had left Denver on the heels of a snowstorm that had threatened her departure. Her luck held as the Eisenhower Tunnel, through the Rocky Mountains, on I-70, had opened to passenger cars only, on the day she planned to leave. Still it took her three or four hours to make what is normally a one hour drive. She too had scheduled stops on the way. Thanks to our i Phones we had been able to keep track of each other’s progress whenever we had cell signals, which was intermittent.

With time to kill, Sadie and I went for a hike in the hills behind our small residential development.

A multi-use trail lead to a rocky canyon that grew too steep for us to continue.

When we came out of the canyon, I got a call from Tamera. She was already at The Harrington Tiny House. She asked if I wanted her to come to pick us up in her 4-wheel drive Pathfinder. I declined as I was still several miles off the road.

A squall heading my way

I was almost back to the road when I saw a rain cell headed my way. Thinking I could outrun it, I began trotting down the trail. That’s old lady speak for “shuffling”. There were trails crisscrossing every which way through the trees and soon I realized I was off course. The rain overtook us but since I didn’t know exactly where I would come out of the forest, I didn’t call Tam. We finally intersected with a graded, gravel road and about that time my phone rang. Tamera was tracking me on FindMy location sharing and was coming to get me. A few yards farther down the road, she appeared coming around a curve. I was grateful for the lift and even more so when I realized that I was still almost a mile east of home.

We settled in with wine and snacks, figuring we were in for the duration of the storm. A bit later, the rain moved on and the sun bathed the buttes in a Tuscan glow.

Tamera suggested a short walk with our dogs and I readily agreed, even though I’d already hiked a good five miles with some elevation gain. So, we retraced the route I’d climbed earlier, now washed clean and smelling of juniper.

The next day, a text from Tara outlined a plan to hike The Squirrel Creek Trail to the Eye of Heaven Arch, just north of Colorado City, which was a few miles east of our Tiny House.

For those of you unfamiliar with Colorado City, it’s the former home of Warren Jeffs, convicted polygamist and sex offender. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warren_Jeffs. The houses in this small town share some unique characteristics. They are large, but mostly modest, with many identical windows, spaced evenly across the second floor, like dorm rooms. Some have a duplex-like appearance with two front entries. These multi-family houses are common in Southern Utah and Northern Arizona where several fundamentalist Mormon sects still practice polygamy.

We didn’t connect with Tara and her hiking companions but did enjoy The Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park. Even though it was cold and windy, the dogs had a blast romping in the sand.

Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park https://stateparks.utah.gov/parks/coral-pink/
Squirrel Creek Trail

That evening we connected with Tara and friends at the house on Rainmaker Lane. My “bedroom” was the RV garage. Clean, spacious, and quiet, Sadie and I relaxed for a few minutes before I went into the house to join the group for a game of Four Crowns. I’d never heard of the game before but it was a form of progressive rummy that was easily mastered. Score keeping was inconsequential and cheating rampant, so we all had a great time.

The house wasn’t dog-friendly, so Sadie was confined to the garage. Though it was warm and comfortable, she was nonplussed about being treated like a garage dog when she enjoyed a higher status at home.

We all retired early, anticipating the ultimate hike, Buckskin Gulch, in the morning.

To be continued.

Infectious Joy

~ judyrutrider ~ 5 Comments

Some days are just so unremarkable that one wonders, at the end of the day, “Why do I go through these Sisyphean tasks day after day, with the only reward being that there’s food on the table at the end of it?”

So, I was feeling quite old and useless when I remembered that life is still filled with little moments of sheer enjoyment. Like when I was driving to work this morning, and a pick up truck pulled to the side of the road in front of me. A large, athletic dog leaped over the side of the bed of the truck and hit the ground running. He ran along the sidewalk at top speed with the truck running beside him, probably going 25 miles an hour. After about a hundred yards, the dog slowed to a more sustainable pace and the truck slowed to his pace. Almost a half mile later, at the next intersection, the truck stopped and the dog leaped back into the bed of the truck, clearing the side of the truck easily. The driver, seeing my obvious glee as I pulled up at the stop sign next to him, waved and turned off onto a side street.

