[last post from Heidi!]
I meant to write this post about a week and a half ago, but then the World Cup started, and you know how that goes... ;) Sorry for the delay!
After bidding farewell to Jesus the hotel clerk in Albuquerque, Laura Beth and I set off for somewhere in Kansas (we had no idea how long it was going to take, so we opted for a more general destination this time). We spent a little over one glorious hour on four-laned I-40, but soon turned off onto two-laned 54. Little did we know that 54 is a truck route and that, between the I-40 turnoff onto 54 in New Mexico and Wichita, Kansas, there are approximately four towns. And that truckers like to travel in caravans that street-race when they find an opportunity to pass each other in those towns. It was quite the exciting trip!
Complicating the drive was... [horror movie music] ...the long-lost Jiffy Pop! As we were driving through the countryside at the very beginning of 54, Laura Beth mentioned that she still smelled burnt popcorn. We decided that was strange, but it was probably just on our clothes and our backpacks. A few minutes later, I started searching through our back seat to find some Oreos. Instead of Oreos, though, I found a bag from Whole Foods. "Wonderful," I thought, "we still have some stuff left from Whole Foods! Funny, I thought we had used this as a trash bag when we were at Mather Campground..." Opening the bag in search of delicious organic treats, I found instead that we HAD used it as a trash bag. And it was full of our charred popcorn. And our charred popcorn had fallen all over our winter coats that had been laying underneath. Exposed to the air after so many days, the noxious burnt-popcorn smell wafted forth with a vengeance and Laura Beth and I were forced to take in the nose-burning odor until we reached the nearest one of those four little towns on our way to Kansas.
We soon found a gas station and dispatched our popcorn nemesis in a trash can. We also decided to pick up some lunch in the gas station, since there didn't seem to be any restaurants until Liberal, Kansas (which was still a long way off at this point!). Foregoing the dreaded gas-station-pizza-that-may-or-may-not-actually-be-pizza, we chose Lunchables (which might not have been much better). Fearing that our Lunchables might make us look a little too immature, however, we decided to class it up with some V8. That's how you travel with style, my friends.
There isn't really much I can say about the drive through the corner of New Mexico and Oklahoma. The scenery was dry and kind of scrubby, with not many hills. We drove past the occasional farm, and also past the occasional CAFO. While driving, we listened for a little while to a broadcast of Adventures in Odyssey on the single radio station available, which was traumatizing to say the least. It's supposed to be a Christian children's program, but the part we heard was about a little girl trying to make a grilled-cheese sandwich, then burning it, then getting kicked out of the house and into the rain by her alcoholic mother for burning the grilled cheese, and then being instructed to go find and live with her father - in California. We decided silence was probably better after that.
Laura Beth also got to experience Texas driving for the first time! It's a Texas tradition to pull over onto the shoulder of the road in order to let other drivers behind you pass by. I think it's quite a nice habit, and made the drive through Texas pretty enjoyable.
We started to get hungry, and we decided that our best chance for food along the highway would be Liberal, Kansas. Rolling into town and finding a KFC, we stopped in for some chicken-y goodness. As Laura Beth went to wash her hands, I found myself standing alone in the deserted restaurant, looking at a sign that urged me to "Unthink chicken!" As I looked out the window and across the street, I caught sight of a Methodist church with a bulletin that read "Rethink church!" Liberal, Kansas - a progressive place indeed! Rethinking everything from chicken to church!
Pondering the complexities of the new Double Down sandwich they're offering at KFC, we turned up the Coldplay and drove the rest of the way to Wichita in the rain. Arriving some time after 10:00, we found our way to a hotel. Upon reserving a room, the desk clerk explained to me that the hotel used "old" keys, so they might be a little quirky. My first (worried) thought was that I was about to get a one-key-matches-all-the-doors-in-the-hotel skeleton key, but they ended up being the little rectangular keys with the circles punched out that click when you swipe them through the door. As I'm typing this, I'm realizing that this part of the trip isn't at all important - it was more impressive when we were there, trust me. Once we got into the room, we discovered that our furniture was strangely miniature (miniature desk, miniature blanket, even miniature ottoman), which was pretty adorable (but probably a little unruly for taller people). The weird mini-furnishings were no match for our fatigue, though, and we got some rest before our last day of the journey!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Heidi Beth's Dead Legs
*Laura Beth on*
And so we awoke Tuesday morning May 18 at 9AM after a full 12 hours of deep, comfortable, warm sleep. Breaking our reverie, however, were the shooting pains that pierced our legs as soon as we got out of bed. Ladies and gentlemen, we couldn't walk. Kind of. Well, we couldn't walk correctly. Over the course of the day, I had to develop a sort of loping gait while Heidi managed a shuffle for the minutes we forced our bodies to stand. I've never been so sore in my entire life. Ok, perhaps TMI, but using only our legs to sit down to use the bathroom was impossible (literally, I think my legs were about to buckle). The arms really had to step up their game.
[Would you believe that I thought we'd be bored during all those hours hiking? I thought we should bring along some music or something. No...the internal and/or external dialogue of our melodrama was more than enough to keep us occupied. ;) ]
Each step, each contraction of those abused muscles evoked in us shrieks protesting any further maltreatment (like walking...or moving in general). It would take the rest of the week for the soreness to wear off, but for Monday we had to coddle what few intact strands of muscle fibers we still had while we made our way across Arizona. Once we stumbled out of the hotel, a sight to behold I'm sure, and into the car, we set Samantha (the voice of my GPS) on a route to a nearby Village Inn for breakfast, one of Heidi's requests for the trip. Sadly, the first place had been closed for business for some time, but we were not to be deterred, nor were our bellies. I don't think we ate enough the day prior during, and especially after, our hike. So hungry!
Twenty minutes later, Samantha brought us to the glorious Inn where we each gorged ourselves on VIP breakfasts (no really, it's a special they have running). I've never cleared a plate of hashbrowns, eggs, bacon, and pancakes so fast. We thought we may have looked like a couple of drunks staggering into the 24-hour eating establishment, a fear likely not assuaged by Heidi's sudden bout of dizziness and nausea (caffeine on an empty Grand Canyon stomach plus fatigue in general). I was especially surprised and pleased with the wonderful service our waitress provided because we started running into a bit of, shall we say, judgement from hotel clerks after our hike. I guess a gal toting an interstate rest area hotel coupon book and sporting red dirt up and down her legs, a dirt and sweat stained t-shirt, an olive ball cap, dirt-ridden shorts, and a stench that would likely drop flies doesn't exactly say high class client to those folks. I'd agree, but by golly, how else was I gonna get a room? We've had some professional clerks, some chatty clerks, and some snobby clerks. I like the professional ones.
In any case, after loading up on Village Inn breakfast we took off from Flagstaff, Arizona and made it to Albuquerque, New Mexico. There really wasn't all that much to say about the drive except we were getting awfully tired of driving by this point. We had fit in a trip to California/the Pacific Ocean but decided to let it go the way of Salt Lake City because of the additional driving hours. New Mexico does have these strange "safety corridors" that last for about 10+ miles. We're still not entirely sure what they do, but we do know we drove through a few. Hm, now that I'm writing about it, I wonder if we were passing through military testing zones? A safety corridor would definitely make sense then. Uh, except when we encountered one in Albuquerque. Ok, theory out the window.
On arriving in Albuquerque, we found a hotel (always a joy at 1+ hours, plus I made Heidi go in because she looked more legit than me) and settled in for the evening. On our way out to grab supper, we set Samantha to find Mexican restaurants since we were in the southwest after all (my request). Problem was, though, we had no way to gauge the sketchiness of any of the places and decided Garmins should come with sketch meters...which would have helped as we started driving to Los Compadres, a local eatery Sam said was nearby. But as we started driving, the buildings became more and more dingy and run down. Um, we also stuck out like the one albino catfish in my dad's pond, if you catch my drift.
Heidi: "It's ok as long as we don't start seeing bars on the windows."
Laura Beth: "Uhhh..."
We discovered that bars were placed over even the tiniest windows in the neighborhood in which we found ourselves.
