I get “off” of work at 6pm on Saturday night. That’s my lot in life as a shifty instead of a regular ninetofiver. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Turns out many of my ninetofive colleagues are more than happy to reply to emails during their weekend evenings. And so as I make my way to the super store down the road my phone is exploding with messages and emails. I park at the gas pump and send a quick reply.

Selecting regular and slamming the handle in with a click to fill the tank, I turn to find myself face to face with a man. He asks for a buck or two. I had not seen him anywhere near the lot or pumps in my drive up. I’m usually observant for such things so my hackles are up. Though, he has a soft air to him. Ragged clothes and wound/sore covered. I know theres a couple of singles in my wallet. I pull a few, careful to conceal from his line of sight that I really had $8. He says thanks without eye contact and then plunges immediately into what I recognize as schizophrenic babbling. I nod along and neither affirm nor deny his world view. In fact, I’m sympathetic and fascinated.

He’s going on about energy and positive and negative forces. Showing me his finger which he claims has a Jesus fish shaped scar. I see no such scar. Just the puffy fingers of a someone experiencing organ failure of some sort. But this supposed scar has the ability to deflect these negative energies and retain himself when he orients his finger as a barrier to the world. I’m happy he has such a mechanism, were we all so lucky. Now something about a beam of light shooting from his shoulder earlier in the evening and now look, he points. Next to the crescent moon is a single star. The rest of the sky unlit with the city’s light pollution.

I remark that I hadn’t seen it before. Which was true. How often do you look up? This was his angel he said. Leaving him for a better view and that it was still his. See. He snaps his finger, the one with the scar and gestures up again. I see the lone star blink. No worldly explanation satisfies, but for some reason I take this in stride. Even now, this simply made sense. It was his star, and he could make it flicker should he choose. I still can’t afford a house, I still have to pay bills, I’m still waiting for my empty tank to fill so I can excuse myself this situation. Nothing changes, even in face of miracles.

I don’t fain surprise and keep the conversation going. Wishing him well and even telling him about my mission this evening. Suddenly he is human again. He’s been where I’m going and says he liked it. He wishes God to bless me and I give him a fist bump. His name was Shane. I hear the pump finally click. I turn to close the gas cap and he’s gone. I look as I start the engine and pull away but he’s vanished as easily as he appeared.

I park at the supercenter and my phone buzzes again. Reading as I walk through the automatic doors and then by the ‘greeter’ and then through an automatic barrier (which reminds me as I write about a scene in Half-Life 2) I resign that my late night adventure will be delayed. Trail mix, a gallon of distilled water, some miniature pies in apple or pecan variety, and sunscreen. What for dinner? Oh well, I’ve got to head home anyway for this work thing. I scurry through two yellow lights on the way back and make my way inside. The roommate remarks that he thought I had left for good. So did I. One email exchange later and I check my packing. I was ready to go earlier but it never hurts to double check. Might as well steal another energy chew from the roomie’s stash. IOU.

I hit the road and only an hour behind schedule. 7pm with a 6 hour drive ahead of me but I need fuel. ReportOfTheWeek was recently very disappointed by the changes at Chic-Fil-A. As one of my guilty favorites, I decide a road trip is just the excuse to try the new fries. 3 sandwiches, a lemonade, and a large fry. It was the drive through window attendant’s birthday. He told me three times as I did my best to just accept my food and drink. Wished him happy birthday and he couldn’t help but smile and say that his work friends took him to breakfast that morning. In the moment I smiled back and tried to get out of there as soon as I could. Now though, I’m happy for him. Good for you kid.

The rule is that you start a road trip with music. Only once you’ve been on the high way and officially left city limits are you allowed to switch to the audio book. At this point in my life its Speak Bones by Ken Liu. 4^th and last in the series. So far so good but I will be glad to be done with it after the 12 hour round trip playing at 1.3x speed. Sun has set and its cool outside as I see the mountain begin to shrink behind me.

I set my cruise control to 7mph over the posted limit and zig zag my way around the red eye semi’s. I think. I watch. I fend off any residual tiredness from the workday. I resolve myself to the task ahead. A few hours in I stop for gas. $4.10 per gallon. The next station a few miles down the road has it for $3.20. And the next one for $2.98. Just the way it is. As I approach flagstaff I set my mapping to the current location of this adventure’s mastermind. Another hour or so and I’ll be pulling my truck up beside a grey Subaru if I can only remember vaguely. It should have Nevada plates at least. Strange enough sights s as I curved through the rural roads. But nothing strange enough to recount. Other than that star next to the moon still bright.

Theres the subie. I park and find it much colder outside than anticipated. Its 1am and I don’t feel like setting up as I had planned in the truck bed. I toss my sleeping bag in the small backseat and curl up. I wake every 45 minutes to turn myself into a new and slightly less uncomfortable ball until I hear a car door. Its now 6:30ish. I pop my head out of the passenger side door and greet a good friend. He’s prepping some hot water and spares some for me. I put down an apple pie and get dressed.