The emotional roller coaster, first thinking that the dog was in danger, then reveling in his sheer joy of running, and then seeing him jump happily into the truck, left me feeling his euphoria vicariously.

Ah, simple pleasures!

Between a Rock and a Bike

~ judyrutrider ~ 10 Comments
The pristine paint job

At the risk of sounding boastful, I have to say that I’m inordinately proud of having thrived for over seven decades. Despite having done (and some might say “still doing”) some risky things, I’ve managed to make the right decisions often enough not to have died. “Live to ride again”, is my mantra when faced with a bike trail that imposes a risk that outweighs the benefit. Of course, perception of risk is flexible, largely determined by the potential for audience appreciation, otherwise known as the “show-off” factor.

These days, I mostly ride with only Sally or other less risk-appreciative geriatrics, so there’s little opportunity to show off. One would imagine that would limit opportunities for failure…but one would be wrong. Nothing creates the opportunity for a tip-over wreck like caution and lack of speed.

Riding a familiar trail in the wash, Sally and I approached a particularly tricky section with the usual trepidation; but, having ridden it more or less successfully for decades, we semi-confidently pointed our bikes up the short, steep, rock-lined bank and concentrated on steering through the maze of boulders at the top. To compound the degree of difficulty, there are a couple of stout bushes that impinge on the trail just where the trail narrows to a scant pedal width.

Employing my meager multi-tasking skills, I focused on ratcheting my pedals through the rocks while keeping my handlebars out of reach of the aggressive foliage. An opportunistic branch took advantage of my divided attention and snatched my handlebar in an attempt to lure me into its embrace. Unwilling to be so easily wooed, I veered abruptly into a rock on the opposite side of the trail which stopped me dead.

A few things cross one’s mind when a crash is imminent. The first on mine was, “Oh crap! I’m going to scratch my beautiful bike!” I managed to get my foot out of the grasp of the pedal but momentum nudged me off balance and I landed on my butt with my thigh wedged between the bike and the unforgiving rock. It would have been an ideal outcome except for the fact that my well-padded ass was sitting on top of the bike, pinning me in place. Any attempt to extricate myself would result in my carbon fiber bike frame coming in contact with the pitiless rock.

Sally, following a few feet behind, became so discombobulated by the sight, that she too tipped over. Bad language ensued as she surveyed the damage to her bike. Meanwhile, I’m lying on the rock, helplessly crying, “Help, help, help!” as my left leg was being crushed by my own prodigious weight.

The hilarity this sight might have induced went completely unappreciated as we were far from any audience, geriatric or otherwise. And Sally, uncharacteristically, failed to photograph the scene. What a waste!

Dear Abby

~ judyrutrider ~ 14 Comments

My sister, who is nine years older than I am, inculcated an abiding love of language. So, when she emailed me a word for the day, I was tickled as it was a useful word, albeit of limited use… or so I thought.

Doggerel – Verse or words that are badly written or expressed.

In the very next email, she wrote a very complimentary note about having read my last blog post.

My question for you, dear Abby, is: Should I read anything into the sequence of emails; or was it just coincidental?

Ray Romano says that his wife claims he doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s too much. I don’t think anyone would ever say I didn’t say much.

And now the Word Press AI assistant is encouraging me to say more! I ‘m beginning to question the “intelligence” part of A I or perhaps it simply enjoys doggerel.

Multitasking at 70

~ judyrutrider ~ 17 Comments

Okay, if you’re going to nitpick, I’m 71; however, I see no harm in clinging to 70 for a few more years as 80 looms ominously well within sight. At any rate, as I age, I find that multitasking has evolved into something unrecognizable as productivity.

Today, I was standing at the mirror, flossing my teeth when my husband came in and asked what I was doing. It seemed obvious to me but I have to consider that he too, is dealing with aging brain syndrome. So, I answered gently that I was flossing my teeth. “But why are your pants down around your knees?’ he asked.

The answer to that too seemed obvious. I had to pee and I figured that I could get halfway through with flossing while I urinated. Then it was more expedient to finish flossing before pulling up my pants.