But never fear, I had my book "500 Places to Eat Before It's Too Late", so I entered the address for Papa Felipe's, a restaurant it recommended, and let Heidi maneuver Gen into a decidedly non-sketchy area of town. After a filling Mexican meal, we hopped back into the car only to discover that Samantha was dead!!! OH NO!!! She was our lifeline! Fortunately we remembered enough of the road to get back to the hotel some twenty minutes away, but her death made finding Cold Stone Creamery much more difficult. You see, while forcing step after step out of our legs the day prior, we promised ourselves a rewarding trip to Cold Stone Creamery for some of their delicious ice cream. We were too much out of it in Flagstaff to get any, but it had to happen in Albuquerque. It just had to...even if the ice cream purveyor was to close in twenty minutes.
We rushed up to our room, googled and memorized directions to the nearest Cold Stone location, and bolted back down to the car to dash off. Heidi gunned the car through yet another mildly sketch neighborhood before arriving in a downscale version of the St. Louis Loop. Parking was a bit of an issue, so in our frantic rush for ice cream I had her drop me by the curb with explicit instructions to order two "Like it Oreo overloads". Nothing will keep us from our ice cream! I slide in the door (Heidi told me later that they turned off the open sign just after I entered) and breathlessly announced my first ever Cold Stone Creamery order. Yep, I've never had it before. After securing the priceless, sugary treasure, I rushed back outside where Heidi had managed to find an excellent parking space. Not bad for no GPS and only a seconds-long look at an actual map. Back at the hotel, we abandoned ourselves to an overload of Oreo goodness. Mm, glory.
A day of pain, a day of ice cream.
(That should be a saying.)
And for those wondering, Samantha did come back to us after a quick reset. Thank goodness! We still had states of driving left!
And so we awoke Tuesday morning May 18 at 9AM after a full 12 hours of deep, comfortable, warm sleep. Breaking our reverie, however, were the shooting pains that pierced our legs as soon as we got out of bed. Ladies and gentlemen, we couldn't walk. Kind of. Well, we couldn't walk correctly. Over the course of the day, I had to develop a sort of loping gait while Heidi managed a shuffle for the minutes we forced our bodies to stand. I've never been so sore in my entire life. Ok, perhaps TMI, but using only our legs to sit down to use the bathroom was impossible (literally, I think my legs were about to buckle). The arms really had to step up their game.
[Would you believe that I thought we'd be bored during all those hours hiking? I thought we should bring along some music or something. No...the internal and/or external dialogue of our melodrama was more than enough to keep us occupied. ;) ]
Each step, each contraction of those abused muscles evoked in us shrieks protesting any further maltreatment (like walking...or moving in general). It would take the rest of the week for the soreness to wear off, but for Monday we had to coddle what few intact strands of muscle fibers we still had while we made our way across Arizona. Once we stumbled out of the hotel, a sight to behold I'm sure, and into the car, we set Samantha (the voice of my GPS) on a route to a nearby Village Inn for breakfast, one of Heidi's requests for the trip. Sadly, the first place had been closed for business for some time, but we were not to be deterred, nor were our bellies. I don't think we ate enough the day prior during, and especially after, our hike. So hungry!
Twenty minutes later, Samantha brought us to the glorious Inn where we each gorged ourselves on VIP breakfasts (no really, it's a special they have running). I've never cleared a plate of hashbrowns, eggs, bacon, and pancakes so fast. We thought we may have looked like a couple of drunks staggering into the 24-hour eating establishment, a fear likely not assuaged by Heidi's sudden bout of dizziness and nausea (caffeine on an empty Grand Canyon stomach plus fatigue in general). I was especially surprised and pleased with the wonderful service our waitress provided because we started running into a bit of, shall we say, judgement from hotel clerks after our hike. I guess a gal toting an interstate rest area hotel coupon book and sporting red dirt up and down her legs, a dirt and sweat stained t-shirt, an olive ball cap, dirt-ridden shorts, and a stench that would likely drop flies doesn't exactly say high class client to those folks. I'd agree, but by golly, how else was I gonna get a room? We've had some professional clerks, some chatty clerks, and some snobby clerks. I like the professional ones.
In any case, after loading up on Village Inn breakfast we took off from Flagstaff, Arizona and made it to Albuquerque, New Mexico. There really wasn't all that much to say about the drive except we were getting awfully tired of driving by this point. We had fit in a trip to California/the Pacific Ocean but decided to let it go the way of Salt Lake City because of the additional driving hours. New Mexico does have these strange "safety corridors" that last for about 10+ miles. We're still not entirely sure what they do, but we do know we drove through a few. Hm, now that I'm writing about it, I wonder if we were passing through military testing zones? A safety corridor would definitely make sense then. Uh, except when we encountered one in Albuquerque. Ok, theory out the window.
On arriving in Albuquerque, we found a hotel (always a joy at 1+ hours, plus I made Heidi go in because she looked more legit than me) and settled in for the evening. On our way out to grab supper, we set Samantha to find Mexican restaurants since we were in the southwest after all (my request). Problem was, though, we had no way to gauge the sketchiness of any of the places and decided Garmins should come with sketch meters...which would have helped as we started driving to Los Compadres, a local eatery Sam said was nearby. But as we started driving, the buildings became more and more dingy and run down. Um, we also stuck out like the one albino catfish in my dad's pond, if you catch my drift.
Heidi: "It's ok as long as we don't start seeing bars on the windows."
Laura Beth: "Uhhh..."
We discovered that bars were placed over even the tiniest windows in the neighborhood in which we found ourselves.
But never fear, I had my book "500 Places to Eat Before It's Too Late", so I entered the address for Papa Felipe's, a restaurant it recommended, and let Heidi maneuver Gen into a decidedly non-sketchy area of town. After a filling Mexican meal, we hopped back into the car only to discover that Samantha was dead!!! OH NO!!! She was our lifeline! Fortunately we remembered enough of the road to get back to the hotel some twenty minutes away, but her death made finding Cold Stone Creamery much more difficult. You see, while forcing step after step out of our legs the day prior, we promised ourselves a rewarding trip to Cold Stone Creamery for some of their delicious ice cream. We were too much out of it in Flagstaff to get any, but it had to happen in Albuquerque. It just had to...even if the ice cream purveyor was to close in twenty minutes.
We rushed up to our room, googled and memorized directions to the nearest Cold Stone location, and bolted back down to the car to dash off. Heidi gunned the car through yet another mildly sketch neighborhood before arriving in a downscale version of the St. Louis Loop. Parking was a bit of an issue, so in our frantic rush for ice cream I had her drop me by the curb with explicit instructions to order two "Like it Oreo overloads". Nothing will keep us from our ice cream! I slide in the door (Heidi told me later that they turned off the open sign just after I entered) and breathlessly announced my first ever Cold Stone Creamery order. Yep, I've never had it before. After securing the priceless, sugary treasure, I rushed back outside where Heidi had managed to find an excellent parking space. Not bad for no GPS and only a seconds-long look at an actual map. Back at the hotel, we abandoned ourselves to an overload of Oreo goodness. Mm, glory.
A day of pain, a day of ice cream.
(That should be a saying.)
And for those wondering, Samantha did come back to us after a quick reset. Thank goodness! We still had states of driving left!
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The 10-Plus-Hour Ascent
[Heidi again!]
After a lovely night of essentially sleeping on a bed of rocks (that'll teach us to clear our site before setting up the tent), we started our day at 5:00, packed up our things (we found out a few miles from the top that Laura Beth rolled my phone up in the tent when my beloved Coldplay tune started ringing from inside the pack), and started our dusty climb by 6:30.
We were forced to rest a lot since we were really sore (really sore is an understatement - I don't even know how to describe it) from our sub-5-hour descent the day before. At one point, while resting and eating some delicious Clif bars, we were passed by two men in neon spandex that were RUNNING UP THE CANYON. As they passed, Laura Beth congratulated them on their efforts and told them how impressed we were.
Their reply: “Thank you, ladies. You inspire us... to rest.”
Then they continued running. “Shamed” doesn’t even begin to describe our state of mind after that snarky little comment.
As we trudged toward the halfway point at Indian Garden, Laura Beth suddenly started running up the path:
me: “Laura Beth, where are you going?”
Laura Beth: “I’m being chased by a hoard of geckos! Do you have mace?!”
And once I thought the crazy had passed, not two minutes later:
me: “…what are you DOING?”
Laura Beth: “Chasing a slow lizard! I catch you I catch you I CATCH YOU!!”
…we decided it might be time for a little water break at that point.
