4/21/2013. - Day 26 - "UP" is mandatory.

4/21/2013.  - Day 26 - "UP" is mandatory. 

I put my hand to my forehead and squint, trying to compete with the sun's brilliance as I stare upward towards the canyon rim. I can't be more than 50 feet down now, maybe 100, but with the switchbacks it will be at least another half or quarter mile. It's so close but all I can think about is sitting down. Stopping. Lying in the cool dirt and closing my eyes for a little while.

This won't work. My thoughts are jumbled, but my brain is still semi conscious and hyper focused on getting OUT. And if I lie down on the path, others will trip over me, perhaps stepping on me by accident at times and trampling me until I become part of the path. Likely none will stop to carry me the remaining distance to the top, as they will have come from the bottom and will be as weathered as I by the time they reach me.

"Such a wonderful adventure" they said. "We're so jealous of that opportunity" they said. "How did you ever get reservations at the bottom of the canyon on such short notice" they wondered. Why would I EVER do this to myself I now ask. It is approximately 12:45PM, and I am just over 5 hours into the return hike. I was warned that the first half would be the easiest, and that once I reached Indian Garden, even though that was the halfway mark, the majority of my altitude increase was packed disproportionately into the second half.

I slept maybe two hours. There was a particular gal in our dorm who insisted on snoring loud enough to wake the ancestors of the first hikers who pioneered the trails into the canyon. She also insisted on not wearing bottoms and climbing up the ladder over my bunk several times in all her glory. A small army of us banded together in the night and elected a leader around midnight to go and wake the chainsawing lumberjack and try to convince her to turn over. She did. For five minutes.

 I remained awake, contemplating my fate. Trying to determine how many minutes of sleep would be sufficient to complete my ascent tomorrow. Wondering why I chose to embark on this journey and now nearly a month into it, if I was accomplishing all I had hoped. I wasn't looking for a vacation, or to run away; I was just looking for some time to clear my head and regroup. Forgetting some of the past was part of it, yes, but so was building a future worth remembering, writing a good story. Making something of myself that mattered. I was plotting a new course that would sail me straight and true on the path mapped out for me by God. And finding the faith and the courage not to veer off onto the trails that might look easier and safer. Trusting your faith to steer you in the right direction is the hardest thing I can think of, seconded closely by the effort involved in hiking the Grand Canyon. Which is the second hardest thing I can think of right now. Unless we are also counting trying to sleep ten feet from a growling snoring she-bear. That would be number three.

I had washed my shoes out in the river and left them outside to dry yesterday. I was hopeful that I would remember to shake the scorpions out of them in the morning before I lace them up. Lying in my dorm listening to the deafening snores of my roommate, I reflected on the progress I had made. I am less afraid than when I left home, less anxious, and more, I am happy. For the first time in almost a decade, I can sleep (well not tonight, but on a general basis). I am not worried or concerned about the passage of time or dates on a calendar. The old me would have planned this excursion to the T, mapped all routes, researched and strategized and drove myself crazy planning every minute detail. The new(er) me called three days ago, booked a bed in the dorms, put on her hot pink Nike's, and stepped onto the trail, however foolishly...

Change happens slowly and it doesn't have to mean you forget the past. You sift through it and hold tight to the things that made you grow and brought you joy, let go of the things that caused you hardship or brought up hate and negativity, learn from mistakes and wrongs done to you--and also from the ways you have wronged others, forgive (yourself included), and move forward. I think I am changing. I hope it is in the aforementioned manner.

I finally fall asleep somewhere around 2:00 or 3:00AM, but am awakened soon after by the canyon staff bellowing into our door at 5:00AM to wake those that chose "early" breakfast. I would never choose early anything unless it's first pick of dessert or rental cars. All other things can wait.

Last close up of the river as the hike up begins.

Going back to sleep is impossible so I get up and repack my bag, gather my effects, and limp down to the main building just in time for the 7:00AM (the "late") breakfast. I had bandaged my feet as much as possible, taking into account I had to save some first aid supplies for the trip up. My water and food supplies were in good shape, and though I wasn't hungry, I gobbled up as much as my stomach would hold, hoping it would tie me over for most of the trip. The canyon staff  at Phantom Ranch puts together the most magnificent breakfast I have ever seen and I know I will need every bite.



