I Did It So You Don't Have To

A while ago, dw and I were sitting around of an evening, idly reading --- some travel show on PBS providing background noise --- basically bored and boring. We agreed that our lives were lacking a certain je ne sais quoi, that we needed to step out of our comfort zone and get more variety in our lives.

Pursuing that thought, a few weeks ago I decided to get a concealed carry permit (hereafter known as a ccp). Not that I am likely to carry a concealed weapon, but I was curious about the permitting process, particularly how restrictive it is. My parents gave me a 30-30 rifle when I turned 13 and I've owned a gun of one sort or another since then. However, not so oddly, I've never felt the need to carry a concealed gun. Also, not so oddly, I've never been in a situation where I felt a gun would improve things. (Except for the times I've gone hunting. While I had limited success I did think the gun was more efficient than a rock or a stick would have been)

(A friend who I put down as a reference said: "I'd never get one of those, I'd be sure to shoot somebody." -- He owns a boat moorage and a couple of rental houses -- he doesn't seem to attract the cream of the crop as renters)

The NRA seems to think everyone should have any weapon they want and carry it wherever they want. That sort of makes sense -- "Dick" Cheney, for example: He nearly missed when he used a shotgun to shoot that guy in the face, but if he had a Predator Drone it would have been a sure thing. And a Predator would make snipe hunting easier (let alone golf -- you could put the holes wherever you wanted them -- and the holes would be a more satisfying size) I'm not so ambitious. I'm just curious about a simple .45 magnum and a simple quick-draw shoulder holster.

In the event, I signed up for a ccp class. I'm now going to write down everything I learned so you too can get a ccp.

The 30 or 40 people in the class were a bit surprising: Most were 40 and above and a slight majority were women.               
There was only one younger guy who seemed to be a bit primitive, and another guy who (I'm guessing) seemed to be worried about blue-helmeted U.N. armies in black helicopters.
     (By golly, with his AK-47 and pistol and ccp he'd show them blue foreigners. He was prepared to
      defend his two bedroom -- in need of repairs -- ranch against all comers)
But most were ordinary middle-aged people (Look out! Grandma's packing heat! And she's mad as hell and she's not gonna take it anymore!!)

On to the lessons:

Number One: Safety. Don't shoot yourself. No, Really! Don't shoot yourself.

Two: These are some different types of guns. (Don't be absurd, of course you can't actually touch them. Just because you're going to get a ccp doesn't mean the instructor thinks you should handle a gun)

Three: These are some different types of ammunition. (They're cut in half or otherwise de-activated so you can touch these)

Four: Video of armed citizens in action. Scene: with the subtlety of Elmer Fudd stalking Bugs Bunny a bad guy sneaks up on a woman. She whips out her revolver with a speed that would have made Wyatt Earp proud and thwarts the villain. The class got to watch several variations of this scene. We were inspired.

Five: If you shoot someone, don't talk to the police, or anyone else. Get a lawyer.

Six: Over half of the class time (about 2 hours) was spent filling out the application forms. (The forms are available on line. If you can read this, you won't need 2 hours to fill them out.)

Silly me. Before the class I thought there might be some actual discussions or information on gun safety. Where applicants might go to get some real practical practice with gun handling. Some actual real-world information like: If you think you need to pull out your gun, just get the hell out of there.

The whole thing was astonishingly useless. However, I sent my application to Utah (!)  and now, thanks to reciprocal agreements between states, I can carry a concealed weapon in nearly 40 states. Oregon, I'm happy to say, takes a little longer so if I want to shove an assault rifle down my pants and carry it concealed, I have to go to Washington or Idaho.

The entire thing was appalling.

Books: It's more browsing than reading straight through, but: ...isms ... understanding architectural styles (Jeremy Melvin) it concisely explains architectural styles -- with illustrations -- from Pre-Classicism through Meta-rationalism (!?). It's inclusive and informative. A foot deep and a mile wide. It satisfies my architectural need to know.
   and The Nothing That Is -- A Natural History of Zero (Robert Kaplan) I'm re-reading this book. It's everything I need to know about zero and more besides. It's tough sledding in places.  As a history of  zero, it also applies to the ccp class.