A little while later, we moseyed into Indian Garden where we collapsed on a bench in the shade and chatted with a woman who had made the climb last year. She warned us that the last mile and half were the worst, which wasn’t particularly encouraging, since we still had about four and half miles to go and we were already exhausted. We ate some peanut butter and jelly (MORE peanut butter and jelly), and some jerky for protein. I was so tired of PB&J at this point that I dipped my jerky into the peanut butter just to change it up. Disgusting? Yes. But effective? Also yes.
Indian Garden rest area
As we rested on the benches (with our feet elevated, as the park recommended on all their signs), the squirrels started to circle. Probably catching a whiff of the peanut butter on our fingers from lunch, one squirrel scampered up to my side and started sniffing me for food. Or, as Laura Beth described the situation, “It put its grubby little paws on you! It was about to bite you and give you rabies!” She then shouted and beat the little squirrel with her water bottle. [Laura Beth seems to be developing a pattern of violence toward small animals, yes?]
[Interjection from Laura Beth: I only hit the squirrel once, and it was more of a thwap instead of a beat down.]
I think in that next mile on our way out of Indian Garden, we were at our most melodramatic. Some choice quotes:
"Are we ever going to get out of here? Are we going to die here?"
"Why are we DOING this?"
"What if I never see my family again??"
"This was YOUR idea!!"
"I want to cry! I just want to cry!"
These were all accompanied by a sign on the back of every single rest station and by every single water station that pictured a rugged, attractive man in outdoor clothing perched on a trail, looking the very picture of epic-ness. To the side of the picture was this caption: "Every year, 250 hikers have to be rescued from the Grand Canyon. Most of them look like him." Maybe this was just supposed to be a warning to hikers to drink more water, but every time I looked at Mr. Awesomely-Outdoorsy-Man, all I could think was, "THIS guy couldn't make it?? I really AM going to die down here!"
After more walking, we shambled into the three-mile house where we met a French tour guide named Bernard who offered to spritz us with water, prepare an electrolyte drink for us, and fix our blisters (we thanked him for his concern, but thought it might be best if we didn’t terrify him with the sad state of our feet). As we left the house, we met a British tour guide who pointed out some Indian cave paintings to us and described his time spent hiking in Nepal at 18000 feet with no oxygen (we were SO IMPRESSED).
Our view while climbing
After another rest at the 1.5-mile rest stop, we kept climbing up switchbacks and ramps (and more and more switchbacks and ramps!!). Stopping at an arch in the rock around the trail, we met a man from Nevada who had climbed from the North Rim to where we were about to surface on the South Rim (that’s about 22 miles). He explained that he was 60 years old and was disappointed because he usually hikes rim to rim to rim instead of just rim to rim. Again, SO IMPRESSED. And so ashamed.
But not long after that meeting, mere minutes even…
Blistered and burned, battered and bruised and scraped, we finally reached the top!!
…at 4:30.
…after over 10 hours of hiking.
INTENSE.
WE MADE IT!
After doing a happy dance and snapping a picture, we then jumped on the bus, where we impressed the other riders with the amount of dust and blood all over us (as one old lady put it, "Now that's some dirt to be proud of!"). After grabbing dinner at the cafeteria, we hobbled into the gift shop, having decided that we deserved dorky T-shirts for finally making our way out of the canyon.
View from the top!
Not wasting any time, we shoved our packs in the back of the car with our T-shirts (again forgetting that we were still toting a bag full of frighteningly burned Jiffy Pop), unwrapped our poor destroyed feet (my toes are still slightly purple, and this is nearly two weeks after the climb), and drove in a daze from the cafeteria to Flagstaff. We went on a wild hunt for hotels and, finally finding one, we collapsed into our beds 9 and didn’t wake up until 9 the next morning.
Life goal of climbing the Grand Canyon: attained! :)
After a lovely night of essentially sleeping on a bed of rocks (that'll teach us to clear our site before setting up the tent), we started our day at 5:00, packed up our things (we found out a few miles from the top that Laura Beth rolled my phone up in the tent when my beloved Coldplay tune started ringing from inside the pack), and started our dusty climb by 6:30.
We were forced to rest a lot since we were really sore (really sore is an understatement - I don't even know how to describe it) from our sub-5-hour descent the day before. At one point, while resting and eating some delicious Clif bars, we were passed by two men in neon spandex that were RUNNING UP THE CANYON. As they passed, Laura Beth congratulated them on their efforts and told them how impressed we were.
Their reply: “Thank you, ladies. You inspire us... to rest.”
Then they continued running. “Shamed” doesn’t even begin to describe our state of mind after that snarky little comment.
As we trudged toward the halfway point at Indian Garden, Laura Beth suddenly started running up the path:
me: “Laura Beth, where are you going?”
Laura Beth: “I’m being chased by a hoard of geckos! Do you have mace?!”
And once I thought the crazy had passed, not two minutes later:
me: “…what are you DOING?”
Laura Beth: “Chasing a slow lizard! I catch you I catch you I CATCH YOU!!”
…we decided it might be time for a little water break at that point.
A little while later, we moseyed into Indian Garden where we collapsed on a bench in the shade and chatted with a woman who had made the climb last year. She warned us that the last mile and half were the worst, which wasn’t particularly encouraging, since we still had about four and half miles to go and we were already exhausted. We ate some peanut butter and jelly (MORE peanut butter and jelly), and some jerky for protein. I was so tired of PB&J at this point that I dipped my jerky into the peanut butter just to change it up. Disgusting? Yes. But effective? Also yes.
Indian Garden rest area
As we rested on the benches (with our feet elevated, as the park recommended on all their signs), the squirrels started to circle. Probably catching a whiff of the peanut butter on our fingers from lunch, one squirrel scampered up to my side and started sniffing me for food. Or, as Laura Beth described the situation, “It put its grubby little paws on you! It was about to bite you and give you rabies!” She then shouted and beat the little squirrel with her water bottle. [Laura Beth seems to be developing a pattern of violence toward small animals, yes?]
[Interjection from Laura Beth: I only hit the squirrel once, and it was more of a thwap instead of a beat down.]
I think in that next mile on our way out of Indian Garden, we were at our most melodramatic. Some choice quotes:
"Are we ever going to get out of here? Are we going to die here?"
"Why are we DOING this?"
"What if I never see my family again??"
"This was YOUR idea!!"
"I want to cry! I just want to cry!"
These were all accompanied by a sign on the back of every single rest station and by every single water station that pictured a rugged, attractive man in outdoor clothing perched on a trail, looking the very picture of epic-ness. To the side of the picture was this caption: "Every year, 250 hikers have to be rescued from the Grand Canyon. Most of them look like him." Maybe this was just supposed to be a warning to hikers to drink more water, but every time I looked at Mr. Awesomely-Outdoorsy-Man, all I could think was, "THIS guy couldn't make it?? I really AM going to die down here!"
After more walking, we shambled into the three-mile house where we met a French tour guide named Bernard who offered to spritz us with water, prepare an electrolyte drink for us, and fix our blisters (we thanked him for his concern, but thought it might be best if we didn’t terrify him with the sad state of our feet). As we left the house, we met a British tour guide who pointed out some Indian cave paintings to us and described his time spent hiking in Nepal at 18000 feet with no oxygen (we were SO IMPRESSED).
Our view while climbing
After another rest at the 1.5-mile rest stop, we kept climbing up switchbacks and ramps (and more and more switchbacks and ramps!!). Stopping at an arch in the rock around the trail, we met a man from Nevada who had climbed from the North Rim to where we were about to surface on the South Rim (that’s about 22 miles). He explained that he was 60 years old and was disappointed because he usually hikes rim to rim to rim instead of just rim to rim. Again, SO IMPRESSED. And so ashamed.
But not long after that meeting, mere minutes even…
Blistered and burned, battered and bruised and scraped, we finally reached the top!!
…at 4:30.
…after over 10 hours of hiking.
INTENSE.
WE MADE IT!
After doing a happy dance and snapping a picture, we then jumped on the bus, where we impressed the other riders with the amount of dust and blood all over us (as one old lady put it, "Now that's some dirt to be proud of!"). After grabbing dinner at the cafeteria, we hobbled into the gift shop, having decided that we deserved dorky T-shirts for finally making our way out of the canyon.
View from the top!
Not wasting any time, we shoved our packs in the back of the car with our T-shirts (again forgetting that we were still toting a bag full of frighteningly burned Jiffy Pop), unwrapped our poor destroyed feet (my toes are still slightly purple, and this is nearly two weeks after the climb), and drove in a daze from the cafeteria to Flagstaff. We went on a wild hunt for hotels and, finally finding one, we collapsed into our beds 9 and didn’t wake up until 9 the next morning.