I eat quickly, wanting to get moving and just get this over with. Around 7:20AM I set foot back on the trail and head towards the Bright Angel route. In the first hour I see a handful of other hikers. The air is still cool and the sun is still finding its way into the canyons depths. I cross another big suspension bridge, this one with grates in the floor so you can see the river rushing beneath you. I have renewed strength this morning, partially from my brief rest, and partially from my great desire to get up and OUT.

Before I know it three miles are gone and it felt like nothing. The estimate to the top was approximately 10 miles from the trail head. Add another mile or so from Phantom Ranch. The first three were so easy though, I get it in my head that this will be a piece of cake.

On mile four and almost the rest of the way onward to Indian Garden I see no one. At times I am not even sure I am on the trail. The Grand Canyon is really canyons inside of canyons and its very hard to get a sense of your location or direction. Everything looks different but then the same. Red rocks, brown rocks, white rocks. Rocks. More rocks. Sometimes different rocks but then the same rocks again. I think I am going in circles.

Finally I see more hikers far up ahead on a trail that runs along a ledge high above me. The distance and height from me to them seems unfathomable. I am glad to see another human though, even if they are far above me. It has been over an hour of just listening to myself pant and hearing my footsteps drag over the trail.

A stream runs alongside a large part of the remainder of the trail to Indian Garden, and there are little waterfalls sprinkled along the way, spilling out from the rocks. I am beginning to feel I will never get there. The sun is getting higher, and hotter. My pack feels heavier. I wonder why I brought that little bottle of shampoo or that extra makeup brush because every little piece has got to be weighing me down ever so slightly more. As I pass oncoming traffic, I begin to add "Is it far to Indian Garden?" to my usual "good morning." One character exclaims, "oh yeah. Real close. In fact, it's just around that next bend...JUST KIDDING." I am merely driven to tackle him and rub his face in the dirt for blaspheming. I walk on.

Finally I reach Indian Garden, the halfway point. I see many of the 5:00AM breakfasters clustered around the watering hole. I am secretly quite glad I have caught up with them. One girl is duct taping her feet, as well as her shoulders where her pack is rubbing. Another has these bootie things that go over the bottom part of her shins and create a bell like shape over her shoes to prevent the sand and dirt from getting in. They are rainbow zebra stripe colored and she is adjusting them while conversing with the duct tape girl. Others are stretching, repositioning packs, filling water bottles, and devouring energy bars.

The canyons inside the canyon

I sit to rest and rehydrate. I change socks and dump the sand out of my shoes. In hindsight, these were not the best choice of footwear. My mind was on lightweight, but I am discovering that also meant mesh, and highly permeable by rocks and bits of sand that create giant blisters. Noted.

All of us on this journey have become a canyon family. We conversed and bonded last night after reaching Phantom Ranch, ate and slept in the same quarters, and now we are each other's cheerleaders as we all try to climb out of here. While I rested, some of the others made note of my still semi ultra bright neon shoes. Sidebar: I have dressed brightly strategically. If I fall to my death or something, at least my bright clothing will be a beacon so hopefully someone finds me before the vultures pick me to bits. I am outfitted in neon, completed with hot pink shoes. The members of my canyon family tell me they love them, and added that it is inspiring to be able to see my shoes from so far away and I know I am charging along up above, full steam ahead, out over them and on to the next canyon. They are also making comments that I am moving quite quickly. I am traveling alone so I have nothing to pace myself on and this causes me concern for a moment. I am glad to hear I am making good time, but am only slightly anxious that I will burn myself up before I reach the rim.


After a few more minutes of conversation, I pick myself up off of the rock I am sitting on and get moving. The grade is noticeably steeper right away, and I feel a little sinking in my gut. I am just barely able to make out the top of the rocks above me as I squint into the sun, but still I cannot see completely to the rim. All I can see are more rocks, and more canyon. I press on.

