Andy Travels Desert Domination
An excerpt from An American Road Trip 2004
The Players: Sneaky Pete, Senor Meximelt, and myself
The Location: The Grand Canyon
4/23/2009 – Desert Domination
Sitting in the desert as the sun descends into the horizon, the dry air blows chilly winds that accompany dusk. The quiet beauty of the vast expanse pours a sense of nostalgia over me. I’m taken back to this same desert, only its years before…
Inside the Grand Canyon shot provided by boncekimages.com
It’s July and the three of us – me, Sneaky Pete, and the Meximelt- have been blazing cross country in the baby blue Buick in search of some new adventures, a little leisure, and plenty of debauchery. There have only been a couple of setbacks thus far; namely the dirty run in Sneaky Pete’s eye had with an over-zealous bee and a near calamity with a pair of 8 ft. elk at 80 mph – otherwise we’re as right as rain and looking forward to the next leg of the trip.
The plan is simple: knock around a bit at the Grand Canyon and end up in Vegas by nightfall. After the mandatory 15 minutes of awe-stricken silence that accompanies your first gaze at the unbelievable beauty that is the Grand Canyon, we find the hike for us. The stroll out to Plateau Point looked like a real winner and was accompanied by a couple of enticing precautions: (1) Do not attempt to hike to Plateau Point in the summer; (2) Do not attempt to hike to Plateau Point without the appropriate dry weather equipment; (3) Do not attempt to hike to Plateau Point in a single day; (4) Only experienced desert hikers should attempt the hike to Plateau Point. After all agreeing to enforce the Law of Quadruple Negatives, we get to walking.
The first three miles descend back and forth and back and forth and back and forth into the orange rocky ravine. With temps reaching nearly 120 degrees Fahrenheit, you are first surprised by the absence of perspiration, only to realize you are being sucked dry as an overpowering parched sensation grabs hold. That rush of heat that smacks you in the face when you open the oven door is the norm here and we drink at least a gallon of water at each of the three watering holes. A fellow tracker informs us the uncompromising dryness of the air instantly evaporates your sweat – a phenomenon that is completely foreign to three southern boys accustom to the dripping humidity of Georgia.
That is one big Canyon
It takes a little longer than expected to reach the river view, but it is most certainly worth it. A peaceful, almost humble feeling seems to settle over your psyche. With the raging Colorado River doing its thing below and a few thousand years of God’s most spectacular art work surrounding you, it’s hard to resist the urge to frolic around like a five year old soaking it all in.
That euphoria drains quickly when reality finally presents itself – the hard part hasn’t even started yet. Three miles back on the canyon floor and then three miles up, shit, this is gonna suck. As the upward journey begins and delirium takes over, a group of mules passes on our right toting a church group of some sort – lucky bastards. A dusty, stank-ridden tail brushes by my face adding insult to injury, and I have to fight the impulse to smack that ass’s ass out of spite. Every part of my body is sore, tired, cramped, miserable, and yet…strangely exhilarated. Nothing like complete and total physical exhaustion to let you know you are still alive.
I begin losing site of the exhaustion as my body’s autopilot clicks on allowing me to ponder some of the finer points of life – I call it my Happy Place. A place where cartwheels and beach scenes are aplenty, the beer is cold and the women are tasty, the party always goes on and the good times seem to never end – “GEEAAAHHHH!!” Just as I’m starting to enjoy myself, a god-awful, pain-ridden shriek tosses me out the front window of my Happy Place. The Mexican’s body has finally decided to strike back with an extraordinary leg cramp. As he frantically tries to stretch his rebelling limb, a group of Japanese tourists gathers around snapping pics of his undeniable anguish. Pete and I, berated and bewildered ourselves, join the group and while we want to help can do nothing but stare blankly. I stare at my moaning compadre desperately seeking any sort of relief, then at the amused tourists pointing and laughing and shooting, and then back at ole Meximelt now beside himself in pain, then finally over to Pete who joins me with a confused shrug and delighted chuckle. The whole scene is nothing short of hysterical. With only about 50 meters to go in the hike, we take a seat while our fallen amigo licks his wounds. The setting sun has now given the once bright orange rocks a deep maroon hue, the blistering heat has subsided, our Japanese admirers have begun trailing off and I can’t fathom a more appropriate way to enjoy the finale of our hike – a good day indeed.
The Grand Canyon stop a success, it’s now on to live it up Vegas style. Sneaky Pete’s turn to drive. Thank God. Just minutes down the road and I’m out cold…