Life goal of climbing the Grand Canyon: attained! :)
Friday, May 28, 2010
The Sub-5 Hour Descent
May 16, 2010
Sunday
*Laura Beth on*
My, oh my, what a night. I do believe that was the coldest weather I've ever slept outside in (and for those wondering, I wore a long sleeved t-shirt, regular t-shirt, Under Armour hoodie w/hood up, shorts, lined running pants, and socks/shoes). There's only so much heat one body can produce before bone-cold begins to set in. Unfortunately, such an occurence tends to limit one's sleeping abilities, so while we planned to wake up at 5AM, I was up by 4AM with nothing to do except think about just how ridiculous it was that we were so cold at the Grand-freaking-Canyon in *Arizona* in the middle of May. Neither of us slept too well.
By 5, Heidi's Coldplay alarm was ringing on her phone telling us it really was time to exit the relative warmth of the tent and get started with our day. We broke camp, packed up all our belongings, trudged off to the bathroom a few minutes walk away, and hopped in my car to head over to the cafeteria for breakfast. And guess what my car smelled like? Genevieve was to carry around the smell of Jiffy Pop for the remainder of our Grand Canyon experience (and beyond, but that's for later). Lovely.
After breakfast where Heidi had an "All-American breakfast" while I wolfed down huevos rancheros (so giant!), we grabbed our gear and headed to the bus stop which took us to the South Kaibab trailhead. Oh, our gear. I absolutely must tell you about it. Oh my.
Heidi's backpack:
- snacks (trail mixes, fruit leather, beef jerky)
- 1 GIANT jar of peanut butter
- TWO jars of blackberry jam
- tent mallet
- camping paperwork
- various small items (flashlight, etc)
The Geisbuhlers' Kelty backpack:
- REI tent
- first aid kit
- toiletries bag
- clothing
- blankets
- 6 liters of liquid (water/Gatorade)= same weight as 3 2-liter bottles!!
- pillow
The gist was that anything we packed down we'd have to pack back up...thus, we nixed the sleeping bags, another 1.5 liter water bottle, and some various snacks. But the problem remained that we were still two young females without the help of any menfolk (read: man slaves) to carry our gear. We weren't out of shape by any means, but we certainly weren't well prepared for the muscle-ripping experience we were about to endure. On our way down and back up we didn't see any other only-female groups...just us two and our packs. Perhaps those other folks were a bit smarter than us.
See? We were cold.
In any case, we began descending the South Kaibab trail at a brisk rate at 7:45AM. Yes, a bit later than what we wanted, but this particular trail is the shorter, and steeper, of the two we were hiking, so we figured it'd be fine. And by brisk rate, I mean we were jogging at many points. Not kidding. With the steep descents sometimes it was just easier to pick up our feet and move faster to keep our balance while still making progress down the trail. We began the trek wearing long pants and sweatshirts, but we quickly changed out of those after about a mile. The heat was already starting to make quite itself known.
Heidi's mom, a nurse by trade, packed us one of the best first aid kits I've ever seen-- we were set to cover just about any non-hospital worthy incident or at least enable us to hold ourselves over until we could find professional help. I'm convinced we could set up shop and do minor out-patient procedures right there on the trail with all the supplies we had. Turns out we had need of the red bag of goodness because Heidi took a tumble on the trail about a mile into our day. While the cuts on her knee/leg were relatively superficial, they let loose a good amount of blood that, when mixed with Grand Canyon dirt, made it look like the trail had demanded, and received, its pound of flesh. After pressurizing the wound with paper towels and burning 6 q-tips on Neosporin applications, we gauzed her up and hit the trail again.
The rest of our sub-five hour hike (yes, I did just say less than five hours) was relatively uneventful except for the growing weariness of our legs. While tromping downhill for 6.5 miles doesn't sound too difficult, you may be surprised to find out just how your legs feel after descending 7,000 feet during said miles. Every single step down after about 3/4 of the hike elicited a cry as we trudged our way to the bottom of the Canyon. By 10AM, the heat was getting intense and only more so the deeper we descended. I started off carrying the big pack (Kelty) and made it a point of honor to get myself down to the bottom with it strapped to my back. Heidi carried her backpack, which, to be fair, was no lightweight either. After about the half-way point, we'd stop and rest/drink/eat (Clif bars and Gatorade and/or water) every few switchbacks, but getting started afterwards was just awful. From a resting position our exhausted legs had to summon the energy needed to propel our bodies *and* our packs further on down the Canyon. It was a tough fight by the end.
The smile is a little misleading.
But, lo and behold, we made it! Bright Angel campground welcomed us with shaded trees and the white noise of the nearby Colorado River, and campsite #29 or 30 (can't remember) became our home for the night. We set up the tent, forwent the tent stakes even though we'd brought our newly purchased mallet because the hammering in was too hard/I was getting a headache, and hung our backpacks on nearby poles before setting off for a half mile walk to Phantom Ranch. The Ranch offers lodging and meals to those travelers willing to pay hefty fees. We were not such folks. Regardless, Heidi most graciously accommodated my request that we stop by to see if we could buy a cold drink and maybe some chocolate. We each had some lemonade and a Snickers bar, and while it was just what I needed to combat the headache (and tasty too!), I'm afraid Heidi wasn't so much a fan. On our way back, we dunked our blistered, dusty feet in the CO River for a refreshing cool down before the naps we had planned for the afternoon. Our legs were already cramping up from the absolute torture we had subjected them to for the past few hours. RUNNING DOWN THE GRAND CANYON?? WITH THOSE PACKS??? What on God's green earth were we thinking?! Oh, you know. Over-achieving. It'll kill us someday.
Back at our campsite, we spent the remainder of the afternoon in our tent alternating among fanning ourselves with drenched t-shirts, dozing off when possible, sopping our thick, dark hair with gloriously cold water, guzzling Gatorade, and making the trek out to the bathroom. I have to say, perhaps the most annoying thing for me was not having a bathroom within a 10 second walk. In any case, we made it through the scorching heat of an afternoon in the Grand Canyon's interior (I *cannot* imagine what it'd be like during the hottest months) with at least 20% of our sanity intact. Throughout the afternoon we forced ourselves to snack a bit and finally made "supper" in the evening. Remember those jars of peanut butter and jelly? Well, time to haul out those lovely weights of lead. We each had an open face sandwich (because we piled on so much PB&J), drank ever more water and Gatorade, and had some fruit leather for "dessert". I almost wish we'd paid the $40 a piece for the steak dinners over at Phantom Ranch.
Our campsite
The hours between when we arrived and when we went to bed seem almost unreal now, looking back. Time dragged on and yet it stood still. Perhaps it was the constant roar of the Colorado River. It muted every sound and isolated each camp site, which was a boon when it (finally) came time for us to give in to our overworked bodies' need for deeper rest. Remember the heat of the afternoon? Well, it had dissipated some, and would continue to do so for the rest of the evening until the air around us was somewhere in the 50s, I believe. And remember we had no sleeping bags? Two nights of fitful sleep did not leave our bodies immensely prepared for the epic climb *out* of the Grand Canyon the following morning. But rest assured, my dear friends, the story continues in our next post where Heidi will astound you with just how melodramatic two usually mild, introverted students can be, especially when running low on intact muscle fibers and high on the crazies of massive PB&J intake.
Sunday
*Laura Beth on*
My, oh my, what a night. I do believe that was the coldest weather I've ever slept outside in (and for those wondering, I wore a long sleeved t-shirt, regular t-shirt, Under Armour hoodie w/hood up, shorts, lined running pants, and socks/shoes). There's only so much heat one body can produce before bone-cold begins to set in. Unfortunately, such an occurence tends to limit one's sleeping abilities, so while we planned to wake up at 5AM, I was up by 4AM with nothing to do except think about just how ridiculous it was that we were so cold at the Grand-freaking-Canyon in *Arizona* in the middle of May. Neither of us slept too well.
By 5, Heidi's Coldplay alarm was ringing on her phone telling us it really was time to exit the relative warmth of the tent and get started with our day. We broke camp, packed up all our belongings, trudged off to the bathroom a few minutes walk away, and hopped in my car to head over to the cafeteria for breakfast. And guess what my car smelled like? Genevieve was to carry around the smell of Jiffy Pop for the remainder of our Grand Canyon experience (and beyond, but that's for later). Lovely.