Not happy.

Another hour goes by and I see very few people again. I am beginning to get very tired and weary. My feet are really beginning to bother me. I know I have at least 3 miles left, maybe more. I begin to wonder if this is what our grandparents experienced when they were walking to school "uphill both ways."

More steps, less distance, and a good hour more passes. I am slowing to a snail's pace. My backpack straps have carved permanent niches in my shoulders and dig in further with each step. This time I wonder how soldiers carry packs and weaponry all over and don't collapse in exhaustion. I have even more respect than ever for their duty and accomplishments, as well as their physical strength. I am no soldier, but I am shouldering a pack that makes me feel like it is going to crumple me to the ground, and I cannot imagine one that is loaded with actual supplies and the added bonus of carrying artillery.

There cannot be more than two and a half miles to go, but I can't imagine how I am going to get out. The sun climbs higher over the canyon and appears to be attempting to fry me right there on the rocks. My feet are throbbing, my back feels like that of an old mule weighted down for too many years and sagging in the middle. I'm drenched in sweat. And on top of that is a nice setting powder of red dirt. When I started I thought, oh wouldn't it be swell to hike the beautiful Grand Canyon. All I can think now is "get me out of this sweltering hell hole". I want out. I want out now. My thoughts now revolve around the feasibility of requesting a helicopter to come and get me out of here and how I will summon it given there is no cell service for miles and miles around the canyon. I didn't bring cash so asking someone to carry me is going to involve bartering goods or services I either do not possess or am unwilling to share. The mules left early this morning. I am going to dry up and die in this stupid canyon. After I go crazy from all these ridiculous thoughts in my dehydrated and exhausted mind.

People passing now just look sadly at me as I greet them. They either feel pity or sense my patheticness and are forced to look away. They try to smile but see the agony in my gait. Every step feels like my feet are weighted down with cinder blocks. My socks feel like there is sandpaper lining them that is scraping away the entire upper layer of skin on my feet. The blisters are hot coals being pressed to my skin and searing the surface.

I see an older couple resting in the shade on some large rocks and stop and sit near them. We visit and they indicate I am still almost two miles from the top. This is impossible. I feel like dying. They ask about my hike and if I came from the bottom. The man asks if I had to make reservations far in advance as they had heard you had to call about a year ahead of time. I stated that was my understanding as well, but I took a chance and called a few days ago. And while the woman on the other end of the line was surprised, she indicated they had an opening. I added, "The Lord just must be watching over me," without really thinking. The old man seemed surprised, and asked "Are you a Christian?". It seemed such a funny thing to ask, but he looked so confused and incredulous. I paused to consider how strange it was to actually be asked that question, and then responded, "Yes, sir, I am."  A few tense moments passed where I was unsure of what his reaction would be.

Must. Climb. Out.

I have never been asked something like that, aside from the time I was left alone to man the snack bar at the country club I worked at one summer in Duluth, MN. The main bartender had stepped away momentarily, and of course members came in wanting mixed drinks. I, being a non drinker who cannot mix anything, hurriedly raced to the kitchen in search of staff. I found only the burly and terrifying "chef", to whom I breathlessly explained that I needed to know how to make a certain drink because I myself didn't drink. Chef eyed me suspiciously and then said, "What, are you a Christian?" Frankly I don't see what the has to do with anything, but the old man's remark reminded me of Chef's glaring question as me mixed the drink for me. Now sitting beside the couple, the atmosphere is stiff, his words hanging between us for a few tense moments. The old man's response came after several awkward seconds passed, shattering my thoughts. "Glad to hear it," he said. "Not too many young people who are anymore."

That thin line that runs all over this picture?
Yep, that's the trail.

The worst thing about going up is that the closer you are to the top, the farther away it seems. The estimate on the "up" journey on the Bright Angel Trail was 8-10 hours, as given to me by the park ranger. As I stare up into the glaring sun, searching for top of the rim, I can see how that might be a pretty good estimate. I am so close right now, but every step feels like it will be the last I can muster before I collapse. I can now go only about five steps before I have to rest again, and each time I sit down it is harder and harder to get up again.



