Book Signing at Changing Hands Bookstore for Take a Hike Phoenix

Eeep! I'm so excited! This makes me feel legit.

Eeep! I’m so excited! This makes me feel legit.

So if you missed my REI events, it’s totally cool man. I’m thrilled to spread the word that my next book signing event is at the one and only Changing Hands Bookstore!

Details:
Friday, March 14th
7pm
Changing Hands Bookstore
6428 South McClintock Drive
Tempe, AZ 85283
FREE
Event Link

I will be making a short presentation prior to signing copies of Take a Hike Phoenix. Additional books will be available for purchase at Changing Hands. No RSVP is necessary but click here if you’d like to add it to your Facebook events.

Hope to see you there!

Two New Posts on Liliatakesahike.com

Like seeing old photos? There's more where that came from! Papago Park in the 1950s.

Like seeing old photos? There’s more where that came from! Papago Park in the 1950s.

Hi!

Post #1 is a quick blurb my author page on moon.com which is now featuring full excerpts from my book, Take a Hike Phoenix!

Post #2 is a collection of vintage postcards and photos of the mountains in Phoenix. I’m calling it “Vintage Take a Hike Phoenix” and I think it’s a pretty cool post, I gotta say.

Thanks all!

Phoenix Summit Challenge on liliatakesahike.com

We hiked 4 summits in one day...and were the least impressive of the group!

We hiked 4 summits in one day…and were the least impressive of the group!

Just a head’s up: I’ve posted a new blog about tips for hiking the Phoenix Summit Challenge on my other blog, liliatakesahike.com.

I kept this one clean, folks. No crotch talk!

From My Vagina to Yours: Hiking Tips for Women

It happens to the best of us.

It happens to the best of us (and our vaginas).

Being a  hiker AND having a vagina can be extremely inconvenient.

If that sentence grossed you out, just stop reading now. Because it’s about to get way worse. I only wish someone had told me these tricks before I started hiking. So to you women who have questions about how to manage your vagina while hiking, camping, or seeking other outdoor adventures, I invite you to benefit from my heard-earned  wisdom.

Let’s start with the easy stuff…

PEE-PEE PROBLEMS

Problem: You have to pee and you don’t have a penis.

Solution: Get a penis. Purchase the GoGirl, the Little John, the pStyle, the SheWee…lots of cleverly named options here. Basically, these products create a penis for you out of plastic. It’s a little awkward at first, sure. But after you get the hang of it, you’ll be thanking GOD for plastic!

Real-life example: Port-a-potties and pit toilets. I hate them. The plastic penis saves me from hovering my genitalia over a vat of cooking feces (and the flies that eat the feces then land on my vagina…fucking gross).

It's not as bad as it looks.

It’s not as bad as it looks.

Problem: You forgot your plastic penis and you don’t want to hover your genitalia over the port-a-potty.

Solution: Disposable cup. If you’re near a port-a-potty or pit toilet, it’s assumed you’re at a trailhead or campsite. So grab a disposable cup and head to the port-a-potty for some privacy. Pee goes in the cup, the pee goes out of cup and into the toilet, the cup goes in the garbage. Brilliant.*

Real-life example: I entered the pit toilet at the Peralta Trailhead and was greeted by a turd sitting on top of the toilet seat. Someone had also smeared the turd so there was a visible brown trail of shit everywhere. Lucky me, I hadn’t planned to use the toilet anyhow. I brought an empty Starbucks cup and then I filled it to the top line…almost a full venti!

Problem: You’re using your plastic penis on the trail and a stranger unexpectedly catches you in the act.

Solution: None. That person is left to wonder forever about your anatomy. Unless that person is a lady. If that’s the case…time to show and tell, girl! (P.S. This is why I only use the plastic penis in a port-a-potty situation.)

Real-life example: Also none. But I imagine I’d be so worried about the person’s resulting confusion about my gender, that I might chase them down to provide an explanation. “No, no, I swear, I’m a girl! See? It’s right here!”

Call me an idiot? I'll shove a used tampon in you.

Call me an idiot? I’ll shove a used tampon in you.

PERIOD PROBLEMS

Problem: You got your period.

Solution: Tampon, duh. Think ahead and bring tampons on every single hike no matter what. You’ve got your first aid kit, right? Add at least 3 heavy flow tampons to that thing. Done. Problem solved forever. And here’s an unexpected perk: Tampons make excellent kindling for fires. Just spread the cotton, throw on a spark and watch that thing ignite.

Real life example: Lou and I used a tampon to start a fire while camping. Brilliant invention, I say!