After breakfast where Heidi had an "All-American breakfast" while I wolfed down huevos rancheros (so giant!), we grabbed our gear and headed to the bus stop which took us to the South Kaibab trailhead. Oh, our gear. I absolutely must tell you about it. Oh my.
Heidi's backpack:
- snacks (trail mixes, fruit leather, beef jerky)
- 1 GIANT jar of peanut butter
- TWO jars of blackberry jam
- tent mallet
- camping paperwork
- various small items (flashlight, etc)
The Geisbuhlers' Kelty backpack:
- REI tent
- first aid kit
- toiletries bag
- clothing
- blankets
- 6 liters of liquid (water/Gatorade)= same weight as 3 2-liter bottles!!
- pillow
The gist was that anything we packed down we'd have to pack back up...thus, we nixed the sleeping bags, another 1.5 liter water bottle, and some various snacks. But the problem remained that we were still two young females without the help of any menfolk (read: man slaves) to carry our gear. We weren't out of shape by any means, but we certainly weren't well prepared for the muscle-ripping experience we were about to endure. On our way down and back up we didn't see any other only-female groups...just us two and our packs. Perhaps those other folks were a bit smarter than us.
See? We were cold.
In any case, we began descending the South Kaibab trail at a brisk rate at 7:45AM. Yes, a bit later than what we wanted, but this particular trail is the shorter, and steeper, of the two we were hiking, so we figured it'd be fine. And by brisk rate, I mean we were jogging at many points. Not kidding. With the steep descents sometimes it was just easier to pick up our feet and move faster to keep our balance while still making progress down the trail. We began the trek wearing long pants and sweatshirts, but we quickly changed out of those after about a mile. The heat was already starting to make quite itself known.
Heidi's mom, a nurse by trade, packed us one of the best first aid kits I've ever seen-- we were set to cover just about any non-hospital worthy incident or at least enable us to hold ourselves over until we could find professional help. I'm convinced we could set up shop and do minor out-patient procedures right there on the trail with all the supplies we had. Turns out we had need of the red bag of goodness because Heidi took a tumble on the trail about a mile into our day. While the cuts on her knee/leg were relatively superficial, they let loose a good amount of blood that, when mixed with Grand Canyon dirt, made it look like the trail had demanded, and received, its pound of flesh. After pressurizing the wound with paper towels and burning 6 q-tips on Neosporin applications, we gauzed her up and hit the trail again.
The rest of our sub-five hour hike (yes, I did just say less than five hours) was relatively uneventful except for the growing weariness of our legs. While tromping downhill for 6.5 miles doesn't sound too difficult, you may be surprised to find out just how your legs feel after descending 7,000 feet during said miles. Every single step down after about 3/4 of the hike elicited a cry as we trudged our way to the bottom of the Canyon. By 10AM, the heat was getting intense and only more so the deeper we descended. I started off carrying the big pack (Kelty) and made it a point of honor to get myself down to the bottom with it strapped to my back. Heidi carried her backpack, which, to be fair, was no lightweight either. After about the half-way point, we'd stop and rest/drink/eat (Clif bars and Gatorade and/or water) every few switchbacks, but getting started afterwards was just awful. From a resting position our exhausted legs had to summon the energy needed to propel our bodies *and* our packs further on down the Canyon. It was a tough fight by the end.
The smile is a little misleading.
But, lo and behold, we made it! Bright Angel campground welcomed us with shaded trees and the white noise of the nearby Colorado River, and campsite #29 or 30 (can't remember) became our home for the night. We set up the tent, forwent the tent stakes even though we'd brought our newly purchased mallet because the hammering in was too hard/I was getting a headache, and hung our backpacks on nearby poles before setting off for a half mile walk to Phantom Ranch. The Ranch offers lodging and meals to those travelers willing to pay hefty fees. We were not such folks. Regardless, Heidi most graciously accommodated my request that we stop by to see if we could buy a cold drink and maybe some chocolate. We each had some lemonade and a Snickers bar, and while it was just what I needed to combat the headache (and tasty too!), I'm afraid Heidi wasn't so much a fan. On our way back, we dunked our blistered, dusty feet in the CO River for a refreshing cool down before the naps we had planned for the afternoon. Our legs were already cramping up from the absolute torture we had subjected them to for the past few hours. RUNNING DOWN THE GRAND CANYON?? WITH THOSE PACKS??? What on God's green earth were we thinking?! Oh, you know. Over-achieving. It'll kill us someday.
Back at our campsite, we spent the remainder of the afternoon in our tent alternating among fanning ourselves with drenched t-shirts, dozing off when possible, sopping our thick, dark hair with gloriously cold water, guzzling Gatorade, and making the trek out to the bathroom. I have to say, perhaps the most annoying thing for me was not having a bathroom within a 10 second walk. In any case, we made it through the scorching heat of an afternoon in the Grand Canyon's interior (I *cannot* imagine what it'd be like during the hottest months) with at least 20% of our sanity intact. Throughout the afternoon we forced ourselves to snack a bit and finally made "supper" in the evening. Remember those jars of peanut butter and jelly? Well, time to haul out those lovely weights of lead. We each had an open face sandwich (because we piled on so much PB&J), drank ever more water and Gatorade, and had some fruit leather for "dessert". I almost wish we'd paid the $40 a piece for the steak dinners over at Phantom Ranch.
Our campsite
The hours between when we arrived and when we went to bed seem almost unreal now, looking back. Time dragged on and yet it stood still. Perhaps it was the constant roar of the Colorado River. It muted every sound and isolated each camp site, which was a boon when it (finally) came time for us to give in to our overworked bodies' need for deeper rest. Remember the heat of the afternoon? Well, it had dissipated some, and would continue to do so for the rest of the evening until the air around us was somewhere in the 50s, I believe. And remember we had no sleeping bags? Two nights of fitful sleep did not leave our bodies immensely prepared for the epic climb *out* of the Grand Canyon the following morning. But rest assured, my dear friends, the story continues in our next post where Heidi will astound you with just how melodramatic two usually mild, introverted students can be, especially when running low on intact muscle fibers and high on the crazies of massive PB&J intake.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
…In Which We Disobey The Popcorn Commandments
[Heidi again!]
Saturday, May 15
Still in Vegas, we got to sleep in again (glorious!), and after checking out of our hotel, we hit up WalMart for some last-minute supplies (like food and electrolyte mixes …nothing important for hiking or anything). This is where a very big lapse in judgment took place - one that we would regret the entire time we were in the canyon. For some reason, while gazing upon the expansive sandwich selection, we determined that we would need not one, but TWO jars of jelly. Two GLASS jars of jelly. And one HUGE glass jar of peanut butter. Again, I don’t know what on earth possessed us to make this decision. Did we actually expect to consume the entirety of a giant jar of peanut butter and two jars of jelly in the two days we would be hiking? I have absolutely no idea. But keep paying attention, because those jars will come into play later in our climb…
After we finished buying enough peanut butter and jelly to feed Rhode Island, we headed away from Vegas and into the Arizona desert. It was about a five hour drive from Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon (if I remember correctly…), but the weather was lovely and we seemed to make it there in no time. The music choice for that day was a list of ABBA remakes by The A-Teens – if for some strange reason you weren’t into Europop in the 90s, just imagine a group of four Swedish teens making techno remixes of ABBA. Yes, it’s just as high-quality as it sounds :)
Once we arrived at the park, we drove to Mather Campground on the South Rim, where we set up our tent. Unfortunately, we forgot our mallet for hammering the tent stakes into the ground, and instead of just driving a little way to the store and picking up another one, Laura Beth decided to pound the stakes into the ground with a ratchet from her car’s tool box (the stakes made it into the ground, but it was quite the fateful day for that doomed ratchet). After setting up the tent, we took a jaunt over to the cafeteria and ate dinner with the Japanese and French tourists that made up the majority of the other people at the canyon.
The area around the Grand Canyon actually has quite a few stores, restaurants, and lodges, and we were happy to find that there was a grocery store right beside the cafeteria. They carry all kinds of camping and hiking supplies, along with groceries for people who camp there for more extended periods of time. After hunting around the food aisles, we found the Jiffy Pop. We were both aware that there are warnings literally all over every package of Jiffy Pop telling you NOT, under ANY circumstances, to put the Jiffy Pop over an open fire. But, we thought, what’s the worst that could happen? So we bought some Jiffy Pop, some special quick-burning wood, and some “fire sticks.” Probably foreseeing the disaster that was about to take place, the cashier gave us a woeful look and wished us the best anyway.