That's life though. Usually when we encounter a challenge or trial, the hardest part comes just before the victory. Sometimes to closer we get to our goals, the part where they are just beyond reach seems to most insurmountable.

I think about praying for a body builder to come carry me out but instead pray about how thankful I am to have come this far, for the safe journey I've had over the last month, and for the smiles I am still offering to the passing hikers. A Hispanic man and woman pass next. I smile and greet them and he returns my greeting. The woman makes an expression that says she does not speak English but she smiles.  As she passes she turns and looks back at me, and pumps her fist in the air. This brings a smile to my face and I wave back at her. I have a slight bounce in my step for a few paces from my unlikely cheerleader. God is good.

I am covered in red dirt which sticks to me everywhere because of the layer of sweat underneath. My shoes are almost full with sand which I have attempted to dump out repeatedly only to have them fill up again minutes later. My shirt under my backpack is completely soaked and my phone just breathed its last breath and is now dead. Intense panic suddenly sets in because now I am without GPS to tell me how much further it is. Half a mile maybe? A quarter? It's all I can do to keep moving forward, because forward means up and I am just destroyed from the previous miles of "up."






I come to an arch cut through the rock. As I pass under it, suddenly I can see many more tourists, hikers, and other cleaner human beings. I also see unaltered sunlight,which means I am within reach of freedom.

I stagger along and reach a section of paved trail, and then a fork. I can't believe someone would put a fork in the trail at this point because anyone who has come this far is likely incapable of making any important decision. I gesture towards some tourists and point to the fork in a manner that says "which way?" They offer no help and explain that either way is fine. I pick randomly and keep walking. The white sidewalk and bright sunlight makes me feel like Moses has just parted the sea for me, rather than my smaller accomplishment of exodus from a sweaty dusty hole in the ground.

I stagger out, blinking from the sunlight and relieved at the sight of civilization. Hobbling to the shuttle, I have complete disregard for my surroundings and want only a shower and rest. I am suddenly aware that I am out, and remember my phone is dead so I have no idea what time it is. I stop the nearest person and frantically ask for the time. He indicates it is nearly 1:30PM. Six hours. Six hours up and I am free finally.

 As the shuttle comes to a stop, the driver exits and I try to inquire as to whether this shuttle stops at the visitor center. He holds up his hand to shush me, ushers the passengers out, waits a few more moments, then begins a speech about the shuttle system etc etc. I climb aboard the shuttle, shuffle to the back, and slump into a pile. I don't care where we go, I just want to not move for awhile. I sit motionless, with my face buried in my backpack, for the duration of the ride to the visitor center, completely unresponsive to any activity around me. Upon arriving I rush inside the visitor center and rangers inside, and explain to the first one I see that I am looking for the showers as I have just come from the canyon. "I can see that," is his response. And, "the closest showers are at the campground several miles away, and it's a few dollars for a seven minute shower." Seven minutes will not even remove the top layer of dust.

After standing in line for fifteen minutes at the campground, the attendant politely tells me that I can pay over at the showers which are just over the hill that way and that standing in line was unnecessary. It's like everything is against me today, not just the incline of the land.

I was right and seven minutes barely cut it. Whatever. At this point, I don't even care. I have wasted precious financial assets on premeasured warm pressurized water which has made me feel incrementally better. I drag my semi clean self into the pickup and just start driving. After several miles I figure I should look at a destination and settle on Flagstaff since it's close, and I'm just tired of today.

After finding a hostel in Flagstaff, I refuel with some Easy Mac and immediately start to feel better. The lobby is full when I arrive at the building so I go out to write and socialize with the other guests after eating. They are a great group and we share lots of laughs into the evening. A tall lean gentleman walks in after an hour or so wearing leather and carrying a helmet, and our unlikely lobby group welcomes him heartily. A few more stories are passed around before everyone turns in. I can barely walk, my joints feel like I rolled and tumbled down the canyon hitting every tree and rock on the way down instead of using the designated path; but I have a warm quiet place to sleep, new friends, and lots of blessings to count in my prayers tonight.