Facing the onerous task of planning a menu for the next five days, I began daydreaming about the camping trip I have planned to Valley of Fire, and that led to creating lists of things to do, pack, cook, etc. for the trip. That led to … the bread machine beeped, reminding me to add walnuts to the dough so I had to check my walnut supply in the granny flat. Seeing the stripped beds and rugs piled up, I remembered that I’d been cleaning the granny flat when I went back there to get more glucosamine for the dogs.

And here I sit at the computer giggling about all the tasks I have left undone. I think I’ll go for a hike. It’s too beautiful outside to worry about my developing attention deficit disorder. Wanna join me?

Another Fall Day in Paradise

~ judyrutrider ~ 18 Comments
Second planting of tomatoes
Pink Lady apples
Summer’s bell peppers ripening among the sweet alyssum and California Poppies
Sadie surveying fall colors in the Marlboro Hills conservancy
Trail-side Toyon (Heteromeles arbutifolia) and Sugar Bush (Rhus ovata) responding to late summer rains
Typical fall sunset
Moonlit stormy night

It’s hard to come inside when the fall weather is so perfect for every kind of outdoor activity. I finally get to wear some of my thirty light-weight jackets in the morning. Costco had two more colors in the down jackets that I just love, so, guess what! In my defense, I NEEDED a tan one.

This is my favorite way to avoid housework…and shopping…and almost anything else.

Advice from a Trail Elitist

~ judyrutrider ~ 5 Comments

Yesterday, whilst descending a rather steep, rutted trail, I spotted a LARGE man trudging down the hill ahead of me. The trail wasn’t narrow, but his wide girth, in the middle of the track, made passing on either side (while avoiding the ruts and the bushes lining the trail) a bit challenging.

I always slow down for hikers and give them as wide a berth as the trail allows and courteous hikers usually step to the side. Mind you, many of them step to the inside, forcing the cyclist to ride on the outside edge of the trail, but experience has taught me to look where I want to go, not off the side of the cliff, so I usually manage to pass them without incident.

Mike was ahead of me, so I figured he would alert the lumbering giant to the fact that there were others on the trail, and that he would move to one side or the other before I reached him. The man gave no evidence of even noticing Mike’s passing, so when I approached him, I greeted him loudly and cheerily from a few feet away. He ignored me, continuing his zombie shuffle down the center of the trail. Choosing to ride the rut, rather than rudely crowding him, I scooted by as fast as good manners allowed, knowing that speed is the only thing that will save you in rough terrain. And guess what! He was wearing earbuds with the volume so loud that I could hear his music as I passed. https://www.bing.com/videos/riverview/relatedvideo?q=zombie+music+youtube&mid=F38703EC31A7286380B9F38703EC31A7286380B9&FORM=VIRE

So, while walking Sadie in the Marlboro Hills Conservancy, this morning, I composed the following simple rules of etiquette for trail newbies:

  1. Leave your electronic devices at home. Enjoy the peace of the moment, free of worldly distractions and worries. Listen for the birds carrying on their bird business and the rustle of lizards (hopefully not snakes) in the brush as you pass…and watch for geriatric cyclists, almost in control, careering down the hill.
  2. Carry a small bag with fresh tissue. Exercise stimulates bowels regardless of the lack of proximity to a latrine. Use said bag to contain AND CARRY OUT your used tissue. DO NOT LEAVE IT at your loo with a view. To a city slicker, the trail may seem like wilderness, but literally hundreds of people will pass this way before your soiled paper disappears.
  3. And your dog waste doesn’t magically carry itself, in its cute, paw-printed baggie, to a trash receptacle when you leave it on the side of the trail. Rather, some disgusted trail angel will pick it up and curse you all the way to the trailhead. My own dogs’ poop doesn’t stink, and if you love your dog, his doesn’t either. If you find you’ve run out of poop bags, at least have the decency to kick the poop off the trail into the bushes.
  4. If you must carry water in a disposable plastic bottle (stupid idea anyway), carry the empty bottle back to your car. Same goes for your snack wrappers. Note to those who are hiking with an eye towards losing weight: you will need to add three miles to your trek to burn the calories in one snack bar. Seriously, you don’t need nutrition on a two-hour hike!
  5. Skip the fragrance. Your trail mates will appreciate the aroma of sage, pine, and juniper far more than your Downey fabric softener. Even the smell of that poop bag dangling from my hydration pack smells better than the cloud of chemical fragrance surrounding you.
  6. Be nice. Share the trail; pick up trash; greet others; don’t harass wildlife; speak quietly as sound carries farther in remote areas; and even do a little trail maintenance along the way – if everyone dug up one bull thorn plant, our trails would be thorn-free eventually. Oh yeah, and DO NOT crush the wildflowers to take a selfie of you sitting in them. ‘Nuff said?

