“The road is long, with many a winding turn…”

DAY ONE – October 3, 2012 – 7 mile hike - NORTH RIM TO COTTONWOOD CAMPGROUND

“It’s not the load that breaks you down, it’s the way you carry it.”

                 

 - Lena Horne

New hiker DOS AND DON’TS:

#1. Before embarking on a 4-day hike, don’t leave your camera and emergency medical kit in the tour company van.

#2. Do hike with friends who remember their digital camera and emergency medical kit, and who are kind enough to share their pics and their moleskin.

  

Oh, and as for those 24 miles….we five collectively agree that it’s 30, counting in the two side hikes and all the extra walking we had to do to get where we needed to go. For the record: We hiked the Grand Canyon, Rim to Rim, 30 miles in 4 days!

Before we could take the first step, however, we had to travel by van 4 ½ hours from Flagstaff to the North Kaibab trailhead at the North Rim. Part of the drive was through the Navaho Reservation---the western “most desolate edge” of the reservation our driver, Ginny, explained. Don’t doubt for a minute the level of extreme poverty that exists here and on other reservations, but that’s a sad discussion for another time.

The highlight was a stop at the Navaho Bridge, and our first glimpse of the Colorado River. Resting on the girders of the massive steel span constructed by the Navaho people was a rare sight: five California condors. Five. Anyone notice the symbolism here? One of the rarest birds in the world, condors teach us to soar above our own limitations. Just as we five hikers were hoping to do.

It only got better when we drove into Grand Canyon National Park. No tour buses or restaurants, no hordes of tourists. Just a pristine, 11-mile drive bordered by an alpine forest. As we came up to a meadow Ginny gasped, “Buffalo!” as she pointed to a herd resting peacefully in a golden field. Rarely seen, they are the descendents of buffalo introduced into the canyon over 100 years ago. Ginny had only seen them once before. Like us, Ryan, our guide---who was very quiet during the entire drive---was seeing them for the first time. Ginny remarked how lucky we were. I hoped that luck would hold out for the rest of our journey.

We finally reached the trailhead, where we scrambled to load our meager essentials into our assigned backpacks. As we stuffed clothing, personal items, toiletries, medical supplies, sleeping bag and inflatable mattress (which proved to be really, really comfortable), mess kit, and the snack bag provided by Just Roughin' It Adventure Company, we all prayed our load would not be too heavy. Pete and Ken also had to carry the tents and poles. Relief for me when my pack weighed in the lightest at 30 pounds---easy compared to 35-37 I’d trained with all summer.

Everybody else weighed in around 35, except for Ken. He would be carrying 42 pounds because of the two tents in his backpack. Diana carried the tent poles in her pack. We were all put to shame, however, when we saw what super trekker Ryan had to carry: our food, two camp stoves, bottled gas for cooking, two pots, and his personal gear. His load was over 65 pounds----which he easily hoisted onto his shoulders while the rest of us struggled a lot less gracefully to get our packs on our backs.

Let me say one thing about backpacks—they are not designed for people with any real flesh on their bones. The strap that belts around your waist is designed to sit on your hips and carry the bulk of the weight of your pack. It’s supposed to be pulled tightly—which creates a muffin top of epic proportions. It can’t be disguised. It’s out there for the world to see. Oh, well. Embrace the muffin top. It’s yours. Own it.

By now it’s around 12:30, and we still haven’t started our 7-mile downhill hike. We’re all nervous and tired, but we have to eat first. Lunch! We’d wondered what camp food was going to be like. Ryan Bee opened his magic backpack and pulled out flatbread, turkey, ham, havarti cheese, sprouts and hummus, and started assembling wraps. This is camp food? We grew more encouraged. It tasted great. The bees wanted some, too. And that’s when we learned that our quiet, superguide has an Achilles Heel. Ryan Bee is afraid of…bees!

Bees swatted away, lunch eaten, it was finally time to start hiking. But not before a quick lesson in how to sip water from the mouthpiece attached to the tube that led to the 2-liter Camelback bladder housed inside our backpacks. That water, which we would replenish daily---plus the liter of Gatorade we’d be required to drink every day to help keep our electrolytes balanced---would become our lifeline to surviving the long hikes through the arid desert. There’d be fresh water at each of the three campsites we’d stay at, and at the few rest stops on the hikes in between, but that was it. After trial and error, we learned to correctly manipulate the mouthpiece. “Bite it and suck it,” Sarah deftly explained.

No turning back now. We had our guide, our packs, and our trekking poles. The van had driven away. “We’re really doing this,” Kenny said. My legs were a little shaky as we passed the Coconino Overlook sign and took our first step onto the North Kaibab Trail. Unlike the South Rim, an open vista that reveals the maw that is the Grand Canyon, the North Rim follows a more secluded route before the canyon reveals itself. It gave me time to gather myself and find my courage. I glanced at the bracelet on my right wrist---a leather band with a metal plate attached to it. “Courage” was etched on the plate, my touchstone for when the going got tough or the heights got too high. Did I mention I’m afraid of heights?

Starting at elevation 8250, the trail led through an alpine forest of aspen, pines and juniper trees. We plunged down seemingly endless switchbacks and steep, rough-hewn steps made of logs or big stones that jarred our knees and feet and tested our endurance. It’s all a blur of motion and breathing, and I don’t remember which came first—the switchbacks or the incredible rock ledges that gradually revealed the drop-offs I’d been fearing. The ledges, blasted from the canyon rock itself, were 4 to 6 feet wide. Canyon wall on my right side, sheer drop offs on my left. I remember holding my breath as I took my first step onto the rock path. Now or never. Do or die.