Back at the campsite, we proceeded to build the yuppiest fire ever with our easy-start “fire sticks,” Grand-Canyon-endorsed quick-burning wood, and our waterproof matches. The Boy Scouts would probably be less than proud of that effort, but we still felt pretty accomplished for our first solo attempt at fire-building. Laura Beth came up with a clever teepee-esque setup with some extra logs to prop the Jiffy Pop up by the fire, and then we waited. We also knew that you’re supposed to keep the Jiffy Pop container moving at all times in order for the kernels to cook correctly, but since we had already blatantly ignored rule number one and put it over an open flame, we figured we would just ignore that popcorn commandment as well. Only a few minutes later, we ended up with a half-expanded container of Jiffy Pop emitting the smell of what we suspected must be horribly charred bits of popcorn. Our curiosity piqued, Laura Beth cautiously pried open the foil top to reveal the damage: a disastrously singed and blackened pile of popcorn. We ate a kernel apiece, then decided it was probably better to just admit defeat.
At that point, we extinguished our little fire and rolled out the sleeping bags in the tent. Having heard that we were in for a chilly night (low of about 34 degrees), we layered up. I’m not sure exactly what Laura Beth chose to fight the cold, but I know I was wearing an Under Armour top and leggings, a T-shirt, an Under Armour hoodie with the hood up, lined windpants, and wool socks, all wrapped up in a fleece sleeping bag liner and a sleeping bag. In retrospect, I think we both probably bore a very close resemblance to the Michelin Man.
...the likeness is uncanny.
Saturday, May 15
Still in Vegas, we got to sleep in again (glorious!), and after checking out of our hotel, we hit up WalMart for some last-minute supplies (like food and electrolyte mixes …nothing important for hiking or anything). This is where a very big lapse in judgment took place - one that we would regret the entire time we were in the canyon. For some reason, while gazing upon the expansive sandwich selection, we determined that we would need not one, but TWO jars of jelly. Two GLASS jars of jelly. And one HUGE glass jar of peanut butter. Again, I don’t know what on earth possessed us to make this decision. Did we actually expect to consume the entirety of a giant jar of peanut butter and two jars of jelly in the two days we would be hiking? I have absolutely no idea. But keep paying attention, because those jars will come into play later in our climb…
After we finished buying enough peanut butter and jelly to feed Rhode Island, we headed away from Vegas and into the Arizona desert. It was about a five hour drive from Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon (if I remember correctly…), but the weather was lovely and we seemed to make it there in no time. The music choice for that day was a list of ABBA remakes by The A-Teens – if for some strange reason you weren’t into Europop in the 90s, just imagine a group of four Swedish teens making techno remixes of ABBA. Yes, it’s just as high-quality as it sounds :)
Once we arrived at the park, we drove to Mather Campground on the South Rim, where we set up our tent. Unfortunately, we forgot our mallet for hammering the tent stakes into the ground, and instead of just driving a little way to the store and picking up another one, Laura Beth decided to pound the stakes into the ground with a ratchet from her car’s tool box (the stakes made it into the ground, but it was quite the fateful day for that doomed ratchet). After setting up the tent, we took a jaunt over to the cafeteria and ate dinner with the Japanese and French tourists that made up the majority of the other people at the canyon.
The area around the Grand Canyon actually has quite a few stores, restaurants, and lodges, and we were happy to find that there was a grocery store right beside the cafeteria. They carry all kinds of camping and hiking supplies, along with groceries for people who camp there for more extended periods of time. After hunting around the food aisles, we found the Jiffy Pop. We were both aware that there are warnings literally all over every package of Jiffy Pop telling you NOT, under ANY circumstances, to put the Jiffy Pop over an open fire. But, we thought, what’s the worst that could happen? So we bought some Jiffy Pop, some special quick-burning wood, and some “fire sticks.” Probably foreseeing the disaster that was about to take place, the cashier gave us a woeful look and wished us the best anyway.
Back at the campsite, we proceeded to build the yuppiest fire ever with our easy-start “fire sticks,” Grand-Canyon-endorsed quick-burning wood, and our waterproof matches. The Boy Scouts would probably be less than proud of that effort, but we still felt pretty accomplished for our first solo attempt at fire-building. Laura Beth came up with a clever teepee-esque setup with some extra logs to prop the Jiffy Pop up by the fire, and then we waited. We also knew that you’re supposed to keep the Jiffy Pop container moving at all times in order for the kernels to cook correctly, but since we had already blatantly ignored rule number one and put it over an open flame, we figured we would just ignore that popcorn commandment as well. Only a few minutes later, we ended up with a half-expanded container of Jiffy Pop emitting the smell of what we suspected must be horribly charred bits of popcorn. Our curiosity piqued, Laura Beth cautiously pried open the foil top to reveal the damage: a disastrously singed and blackened pile of popcorn. We ate a kernel apiece, then decided it was probably better to just admit defeat.
At that point, we extinguished our little fire and rolled out the sleeping bags in the tent. Having heard that we were in for a chilly night (low of about 34 degrees), we layered up. I’m not sure exactly what Laura Beth chose to fight the cold, but I know I was wearing an Under Armour top and leggings, a T-shirt, an Under Armour hoodie with the hood up, lined windpants, and wool socks, all wrapped up in a fleece sleeping bag liner and a sleeping bag. In retrospect, I think we both probably bore a very close resemblance to the Michelin Man.
...the likeness is uncanny.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The Other Side of Vegas
May 14, 2010
Friday
*Laura Beth on*
If you haven’t yet had the pleasure of listening to Katy Perry’s “Waking up in Vegas”, I’d like to be the first to introduce you to this stellar example of pop culture (no really, both of us really like it). Check it out at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-pUaogoX5o
This morning with the covers of my white-and-green modern bed pushed to the side and Heidi’s Toshiba hooked into Marriot’s wireless internet, I navigated to YouTube and set Perry to belting her Sin City ballad of fortune-flipping on the Vegas strip. Yes, that really was the ideal way to “wake up in Vegas”, as would be our habit for the two mornings we found ourselves awake at hours earlier than those seen by two-thirds of the city’s population (like 9AM). We loved our hotel so much that we had already decided on staying another night if the ever-professional front desk staff would allow us our room for another $70 (as opposed to $110). After breakfasting on waffles, eggs, and bacon (and Heidi with her peanut butter), we were delighted to find that, yes, indeed we could stay the night again at our same rate, compliments of our coupon book. Lovely!
(I like parentheses, apparently).
But what to do with the remainder of the day? Out of all the places for Heidi and I to stay the night again, Vegas is perhaps not the most likely given that we aren’t given to tossing money at slot machines, partying like rock stars, ogling the ladies of strip shows, or in any way resembling the typical, slightly tipsy (or more) Vegas-goers, so we brought in the atlas to see if anything in the area struck our fancy. Lake Meade Recreational Area? (most unoriginal name ever, National Park Service) Kayaking down the Black Canyon? Yes! We called and made reservations, picked up some hott water shoes from Walmart, and grabbed cheeseburgers from an In-N-Out before hitting the road south of Vegas. We meandered our way through more scrubby land and across, wait for it, that feat of human engineering otherwise known as the Hoover Dam. Heidi continues to be decidedly unimpressed with the mass of concrete that supplies power to the surrounding area and was built over years by the hands of Depression-era workers, some of whom lost their lives in said construction (boy, I hope I’ve remembered my facts correctly from all those Discovery Channel shows on the Dam I’ve seen). I fail to understand.
In any case, after entering a security check (we aren’t Dam Busters, after all) and driving a few more miles through the desert, we looped down and around to a marina at the Black Canyon.
Though I had reserved a tandem kayak—less chance of losing it should we decide to do some exploring on land—, apparently they were all broken so we ended up with two singles, which was perfectly fine with us. We dragged our oars and life jackets out to my car where we greased up with SPF 50 sunscreen and donned our water shoes, hats, and sunglasses before shoving off from the marina. When we checked in the lady gave us a map and told us to head north and be back before 4PM otherwise they’d have to send out a search part for us at a cost of $85/hour plus gas, so, of course, we struck out on a northern route….for the next hour. And how far did we paddle? One mile. When one heads upcurrent against the wind one finds that one’s kayak moves more slowly than Vegas-bound Dam traffic on a weekday afternoon. I’ve told Heidi a little about my family and my father’s inability to play because doing so doesn’t accomplish much worthwhile, and I fear that she rather accurately drew a few familial parallels that afternoon. Relaxing while paddling? Never! We must do, we must accomplish, we must make distance.