Problem: You got your period and you don’t have a tampon.

Solution: Uh, get the hell off the trail. It’s not like it’s going to get better. If things get crazy, however, open your backpack and look for anything useful. Handkerchief? Kleenex? Gauze? Hate to say it but you’re going to have to do it middle-school style and start filling the crotch of your pants with anything absorbent. And if you see another woman on the trail, good God don’t be shy. Ask her if she’s got lady supplies handy. She will help you.

Real-life example: A friend of a friend hiked into the Grand Canyon and she got caught without a tampon. By the time she arrived to the campground, the poor woman was a mess. DON’T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!

Problem: You got your period, you HAVE a tampon, and now you have to change it on the trail.

Solution: Grocery bag. Always carry at least one one white plastic grocery store bag in your pack. You’re going to use that bag much in the same way you would use it to pick up dog poop. Only this time, it’s like the dog poop has a string attached to it and you have to pull it out of your dog’s butt-hole then catch it with your bagged hand. And also, your dog lives in your pants. Sounds complicated but it can be done. In fact, I’ve mastered this maneuver and can successfully make the big switch without even removing my pants. I feel proud.*

Real-life example: Too many to count. I’ll tell you this much though, it’s the first thing that comes to mind when I see photos of the top of the flatiron.

I'm feeling a little...unfresh...down there. You know...in my...swamp thing.

Hmmmm. I’m feeling a little…unfresh…down there. You know, in my…swamp thing.

GENERAL VAGINA PROBLEMS

Problem: Swamp vagina.

Solution: Bring Kleenex on every hike. You’re just one discreet wipe away from feeling fresh again!

Real-life example: When a hiking partner and I finally confessed to this unfortunate side effect of having a vagina on a summer desert hike, we forever called the resulting incident, “The Great Wipe-Out.”*

Problem: Cameltoe, moose knuckle, turtle paw, frontal wedge…whatever you want to call it.

Solution: Embrace it. I prefer yoga pants to traditional hiking pants when I’m out on the trail and while I try to be conscious of vaginal fabric bunching, the reality is, I often stop caring. I’m sweaty, dirty, thirsty, and tired. And, most likely, I had to degrade myself with doggie-bag tampon changing or pissing in a cup while staring at a smeared turd. Now I have to obsess about my cameltoe? Whatever.

Real-life example: I’d rather not know. If you’re reading this and you’ve hiked with me, please refrain from commenting. Thank you.

That’s it! I can only hope that writing this blog post will  help all the other vagin–I mean–women looking for outdoor adventures!

How do I know so much? Well, my vagina and I have hiked over 100 trails in Arizona. Then my vagina and I wrote a book about 81 of them called Take a Hike Phoenix. For less vulgar, more G-rated writing about hiking, please visit my other blog, liliatakesahike.com.

*I adhere to a very strict pack-it-in-pack-it-out policy. There’s no excuses on this one, hikers, and it includes the icky stuff. Littering is bad and, also, are you really going to make a park ranger pick up your tampon, piss cup, or vag Kleenex for you? Don’t be cruel!

Winter Hiking in Phoenix, a Guide/Rant

Smiling doesn't mean you're happy.

Smiling doesn’t mean you’re happy.

Looking out my window this morning, I see gray clouds and a wintery-looking Phoenix.

One might think that on a day like today, a Phoenix hiker would be dying to hit the trails. It’s better to hike in the cool weather, right?

Wrong!

​This hiker prefers hiking in the summer.

Yeah, I said it.

I’d much rather trek through the baked dirt in the disgustingly hot evenings wearing practically nothing and sweating like a maniac than hike in the cold — bundled up and clammy with snot dripping from my freezing nose.

Wow. Hiking is not very attractive.

Anyway, as a hater of the chilly outdoors, I’ve come up with a list of tips/gripes to make winter hiking tolerable:

1. Layer with as many zip-up clothing options as possible
With fuzzy beanies, visors, sunglasses and other cumbersome accessories, you’re not going to want to keep pulling something over your head that musses up your hats and glasses. Zippers are your friends.

2. Bring a snot rag
With a cold nose, you’ll start to drip watery snot out of your nose. It’s super gross and it’s really freaking annoying. The only way to avoid this is to keep a snot rag on hand and constantly blow your boogers out of your head. You may as well use an old bandanna. A tissue will just get shoved into your backpack or pocket only to be discovered later. Gross.