Undies and smartwool running socks first. Then some athletic leggings. Then shorts. Then some sweat pants. Up top wearing a sun shirt, a sweatshirt, and a pullover. My favored puffy jacket was a casualty of a recent stay at a friend house. Remind me to pick that up. My backpack is ready to go. Water, snacks, medical equipment.  I am still freezing, so I get a blanket from the sleep set up and affix it with my trusty cloak pin. Wondering why I always have it with me? See now, fool, such utility! I hop in the gray Subaru after securing the truck. We stop for coffee at a gas station. I agree that gas station coffee is in many ways the superior cup for the caffeine fix, as my friend suggests. A cup of joe is all you need sometimes, rather than a cup of java.

From the little disgustingly tourist trap town we approached the Grand Canyon National Park sign. Affixing the parks pass to the rear view window as we pulled up to the toll window to find it empty. We were up earlier than the park rangers it seems. And we wonder why this country has fallen into fascist/oligarchical ruination. The parking lot had its fair share of sheriff’s circling like the crows. Finding a good parking spot front row, we stepped out into the crisp morning air. Making our way to the South Rim Overlook we peered out over a swell (not quite a sea) of majority eastern foreigners. A cacophony of dialects fell silent as the sun began to rise alighting like a beacon over the far hills. Rays shot through a cloudless sky to fall on stunning rockfaces glittering with minerals and striated color denoting the layers and layers and layers of rock. Where the sun did not hit, the depths of shadows plunged to oblivion, giving the illusion, or rather the reality as I would come to learn, of an endless set of crevasses. Voids of light and all matter that sunk into the earth. The darkness and what it implied was equal to the highlighted beauty. The only word that came to mind was ‘grand’.

We basked an appropriate amount and then returned to the car. A mother approached us, pushing her pudgy son ahead of her like a ward against evil. As though by thrusting the boy before her she was saying “I mean no harm and neither do you! See? He couldn’t a fly, and you, you could slay him before reaching me! We are mutually harmless.” The husband looked on distastefully. She spoke to me in a phonetic English asking where the bus was. As I was just along for the ride at this point of the venture I deferred to my companion. He explained that the bus she was looking for arrived at a nearby station at 8. Turns out we were taking the same one. We nodded and smiled until she was pressured into believing she understood us.

I was handed a burrito. Made in the New Mexican fashion. I wonder where he got the green chile. I could only stomach half of it, so I sealed it in foil while we waited for the bus. It neared 8am and we made our way over. I noticeably did not see the family from before joining us. In my youth this would have worried me. Had I failed to provide a human duty to a guest in our country? These days I just chuckled and assumed they would figure something out. The bus doors opened to us, and I noted the faces that greeted me as we found a seat. Middle aged men mostly. With whitening hair in bands or hats, and facial hair, and various expensive looking equipment. Do they know they all look exactly the same? A young Spain Spanish speaking couple got on last second and then we were off.

The old lady driving this new feeling bus followed the speed limit signs to an exactness that was grueling. It was a few minutes ride to our stop. The assorted riders departed along with us and began to make ready. Sunscreen was applied and a layer was shed. One last trip to the bathroom. I was apprehensively prepared. This friend of mine is a more avid hiker than me and seeing this was his planned trip I was worried for what he had in store for us. One way or another I knew that this was going to hurt, but as always, be totally worth it.

I gave myself a quick stretch or two and then he let me take the lead. I looked down at a steep switch-back ridden trail that went down and down into the canyon. We joked about how many times we would fall in total. I hoped for none. One unlucky trip and you’d be sent sprawling off of cliffs that I couldn’t see to the bottom of. Ready? He asked. To this point I’ve only mentioned hiking haven’t I? No no. The plan was to run the trail. I sighed in response to him and turned into the first of the many switchbacks to come at a light jog. Feeling it out.

Air came in easy. If not for the threat of death at a careless misstep, I would have been slack jawed with awe looking up at the sights we stormed into and beyond. Sustained focus would become a theme for the day. We passed by some tourists who no doubt thought we were crazy Americans. Passed signs that warned of dehydration, heat stroke, falls, rockslides, and all the various ways one could meet their end by visiting this natural wonder. And that’s without the added danger of plummeting the rock, then sand, then mule poop ridden trail as fast as you can manage. Running downhill is more about how fast you can allow yourself to go while still being in control. One must be able to stop and turn as the path suddenly narrows and winds. Already my calves and quads were burning. More like the snowboarding muscle burn than any running I’ve ever done.