4/20/2013. - Day 25 - A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

4/20/2013. - Day 25 - A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step...

Down is optional; Up is mandatory.





I awake with a very cold nose and a very great desire to use the bathroom. It's approximately 2:30AM. Campfires are out, tents are zipped up, and the woods are silent and frosty. I have obviously locked myself in my vehicle to avoid being kidnapped, hacked into pieces and later dumped into the canyon. If I stretch and twist just right in my sleeping bag, I can reach the manual door lock on the back driver's side door. As I wriggle out of the bag, I pull up on the lock. I am not fully awake yet but I'm thinking I really need to use the bathroom and it's cold and I have absolutely no idea where the campsite restroom is, so the trees will have to do. As I grasp the door handle ready to silently sneak into the woods, I am blasted awake by my car alarm shrieking and every possible light and illuminable device on my truck flashing brightly. I am immediately awake, as is everyone within a mile radius of the honking and flashing. I can hear voices and tent zippers as the other inhabitants are jolted from their slumber. Of course, I am awake but not awake enough to remember where my key fob is that shuts the alarm off. After an agonizing thirty seconds of searching, I find the key fob and manage to shut down the noise. Apparently, if you lock the door with the fob and then fail to unlock it in the same fashion, the security system assumes you are an axe murderer and blasts a warning loud enough to wake the dead. Which I think I knew is awake life but not in semi asleep life. Obviously there is no way to sneak into the woods inconspicuously now, so I stuff myself back into my sleeping bag and pray no one slashes my tires for disturbing their sleep.

A few short hours later my eyes open again, this time to sunlight and the sound of campers going about their morning activities. Tent zippers are zipping open and shut, campfires are cooking breakfast, items are being folded and packed away.  I remember the horror of several hours ago and pray everyone else was as disoriented as me and that they won't remember what happened, or will at least not be able to identify the source of the disruption. I procure some breakfast from the food stores in my truck, and then begin the drive out of the campground, hoping to pass a rest area along the way.

Thankfully there is a facility near the entrance to the camp where I can also wash my face. I stop at the office to pay the night's fee and get directions to the visitor center where I will be leaving the pickup for the next couple days.  At the visitor's center, they direct me to the area where the shuttle will collect me, indicate that I may leave the pickup in the parking lot, and present me with "the stuff" as the ranger calls it, which consists of printed media and handouts and maps of the canyon. The ranger also indicates that normal time to get down to Phantom Ranch, the base of the canyon where I will sleep tonight, is about 4-6 hours. I am to take the South Kaibab Trail down, and come up the Bright Angel Trail. It will be approximately 6.3 miles down. I am to bring lots of water.

I return to the pickup to assess my backpack. I have stashed a change of clothes, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a toothbrush, comb, extra socks, and of course, a bit of makeup. I have no idea what awaits me but if my future husband is down there, I might meet him looking like a caveman but at least I will be able to transform myself into somewhat of a lady. One must always be ready for their date with destiny.

Next I take a look into the supplies I purchased last night. Lots of snacks and fluids. As I start to pack  my bag, it is obvious that all this food and beverage weight will be difficult to shoulder for 4-6 hours. I again go through everything in the bag and take out a few items before deciding that even though I can't stuff a single thing more into the pack, I cannot live without any of the items currently contained inside. With that, I leave my gypsy wagon in the parking lot and start for the shuttle station. All aboard for the hike of your life!

About a half mile in.

The shuttle comes and fills with other eager tourists and hikers. We arrive at the trail head and I waste no time looking over the rim to see what my day holds. I have seen the rim before, and I have no time for oohing and ahhing over it today. It's already 12:30PM and if it actually takes 6 hours to get to the bottom I've got to get moving to avoid night time hiking.

First stop from above.

The South Kaibab is extremely steep, very narrow, and appears somewhat unsafe. Because it has not been flattened and widened and tinkered with, it provides the most unobstructed views of the canyon. Of course this coincides with it having steep drop offs to the sides, and areas where the path narrows to just a few feet, which is a bit unnerving.