I hugged the wall as I knew I would. Don’t look left, I told myself as I worked to slow my anxious breathing. Don’t look out. Don’t look down. Just look straight ahead. My eyes fixed on the backpack ahead. Just keep walking, I told myself. And, amazingly, I did, evidenced by the tap, tap of my trekking poles hitting solid rock.

“How are you doing?” Pete casually asked, trying not to draw too much attention to the obvious. The others glanced in my direction, too. “I’m good!” I said, smiling for the first time since leaving the trailhead. And I was. Better than I imagined I could ever be at this height. I learned I could handle quick glances at the view—out but not down. Never down. What helped, too, was knowing I wasn’t walking alone. This was 10/3 after all. My father’s birthday. My friend Alyssa’s father’s birthday. I was honoring their memory with this hike. It was also the birthday of my California hiker friend, Cindy Marten, who always inspires me to live fully and in the moment, and to be….“A bride married to amazement,” the line she frequently quotes from poet Mary Oliver. That collective strength propelled me forward.

Down, down we went, Ryan urging us to move as quickly as possible to reach Cottonwood Campground before sunset. If we didn’t, we’d have to strap on our headlamps and walk in the dark. So we moved fast, talking and joking at first, and then settling into silence as our packs grew heavier and our feet and knees began to ache.

There is no way around the pain when you are hiking downhill for miles. I’d read about it, expected it, but experiencing it is another thing. Your knees take the full force of your weight with every step, and your toes repeatedly bang up against the tips of your boots or trail shoes. Our feet were taking a monstrous beating.

We hiked for hours, stopping only for short breaks and when we reached a rest area called Roaring Springs. It consists of a small building with composting toilets (cleaner than you’d imagine—and trust me, I’m squeamish about bathrooms). A spigot for fresh water. And a waterfall created by the Bright Angel Creek, a vital water source for both the North and South rims.

It was time to crack open that Gatorade and have a snack. Snacks! Our spirits instantly lifted. Like kids on Halloween, we opened up our goody bags and examined the contents. Rice Krispie Treats! Gummy Bears! Cookies! Peanut butter crackers! There was trail mix, assorted energy bars, peanuts, and an apple. Lots of salty, sweet, energy-boosting treats. Yum!

Roaring Springs is also a rest area for the mule trips that head down to Phantom Ranch from the North Rim. You know, the donkey rides for people who don’t want to hike up and down the Canyon.

           

We watched with interest as the riders saddled up. And then we watched as the donkeys moved out---relieving themselves along the way and leaving great steaming pools of urine and clumps of green excrement on the trail. As a parting note, one bold mule---backside level with Ken’s face—released a burst of gas so loud and so long that we all stood in shock for moment until collapsing with laughter. 

We needed the levity because as we hoisted our packs back on, we asked Ryan, “We must be getting close to Cottonwood by now, right?” We’d been hiking for what felt like forever. “We’ve got a ways to go,” he said. “Another two miles.” Groaning, we pressed on. 

We were chasing daylight now. Moving as fast as the too-tall steps and our now screaming knees and feet would allow. We stole quick glances at views so spectacular that we had to pause even just for a moment to take it in or snap a quick picture.

Here’s the thing I’ve learned about hiking---you spend so much time looking down for fear of a misstep that you have to remind yourself to look up and see what you’ve come to see. 

As the sun began to set, the canyon walls burst into brilliant colors—golds, pinks, browns. My words can’t begin to describe the beauty, but all the cliches are true. The Grand Canyon will take your breath away. Kenny said it best, “You can’t describe it. You have to experience it.”

We limped into Cottonwood Campground as darkness fell. No rest for the weary, however, as Ryan immediately gave us the camp rules. “First thing you do at every campsite is set up your tents,” he instructed. “Then take any food and toiletries—anything that has a fragrance---from your backpacks so the squirrels and mice don’t get into them. Nothing goes in your tent except for water and your clothing.” No! I thought, not the dreaded aggressive squirrels and hantavirus/bubonic plague carrying mice I’d read about!  

Food and toiletries were stashed in the metal critter-proof ammo boxes provided at each of the 11 campsites. Backpacks were hung from iron bars to keep the squirrels out.

While we set up tents and unrolled our sleeping bags and pads, Ryan prepared our first cooked meal---fresh chicken and vegetable stir-fry over noodles. As I found a place to sit at our campsite’s picnic table I glanced down and saw two initials carved into the table: JP.  Same as my mother's initials. She always manages to let me know she’s watching over me.

“There’s enough for seconds,” Ryan encouraged as he opened the pot that contained our meal. “You have to keep up your strength.” Ryan, we would discover to our delight, was a real food pusher.

Even as he ladled the lovely, delicious meal into our plastic mess kit bowl, our eyelids were drooping. With great effort I held my spork and shoveled the food in. We’d hiked seven miles—in just over five hours---a drop in elevation from 8240 to 4080 feet. Pete---the most fit of us all---later admitted that the first day was so tough he wondered if this trip was really for him.

“When can we go to sleep?” Diana asked. There was a collective sigh of relief when Ryan suggested now since we had to get an early start in the morning. It was 7:30.

“Where’s your tent?” we asked Ryan. Our admiration for our enigmatic guide grew as he explained that he slept out in the open in his sleeping bag on a pad laid out on the picnic table.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll roll over and fall off?” Sarah asked. “Don’t bugs and animals crawl on you in the middle of the night?”