3. Bring a non-snot rag bandanna
This is essential. If you find yourself feeling too chilly around your neck or head, this thing can be fashioned into hat, ear-warmer, or scarf. Of course, do not confuse it with No. 2.

4. Cover your ears
This may only apply to me because I’ve got ugly monkey ears that poke out of my head but those things can catch a lot of wind. Then they freeze and I experience the most painful freaking headache in the world. Keep ‘em fettered if you can.

Lou...harnessing inspiration from "The Road".

Lou…harnessing inspiration from “The Road”.

5. Bring a tissue and a zip lock baggy (if you’re a girl)
Another thing I hate about hiking in the cold: you don’t sweat out your water consumption so you have to pee in the desert. This is the suckiest. Especially for chicks. And it’s not like there are big bushes in the desert you can effectively hide behind.

Again, if it’s summer, this is not a problem at all. One time I hiked a 10.5 trail in 100 degree weather and didn’t go pee once. It was beautiful. Anyway, you should be able to guess what the tissue and the zip lock bag are for…don’t litter your pee rag.

6. Remember to drink water
Duh, right? But I actually get more dehydrated on winter hikes because it’s so easy to forget to chug water when you’re not at risk of heat stroke. Plus, I don’t like to drink water on the trail because then it brings me to tip No. 5. I can’t win!

7. Bring your camera
Ok, I admit it. The desert is more beautiful in the winter sun … assuming you have time between pee breaks and snot-blowing to notice.

This blog post originally appeared on The Phoenix New Times website way back in 2010 when I had no idea I’d ever write a hiking book. I stand by what I wrote with just one caveat: winter hiking is truly spectacular because, unlike summer, I can plan glorious, 10-15 mile hikes that take all day.

Also, now that I published a book with an entire chapter devoted to safety, I feel it’s my responsibility to mention that my summer hikes only take place in the early morning or at dusk because hiking midday in the summer is too dangerous. Also, if you hike a trail of any length in 100-degree weather, please, please, please be sure to bring plenty of water. I take 3 liters for any trails over 5 miles, no matter what time of year. And when it’s warm, I take 3 liters plus a large water bottle, sometimes two. Okay, I’ll stop now!

It’s Here! It’s Here! Take a Hike Phoenix is Here!

When your book arrives in the mail, it's time to take a selfie.

When your book arrives in the mail, it’s time to take a selfie.

Big moment, people:

My book, Take a Hike Phoenix, arrived on my doorstep!

It’s been arriving on doorsteps across the country as evidenced by the texts, photos, and tags from friends and family. As painful as it was to receive many of these messages before my own copy arrived, I was beyond touched by the enthusiasm and support. I know it’s just a hiking book (let’s face it, I won’t appear on the New York Times bestseller list or anything) but it’s my first published book and I feel pretty darn good.

(Except for when I think about all the inevitable mistakes that I didn’t catch which is totally freaking me out right now but I’m trying, trying, trying, trying to be gracious about it and enjoy this moment but I can’t help thinking it’s my mistakes that are arriving on doorsteps, not my book, shut up, Lilia, shut up, shut UP!)

Aside from all that noise, I hope other people feel pretty darn good about this, too.

Because, you know, it’s not like I did this thing all by myself. This accomplishment should be shared by everyone who knows me and is nice to me.

So today, my blog features the Acknowledgements page that I wrote for the book but does not appear in this printing because my publishing company tragically forgot to include it.

Acknowledgements

This book is dedicated to my husband, Lou. (It’s all for you, babe.)

I am humbled and touched by all the support from friends, family, and my community during this endeavor. Being my first book, I could not have successfully waded through this project (something that once seemed an insurmountable and lofty goal) without such vital reinforcement. And now, drawing from the momentum of others’ encouragement and care for what I do, I modestly offer my thanks.