The Kaibab is fairly busy. I am moving quickly and passing most of the other hikers going down. A couple miles in I come to the first rest stop. There are a dozen mules tied up to the hitching post as their riders allow the steeds a brief reprieve. I take the opportunity to stop for some water and sustenance and a short rest. The mules soon depart with the riders and head up. I continue down, winding through the rough terrain and uneven paths that lead to the bottom.

Trail running along the top of the cliffs.

First views of the Colorado

About 3 1/2 miles in, I can barely make out the murky green blue line below which must be the mighty Colorado. I continue my descent, my toes pressing the front of my shoes and my backpack pushing  me down further into the canyon. The wind rushes around me on the trail and I have to be careful not to be caught off guard by the gusts that rush at me unexpectedly, lest I be blown over the side and reach the bottom sooner than expected.

Another mile or so down and my feet are starting to ache. I am terrified of getting blisters at this stage of the game because tomorrow's hike UP is sure to be worse. Signs at the next rest stop warn, "Down is optional, Up is mandatory." Even going down, I feel pain in my tired legs. I feel like stopping to rest or drink is an annoyance that is just going to delay me. I press on.

Like this, but doing DOWN. 

At 6 miles down I can clearly see the river rushing below me and all I want to do is jump in it. Several times on the way down it has crossed my mind to just throw my pack over the cliff and retrieve it at the bottom. How are a change of clothes and a couple bottles of Powerade SO HEAVY? The steep grade makes me feel like I am running straight down the side of a skyscraper as my toes pound into the front of my shoes step after step.

The switchbacks continue as I go down. Looking at these photos it's crazy to see all the ways the trail bends and turns and winds through the canyon.


Below me is a large metal suspension bridge that will take me across the Colorado. They have cut a hole in the rock to get through to the other side of the trail, and the coolness inside the cave is welcome as I approach the bridge.


The bridge itself is only about 4 ft wide, with wire sides allowing a full view of the river. As I cross, I check my GPS: 6.3 miles. There are no buildings in sight, no sign of the existence of Phantom Ranch.









I'm in a bit of a panic. It's that horrifying moment where you think you are done and then it becomes obvious you are in fact NOT done. I continue along the trail which has now turned to heavy sand that entraps my tired feet and slows them to an unbearable pace. I am still passing other hikers but now my feelings of be being hungry, tired, and irritable are being exacerbated by the thought that there will never be an end to this trudging through the heavy sands of a bottomless canyon. I remain pleasant and continue my habit of greeting everyone I pass with a smile. I try to keep my mind focused on the fact that there must be a stopping point near.

Finally after a 1/2 mile or so, signs appear notifying me that Phantom Ranch is close. I start to see cabins and search for the main building. I pass a pen of grazing mules, and a few more corrals and cabins before I spot the welcome center.  I feel like I am crossing into the promised land.

I enter into the cool climate controlled building, grab the nearest chair, dump my pack into the next chair, remove my shoes, and lay my head on the table. This scene remains unchanged for the next twenty minutes of heavy breathing and sweating. I resemble a tired dog lying on the floor. My tongue may be out trying to pant away my exhaustion.

When I zoomed in on this, I could see all the
switch backs in the trail. And it was obvious
that many more than 679 calories were burned.

Finally I am able to sit up, take stock of my surroundings, and breathe normally.  Upon checking the clock on the wall, I remember to grab my iPhone and check the GPS. It's 3:00PM. Subtract from the time on the GPS the twenty minutes of lifeless exhaustion I wasted upon arriving, I made it top to bottom in about 2 1/2 hours. The total distance looks to be about 8 miles. Not bad.