“Nah,” Ryan smiled. “That’s never happened.” He really was a super Bee!

As the sky darkened even more, Ryan directed us to look behind us. High above us were the tiny twinkling lights of the North Rim lodge. It was hard to believe it was only seven miles away—it seemed like it could be on the moon. And we’d actually walked all the way from there to here. One of many wow moments for us.

After a quick glance at the Milky Way spreading out in the sky above me, I crawled into the tent behind Pete. I’d been too exhausted to even contemplate fishing my baby wipes out of the ammo box to wipe off some of the dusty red dirt that clung to my skin. I didn’t care how dirty I already was. My hair hadn’t been brushed since morning. Neither had my teeth. I was beginning to learn just how difficult it is to stay clean without the luxury of a bathroom. It was equally amazing to realize how easy it was to let go of being obsessed with cleanliness. We’d wash up in the morning. Check then for blisters and bruised toes.

Anticipating a drop in temperature at night, I’d brought yoga pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a fleece to sleep in. But it was warm—low 80s. It had been in the 70s at the trailhead, but the deeper we moved into the canyon, the hotter it would become---and it had recently been unseasonably warm in Arizona. Pete and I were both sorry we’d put the rainfly on the top of the tent thinking we’d need it for warmth, but we were too tired to go outside and pull it off. Too delirious to think what else to do, I fell asleep in my hiking pants and t-shirt. The next morning, to their hilarity, Pete and Sarah noticed my hiking hat was still hanging around my neck.

Before the trip, I’d had this romantic notion that I’d journal away under the light of my headlamp inside our cozy tent, cataloging the events of the day. But I’d been barely able to hold my spork and remember how to eat, let alone hold a pen and organize my thoughts. The day was a blur.

We were sore and exhausted beyond belief, but we were seven miles into the Grand Canyon. Day one behind us, I didn’t just fall asleep; I passed out to the rumble of snores already emanating from the other tents.

Many miles to go

DAY TWO – OCTOBER 4, 2012 – 7 miles - COTTONWOOD CAMPGROUND TO BRIGHT ANGEL CAMPGROUND

“You find peace when you realize you are at the deepest level.”

- Eckhardt Tolle

As dawn broke, Ryan coaxed us out of our tents with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. We staggered out like zombies---leg muscles too stiff to bend, and feet too sore to do more than shuffle. Some had sore backs, too. And the head cold Pete had been trying to beat into submission for days had won. Sleeping outdoors had not helped his head congestion and sore throat. He was dragging. Sarah, too, began feeling a cold coming on. And Ryan, who’d been hacking away all night, admitted he’d caught a cold from a woman in his last group.

“When did you bring your last group through?” we asked, as we wolfed down granola and what would be our only serving of milk.

“Oh, the day before yesterday,” he replied.

“You hiked 24 miles, had one day off, and now you’re hiking another 24 miles?” we asked. No wonder he’d been so quiet. He was probably exhausted.

 “Usually, I have four days off in between,” he shrugged, “but it’s the busy season.”

Could this guy make us feel any more wimpy? Determined to know more about him, over the next couple of days we prodded and asked a million questions. Sarah and Diana were determined to crack him. We eventually learned he was 30, from Salt Lake City, and had majored in tourism at the University of Northern Arizona in Flagstaff. He started leading canyon tours while still in college because "it sounded like fun." Now he led canyon tours in the spring and fall and lived in Phoenix on his days off. He spent the summers in Moab, Utah with his girlfriend, and worked on the ski patrol in Utah during the winter. Don’t travel with the Rudoys--or me--and expect to have secrets or privacy. 

Ryan soon grew used to our questioning. It probably happens with every new group. "So, Ryan…” I’d usually begin, trying to find a way in. One afternoon, I probed,  “I read in your bio that your first concert was the Beastie Boys. Are you a music fan?”

A grin spread across his face. “Yeah, it was the Beastie Boys!” he laughed. “But I like jazz, country, rap, and folk, too.”  And when Sarah produced the tiny speaker she’d bought so we could listen to music from her iPhone, his face brightened. “I think music would be nice out here,” he said quietly. 

After breakfast, we stowed our belongings back in our backpacks and packed up the tents. “Camping is an awful lot of work,” Diana remarked. Oh, yes, indeed. Awful dirty work.

We cleaned up as best we could. There were composting toilets, and a water spigot for drinking. No water for real washing-up, but that’s what baby wipes are for. We'd downed our liter bottle of Gatorade the day before, so the bottle was empty. We filled it with fresh water and used that for teeth brushing back at our campsite. Before setting out we checked our feet. One blister on the bottom of my big toe. None for Pete. A tiny one for Sarah. Ken and Diana were the winners. Ken’s toes were already painfully red and bruised. And his big toes …. "I’m going to lose the nails,” he groaned. Diana had multiple blisters, too. And we both had a strange heat rash that spread about a quarter of the way up from our ankles. Pete had a splash of it, too. Attractive. We hoped it wasn’t some strange, desert flesh-eating bacteria.

Out came the medical kits. And that’s when Pete and I discovered we’d left ours—and his digital camera—in the tour van. Of course, Ryan was equipped for all emergencies; but our friends came to the rescue. They shared moleskin for my toe, and promised to share pictures. Which they have.

One last chore before departing. We each got a scoop of powered Gatorade and were instructed to put it into the empty bottle we’d polished off yesterday, and refill it with water if we hadn't already. I’d never been a fan of the stuff, but I learned to love it. I drank more Gatorade in those four days than in my entire life.