First and foremost, my undying gratitude is showered onto my husband, who was literally with me every step of the way. He’s not only my trusted hiking companion but he seamlessly took the responsibility of every other aspect of our joined life while I spent evenings and weekends hunched over my laptop to write about our adventures on the trail. Special thanks to my mother who, during the summer months, braved the heat and the hours of travel across The Valley to sweat through miles of dry, dusty trail in 110+ temperatures. To my dad who saved my butt by helping edit during the final stages of compiling this book when I was so overwhelmed with words, I could hardly see straight. To my three older brothers for telling me how proud they are of their baby sis — fulfilling the lifelong dream of every last-born to finally gain the admiration of their older siblings (and thanks to Alan for hitting the trail with me). Love and pinches to my nieces, Madison and Gracie, who were always up for fun family hikes and who patiently put up with my endless requests for their photos. Huge thanks to Kristina and Craig Smith for re-hiking trails I hiked in the past, alleviating me from repeating miles of trail. I owe Kristina for aiding in the discovery of my love for hiking so many years ago and consider her my very best hiking companion on this earth. And Craig is the only person who has ever convinced me to fight through the tears as I climbed vertical rocks in sheer terror. I send a giant hug to Stephanie Buell for braving some of the most challenging and poorly-planned hikes on my list with a smile on her face the entire time. Thanks to Nate Sauer for remaining calm at the wheel while indulging my requests to push his car to its limits as he navigated tricky roads to reach remote trailheads. Thanks and love to Sam, who selflessly offered the supreme comfort of her high country cabin. Appreciation to the other folks who enthusiastically hopped on the trail with me when I needed company (and, in some cases, 4-wheel drive): Hilber Blair, Starr Preodor, Kelsey Hazelwood, Kate Crowley, and my uncle, Carl Menconi. Hugs and love to the entire Robinson, Menconi, Kummerer, and Gutschalk clans for the endless encouragement and general joy they provide me. Big thanks to Katie Moder and Jill Matejcik who saved me from hours of brutal technical work. Gratitude and love to my in-laws for accepting our absence from dozens of family dinners (and for not being mad at me for using my maiden name for the byline, right?). Love to Lisa Hildebrant, Katie Kucharski, Chris & Amy Johnson, Laurén Hart, Christy Cocchia-Barbaree & the Skrats, Todd Grossman, and Lou’s social circle for forgiving our lack of availability. Thanks to those who regularly read my blog (liliatakesahike.com) and who graciously tolerate my sporadic commitment. Appreciation to my day-job leader and teammates whose professionalism and personal support made me feel capable of chasing many goals at once. Big thanks to the staff at Avalon Travel and my editor, Sabrina Young, who were always available and willing to answer all my questions. Gratitude to my colleague Martin Cizmar for his many trail suggestions. And, without question, I could not have done this without my incredible writing mentor, trusted confidant, dear friend, and half-assed “deadline buddy”, Robrt L. Pela. To anyone I didn’t call out by name but have been a part of this process, thank you for sharing this path with me — each in your own important way.

 

Papago Park Doesn’t Suck

I dig the Buttes. Big time.

I dig the Buttes. Big time.


“That trail SUCKS!” my husband Lou said the other day as we drove past Papago Park.

He was referring to the Eliot Ramada Loop on the west side of Galvin Parkway. The trail offers a paved portion for the first half mile until you reach the Eliot Ramada, a large shady structure poised between the massive, erosion-pocked red rocks called the Papago Buttes.

The trail is easy.

Easy for us anyway. Because, save a few creaky joints and Lou’s “arthritis” in his toe (eye roll), we are young, able-bodied hikers in the prime of our lives.

Not everyone has the luxury of hating that trail, however.

About four years ago, I convinced my grandmother’s caregiver and a few family members to meet up for a hike. With a heavy blanket tucked around her limp body and gray curls poking out from under her fuzzy beanie, GJ (our nickname for her) felt the chilly December air as we took turns (okay, brother Alan did most of it) pushing her wheelchair along the paved trail in Papago Park.

It was hard work.

Shortly after our family hike, GJ had another stroke. A big one. And it pretty much kept her at home for the rest of her life.

After my mother’s stroke earlier this year, we ventured to Papago Park once again for weekly hikes. Mom could walk okay but I had to keep a hand on her belt so I could yank her straight if she started to lose her balance. We started with the paved portion, taking breaks at each bench. We made it to the ramada. After a couple weeks, we braved the uneven terrain of the surrounding dirt trails. Eventually, we could walk the whole park.

That's Mom. Dwarfed by the amphitheater in Papago Park.

That’s Mom. Dwarfed by the amphitheater in Papago Park.

Today, Mom is hiking the Quartz Ridge Trail 8A, a much more challenging trail, three times a week by herself.

Papago Park is where my GJ got out of the house for one of the last times. Papago Park is where Mom healed from her stroke. Papago Park doesn’t suck.

This is the very same speech I gave Lou after he made his callous remark. Needless to say, he recanted his comment.

Nobody fucks with my trails. Nobody.

Check out more photos, gps information, and other details of  this hike on my Everytrail.com page which shows a loop we created one day. A detailed review of a Papago Park hike is featured in my upcoming book, Take a Hike Phoenix, which hits bookstores fall 2013 and is now available at barnesandnoble.com or amazon.com.