July 11, 2001

Vacation ultimate mental trip

By GARRET LEIVA
Herald editor
       Thomas Wolfe was wrong when he said you can't go home - unfortunately, there is round-trip airfare. However, going back to work at least means I can sleep in again.
      Being on vacation for two weeks is a mind-altering experience. Taking a cross-country journey through state lines and time zones is the ultimate mental trip. Each passing day your brain purges thoughts of unpaid bills and unanswered e-mails. Around Day Six vacation Zen is achieved: you stop looking at your wristwatch.
      That is unless the alarm is set for 4:30 a.m. After all, you have to get up pretty early in the morning to cheat death.
      As the highlight of our two-week vacation, my wife and I hiked the most rugged terrain on earth - the Grand Canyon - in 110 degree temperatures. We voluntarily did this, despite the chipper "WARNING Heat Kills ... cheat death" pamphlets handed out by the National Park Service. While it sounds like hell on earth, the dry heat would not fly with Mephistopheles.
      Walking sticks in hand, wide brim hats atop our heads and hiking shoes on our feet, we stood at the Bright Angel trailhead. Glancing at my watch, I noted that it was 5:25 a.m. Mountain time, Wednesday, June 27. I thought about jotting this down in my notepad - in case they needed information for the obituary - but pessimism is deadweight on a 20 mile hike.
      Instead, we took the first steps of the thousands that lay ahead.
      What I found intriguing about hiking the Grand Canyon, aside from the geological splendor, were the polar opposites. People either packed the entire Eddie Bauer catalog of camping accessories or they wore high heels and carried a 20 ounce bottle of Evian. Equally interesting were the friendly greetings exchanged by those descending and acceding the canyon. It was like a contingency of Wal-Mart greeters on vacation without their shopping carts.
      Of course, I received my fair share of stares from fellow hikers; this happens when you wear a "jacket" at a 110 degrees. The article of clothing in question, however, was actually a long sleeve shirt woven - undoubtedly- from space-age micro fibers. I was told that runners have worn these shirts in Death Valley (although I didn't find out if they successfully finished their jog).
      Despite soaring temperatures, I kept my cool about misguided jacket comments. Every so often I would suppress the George Costanza "IT'S A SHIRT, NOT A JACKET!!!" rants welling up beneath my dry weave exterior.
      After traversing countless switchbacks and dodging mule souvenirs, we finally reached the half-way point of our hike. The next five miles would test both metatarsals and minds. Reaching our final destination meant walking uphill, trudging through beach sand and crossing the Colorado River -at a 100 feet off the ground.
      After five and a half hours and 200 ounces of water, we arrived at Phantom Ranch. The ranch, located at the bottom of the canyon, has long served as a tourist camp; Theodore Roosevelt stayed there in 1937 during a hunting trip to the North Rim. The unusual name derives from Phantom Creek, a tributary of Bright Angel Creek.
      Personally, I think it sounded like the locale of a "Scooby Doo" episode. I rather doubt, however, Fred could get the Mystery Machine down the South Rim.
      Despite hearing horror stories (or perhaps canyon myths) of 10 hour hikes out, after a mere 330 minutes of huffing and puffing we reached the trailhead. We stood silent at the edge of one of the seven natural wonders of the world with surreal smiles on our faces. Like Charles Schultz said, happiness is ... cheating death.
      Factually speaking, the Grand Canyon is a gorge roughly one mile deep, four to 18 miles wide and 217 miles long. The canyon shows in the strata exposed by erosion, the story of long geological change - uplift, erosion, submergence in the sea, deposition of materials on the sea floor- with lots of dittos over time. The steep and embayed rims, isolated towers and mesas in the chasm catch the light of sun and shadows and glow with hues of intense beauty.
      It is also, as one towhead boy flatly observed, "a bunch of rocks."
      From my bed at home this morning, I'll be dreaming about walking among those rocks. Who knows, I might even have time to reach the bottom before the alarm goes off.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com