I approach the counter to check in for the night stay I have booked in the dorm, and collect my pre ordered lunch. I carry everything back to the table as a man enters the building and abruptly asks if I have seen any others who "look like him." By "look like him" I believe he meant other sweaty and dusty humans with dual beverage cans strapped to their heads. I answer, "No, I have not. It appears they have abandoned you." He asks if he can sit down and I motion towards the empty seat across from me. I learn he is an "ulta runner," some form of super athlete that thrives on running extreme distances. Today he explains, as he cracks a beer, there are an abundance of said ultra runners in the canyon, starting at the top of the south rim, running to the bottom and then running up the north rim, coming back down, and then running back up to the top of the south rim again. Running. The whole way. I want to throw up thinking about it. I decide he is certifiably insane.

We chat a bit  as he takes a handful of sips from his beer, and then Mr. Ultra Runner takes off again to run back up the canyon. Good for him. I'm so tired that even finishing my lunch seems impossible. After I manage to get most of it down and feel that I can at least make my way to the women's dorm, I approach the counter again and ask for directions to the dorm.  I follow the trail to the dorm and find my place there. The food must be revitalizing me and I am now interested in walking back down to the river.

It is approximately 1 1/2 miles to the river and somehow I manage it on my battered feet. The water in the Colorado is murky and freezing and this strikes me as actually being a good thing because I can soak my aching self in it and hopefully prevent the majority of the soreness from setting in. A natural ice bath.

Succulents along the trail between
Phantom Ranch and the Colorado River. 

After a few minutes, I discover it's actually beyond my tolerance to immerse more than a couple of my toes in the water, which is still not a complete waste because my feet are completely destroyed and the cold soak likely has great benefit. The river runs the length of the camp and all through Phantom Ranch, narrowing by the cabins. I'm hoping that if I hike back towards the dorm, the narrower creek area temperature is more tolerable.

Upon returning to the dorms, I can see a trail to the water with a sitting area. This looks promising. As I approach the clearing, I notice there is already an established inhabitant, a man wearing swim shorts rinsing out clothing items in the stream. This is necessary because every article of clothing you come down in is covered in dust and dirt and I actually just finished washing out my shoes. I think they were neon pink when I started but now they are more of a dusty red. Bummer.

I start down towards the creek and the man, and comment that he has found the best spot and one of the only areas that allows direct access to the creek. We make small talk and I explain my mission to sit in the creek so that my sore joints can experience some cold therapy. "Kyle" joins me in the creek as we both have to climb out of this pit tomorrow and would like to do it in somewhat decent shape.

Kyle is living in Washington, DC finishing up coursework and then moving onto his medical residency which will be in San Francisco. He notices a huge bruise on my knee and inquires about the injury. I share some about my trip and have to divulge the part where I fell into the tide pool, thus acquiring the bruise. I am slightly jealous of his upcoming move to CA and share my love of the area, specifically San Diego. Kyle also aspires to get to San Diego ultimately and we discuss strategic plans to get there. Kyle is further along in his plans as he is already at a point where he will soon be in California. I am living out of my truck.

Ammo boxes to keep out the wildlife. 

We are sufficiently frozen after a long soak in the freezing water, and depart for warm showers. I'm going to need about an hour in some hot water to restore my normal body temperature. Luckily we have warm showers in the dorms.

I make friends with some of the other gals in the dorm and we explore the grounds and then later attend the ranger program at night. This is basically the only activity in the evening, and afterwards everyone goes to the main building to play cards. I pass Kyle coming out as I enter the building and offer a quick greeting. Aside from the card players, everyone seems pretty anxious to get to sleep and rest up for the big hike out tomorrow. Walking back to the dorm, the night is still and warm and the stars are beautiful from inside the depths of the rock walls. I pause outside the dorm to take it all in for a few moments and inhale the fresh air and beauty, before retiring to my dorm to prepare for tomorrow's journey.

4/19/2013. - Day 24 - I'm a thousand miles from nowhere. Welcome to the Mojave.

4/19/2013. - Day 24 - I'm a thousand miles from nowhere. Time don't matter to me. 'Cause I'm a thousand miles from nowhere, and there's no place I wanna be.

Welcome to the Mojave.

I start from San Diego much later (of course) than I should. This is becoming a habit. I'm not that mad about it. I spent the morning cleaning out the pickup and reloading it in a more organized fashion that doesn't make my OCD go crazy from the mess. And really, I have no time to keep up with so being late is really a relative term.