We followed Bright Angel Creek out of Cottonwood for another 7 miles. Forest was turning into desert as leafy trees were being replaced by cacti. The sun was hot and bright, and we anticipated another arduous day. We were still heading down, but the drop wasn’t as steep as our first day. Our destination was Bright Angel Campground, about ¼ mile past Phantom Ranch. The very bottom of the Grand Canyon.

On the way, we stopped for a side hike to Ribbon Falls, a 100-foot waterfall that flows out of a side canyon. It was a half-mile off the trail, and we grumbled about adding another mile onto our day. But Ryan had us drop our packs and stayed with them while we hiked in.  It was worth it. It was cool and shady. Pete, Sarah and Diana found the path in the rocks that Ryan said would lead behind the falls to the top. Ken’s feet hurt, so he stayed at ground level. It looked too precarious for my fledgling height confidence, so I remained below, too, while the rest scrambled around the rocks and posed for pictures.

Lunch that day—for you foodies---was peanut butter and jelly on whole grain bread, with a Gatorade chaser. We ate trailside, and it was decided that I should be served first at meals because I was the slowest eater. Nobody wanted to wait for me to finish. To speed things up, I put my yogurt-covered raisin snack on my sandwich—it was great!

The sun beat down as we trudged along. We were in the hottest part of the canyon now. This is the area known as “The Box.” It’s a narrow gorge where the black rocks absorb and hold heat like a furnace. 

People die here from dehydration and heat exhaustion. And there are no rest areas with potable water. We dipped our hats and bandanas in the creek when we could to cool our heads. It felt heavenly. As we hiked along we passed other hikers heading in the opposite direction. There were always brief hellos, and quick exchanges about who was headed where. I was most impressed with the older hikers I saw on this trip---people in their 70s who were trucking along at a fast pace. Pete noticed how many women were hiking—from groups of four and five, to two. Throughout the trip we exchanged greetings with people from England, Ireland, and Australia. There were Germans, Japanese, and Scandinavians. And accents I couldn’t detect. The camaraderie was great fun. No matter how breathless we all felt, there was always enough air to say, “Have a great hike!”

Ryan told us about the people who hike rim to rim---24 miles---in a day. And the trail runners who start in the middle of the night and run from the south to the north rim and back again. “You might see their headlamp lights during the night as they pass through the campgrounds,” he said. Crazy.

As we followed the creek, the heat was wilting. We were getting close to the bottom. As the canyon walls now soared above us, it felt like we were edging toward the center of the earth. What kept us going was the promise of a cold drink at the canteen at Phantom Ranch. 

“There’s ice there!” we said. “And cold beer!”

It took a good five hours to get there. While Ryan raced ahead to secure our campsite---there are 33 here---we stumbled into the relative coolness of the canteen and bought iced tea and lemonade. Pete bought a hat. I bought postcards, again deluding myself into thinking I’d have the strength to write them out at our campsite and then walk the ¼ mile back to mail them at the canteen so they’d be postmarked: “Phantom Ranch.” Pete thought he’d be back later to buy a beer. Never happened. Those postcards were mailed from Flagstaff before we left for home. And Pete skipped the beer.

When Ryan returned, we started to make our way to our campsite. I glanced at the outdoor thermometer. 105 degrees. No wonder I could feel the heat radiating from my skin.

There are cabins for rent—a year in advance—at Phantom. We gazed longingly at the tiny houses, knowing the guests who stayed there would have beds to sleep in and access to showers that were off limits to us campers. No showers at our campsite, but it was perfect. Ryan was able to secure his favorite spot. It was shaded, the creek was steps away, and so was the water spigot. Best yet, there were real bathrooms. “Flushing toilets and sinks!” Diana rejoiced.

We set up our tents, and did our feet check. More blisters for Ken and Diana, but the rest of us were holding our own. The heat rash on my legs was alarmingly red. Pete was feeling worse by the minute so he crawled into the tent and went to sleep. He’d been doctoring with over-the-counter decongestants and his allergy medicine, but it was barely making a difference. The rest of us hobbled to the creek and soaked our weary, burning feet. The water was only 40-something degrees, but it felt refreshing. We used the creek water to wet our hair and wash some of the dirt from our faces, arms, and legs. We felt almost…human.

We’d arrived early enough to have some down time, so Ryan suggested a walk to the Colorado River, about a mile away. Pete was still sleeping, and my feet were sore so I stayed soaking them in the creek. The rest wandered off, and had a great time.

Dinner that night—I know you foodies are waiting---was canned turkey mixed in with mashed potatoes, and stuffing. “It’s Thanksgiving!” we cried. We carbo-loaded every night. "Is there cake?" Sarah asked. We felt sure Ryan could whip one up in no time on the campstove but, alas, there was no cake mix in his magic backpack.

We stayed awake long enough to play the campfire videos we’d recorded back at the outdoor fire pit at our hotel in Sedona. Sarah had been crushed to learn open campfires aren’t allowed in the canyon, so we came up with a virtual substitute. 

We were really looking forward to washing up in the real bathrooms that night. We went as a group—hey, it was a big deal. Women’s on one side of the building, men’s on the other. We opened the door. Wait, let me back up a second here...at the composting toilets we used at Cottonwood and at the rest areas---all spotlessly clean---there were no lights. If you ventured in at night, you needed your headlamp. But there were lights here!  This bathroom had tiled walls, two sinks on the right side, and two stalls with metal doors on the left. Just like a real public bathroom.