Picture this...
That fireball of Arizona sun wreaks its daily punishment on the cracked earth as two lone figures in yellow kayaks inch their way along the scrub-lined wall of Black Canyon. One pushes ahead with desperate strokes in a never-ending fight against the current while the other lets her keep at her futile battle knowing she’ll tire eventually. Both grimace as their oars greet the water, both pant with each stroke, both edge closer to that neon green mile marker their water logged maps say is just around the bend. Neither really understand why they just paid $60 for the afternoon.
That said, the return trip was much, much more pleasant. Without paddling we drifted back faster than any speed we attained previously and even found ourselves with some time to spare. I, of course, wanted to jump in the lake, so Heidi corralled the kayaks while I took a plunge in the freezing water. Later, we spotted a small beach and directed our kayaks over for a brief respite and a chance to explore. While standing ankle-deep in the water, a duck came crashing in to our patch of sand and proceeded to eye us curiously as he circled us round and round. In typical earthy fashion, Heidi did an excellent duck call and succeeded in bringing him within two feet of our legs. I, however, feared being bitten. Soon enough, though, it was time to strike out for the marina and end our afternoon on Lake Meade. Did we accomplish anything? I’d say yes: 1 mile kayaked against the wind and current, 1 temporarily submerged Laura Beth, and 1 duck whisperer.
And oh the ride back. About 4:30 headed to Vegas through the Hoover Dam is perhaps one of the worst times to make the trip. The one hour drive quickly turned into 2.5 hours as we snaked (and snacked) through 2-lane lines of cars and Dam tourists. Oh, hehe, the Dam. We had perhaps too much fun playing on the word “dam” as we drove through. Dam bars blocking our view, Dam tourists in the crosswalks, Dam traffic on the road. Yes, this is how we get our kicks (but not on Route 66, that was for next week).
After a rejuvenating shower back in our sweet hotel, we took off to acquire some supper…in Las Vegas on a Friday night. Oy. Samantha (the voice of my Garmin GPS) produced a list of area restaurants for our perusing pleasure while we tried to decide where we’d like to feast for the evening. A fondue restaurant called The Melting Pot? Most def! We set Samantha on the trail and took off for the 20 minute drive only to find that that location was no longer in business. :( But never fear, Samantha had returned two locations for the Pot, so we punched in the second one and jetted off for the 35 minute drive. Notice the time—at this point we’re up to almost an hour. When we *finally* reached Samantha’s given location, we were more than depressed to find that they could only seat us after 9PM (it was 8 at this point). :(:(:(
Saddened, we set off to find another restaurant and spotted a Cheesecake Factory nearby. Now, the other thing to consider about our little jaunt is that our attire wasn’t particularly fancy—solid t-shirts with jeans and tennis shoes. Not only did we stick out like the college students we were (slash, just graduated…), the good ‘ol Factory was packed solid at 8:15PM. Le sigh. One thing led to another and we found ourselves motoring around mostly non-sketchy parts of Las Vegas for another hour. Of course by that time The Melting Pot could seat us, so we gave in and made our way back to the dark building with the glowing purple sign.
And just what should we do after our two hour dinner expedition? FEAST of course!! So yes, we did order the “Fondue Feast” for two complete with the following items:
First course (cheese fondue):
- Celery
- Carrots
- Cauliflower
- Bread (3 types)
- Apples
Second course (salad):
- Lettuce wraps
Third course (coq a vine fondue)
- Pork
- Chicken
- Tuna
- Dumplings
- Steak
- Shrimp
Fourth course (dark chocolate fondue w/Disaronno):
- Strawberries
- Bananas
- Pound cake
- Cheesecake
- Brownies
- Graham cracker covered marshmallows
- Oreo covered marshmallows
And as the only patrons in the restaurant at its closing time near 11PM:
Our waitress: “Can I get you some more pound cake?”
Our internal response: “NOOO!!! You don’t understand, we have to eat it if you bring it.”
Our external response: “Oh, thank you, but no, we couldn’t possibly.”
Total fondue feasting stats:
Time – 2 hours
Food – uhh…too much
Cost – $120
Yes, oh yes. It was epic. The food babies of Manitou Springs were nothing like the quadruplets we bore on our way back to the hotel. Oh. My. Goodness. So. Much. Food. I was delirious driving back and Heidi could barely keep her head from falling over, but we did make it back safe and sound. Though the plan was to watch Ocean’s 11 on Heidi’s computer before we went to bed, there was no way we could stay awake long enough to make it through the movie between our afternoon of kayaking and our evening of feasting. The day? Epic.
Friday
*Laura Beth on*
If you haven’t yet had the pleasure of listening to Katy Perry’s “Waking up in Vegas”, I’d like to be the first to introduce you to this stellar example of pop culture (no really, both of us really like it). Check it out at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-pUaogoX5o
This morning with the covers of my white-and-green modern bed pushed to the side and Heidi’s Toshiba hooked into Marriot’s wireless internet, I navigated to YouTube and set Perry to belting her Sin City ballad of fortune-flipping on the Vegas strip. Yes, that really was the ideal way to “wake up in Vegas”, as would be our habit for the two mornings we found ourselves awake at hours earlier than those seen by two-thirds of the city’s population (like 9AM). We loved our hotel so much that we had already decided on staying another night if the ever-professional front desk staff would allow us our room for another $70 (as opposed to $110). After breakfasting on waffles, eggs, and bacon (and Heidi with her peanut butter), we were delighted to find that, yes, indeed we could stay the night again at our same rate, compliments of our coupon book. Lovely!
(I like parentheses, apparently).
But what to do with the remainder of the day? Out of all the places for Heidi and I to stay the night again, Vegas is perhaps not the most likely given that we aren’t given to tossing money at slot machines, partying like rock stars, ogling the ladies of strip shows, or in any way resembling the typical, slightly tipsy (or more) Vegas-goers, so we brought in the atlas to see if anything in the area struck our fancy. Lake Meade Recreational Area? (most unoriginal name ever, National Park Service) Kayaking down the Black Canyon? Yes! We called and made reservations, picked up some hott water shoes from Walmart, and grabbed cheeseburgers from an In-N-Out before hitting the road south of Vegas. We meandered our way through more scrubby land and across, wait for it, that feat of human engineering otherwise known as the Hoover Dam. Heidi continues to be decidedly unimpressed with the mass of concrete that supplies power to the surrounding area and was built over years by the hands of Depression-era workers, some of whom lost their lives in said construction (boy, I hope I’ve remembered my facts correctly from all those Discovery Channel shows on the Dam I’ve seen). I fail to understand.
In any case, after entering a security check (we aren’t Dam Busters, after all) and driving a few more miles through the desert, we looped down and around to a marina at the Black Canyon.
Though I had reserved a tandem kayak—less chance of losing it should we decide to do some exploring on land—, apparently they were all broken so we ended up with two singles, which was perfectly fine with us. We dragged our oars and life jackets out to my car where we greased up with SPF 50 sunscreen and donned our water shoes, hats, and sunglasses before shoving off from the marina. When we checked in the lady gave us a map and told us to head north and be back before 4PM otherwise they’d have to send out a search part for us at a cost of $85/hour plus gas, so, of course, we struck out on a northern route….for the next hour. And how far did we paddle? One mile. When one heads upcurrent against the wind one finds that one’s kayak moves more slowly than Vegas-bound Dam traffic on a weekday afternoon. I’ve told Heidi a little about my family and my father’s inability to play because doing so doesn’t accomplish much worthwhile, and I fear that she rather accurately drew a few familial parallels that afternoon. Relaxing while paddling? Never! We must do, we must accomplish, we must make distance.
Picture this...
That fireball of Arizona sun wreaks its daily punishment on the cracked earth as two lone figures in yellow kayaks inch their way along the scrub-lined wall of Black Canyon. One pushes ahead with desperate strokes in a never-ending fight against the current while the other lets her keep at her futile battle knowing she’ll tire eventually. Both grimace as their oars greet the water, both pant with each stroke, both edge closer to that neon green mile marker their water logged maps say is just around the bend. Neither really understand why they just paid $60 for the afternoon.
