Leg kicks, trail runs, sword fights, back packs, and hitch hikes.

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Me: I've never been on a trail with such a good view.
Ted: David. We're on the Grandview Trail.
Me: I'm... I'm just gonna stop talking now.
Ted: That's good.

Such was the conversational fare as I descended three miles to Horseshoe Mesa via the Grandview Trail on Sunday evening. Around 5:30 P.M. that day, I had been walking home, thoroughly exhausted, when my friend Ted pulled up alongside me in his truck, rolled down the window, and asked "Do you want to go hiking?" I thought for a moment about the kicks I'd taken to my legs and knees the day before in kickboxing. I thought about the hour I'd spent in the gym that morning working my legs. I thought about the hour I'd spent running three miles on the Bright Angel Trail. I thought about the three times I'd thrown up on that run. I thought about the two hours I'd just spent in my ken-jitsu sword class. After about five seconds, I decided I was doing way too much thinking and I should just say yes. So I did. And thirty minutes later, after a hasty packing job, I was eastbound in the passenger seat, headed to Grandview Point.

My friend Jesse told me that Grandview was steep, but upon hiking it, I came to realize that steep is a synonym for vertical in Jesse's New Oxford Dictionary. It makes the Bright Angel look like a playground for octegenarians. I had spent a good fifteen of my thirty preparatory minutes tearing my room apart in search for my tent stakes, which I never did find. So I brought my snow stakes along, hoping for some sandy soil to drive them into. Upon arriving at the camp, however, I was greeted by concrete-like soil with a generous dose of embedded rock thrown in. My snow stakes were as useless as a kitchen sink (which I think Ted had in his 60-pound pack), so I used the groundcloth stakes that Ted didn't use. There were four. My tent uses seven. Minimum. Needless to say, my sagging tent felt more like a blanket that night.

Anyhow, Ted's boss had assured him that there was water an easy mile from camp at a place called Miner Springs. Well, we never could find any place called Miner Springs, but we did search for a place called Page Springs. The hike down to the spring was more than my brutalized knees could handle, so I turned back early and headed for the rim with a little under 750 mL of water. As I was hiking out, I heard Ted yell

WATER!

, but I knew I couldn't take the hike down, so I kept on truckin'. Three and a half hours later, I somehow managed to make the rim with a full gulp of water left! I hitched a ride back to the village with a 'Frisco-bound duo from Wisconsin, hobbled home, and fell asleep on the floor en route to the shower. I apparently held a semi-lucid conversation with my roommate at one point which I have no recollection of. I somehow found my way to the couch, where I woke up this morning before heading to work. What a weekend!

Tune in next week when I hike 21 miles to the North Rim!

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Photos

Photo Op
Horshoe Mesa was a popular destination for miners before Grand Canyon was declared a National Park. This is the entrance to a collapsed mine shaft on Horseshoe Mesa.

Rain on the East Rim
Eery rain tinged red by the setting sun.

Sunset from the trail
This was right about the time we realized we wouldn't make it to camp before dark.

Limp
My tent needs Viagra.

Golden Hills
Miners were disappointed to find little gold in the Canyon, but at sunrise it looks like the whole Canyon was wrought from gold.

A grand pain in the ass
This trail is so steep it's ridiculous.

Picturesque Cairn
One of the more aesthetically pleasing trail markers I've seen.

Comments

[travelbuffs]

:-) Truly! What a weekend..