We stepped inside. And that’s when I saw it…the biggest, hairiest spider I’d ever seen in my life. It had to be four inches around, including the legs. It looked tarantula-like, but it had a white marking on its back. It was standing in front of the two stall doors. 

 I froze. Sarah did, too.

“It’s just a spider,” Diana said calmly. “It won’t bother us. See? It’s not moving.”

“What if it does?” Sarah asked.

“Just step on it,” she replied.

“There’s no way I could step on anything that big,” I said.

Diana stepped into the first stall. The spider didn’t move. So far, so good. Sarah made her way to the sink to brush her teeth. I inched past the spider into the second stall. I no sooner had my shorts unzipped when Sarah screamed,

“It’s moving. It’s moving!”

“Where is it?” Diana and I shouted.

“Mom, it’s by you!” Sarah screamed.

I heard more screaming, and then scuffling. And then the spider casually—and rather elegantly, I might add---walked from Diana’s stall into mine.

I zipped my shorts, flung the door open and leaped over the spider. Please don’t be a jumper, I prayed.

I landed in front of Diana’s stall. I looked up and realized she was standing on the toilet. When I looked for Sarah, she was sitting in the sink with her feet in the air. 

By now we were laughing hysterically, but what to do? No way could I go back to the tent without peeing.

To her credit, Diana regained her composure. She stepped down off the toilet and approached the spider. “You have to leave,” she coaxed, shooing it with her toiletries bag. “Go, go on.” Diana Rudoy, spider whisperer.

She actually herded it close to the bathroom door. Sarah and I were huddled in the corner when she yelled, “Open the door! Open the door!”

Sarah did, and Diana shooed it out. 

“Close the door!” she screamed. We slammed it shut and stood there laughing until we realized that the spider was now outside and we were inside. What if it was out there, waiting for us, when we were ready to leave?

“What if it has friends or family?” Diana asked.

Sarah peeked outside but, to our great relief, the spider had disappeared.

You would have thought our male companions would have come running over when they heard us screaming, but it wasn’t until we had completed our washing up that we heard a knock on the door.

“Everything all right in there?” Ken asked.

“You’re a little late,” we said.

The rest of the evening, thankfully, was uneventful. And it is with great relief that I report, aside from a pesky squirrel, there were no other wildlife encounters during the rest of the trip. No snakes. No scorpions. Just a ringtail cat lurking in the rocks above our campsite.

 Pete and I didn't put the rainfly on the tent that night because of the heat. The top of the tent was all screen, providing an open view of the sky. Finally, time for some stargazing. Countless tiny lights splashed across the sky, filling it with a soft glow. Heavenly. I was at the bottom of the canyon, the bottom of the world, and I felt completely at peace. I fell asleep until the moon rose. It was days past full, but still so bright that it woke me up. The next morning Ken said he thought someone was shining a headlamp into his tent until he realized it was the moon.

I couldn’t fall back to sleep and, for hours, I watched Orion walk across the sky, following the moon on its path. Those moments made every hardship—and the spider encounter---worthwhile.

Movin’ on up

DAY THREE – OCTOBER 5, 2012 – 4.5 miles - Phantom Ranch to Indian Garden.

“In the supreme flaming glory of sunset the whole canyon is transfigured, as if all the life and light of centuries of sunshine stored up and condensed in the rocks was now being poured forth as from one glorious fountain, flooding both earth and sky.”

- John Muir

Today, after oatmeal and coffee for breakfast, we began the hike up and out of the canyon; a short, but steep trek—4.5 miles to Indian Garden. After leaving our campsite, we walked about two miles of flat trail to the Colorado River and crossed Silver Bridge---one of only two bridges that cross the Colorado River in the canyon. 

From there, we started climbing up, leaving the river behind us. We were on our way to the infamous Devil’s Corkscrew, a series of tight, steep switchbacks that are the equivalent of walking up the stairs of a skyscraper. Piece of cake for Ken and Diana as that’s how they trained in Chicago!

It was a good day for me, even though the climb was uphill and my cardio wasn’t where I’d hoped it would be before the trip. We were all doing well, considering the heat and exertion. Sure, we had aches and pains, but they usually disappeared once we started walking. Ken and Diana had blistered feet, Sarah's  cold was worsening, and Pete’s was rapidly developing into something even nastier. He, Sarah, and Ryan were sharing a bag of cough drops. But we were in good shape and even better spirits. 

If laughing so hard you snort is a measure of a good time, we were doing just fine.

Because we were hiking in the sun, Ryan wanted to reach Indian Garden early. We were making good time but, just as we made our way around the last Devil’s Corkscrew switchback, 

and close to where we were going to stop for lunch, we came upon a woman who’d fallen while hiking downhill. She'd broken her ankle. Her companion was with her, and another hiker who had helped carry her to a more secluded spot. Luckily, a park ranger was nearby and arrived quickly. Ryan stopped to help, too. He took one look at the woman’s ankle and whispered to us, "It looks like a bad break." He directed us to wait in the shade around the next bend. We gladly obliged because the sun was hot. We spent the next 45 minutes huddled under a rocky overhang, trying to stay hydrated, all the while being stalked by an aggressive squirrel who army-crawled around us when he realized we had snacks.

Pete napped on a rock, proving that he really can sleep anywhere. Sarah nursed a headache brought on by the sun. Ken and Diana relaxed in the shade, and I had time to place a remembrance rock each for my father and my friend Alyssa’s father on nearby boulders and take a picture. 