That said, the return trip was much, much more pleasant. Without paddling we drifted back faster than any speed we attained previously and even found ourselves with some time to spare. I, of course, wanted to jump in the lake, so Heidi corralled the kayaks while I took a plunge in the freezing water. Later, we spotted a small beach and directed our kayaks over for a brief respite and a chance to explore. While standing ankle-deep in the water, a duck came crashing in to our patch of sand and proceeded to eye us curiously as he circled us round and round. In typical earthy fashion, Heidi did an excellent duck call and succeeded in bringing him within two feet of our legs. I, however, feared being bitten. Soon enough, though, it was time to strike out for the marina and end our afternoon on Lake Meade. Did we accomplish anything? I’d say yes: 1 mile kayaked against the wind and current, 1 temporarily submerged Laura Beth, and 1 duck whisperer.
And oh the ride back. About 4:30 headed to Vegas through the Hoover Dam is perhaps one of the worst times to make the trip. The one hour drive quickly turned into 2.5 hours as we snaked (and snacked) through 2-lane lines of cars and Dam tourists. Oh, hehe, the Dam. We had perhaps too much fun playing on the word “dam” as we drove through. Dam bars blocking our view, Dam tourists in the crosswalks, Dam traffic on the road. Yes, this is how we get our kicks (but not on Route 66, that was for next week).
After a rejuvenating shower back in our sweet hotel, we took off to acquire some supper…in Las Vegas on a Friday night. Oy. Samantha (the voice of my Garmin GPS) produced a list of area restaurants for our perusing pleasure while we tried to decide where we’d like to feast for the evening. A fondue restaurant called The Melting Pot? Most def! We set Samantha on the trail and took off for the 20 minute drive only to find that that location was no longer in business. :( But never fear, Samantha had returned two locations for the Pot, so we punched in the second one and jetted off for the 35 minute drive. Notice the time—at this point we’re up to almost an hour. When we *finally* reached Samantha’s given location, we were more than depressed to find that they could only seat us after 9PM (it was 8 at this point). :(:(:(
Saddened, we set off to find another restaurant and spotted a Cheesecake Factory nearby. Now, the other thing to consider about our little jaunt is that our attire wasn’t particularly fancy—solid t-shirts with jeans and tennis shoes. Not only did we stick out like the college students we were (slash, just graduated…), the good ‘ol Factory was packed solid at 8:15PM. Le sigh. One thing led to another and we found ourselves motoring around mostly non-sketchy parts of Las Vegas for another hour. Of course by that time The Melting Pot could seat us, so we gave in and made our way back to the dark building with the glowing purple sign.
And just what should we do after our two hour dinner expedition? FEAST of course!! So yes, we did order the “Fondue Feast” for two complete with the following items:
First course (cheese fondue):
- Celery
- Carrots
- Cauliflower
- Bread (3 types)
- Apples
Second course (salad):
- Lettuce wraps
Third course (coq a vine fondue)
- Pork
- Chicken
- Tuna
- Dumplings
- Steak
- Shrimp
Fourth course (dark chocolate fondue w/Disaronno):
- Strawberries
- Bananas
- Pound cake
- Cheesecake
- Brownies
- Graham cracker covered marshmallows
- Oreo covered marshmallows
And as the only patrons in the restaurant at its closing time near 11PM:
Our waitress: “Can I get you some more pound cake?”
Our internal response: “NOOO!!! You don’t understand, we have to eat it if you bring it.”
Our external response: “Oh, thank you, but no, we couldn’t possibly.”
Total fondue feasting stats:
Time – 2 hours
Food – uhh…too much
Cost – $120
Yes, oh yes. It was epic. The food babies of Manitou Springs were nothing like the quadruplets we bore on our way back to the hotel. Oh. My. Goodness. So. Much. Food. I was delirious driving back and Heidi could barely keep her head from falling over, but we did make it back safe and sound. Though the plan was to watch Ocean’s 11 on Heidi’s computer before we went to bed, there was no way we could stay awake long enough to make it through the movie between our afternoon of kayaking and our evening of feasting. The day? Epic.
“But Where Will We Feast??”
May 13, 2010
Thursday
[Heidi this time!]
Determined to make it all the way from the winery in Colorado to Las Vegas in one day, Laura Beth and I woke up bright and early, ate a delightful breakfast in the winery lounge with all our fellow patrons (most of whom were about 30 to 50 years older than we were), and set out for Las Vegas. We also tried to figure out what the "thing" across from the winery was - we decided it was a plateau, but you can judge for yourself...
As we drove through Utah, we checked the map and saw that Arches National Park was only a few miles from the highway (and by “a few,” I mean somewhere around 50). So we took a little detour, and spent a couple hours hiking and climbing on one of the shorter trails in the park around Window Arch. The scenery was spectacular, and it was great to get to stretch our legs for a little while.
The rest of the drive across Utah was uneventful, to say the least. The vastness of that state is absolutely incredible! We could drive for literally hundreds of miles without seeing a town. The road is sprinkled with “Ranch Exits,” roads with no amenities that exist solely to allow ranch owners to make it out to their ranches from the main highway. As we were about to leave the state and enter Arizona, we checked our ETA on the Garmin and thought we only had an hour left to go. However, we forgot to take into account the time change at the Nevada state line. We didn’t actually realize that we had forgotten it until Garmin told us that we only had an hour left of trip time and still about 140 miles to go.
Once we got into Las Vegas and found a place to stay (we actually ended up getting a suite for quite a discount in Henderson), we started searching for dinner. At this point, we decided that we should just deem our vacation a culinary tour of the West so we didn’t feel so bad about feasting every night. We found a Macaroni Grill a few miles from our hotel and dined on chicken pasta dishes, Italian sodas, and finally some delicious tiramisu (all thoughts of attempting to preserve our waistlines were abandoned when we saw that tiramisu was on the menu! Yum!).
Even though we were pretty worn out after our epic drive across Utah (and stuffed to the brim with Italian food), seeing the strip at night was too much to pass up. So after dinner we jumped in the car again and took off for Las Vegas Boulevard! The behemoth casinos and the noise and the people were almost overwhelming – needless to say, we felt very Midwestern in the sea of glitter and lights. After driving up and down the strip and taking it all in, we watched the Bellagio fountains for a few moments and eventually made our way back to the hotel.
Thursday
[Heidi this time!]
Determined to make it all the way from the winery in Colorado to Las Vegas in one day, Laura Beth and I woke up bright and early, ate a delightful breakfast in the winery lounge with all our fellow patrons (most of whom were about 30 to 50 years older than we were), and set out for Las Vegas. We also tried to figure out what the "thing" across from the winery was - we decided it was a plateau, but you can judge for yourself...
As we drove through Utah, we checked the map and saw that Arches National Park was only a few miles from the highway (and by “a few,” I mean somewhere around 50). So we took a little detour, and spent a couple hours hiking and climbing on one of the shorter trails in the park around Window Arch. The scenery was spectacular, and it was great to get to stretch our legs for a little while.
The rest of the drive across Utah was uneventful, to say the least. The vastness of that state is absolutely incredible! We could drive for literally hundreds of miles without seeing a town. The road is sprinkled with “Ranch Exits,” roads with no amenities that exist solely to allow ranch owners to make it out to their ranches from the main highway. As we were about to leave the state and enter Arizona, we checked our ETA on the Garmin and thought we only had an hour left to go. However, we forgot to take into account the time change at the Nevada state line. We didn’t actually realize that we had forgotten it until Garmin told us that we only had an hour left of trip time and still about 140 miles to go.
Once we got into Las Vegas and found a place to stay (we actually ended up getting a suite for quite a discount in Henderson), we started searching for dinner. At this point, we decided that we should just deem our vacation a culinary tour of the West so we didn’t feel so bad about feasting every night. We found a Macaroni Grill a few miles from our hotel and dined on chicken pasta dishes, Italian sodas, and finally some delicious tiramisu (all thoughts of attempting to preserve our waistlines were abandoned when we saw that tiramisu was on the menu! Yum!).
Even though we were pretty worn out after our epic drive across Utah (and stuffed to the brim with Italian food), seeing the strip at night was too much to pass up. So after dinner we jumped in the car again and took off for Las Vegas Boulevard! The behemoth casinos and the noise and the people were almost overwhelming – needless to say, we felt very Midwestern in the sea of glitter and lights. After driving up and down the strip and taking it all in, we watched the Bellagio fountains for a few moments and eventually made our way back to the hotel.
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