Seven lanes of traffic in SoCal as I head for Palm Springs.
Such a strange site in the eyes of a North Dakotan.

Last night I got way too impatient waiting for the sunset. I trekked back to Coronado Island to watch the end of the day go down beneath the water. The last few days have been very warm, hot from a North Dakota perspective, and I've been hoping to find a sand volleyball game to jump into. No luck. The Californians are still freezing at 75°.

As I put the pickup in park at Coronado Beach, I can make out a lone volleyball net just off the lifeguard station with an active game in progress. I squint the count the players, one, two, three, four, five, six. Shoot. They have an even number. Oh well.

I walk out to the beach which is bathed in orange light as the last tourists and beach comers savor the final moments of the day around me. I glance over at the volleyball game and wish I was playing. It looks like a bunch of younger males, no girls, and no extra spaces because of the even number. Too timid to ask random strange men to join their game, I walk back to the pickup, passing the net on my way. A few yards past the net I decide that this trip is about adventure and random happenings and the worst that can happen if I ask to play is they say "no" and I go back to the truck as planned.

I turn and walk back towards the net and shout, "Hey, is this a gentlemen's game only or are ladies allowed?"

The response is a welcome to come and play, as one of the guys gladly races off the court to get to his cell phone and feed his texting addiction. He does not seem remotely bothered in swapping places with me and in fact appears grateful to have his thumbs back on the screen.

The guys are all in the service here at Coronado. They have only been here about a month but are not native Californians so they can appreciate the warm weather. They explain that it is still too cold for the locals to be out playing and sunbathing but they come out here daily and play some beach volleyball. One of the players on my team worked for Haliburton Oil in the western part of ND and is familiar with the state somewhat, meaning he also grasps my excitement at these temperatures given it's mid April.


We play until it's so dark that we can't make out the ball anymore and then walk over to the Hotel Del Coronado and capitalize on an unattended fire pit. Stories are shared around the fire until one of the hotel staff members detects us and we make a quick getaway. We part ways after I thank the guys for letting me get some time in on the court, and I head back to the hotel to pack and sleep before my next adventure. It was a great end to the night, although now I am slow to get moving and once everything is packed I realize it will be a long day of driving.



I head towards Palm Springs and discover that Palm Spring sure likes them some wind turbines. 360° of towering spinning structures surround the highway, stretch up into the mountains, and cover the desert plains in all directions. It's beautiful. Good clean energy at the expense of only a bit of ground to plant the towers in and the free sweeping wind that comes through the valley. I love it.

I pass the famed Coachella where at present there is a music festival which seemingly looked inside my heart and invited every band I ever loved to come and play at a location I would eventually drive by, only to be consumed with bitterness. At this stage in the show, tickets are outrageous and it is painful to drive so close and yet be so far away from the musical greatness.

The next hundred miles is pure Mojave Desert. The highway is just a sweltering black line of pavement winding on into the horizon. There are very few cars that pass on this deserted route, and no cell service whatsoever for the next few hours. It's terrifying and exciting at the same time.

Sunset in the Mojave is quite beautiful. I veer off the beaten path for some better views of the spectacular oranges and pinks that light up tonight's sky.

I cross into Arizona and begin to near the gigantic hole in the ground which I will try to conquer tomorrow. At one of the last moderately civilized locations, I stop for powerade, water, energy bars, and other necessities for the hike. When I finally reach Grand Canyon State Park, it is pitch black and the signage for the campsite leaves something to be desired. There is almost no cell reception but somehow Google Maps loads just enough information to guide me to the campground.











I find my spot easily enough and survey the area. I glance back at the dash and find it's only about 9:30PM, but the temperature gauge is showing about 35°. There is no way I am pitching a tent in that frigid air, much less sleeping out there. Thank goodness Ford has had the foresight to anticipate such situations and has also made their backseat large enough to accommodate giants. I roll my sleeping bag out across the seat, curl into the warmth and am sound asleep dreaming of the adventure that awaits me tomorrow.