When Ryan showed up, he said the woman was going to be flown out by helicopter, but there was no place to land it and she would have to be carried---perhaps a few miles---to a better spot. Because two other people had to be flown out that day---apparently that many rescues is a rare occurrence---the woman would have to wait at least an hour before she could be transported out. Shows how serious this hike is. And it is true you will only be flown out if you can’t walk. Break an arm, you hike out. Sprain your ankle, you hike out. Over an hour later, we saw the yellow and black rescue helicopter in the sky above us.

But lunch is really what you’re curious about, right? Ryan made us his favorite daytime meal---chicken salad and raisins on pita. The bees were on him again, and we had to shoo them---and the squirrel---away before having our meal. 

We were ready to relax when we reached Indian Garden--which has 15 campsites---but Ryan had a plan for the evening. A side hike to watch the sunset from Plateau Point, where he’d cook us western pasta. Pasta! Pete was in the tent napping. We all knew how sick he was but, amazingly, he never once complained. Definitely an upper respiratory infection had settled in, but he still hiked faster than the rest of us! We talked about how it might not be a good idea to go if he was feeling so miserable. Suddenly, from the tent, a squeaky, congested voice croaked, “But I don’t want to miss it.”

And so we all hiked out of Indian Garden and took a meandering, flat, 1.5 mile trail to Plateau Point. The trail ended at a drop-off that offered one of the most incredible, wide-open views of the canyon. It’s a postcard scene. 

Far below, the Colorado River stretched like a thin turquoise ribbon. These were the views we'd all dreamed of.

You could fall off into nothingness if you stepped too close to the edge. Not for the faint of heart. Did I mention I’m afraid of heights? I’d done so well so far, but this was beyond my ability to overcome. Too wide open. No canyon wall to hug. Just sky. At the very edge of the plateau, there was about a six-foot wide ledge---with nothing on either side but air---that led to a massive butte. 

It was perfect for gazing at the wonder that is the Grand Canyon. Ken, Diana and Sarah went out. Pete did, too, but he didn’t stay long. Ryan said he could cook our meal out there and we could watch the sunset from the perch.  “I don’t think I can do it," I squeaked. I volunteered to stay back where I felt safer, but everybody was fine with eating off the butte. “I didn’t want to have come back on that ledge in the dark,” Diana said.

While Ryan whipped up a really great spicy tomato and zucchini pasta dish, Sarah brought out her tiny speaker. We listened to Bob Dylan sing “Brownsville Girl,” and dined to Bob Marley while the sun sank lower in the sky. By now Ryan seemed comfortable with us. I marveled at the complexity of his job—of how he had to live intimately with strangers for days on end, with no contact with the outside world. He’d mentioned he’d done this trip 30 or 40 times over the years. Not easy to slide into and out of other people’s lives, but he was so easy-going and such a pleasure to be with that we couldn’t help but want to make him a part of our group. Before the trip, I guess I was expecting a sun-baked, grizzled Crocodile Dundee character to lead us through the wilderness. When this soft-spoken and unobtrusive young guy showed up, we were all surprised. Earlier, the Rudoys gave him a present—one of the Rim to Rim trophy t-shirts Sarah had designed for us to wear after we completed our hike. “Nobody ever gave me a gift before!” he grinned.

I admired Ryan and the park rangers we met (more than a few were women), and how they define the concept of work in accordance with nature. To be part of the natural world every day must be an incredible experience. I didn't ask if it ever became monotonous, or just another day at the office for them. I didn't want to spoil my vision of a seemingly idyllic alternative lifestyle.

The sunset was spectacular. Two ravens perched on a backpack bar and watched it along with us.

 It was glorious. There were only a handful of people around. There was something sacred about the moment, and we all spoke in quiet tones as we watched the colors flame and glow.

 It was a gift, a vision burned forever in our memories. There could be no better way to spend our last night in the canyon. We walked back in the dark lighting the path with our headlamps.

The journey’s end

DAY FOUR – 10/6/12 – 4.5 miles - Indian Garden to the South Rim

“Not all who wander are lost"

- J.R.R. Tolkien

A simple breakfast of couscous and dried fruit was all we were given on our last morning. Keeping it light for the long haul ahead. Lunch would be after we walked out of the canyon—at a real restaurant at the top, if we could make good time. A good incentive, but we knew the last day would be the toughest. Only 4.5 miles to the top, with the goal of reaching the South Rim before noon. The Roughin’ It website said the average group does it in about 4.5 hours. There’d be two water stops, so Ryan suggested filling our water bladders up only half way to eliminate some of the weight we were carrying.

We were up before dawn to make time and to be out of the sun for as long as possible—and to beat the crowds. It was Saturday, and Ryan explained that the closer we got to the top, the more crowded it would be. Tourists congregate at the South Rim, and many hike the 1.5 mile to a rest stop and then hike back up. Although hiking etiquette dictates that uphill hikers have the right of way, many people don’t know it and will power their way down sometimes two and three abreast. “Don’t get mad, or say anything,” Ryan urged. “Because the group behind them will just do the same thing. Just take your time.”

The end of trail was nowhere in sight and I already resented the intrusion. Being so isolated for even just a few days made me reluctant to jump back into the mainstream. The landscape we’d been in was harsh, yes, but it possessed a stark beauty. If you took your eyes off the big picture and looked closely, tiny flowers bloomed and butterflies flitted through the air. I’ve always had a low tolerance for noise and chaos. The silence of the canyon had been soothing. I’d been lulled by the sound of wind, the rustling of leaves and grass, and the gurgling of rushing water.

