And yet there we were, rousing ourselves seemingly moments after we went to bed, strapping on sneakers and filling up canteens to embark on today’s project: A hike of the Grand Canyon.
We would not go through the whole thing, of course. We would take the baby trail, go out maybe a mile or two, take some pictures, and then go back. The reason for our unconscionably early start time was simple: People should begin hiking at dawn so they do it when the temperature is still a mild 95 degrees. ‘Cause as soon as the sun makes its way above the canyon walls and shines its molting smile on the few humans crazy enough to willingly put themselves in its path, the mercury can rise to 120 degrees, rendering all physical activity a minor miracle of God.
Five in the morning found two Jews and a Mexican standing in a groggy huddle with our hike group. We had all the looks of pale Northeasterners whose outdoor activities consist mostly of walking to the subway and occasionally grilling hamburgers. Already schvitzing from the baked rocks at our feet, we set out along the canyon, determined to avoid death.
The Grand Canyon is truly spectacular, and can scarcely be put into words. It is beyond enormous, and its scope is such that it cannot be completely captured by a camera. Pictures can’t do justice to its vastness, in a very objective sense. We just don’t have the technology to capture just how damned big it is. You can only really get a sense of it if you actually see it, and stand at the edge and are receptive with whatever faculties of perception humans have. And it’s still not enough. Its majesty defies description.
We walked in silence, for the most part, mostly because of the exertion, but also because, other than the Ninth Ward in New Orleans, scarce other places on our trip offered the opportunity for quiet contemplation. When we came to the rocky outcrop where our “hike” ended, we sat at the edge for a while and just, well, sat there. It was nice.
On our way back up the trail, Moldman noticed a squirrel sitting at the edge of the trail, eating a nut. Dustin and I froze, thinking that Moldman was going to giggle and begin chasing the squirrel along the narrow canyon walls. Thankfully, he refrained. Instead, he spent twenty minutes taking pictures of the squirrel. Yes, twenty minutes. Really. I know.
We went back up to the edge of the canyon and walked around a bit, eventually deciding to take a short bus tour of the canyon’s edge. This was kind of a fiasco, since it took two hours and just bused us to different places along the Canyon’s edge that all offered substantially the same view. A spectacular view, yes, but taking the bus for two hours to see the same view over and over again seemed a bit superfluous.
Soon, it was time to get back in the car and start driving South, with an eye towards the state of Nevada and the great city of Las Vegas.
My feelings about Las Vegas are perfectly clear, as long-time readers of this blog are sure to know. I love the city more than anything. Tragic, of course, because this means I can never live there. I didn’t stick my head out the window the whole way there like an excited dog, but it wasn’t out of the question.
Before Vegas, though, we had to go through a few hundred miles of bad roads. Congested roads, which was so frustrating. Imagine that you finally get to go to heaven and you get stuck in a DMV line. And the traffic was backed up far beyond the city limits, too. You know you still have a ways to go when you see random casinos trying to lure people with the promise of cheap slots and $3.99 all-you-can-eat-steak-and-
One of the bonuses of the traffic was that we did get to see the Hoover Dam. This puzzled us. So many people, before we took the trip, advised us that we HAD to see the Hoover Dam. We HAD to see it, just HAD to. And it’s an impressive feat of engineering, to be sure. But when we finally saw it, we didn’t know we were seeing it. We saw a dam, and it was huge, kind of, but none of us thought this was the Hoover Dam that we HAD to see. I guess we just assumed it would be bigger (that’s what she said), but it took us a few minutes to accept that, hey, maybe this actually is the Hoover Dam.
Then, finally, Mecca. Las Vegas and its lights loomed in the distance, like a shining beacon of awesomeness. I was literally bouncing in my chair in excitement, to the point where the two Jews were debating whether letting me go out and run a few laps around the MGM Casino would calm me down.
Given the malleable and indistinct nature of time in Las Vegas, the chronicle of our visit there will have to wait until tomorrow. For now, I’ll just leave you with the image of me running into the room, throwing my luggage wherever it may land, and running back out the door in a frenzy of joy.
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