Word of the day: It seems like this should come up several times a day: Malversation -- Corrupt behavior in a position, office, or position of trust.

Finally: "Privilege and self-interest are most likely to triumph when they can be concealed behind a mask of severity" (Pliny the Younger) -- Tea-Party and the Koch brothers anyone?   and so it goes DJA.


 

Thinking About Hats

I am not obsessed with hats even though I have a modest (20 some) utilitarian collection of them. I have my favorites, as well as some that I rarely wear (although I did in the past), but having hats at all is a curious thing. After all, humans, along with sheep, can grow great mops of hair so a hat would seem to be superfluous. On the other hand, it's far easier to deal with an oiled rain hat (like my Filson) or a Borsalino than a mat of felted hair that looks like the wearer glued a dead labradoodle to his head.
     Once upon a time, men wore hats. Men were expected to wear a hat, and none of this baseball cap stuff unless the guy was a pre-teen or playing for the Dodgers. With a casual dip of the brim and a slight tilt, a hat displayed a certain style or insouciance far beyond the reach of a beanie with propeller or it's baseball cap brother. And a real hat makes a statement: An English Walking Hat (such as my Kangol) says "Come mist or rain, I'm going for a walk." and nothing more needs be said.

  

Here's a picture of a guy wearing a proper hat. Looking classy. It's not on backwards or twisted to the side

   Admittedly there are hats and other hats. Carmen Miranda wore proper statement making hats but most of us would choose a different style, at least for casual wear. Even with the jazz hands, few of us (I suspect) would choose this hat for an evening at the theater.

 

Queen Elizabeth wears hats that make a statement:

But even paired with her foul little ankle-biters I think she looks a bit goofy. And besides I don't think that hat would do squat for keeping off the rain. Her perm would be sagging and dripping in no time with even a modest mist. This particular hat would offer some protection against rock-fall on any sport climb she tried, but a standard Joe Brown (although a bit old-fashioned) would do a far better job.

 

A few months ago, I decided my hat collection was sadly incomplete. If a hat guy lives in the West, even the Pacific Northwest, a hat guy needs a Stetson. (Not a stiff brimmed Stetson. The evil, eponymously named, Dick Cheney wears a stiff Stetson) So after a bit of searching for the proper hat, I bought a Stetson:

 

I didn't wear it when we hiked the Grand Canyon -- style be damned, a dark brown felt hat is a bit much when it's over 100 degrees. But I was wearing it last week when, walking down a sidewalk, I started to pass a little four year old girl who was playing in the back of a pickup (watched over by her grandfather). She stared at me for a moment, then waved and said: "Hi, cowboy!" I smiled, tipped my hat, said "Howdy, miss." and continued on my way. This little event neatly illustrated the difficulty of wearing a cowboy hat:

   It isn't a problem in the country where a guy isn't going to meet many women, but in the city where there are likely to be a lot of women it's hard to get anywhere. To correctly wear a cowboy hat, every time the cowboy-hatted man meets a woman, he has to tip his hat, or actually doff his hat and greet the lady. And how to properly address any particular woman is a huge problem:

    For instance, one of my nieces is a school teacher, and "Schoolmarm" is the correct term. But another niece works in international banking and how does that translate into cowboyese? A third niece is larking about in Paris France. A cowboy hat would clearly indicate Paris Texas. I've been to Paris Texas and there's little larking about there, so referring to the third niece while wearing my new hat would only lead to confusion. And what if I accidentally called a Miss a Ma'am or a Mrs.? Or vice-versa? All of these problems really slow down a guy, and my walks could come to a full stop. 

  

 So this little essay illustrates the importance of having a collection of hats (even a modest one, such as mine).  With a variety I can fit the hat to the occasion. When I walk in the city, I wear a walking hat.

When I walk in the country, I wear the Stetson. (Of course, if I ever ride a horse I'll wear the Stetson.)

When I bicycle, I wear the helmet (a hat by another name). It's all good and appropriate. 

 

Word of the day: For the men. (if this applies to you, get help. It isn't really happening -- unless you're swimming in cold water)  Koro: the belief that your penis is shrinking and that it'll disappear and then you'll die.

 

Moot Point: a cow's opinion, so it doesn't matter unless it's referring to cow things, such as cow flop. 

 

Books:  re-reading The Horse's Mouth (Joyce Cary) A very funny book -- Artist as an irascible old fart --  Alec Guinness wrote and starred in a movie adaption that took this fine plate of English roast beef with hot mustard, and turned it into an insipid  blanc-mange. If you have a chance, by all means, skip the movie.          And so it goes. DJA

 

P.S. the occasional weird word spacing is a function of this terrible blog program. At some point I'm going to start a different host.

I Bicycle The STP (Seattle to Portland) aka Old IronAss

To dispense with statistics: I rode 107 miles on Saturday, the first day of the ride, and 98 miles on Sunday. I averaged 10.2 mph on Saturday and 10.35 mph on Sunday. On both days I had enough energy at the end of the ride to speed up to 14 and 15 mph on flat sections.
   It wasn't easy to tell (the ride had 10,000 bicyclists), but judging from the number of people at the various rest stops, and the number that would be coming in as I left each stop, I believe I was about the middle of the 2 day pack. (about 1200 riders do the distance in one day -- mostly they ride as teams) I was faster than I expected to be (dw said she thinks the other riders spurred me on -- she's probably right). Pre-ride I figured I would average about 9.5 mph. In all I was pleased, and while I don't think I will, I would even do it again.

dw drove my PSV (cycling-speak for Personal Support Vehicle) and acted as my facilitator. She made motel reservations in Seattle. I said: "Well, OK, if you want to, but Seattle is a big city and I don't think we'll have any trouble getting a room." Hah! When we got there Friday afternoon, everything remotely close to the U of Washington (the starting point) was full. She also made a reservation in Longview (Centralia -- the half-way point -- is booked up a full year in advance). Again I thought it wouldn't be necessary since Longview is 60 miles away from Centralia where everyone would be stopping. Hah, Hah! Everything -- motels, hotels and camping spots -- within 60 miles of Centralia was filled. Particularly regarding travel, lesson learned: listen to dw.
 
 Each day I started riding before 6 a.m. -- which meant getting up at 4 to get ready, load the bike and stuff and get to the starting line. After seeing me off, dw would return to the motel and then do some sight-seeing. And during the day would meet me a couple of times to refill my water bottle, and bring some food (The ride organizers had both, of course, but there was generally a long line of riders at each station and it was much easier for me to be supplied by dw)

(Sunday in Scappoose, at a dw supplied rest stop)

( Starting off in Seattle. My mouth is open 'cause I'm thinking, "It's 5:30 in the morning - I'm not a morning person - what am I doing here?")

( The first major stop at REI in Kent, Washington. This is less than half of the riders. REI had a good idea. They had people walking around with trays of food and drink, that eliminated the long lines of riders trying to grab some food. I scored a couple of bagels with cream cheese, and an Odwalla drink of some sort that was olive green and tasted like grass. Which says it all about that drink selection. But the water was excellent.)

 

For most of the ride I did little talking with other riders. I was comfortable with it, but it was somewhat odd. With nearly 9000 people spread out (they tended to clump up) it was unusual that I was frequently alone. I seemed to be in a space a bit slower than one half, and a bit faster than the other half. That, as it happened, was convenient since the cold air in the morning and the exercise really stimulated my sinuses so, while I always looked, I pretty much could clear my nose at will.

( Early Sunday morning. I tried several times to get a photo of a long string bicyclists, but by the time I would stop and get the camera out the view would change. Just before I took this pic, the road was full of riders. )

The pre-ride info sheet claims that only 30 miles out of the 200+ are up hill. -- An outright lie -- (contrary to popular belief, just because you're going from North to South doesn't mean it's all down hill) In any case there's one hill that the riders are warned of: Exiting Puyallup is the hill. It's a mile long at 7% grade which actually doesn't sound like much but everyone found it difficult.  After all, that's only about a 400 foot climb in a mile. I'm pleased to say I managed to pedal the whole way up -- a bunch of people ended up walking before they made the top.
    Near the top, I passed a 25 year old (I was going so slow I had plenty of time to hear his comment) -- he joined a couple of friends who had waited for him. He said, "Was that the hill you've been talking about? That wasn't so bad!" I thought, "Buddy, you've just been passed by a near 70 year old with a vaguely dubious heart, a steel knee, and a sore foot (my gout was reminding me "I'm still here." -- it cleared up) Don't tell me you thought it 'not so bad'. "  But I kept my smirking to myself. There were several other hills that some walked or had to stop half-way up. Notably the hill leading to the St. John's Bridge which I thought was a totally unnecessary hill. In that 4 block stretch I passed perhaps 50 people walking or resting. I was in full sympathy with each one of them. 

With 10,000 riders, I expected to meet a certain number of jerks, but I didn't experience any. There were a few events of carelessness (and perhaps inexperience with such a crowd) but nothing I thought was just rude. (Some riders I thought should have been more courteous to cars -- come on, people, move over! -- ) But all in all I felt the riders were very well behaved.

Regarding my recent experiences with flat tires (4 during one ride, and 9 in little over a week) I was fearful of that, so I carried two spare tubes and a patching kit. I was lucky and didn't have any flats, but I passed 40 or so others who had flats. A couple of really unfortunate people: one had a flat within 2 miles of the starting line, and another had a flat about 4 blocks from the finish. It would have been faster for the second guy to just walk the bike to the end, but I guess he wanted the finishing photo of him riding in.

Near Vader, Wa (Sunday) we passed a dead deer fully bloated with legs sticking straight out. It was ripe enough to announce it's presence for a 100 yards both coming and going. The expected comments: "Yummm, there's good eatin' ", "Breakfast!" and "Oh, the poor thing, it's injured!" But in all the ride was surprisingly uneventful. Sunday morning in particular was a pleasant ride with pretty farmland scenery, sunshine, cool air and only 3 cars in nearly three hours of riding -- a perfect way to start a cycling day.

And Hurray, Hurray, I finished (photo by dw)

 I was vastly satisfied! DJA

Grand Canyon Suite, Part 3: Miscellany

   Preparatory to starting the hike, dw read a book that advised hikers to force themselves to eat in hot weather, since your body "uses enormous amounts of energy" to keep itself cool. I observed that while that's doubtless true, I have enormous amounts of energy stored in the emergency back-up fuel supply that has settled around my waist. However I did take that advice when I inhaled a plate of bacon at Phantom Ranch.

On the hike itself, I expected I would be the oldest on the trail. (Not the oldest to ever do the hike. I don't know what the age record is, but I imagine it's 15+ years older than I.) I thought on any given weekend I would be the oldest. --- Not even close. We met quite a few people (mostly men) who were older than I am, some of them pushing 80. Not counting the rim-to-rim in one day crowd, I would guess the median age of the hikers was mid-forties.

"Why are they called the Vermilion Cliffs?" " Because they've been there ver a million years."  (the North to South shuttle bus driver)

 I wrote about the nasal cleaning swab in an earlier blog. This time I decided to buy one. I particularly enjoy the stern Teutonic flavor of "Nazal Clean". Some of the directions: -- Insert the Nazal Clean into the nasal cavity and rotate in a circular motion -- If Nazal Clean is lodged or breaks off in nose, seek medical attention. --  DO NOT vigorously rub the inside of your nasal cavity. -- Nazal Clean is NOT DESIGNED to be used in any other orifice. ---
(dw: "Rats, I had plans for it!")

Hmmm

Our favorite beer when we're in it's distribution area (mostly Utah) :

We think it tastes more like a stout than a porter, but it pretty much has to be named Polygamy Porter -- Polygamy Stout just wouldn't taste the same. (It's quite a good beer)

 

Available from St George Medicinal Herbs, co.:  St. George Silver Sol.  It cures: Athletes foot, blisters, herpes, cold sores, shingles, flu, cholera, meningitis, plague, gingivitis, thrush, cankers strep throat, best nose spray (look out, Grandma!), pneumonia, B.O., and toenail fungus -- to name just a few. Best of all, it promises YOU WON'T TURN BLUE!!

 

We drove hwy. 93 (it follows the eastern border of Nevada) to come home. We hadn't driven the road before so it was something new. The road pretty much defines High, Wide, and Lonesome. At one point (probably 100 miles from any water, even a small rivulet) someone abandoned a 25' sailboat. It looks as if it's been sitting beside the road for a long time.

 For 60 miles or so the road is paralleled by an abandoned set of 6 wire power lines (they dangle on the ground in places) -- the road is so remote that no one has stolen the wire -- that's a couple of tons of copper sitting untouched.  It's so remote there are deer crossing warning signs, and cattle warning signs with no bullet holes in them. We concluded the road is an alien abduction zone.

 

In Ely Nevada, I bought a loaf of "artisan all natural ciabatta" to make some sandwiches for dinner. It was so dry it couldn't be cut, it just crumbled. (It was too much trouble to return) But when I finally read the small print, I saw it had been baked in Frederick Maryland. Podunk Nevada is shipping bread from the East Coast?

 

Returning to earlier features:

The Pythagoreans had a thing against beans. Pythagoras was fleeing some soldiers and he refused to walk on some beans -- the soldiers caught him and killed him. But I think historians might have misunderstood what really happened. The beans were probably strewn across a stone floor and he was barefoot. It would have really hurt to have walked on the beans.

 

Word(s) for the day:  Godwin's Law -- An aphorism maintaining that as an online debate increases in length, it becomes inevitable that some will compare someone or something to Hitler or the Nazis.

 

Books: I've just started The Presidents Club (Nancy Gibbs and Michael Duffy) It's about ex-presidents and how they have often helped their successors and formed friendships with their political ex-foes. It's proving to be interesting. I've just finished reading the Hoover/Truman chapter. My parents loathed Hoover (my mother refused to call Hoover Dam by it's name -- when it's name came up, she called it Boulder Dam -- which was a temporary name) While Hoover wasn't very good as president, he was critical in helping Truman revamp and streamline the Executive Branch, and more importantly helping Truman design and institute the Marshal Plan which was critical for the survival of millions of people after WWII.     And so it goes. DJA

 

 

Grand Canyon Suite: Part 2: Ssssizzlin'

Angels Rest campground (Phantom Ranch) and it got even hotter later in the afternoon. This thermometer was in the sun, of course, but there was very little shade on the trail.

Cottonwood creek and Angels Rest campground. The creek was surprisingly large (the water needed to be treated before drinking) and it was very refreshing to splash around in. It didn't cool off much during the night. dw slept on the picnic table wearing just enough to be decent. I slept in the tent -- just in my skivvies -- not enough to be decent but it was still hot.

(Scorpions are known to abound in this campsite.  One ranger likened a sting to having a glass tube jammed into your hand, and then broken off. Another ranger (supposedly) gets a new tattoo of a scorpion each time he gets stung. -- Sort of like a WWII fighter pilot and his airplane.)

Phantom Ranch itself is a series of cabins and bunkhouses. The main building is just a large room -- serves breakfast and dinner (family style) and it's air-conditioned which is possibly why dw spent the whole afternoon there. Actually most of the people who were at the bottom of the canyon spent the whole afternoon there.
    Along with the air-conditioning you could get beer. Tecate lager, which I thought was nearly undrinkable, and Grand Canyon lager which was much better but still pretty thin.

We just spent the afternoon and night before moving on. We did get a breakfast which was a mistake because we didn't start hiking until a bit after 5:30 and we didn't get far enough along the trail before it got hot.

(The breakfast was quite good though. Scrambled eggs, muffins, pancakes, bacon and coffee. Our end of the table was missing a couple of people (assigned seating) and the other three who were there were Indian or Pakistani or some such. I don't know if it was their preference, or religious restrictions, but they didn't eat any bacon. I figured I'd be working it off during the rest of the day, so I hit that plate of bacon pretty hard. -- It was great.)

Again the scenery was spectacular:

For a while the heat really got to dw, but she recovered enough to take a side hike to Ribbon Falls:

The moss covered apron is travertine, formed by the falls and dissolved limestone. We spent more than an hour here, enjoying the shade and rinsing our shirts in the water and then putting them on for the quick blast of cold. We reluctantly moved on and struggled more with the heat, finally getting to Cottonwood camp and lucking into the last remaining site that had some shade. Three groups came after us. They dropped their stuff and immediately retreated to some shade.  

 

The last day was the hardest, about 7 miles and 4500 feet in elevation gain and most of that coming in the last 4 miles. Since dw had struggled the previous day I took more of her stuff and most of the water for the last day. We started on the trail when It was just light enough to see, but even so the heat was again a problem. I went well until about the last mile and by then it was a bit cooler and there was more shade and dw began to perk up -- I considered suggesting we trade packs -- but I sucked it up and finally we both topped out.

A few more scenery shots:

When we finally topped out, we both thought: "Thank god, that's over!" After a shower and some r&r we both thought: "Actually it wasn't that bad, maybe we could do something similar again. Although it would be a good idea to get into better shape first."  But so it goes. DJA

 

Next up: some of the details that make travel so much fun.

Grand Canyon Suite, part 1 B (photos)

  We first drove to Capitol Reef NP where we camped and hiked Spring Canyon (as well as a couple of shorter hikes)   

                 The picture shows an easier section about a third of the way down the canyon.

   After Capitol Reef we moved on to Bryce NP (at 8000') and did another hike: Down to the bottom and back up to the rim.

 

 

 Grand Canyon Rim to Rim. 

                                                          This photo shows most of the path we took. The sickle shaped greenery just left of center is Indian Springs campground and some of the trail is visible. The trail descends to the river via the dark slot just above and right of the top of Indian Springs. The large canyon that recedes from right center is Cottonwood Creek canyon and the trail follows this canyon for about two thirds of the visible length, and then veers to the left and climbs up to the North Rim.

  

 

 

   Many flowers were in bloom, including yucca and cacti as well as a bunch of other things I don't know the names of                       

 

NP Ranger and Trip Leader

  

The visitor at our campsite:

  This guy (I admit I didn't look close enough to see if it was a guy or gal) was a little over three feet long. It came slowly crawling through our site, dw was napping and I was sitting at the picnic table reading. When I noticed it, it was close enough I could have bent over and grabbed it. I carefully lifted my feet onto the table bench and watched it drink some water (a small stream was at the edge of our site) After a bit, I started lobbing pebbles and twigs at it, trying to get it to move on. Eventually it moved out of the immediate area, although it settled in for the night just 15 feet from out tent site. The ranger said these snakes weren't very aggressive and we needn't worry about it. (easy for her to say, her bed didn't have a great reptile 15 feet away) It was a splendid addition to the usual array of fauna: deer and squirrels and lizards and bugs. In the evening we went to a ranger talk given by a young ranger, Elissa. She told us the biggest snakes in the campsites have all been given names (Indian Springs -- Manny; Angels Rest -- George; and Cottonwood -- Sam) : Our snake was a smaller one, just an ordinary low-down no-name snake. (and the names might have been given by Elissa who gave an evening talk probably unique in National Park lore: the talk concerned the preservation role of the National Park Service and one thing to be preserved is silence. In that light Elissa (who started as a professional percussionist -- cymbals, timpani, etc. ) introduced John Cage and his piano piece --4'33" -- which is four minutes and thirty-three seconds of silence. -- It can be performed on any instrument -- even a kazoo -- perhaps particularly a kazoo.)

 

Nearing the bottom of the canyon:

 

After this point the trail followed the river for about a mile to a bridge crossing:

 

The bridge crossing is just beyond the bend

 

Next: up and out. We survive a furnace.    DJA

Grand Canyon Suite part 1 A

Sept 2012 North Rim Grand Canyon:    8pm on the terrace enjoying the evening light over the Grand Canyon and chatting with the young lady sitting next to me with her feet elevated on the massive stone railing. Turns out she and ten of her best buddies had just completed a rim to rim hike and were waiting for celebratory dinner reservations. Looking at her best buddies (all age ranges and body types) I asked how difficult it was, how much training they did, what they ate, gaining more details by the minute and letting the little germ of an idea grow. "Dennis, what do you think about hiking rim to rim? I think we could do it?"  And the man who is 69 going on 70 said "okay". The adventure begins...

Being strictly limited as to the number of people staying overnight "below the rim" (official lingo for those who do more than a day hike), planning for this little adventure was mandatory. Dec. 31, 2012 at midnight I am faxing my permit request from a friend's house to get in for May 2013 and it worked. We had been granted overnight stays for May 31, June 1 and 2, 2013 which means four days and three nights for traversing the canyon. The permit requires a signature of the designated Trip Leader and that was me. At last - power in print. I was excited. And quickly started making Trip Leader decisions like how many nights in Grand Canyon lodges we needed before and after and ordering meals for our night at Phantom Ranch and the day after. It lightens the load. Yes, there is a lodge at the bottom of the Grand Canyon in addition to the campsite with a waiting list of 13 months to get a room so we still needed to take the tent and plan on camping. The lodge has an air-conditioned canteen that serves beer and that's all you need to know.

Dennis had been riding 60 - 80 miles several times a week getting ready for the Seattle to Portland ride in July and I had been working and holding down the couch daily by reading and eating and fretting about the failure to exercise until the job ended and so did my excuse list. Since 70 is the new 69, Dennis was forging ahead getting into seriously improved shape while I needed help putting the backpack on. We did it - loaded them up with filled water bottles and started walking in Forest Park - longest hike 8 miles with a three day recovery time for me. Not bad as our longest hike would be 7-8 miles in the canyon. Unfortunately Forest Park lacks the elevation gains and losses and is at an altitude of 200 feet not 7500. It was a start and we continued by going to Capitol Reef and Bryce National Parks for day hikes and acclimatization ten days before the hike. It all worked.

As for the rim to rim hike - easy peasy. If you go slow enough you can do anything and as Trip Leader I made sure we went slow enough. Several times I nearly died from heat exhaustion and was saved by Dennis pouring water over me. Thank you Dennis.

The man who is turning 70 had no problems. None. Seriously. He didn't even freak over that damn snake and the picture of the snake still creeps me out.

Glitch - oh yeah, the water pipe broke that provides water to the north rim campsites and Phantom Ranch. This is a Very Big Deal even though it happens frequently. The experienced rangers blithely tell you to filter the water you take from the creek not mentioning that the creek ends halfway up the trail so you will have to carry a lot of filtered water to survive. Fortunately the pipe was fixed while we were at Phantom Ranch and you could hear the cheers in the campground and canteen as news of the repair spread. I only had to fill a bucket once to flush a toilet. The laminated instruction sheet on how to flush with a bucket was a clue to the frequency of a broken pipe. It's a different world down there. Plenty of river water but nothing potable unless treated. 

Part 2 B coming up later and I will let Dennis insert photos.         Submitted by Trip Leader Dianne Wessel 6/22/2013