During one of our hikes, Diana said there were miles and then there were “canyon miles.” Somehow the distances here seemed to be stretched, always taking longer than expected. But there was also canyon time, which seemed to stretch out longer than “real” time. 

We’d been walking through time, too. Each drop in elevation had taken us back in history as the earth revealed herself to us, layer upon layer. Time was marked by the different bands of color in the canyon walls, and the pictogram handprints and drawings we saw that were made thousands of years ago. Now we were moving forward in time—back to our present and our future. Hopefully, taking some of what we found sacred here with us. Part of the challenge for me in doing this trip was to live more fully. There is no other way to be in the canyon than to be completely present to the experience…. “a bride of amazement.” I felt so much a part of where we’d been that it felt strange leaving.

 And so the long, last climb began. Mile after mile, we worked our way up and out of the canyon. We were climbing the switchbacks known as Jacob’s Ladder.

 I had expected the climb would leave me gasping for breath. It was tough because of the distance and elevation we had to cover. I was breathless, but not gasping.The higher we climbed, the steeper it got, but it wasn’t a race. If I had to stop often to catch my breath, big deal. I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

We kept taking last looks, amazed at the distance we had covered. Below us, lay the swath of green trees in Indian Garden where we'd camped the night before. Beyond that was the trail that led to Plateau Point. 

And beyond that, in the slash of the canyon, were the rest of the miles we'd walked, stretching back to the North Rim. It was all a part of us now.

We left the Guardian of the Canyon to watch over this place of wonders as it has done for probably millions of years.

Ryan took the lead. Pete and Sarah behind him. I was in the middle, alone with my thoughts for most of the morning. Ken and Diana were behind me until the last big push, the last grueling 1.5 mile. Determined to finish with a flourish, Diana dosed herself with the Pedialyte she'd brought to keep her electrolytes humming and, with that extra burst of energy, she powered through. She forged ahead of us, taking on that last steep trail. “You go, girl!” we cheered.

As we got closer to the top, people on the way down---seeing our big packs and grubby appearance---asked where we’d been and how long we’d been out. “You’re almost there!” they cheered. “Keep going!” “You can do it!”  “You guys are amazing!” Their encouragement took me by surprise, and I found myself tearing up (no real surprise if you know me well). I’d thought I was on my own journey, but hadn’t I already learned we never walk alone? I could feel my dad’s spirit giving me the strength I needed to make it to the top. And though Pete could have easily raced ahead of all of us, he walked with me and we finished together. 

Diana was crying, and then I was, too. We’d done it. What seemed almost impossible six months before had been achieved. And we’d done the last hike in 5 hours. Not bad. I wasn’t in pain. My muscles weren’t sore. All I felt was euphoria---and gratitude that I had been able to go on this walkabout...this spirit walk. My goal for 57 was to live more fully, and I felt my cup runneth over. 

We dug our trophy t-shirts out of our packs and put them on for a final picture. 30 miles in 4 days, and all you see are smiles.

We invited Ryan to have lunch with us and over beer and food cooked on a real stove we joked and laughed. All week, the Rudoys—who would be sharing a hotel room back in Flagstaff—had been arguing, debating, negotiating—over who would get to take the first shower. Sarah finally decreed that Ryan had to decide. He came up with a trivia question, and the winner would get the first shower. “When did the Grand Canyon become a national park?” Ken guessed 1919 and won. But good husband that he is, he gave Diana his spot.

During lunch, I asked my usual end of vacation question: “What was your favorite part of the trip?” Kenny immediately replied, “Plateau Point.” Pete agreed, saying the sunset dinner was great. Sarah loved Ribbon Falls. Diana, Phantom Ranch.  For me, it was those first steps onto the rock ledge the very first day, of realizing that I had no fear and that I was more than ready for this challenge. 

I made Ryan answer, too. He said Bright Angel Campground. I thought of the creek running through it, and the Colorado River nearby, the canteen, and the location itself at the very bottom of the canyon. You’re in the middle, able to look back at where you’ve come from and forward to where you’re going. Good choice.

I get attached to people easily. Some, like the Rudoys, stay in my life. Others, like Ryan, are there for only a brief time. But whether they stay or go, I like to think that we are always connected by an invisible thread to those we’ve walked along the road of life with. We all felt a little sad saying goodbye to Ryan. “It feels like somebody is missing,” Diana said after he dropped us off in Flagstaff.

It was great being guided through the canyon by a Bee named Ryan. He is as industrious as his name and, like a bee, capable of carrying a seemingly impossible load. He organized us, fed us, and led us safely there and back. He also made sure we witnessed the sweetness of the journey with side hikes to Ribbon Falls and Plateau Point. We were part of his journey, too, and hopefully, we had something good to offer him. Or at least, we were entertaining.

I started this blog for me, but it wasn’t just my adventure. I asked Ken, Diana, Sarah, and Pete if they wanted to contribute their thoughts on what the journey meant to them.  

Sarah Rudoy's thoughts:

"I was very confused when we reached the South Rim of the canyon and my mother was crying and my father jumping for joy, all the while both of them locking arms. Then Taryn and Pete came onto the edge and they were just as moved. I had hiked the same trails as them, seen the same beauty, traversed the creeks and streams, camped under the stars in Autumn heat and stood on the same edge of a plateau as them. What didn't I get? It was explained to me as such: 'You haven't lived your full life, haven't seen all of the things we've seen. You'll get there and when you do this again with your kids, you will understand.' Who knows if I'll do this hike again, but it's true: I have only been around for 24 years and there's a whole lot more to come. As this was the peak of their adventures, it seems like it's just the beginning of mine. And what an adventure it will be." 

