The trail to my house, as all trails in the Southwest, is a wash (or vise versa). You go along down the dirt road where the BLM rangers lost my tracks. When the tire ruts have begun to meander individually, separate from one another, you have come to the right spot. Now they split and go around trees that are 50 years old.
They tracks have become trails.
But these trails are no longer monotonic, (one-to-one) i.e. for a given distance from the trailhead there are different, yet equivalent, positions on the trail. In other words there are many trails masquerading as one another.
Suddenly, you are at my camp.
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