Nightmare on Spectrum Street

~ judyrutrider ~ 11 Comments

The curly mop-headed young man knocking at my door looked innocuous enough, though he did have that twitchy look of someone on drugs. When I opened the door and peered through the locked screen door, he launched into his spiel about Spectrum fiber optic internet service, newly available in my neighborhood. I listened politely for a few moments while he hit his stride, visibly relaxing a bit as he relied on his canned sales pitch. The twitchiness all but disappeared.

I’ve long wanted internet service in the granny flat, so I questioned him about the possibility of getting service to the back house. Without hesitation, he assured me it would be no problem. By this time I felt comfortable enough to show him to the back yard to see the previously insurmountable problem. The girls, my German Shepherd Dog and Border Collie escorted us, providing what I hoped would be a deterrent to any idea of questionable behavior.

The formidable duo.

When I remained uncommitted, he sweetened the offered deal, claiming that, as a senior citizen, I would qualify for absolutely FREE service. Always the skeptic, I asked him to email me the details of the price quote so I could verify the validity of his proposal. Of course, I knew at the time that I didn’t qualify for the senior rate that was offered to “qualifying low-income” seniors. We parted with me reiterating the expectation of a written quote.

That was the last I heard from him until a few weeks later, his supervisor called to ask how he had done. I told him the above and the supervisor said he would email me a rate quote, which he did. It wasn’t free.

A couple of weeks later, a box was delivered which I presume contained the allegedly free equipment. Never mind the fact that there was no service from the pole to my house. And then the email came that informed me that I had a bill and I needed to set up an online account. Then there was a late payment notice.

I called Spectrum to straighten things out and have them pick up the unopened box. It took about fifteen minutes to get a live person on the line and she put me on hold for twenty minutes while she connected me to the proper department, which was SALES! I explained the situation for a second time and was regaled yet again, with a sales pitch. Exasperated, I curtly declined and was put on hold again. Some time later she returned to the conversation with another sales pitch. I lost count of how many times I was transferred, each time explaining the problem, but after about an hour, the representative gave up saying there was nothing she could do. She transferred me to billing where I was disconnected.

Text messages threatening to discontinue my service started after three months. Hallelujah! Then the phone calls started. As fast as I blocked a number, they called again from a different number until I finally answered. The whole thing started anew with a sales pitch and me explaining how I had been slammed and the account in my name was not authorized. I tactfully (not!) informed the poor employee that I would never, under any circumstances do business with Spectrum after this experience. Forty minutes later, she finally agreed to send me a new box in which I was to put the original box and call Fed Ex for a pick up. No, she said, she couldn’t simply send a label. This was after I refused to be put upon by taking the box to a Spectrum store or USP facility. Again, I played the old lady card, saying I couldn’t walk that far carrying the big, heavy box. I won’t even go into the part where she wanted me to describe the contents of the unopened box!

During the conversation, I had had to go back and forth from screen to screen on my phone to view security codes texted to me by the various staff who tried to help (sell) me. At the end of the conversation, it took me some time to figure out how to disconnect the call and the representative failed to hang up on her end. I could hear her talking to a co-worker saying, “This poor old lady got slammed…what a shame! Some people (meaning the sales person) will do anything for a dollar.” I immediately forgave her doing her job with professionalism and regretted having been brusque with her.

And that should have been the end of it, but NOOOO. Fed Ex delivered the aforementioned box today and it was too small to contain the box previously shipped. Looks like I lost the battle. I’m on my way to drop off their ##$$% box.