At about the 2 mile mark we reached our first waypoint. A bathroom and mule hitch. I shed the outer leg layer and take a swig of water. Careful to conserve my one bottle. I also squeeze down a running gel. Chocolate flavored and served much better cold. I’ll have to remember to store them in the fridge from now on. With a nod we push on. Passing or being passed by other runners and some early bird hikers. The pace is tough, not on the lungs or my endurance, but the leg muscles themselves. My foot and ankle and knee and hips are the only things keeping me barreling in the right direction as my arm whirl to keep balance. I sinch my backpack tighter and let gravity pull me down. Quick strides to slow, long bounding strides to let myself skip rapidly as the path opens before me. Running along a ridge, a rare straight section, I allow myself to look around me. As above so below my world is cliffs and wind, shadow and piercing color, rock and sky. I glance back to see my friend with a grin as big as mine.

There were two more waypoints with bathrooms. And I was happy to see some non-potable water barrels available. In the small medical kit that is one of my view bits of gear there is some purifying tables. As well as plenty of blister band aids. I took off all of my clothes except the shorts and sun shirt. It was still cool, especially in the shaded areas but the exertion was causing sweat. It was at this point I had idea of just how sore my legs would be in the coming week. But first we had to survive the journey. I was amazed by the variety of scenery and vegetation. It felt like a video-game biome change at each new layer of rock. One step the dust would be red, the next a plumb of white. Juniper trees got shorter and then shrubs gave way to cactus, was replaced with grasses, and then short pokey bushes and back again. Microclimates between where the sun was funneled and scorched only feet away from a sheltered spot that was damp and probably never met direct sunlight.

At last I began to see the canyon’s bottom. The trail steepened and turned and then I saw the river. A proper river. Not the culmination of small trickles that formed a lousy creak like I imagined. Call me foolish but having never seen the bottom I had placed nothing there. In hindsight, it makes sense to find a fast-moving river. Still doing the eon’s work of erosion even now. The sight put a pep in my step. A final few curves and we were met by the maw of a tunnel. Carved through the cliff side a short ways to give way to an impressive bridge. Spanning high across the river it was wide enough only to allow the mules and their cargo across. We sped across, unused to flat ground. On the other side of the canyon now we could see the finish line in the form of rest stop and beach.

Catching our breath, we sat in the sand and looked up. You cannot see the top. I took my shoes off, pulled off my socks and inspected my feet. No blisters. I removed my hat and shirt and set my bag down after a gulp of water. I dipped a toe in the water and was surprised by the cold. It was February after all, and the temperature high of the day was in the 60s. Still it was freezing. I readied myself and charged forward. I got waste high and turned around, jumping and exclaiming on the sand bar. It wouldn’t kill me. I ran back in and dunked my head. Fists clenched and teeth chattering I hurried to the shore. My body quickly warmed as I ate a few handfuls of trail mix.

Returning from the outhouse my friend was convinced to take a dip as well. I watched laughing and then plunged in for the heck of it. It’s the rules after all. If the destination includes a body of water, you must get in. Sitting on the beach, exchanging a few words on the trial so far and the sights and sounds so far. But mostly we just sat. Until eventually it was time to face it. We refilled water bottles, had a few snacks, and redressed for the task ahead of us now. What took us around 2 hours to traverse down, a whole 7 miles, was going to take the rest of the day to hike back up. My stomach felt very uneasy as it settled in. But there was no hope for it. The only way out, was up.

It was much slower going. Partly that was a boon. Our mad dash on the way down left little time to stop and smell the roses. I had the main landmarks in memory, but so many of the details were no filling in. Trading the excitement and novelty of the run for a calmer appreciation on the hike up. I will be glossing over much of the strenuousness of the climb. There were breaks, much more water drank, and the exhaustion of my remaining gels. Those fuel cubes I stole were a godsend as we approached mile 11 of the day. My friend and I began to drift apart at our different paces. That was just a reality of the situation. Something possessed me and I managed to climb out a few minutes ahead. It was probably the ibuprofen I was inhaling two and three at a time. Alone waiting I sat by the mule pens and pulled on the layers I had removed. It was colder here at the rim, and now that I was settled down my core temperature was plummeting. I couldn’t believe I had made it. It feels like an eternity and an eye blink at the same time. The smile on his face as he made it to the top was worth every agonizing step after step after step. All that can be felt in those moments is relief and gratitude.

I am leaving plenty out. Interactions with a man that looked like the main character from a Bollywood movie. Being on the look out for some hikers that we never found. The world shattering sound of the construction machinery by the river that made the ascent feel like the fellowship of the ring being caught between the warring mountains in the pass. Overheard conversations of the ranger crew making trail repairs. The strange lopsided couples. And all the people and things we met along the way.

All I can say is that one must seek adventure. Even if it costs you sleep and the ability to walk for a few days. See long time friends and new places. Will you remember what you were doing at work that day or you’re weekend in a year? In a decade?

Hopefully I have qualified the event adequately. How to quantify?

24 hours
6 hour drive – 400 miles
6 hour sleep
6 hour excursion – 14 miles – 7 miles ran, 7 miles hiked
6 hour drive – 400 miles