The Southwest - Part 13

August 27th - On the Road

Today we said goodbye to our Moab campsite, Arches National Park and the black widow which had taken up residence in our latrine (I named her Bertha).  

The plan was a straight drive to the Grand Canyon, stopping only for gas, water and Subway.  Oh my youthful optimism.  My father, avid photographer and ADHD poster child that he is, decided we needed to stop at every bend in the road to take pictures.  The resulting photo album reads like Google Streetview.

Packed into our claustrophobic Prius again, I began to appreciate why Kerouac took so many drugs. 

As the sun set, we finally reached the Grand Canyon.  Wow, they weren't kidding you guys.  This thing is HUGE.

I photographed this squirrel for perspective.  Okay it was because he's adorable.

The Grand Canyon is so deep and so touristy that you can throw a rock into it, get an espresso and be back in time to watch it land.  Also, it was carved by the Colorado River - which means it's a death trap.

I'm not kidding.  Everywhere you go, there are signs warning the "young and invincible" that any deviation from the main path will result in certain and protracted death.  I guess the BLM shoots to kill. 

August 28th - Challenge Accepted

OMG!  Today's post is a two-fer!  

On a completely unrelated note, it has come to my attention that people outside of Ontario don't call cases of beer "two-fours".  Then what do you call the May Two-Four long weekend?  Victoria Day?!  So you don't drink a whole case of -- FIREWORKS?!  Get out of my sight.

Okay we're back.  So we set out early the next morning to tempt fate again  tackle the canyon.  Before we began our descent, we encountered the Big Scary Sign.  It read:

1) Do not hike down to the river and back in one day.  How about half a day?

2) Do not hike between 10 am and 4 pm.  You're not my mom.

3) Take breaks every 30 minutes.  If you're a wuss.

4) Bring plenty of water.  Dude, water is HEAVY.

5) Eat plenty of snacks.  If I have to eat another Cliff bar, people will DIE.

Pausing only to take in the beautiful vistas, and dodging (with minimal success) the minefield of mule poop, I took off for the basin. 

Well I made it to down to the cursèd Colorado River and had a victory pee.  Just kidding, I hadn't peed in days.  

Unfortunately, the ease of the descent and the cool morning shade belied the perilous return trip.
Lumbering back UP the switchbacks, in the full heat of the sun, I learned a very valuable lesson.  There is a profound difference between miles hiked horizontally, and miles hiked vertically.

The canyon, which hours earlier had seemed so beautiful, now began to look something like this:











Those damn mules had made it look so easy.