Kenny sent this email:

“I am on the plane, flying home to Chicago from our little trek, and I want to share some of my thoughts on this journey we've taken.

    

It all started last year as my wife, Diana, had this idea about hiking the Grand Canyon. She mentioned it to our daughter, Sarah, and it was kind of pushed on the back burner. At Christmas, the discussion came up again. We did some research and found Just Roughin’ It Adventure Company. After looking into it, we decided to do the Rim to Rim hike. A friend of Sarah's expressed interest, so we made the reservation.

I posted about the trip on Facebook. Taryn made the mistake of saying, "You guys always plan the best trips!" I replied back, “Join us.” I bet she never says that again!

When Sarah's friend decided she couldn’t go, I mentioned the trip to Pete again as there were two spots now open. Just to step back about fifteen years…I met Pete and Taryn at a motorcycle rally. Just about every year after we met, we would see each other at this annual event that included camping. Ten years into it, Diana came along and met my rally friends. After we moved to Chicago I only made the rally one more time, but Pete and I continued to see each other. Pete and Taryn visited us in Chicago, and I’d meet up with them in NJ while Sarah was at NYU. Pete and I have a common love for Triumph motorcycles, and Diana and Taryn for writing, books and movies. It is a great friendship that I will always cherish.

Getting back to the hike…. We had been training by climbing the stairs at Diana's office building and going for hikes in state parks. I do remember the day Pete called me and asked for some more info as he had many questions. About two weeks later, he called and said, “We’re in.” I got choked up with joy, and I was a happy camper at the thought of sharing this adventure with friends we have so much in common with.

On that Wednesday morning, in Flagstaff, as we were waiting for the van to pick us up, I looked at all of us and said, “We are really doing this!”

The ride to the North Rim was about four hours and we all were quiet. I think we all were scared shitless. When we arrived and were fitted with our packs, I knew then that this was really happening. We had our lunch and it was time to go. That first step was fantastic, “Let’s do this!”

The first day was long and hard, but each step brought us to incredible views. My feet hurt, as did my whole body. We arrived at camp in the dark and set up our tents. Ryan, our guide, made dinner. It was the best food I ever had. Boy, was I hungry! I will say the food was really good the whole trip, no freeze dried meals for us.

As day two started, we saw more and more beautiful scenery. We stopped at Ribbon Falls as a side hike. It was breathtaking. We spent the night at Bright Angel Campground with a stop at Phantom Ranch where we all had a cold drink with ice. We followed that with a dip in the Bright Angel Creek and a stop at the Colorado River, and all in daylight! After a spider incident we had a nice night’s sleep.

The next morning we started our uphill journey. We crossed the Colorado River on the Silver Bridge and stated our ascent. Every turn was a new view. After a long hike, we arrived at Indian Garden Campground. As we were setting up our camp Ryan said there was a side hike to Plateau Point. We were tired and not so enthused. He said it was a place to see a beautiful sunset and we would have dinner there. I’m so glad we all went. Again, words can't describe the views.

The following morning we got up early to do the last hike. It was hard, but worth every step. I can't even begin to describe my feelings as I got closer to the top, and then took that last step of the journey that started almost a year ago. I will forever have wonderful memories of this trip and of all the people who made it a great experience. Thank you all involved for making this possible. Oh, and I forgot to mention that I am sore all over. My toes are a mess, and I will probably lose my toenails, but it was worth every bit of it!”

Diana sent her thoughts the next day:

“Realizing we were only two switchbacks from the end of our journey across the Grand Canyon, I glanced back over my shoulder and was awed by the immensity of the canyon.  My mind suddenly grasped that the canyon was my life...twists and turns, steep uphills and downhills, with unexpected and amazing side trips.  And like the canyon, my life has been filled with fellow travelers---my family and friends---who helped me along and encouraged and inspired me when I could not take one more step.  And so I cried with joy and appreciation that I was able to make this journey.”

Pete, now on the mend, had this to say:

"Back five days, 4 days on antibiotics, and I'm finally feeling almost normal. What a trip! What an adventure! Each day was a different challenge, and a different set of natural wonders. We were all worried about being up to the challenge, and we all proved ourselves more than worthy.

 The first day was the hardest for me---7 miles downhill--but as we got into a routine of getting up, hiking and repeat, it got better each day. What a great group to share the hardships and natural wonders with. I'd originally planned to be in Ireland last week, but I ended up at the bottom of the Grand Canyon with no regrets."

As for me, I am so glad  Pete and I were able to share this adventure with the Rudoys. Their enjoyment of life and their love for each other is inspiring. I couldn’t imagine walking through the Grand Canyon or having more fun doing so with anyone else.

Diana mentioned she’d like to hike Machu Picchu one day, but Kenny promised the next time he says, “Join us,” there’ll be a beach, hammocks, and drinks with little umbrellas involved.

And so this adventure has come to an end, but not the journey. Keb Mo sings that life is… “a short ride down a long road.” But, surely, getting out and walking some of those miles slows time a little and gives us a chance to really see this beautiful world we live in, to love more deeply, and live life more fully.

P.S. Our first real meal home after our Grand Canyon adventure was Chinese food. Our fortune cookies held the most appropriate messages: