mountaineer musings: Sarah and Sandy Hike the Grand Canyon... Part 2

Part 2: Getting There

Sandy and I picked up our packs. scratch that, we tried to pick up our packs, then reminded each other to lift with our legs and not with our backs, tried again using the safer method and somehow lifted the packs off the floor. we looked at each other. i said, "we'll get used to the weight once we get going, right?" and heard Sandy's very distinct nervous laugh, not a good sign; i then joined the nervous laughter, a worse sign. we looked at each other with severe doubt, laughed some more, reminded ourselves that the weight was necessary so we wouldn't die of dehydration and trudged heavily out the door. i think the distance from the family room to the front door is something like ten feet, and by about foot #8, we were sweating and panting. and laughing. that high-pitched, shrill nervous laugh that Sandy is famous for.

a side note: when the two of us get tickled, we laugh in unison. the first time this ever happened, we were watching the NCAA championship football game at the preacher's house, and Sandy was showing me some old pictures she'd just had developed. she showed me one picture that was particularly funny, and i asked an even funnier question about the picture and she started to guffaw. and it is a most contagious guffaw. i started to laugh, too, and after about three seconds, we were cackling in unison. and we could. not. stop. same tempo, same pitch, same tone. we laughed until we cried, and we cried until the whole room was looking at us and silently begging us to take it outside. so we went outside and jumped on the trampoline, two out-of-shape, wacky, immature 26-year olds, laughing and bouncing and crying and falling, all of it in unison. that was a great evening.

so we nervous-laughed ourselves all the way to the Explorer; we opened the back hatch and dropped our packs off our already-tired shoulders into the back. my pack was hanging off the edge of the cargo area, and i tried to push it in with both arms and failed; i had to push the thing in with my foot, and even that was difficult. and last i checked, i could leg-press 420 pounds. happy to be rid of the packs for the two-hour drive to the Canyon, we got in the car and started our journey.

a few miles down the road, Sandy said, "my right arm is tingling." i, of course, didn't think this had anything to do with anything, so i nodded and uh-huhed and continued bobbing my head to the music. about a half-hour into our drive, Sandy again commented on her physical status. "uh, Sarah, my entire right side is numb." "oh, i'm sure it's fine, you probably just had a stroke." "no, i think our packs are too heavy. when we get there, i'm going to ask them to check our packs and see if they're packed right." "no! don't do that!" "why not?" "i don't want them to think we're inexperienced hikers!" "uh, Sarah, we are." "well, yeah, but they don't need to know that!!" Sandy might have laughed at me at this point.

we drove from St. George into northern Arizona, and if you've ever been to northern Arizona, you know that there is not a gas station or other house of pee between Colorado City and, um, the North Rim. and Colorado City creeps me out, so i like to not stop there if i can avoid it. as would be expected by anyone who knows how tiny my bladder is, i really needed to go about an hour and a half into the drive; i thought i'd try to hold it until we reached the Rim, but the pressure was much like that behind a cork on a champagne bottle, and i did not want to hear a little "Pop!" followed by a lot of fizzing; so i asked Sandy to stop the car. "what? why?" "i've gotta pee." "ooooooookay? and where should i stop? there aren't any gas stations around here." "just find a tall bush and pull over somewhere near it." "you mean, you're going to go behind a bush?" "uh, yep." "Seeehhh-raaaahh! you're joking, right?" "no, i'm not joking! what, you've never squatted behind a bush?" "NOOOOO! never in my life!" "what'd you do on road trips with your family when you were on a long stretch of highway with no bathrooms?" "we waited." "seriously. even Timothy? your dad?" "yes! we would never!" "well, i know Nina wouldn't." Nina likes to be clean. this went on for a while before i finally convinced Sandy to pull over.

the thing about the bushes in northern Arizona: they don't grow very tall. but they are quite soft, as i can attest. after Sandy parked the car beside the road, i retrieved some necessities from my pack: the little tiny toilet paper, a ziplock bag for used TP, antibacterial hand gel, dignity... hmm, scratch the dignity. i trodded off behind the tallest bush i could find, and believe you me, it was no taller than twenty-four inches, if that, and those soft pale green bushes are most definitely see-thru. now, Sandy was supposed to sit quietly in the car and wait for my return; i think they could hear her in Texas, she laughed so loud. this concept of peeing behind a bush was absolutely hysterical to her, so while i was dropping trou and bracing myself behind the transparent shrub, my dear friend was rocking the foundations of the Painted Desert with her laughter. i finally got situated, and this was before i learned how to pee standing up, so i was in full cop-a-squat position, baring my butt to northwest-bound traffic, and wouldn't you know it; there was not a car on the road for our entire drive until now, and sure enough, here came a little northwest-bound traffic. i glanced at the truck coming up the highway, then at Sandy, who was pointing and crying and wiping her face and completely forgetting about her numb right side. i looked back at the truck (not a good idea for someone trying to aim at the ground and miss her clothing at the same time) and noticed its passengers fully staring at my lily-white hiney. i hope they enjoyed the show.

the remainder of our drive was uneventful unless you count the occasional outburst of giggles from Sandy, who was still hiccupping over my display of, um, decorum?

Comments

A guy at our gun club tells a story that may make you feel better.

they had drove to a quail hunt earlier that day. To be safe he had made sure to wear a blaze orange shirt, specifically one of Cabela's (they are *extremely* bright in case you have not seen one). On the trip back he had "the urge". So they drove on for a bit until they found a good clump of trees. Being in Tennessee this is not hard to find - we are quite wooded. So, he puts his flashers on and climbs up the bank and relieves himself. All the while passing cars are blowing thier horns. He assumes that he didn't park so well on the shoulder of the interstate. Upon getting back into the truck his partner is laughing hysterically. It turns out that under normal circumstances he would have been quite hidden but with the blaze orange shirt on, not only was where he was standing quite noticable, so was what he was doing. Keep in mind this guy is nearly 7 foot tall also so he is hard to miss.

It could have been worse, you could have been wearing one of the most visable colors known to man with constant traffic blowing thier horns at you.

Posted by: strcpy | Monday, July 19, 2004 at 03:23 AM

LOL. :)

well, i do have an even worse pee story once we were in the Grand Canyon, but you have to wait for it. :)

Posted by: sarahk | Monday, July 19, 2004 at 04:16 AM

hey Sarah! yes, i know this is a shock, but i was compelled to comment, after laughing hysterically at the memories. i just had one correction though..
how DARE you say i'm immature.
:)
call me

Posted by: Sandy | Monday, July 19, 2004 at 08:37 AM

hold on, gotta pick myself up off the floor, fell outta my chair when i saw a comment from Sandy. :)

i didn't say you ARE immature, i said we WERE immature 1.5 years ago when we watched the football game.

will call you after work today.

Posted by: sarahk | Monday, July 19, 2004 at 08:58 AM