Spinning my wheels and shuffling along
Perhaps cross training on the bike was not so wise after the mule ride.

The mule ride?
You know the one.
It descended into the fiery pits of hell.
No. No. NO. Not that mule ride. The one that descended into the Grand Canyon.

Ohhh. Yea. So I've just seen the sun rise over the Grand Canyon. It's pretty neat,though I hear it does that almost every day. It's funny though, when that bright shiny orb becomes fully visible people stop squinting into the sun and start to look around at one another. They don't look directly at each other for fear that they will burn their eyes and go blind, but there is a certain restless wandering of the eyes and body. They, and me for that matter, are starting to wonder exactly when sunRISE ends and becomes just plain sun. It turns out, that's very much a personal decision.

Jack Palance, or his third cousin twice removed, introduces us to the mules and the dangers of the Grand Canyon. "This is not a ride at Disney World" he tells us. 45 minutes of safety dance, er talk, later and he's put the fear in me. One woman nearly backs out. My heart titters a bit, but I steel myself, pump testosterone through my veins, and await my mule assignment.

Randy, the guide, just got out of jail yesterday, Jack's cousin mentions in passing. Randy laughs it off and tells us, "You're going to have a good time if you stick with me. I have a great sense of humor." Sticking with our guide was the gist of the previous 45 minutes; I'll be stickin' I think.

Nora lets me on and we begin our day together. Nora is an ass. Well, not entirely of course, she's also part horse. I spend the first half an hour, taking quick glances at my vast surroundings and long hard stares at my clenched fist on the saddle. Sometimes Nora trips and stumbles a bit. Sometimes Nora thinks the easiest path is also the one that puts my side slightly over the edge of a large precipice. This takes a little getting used to, but eventually I do. I start to look around more. The Grand Canyon is big. I might have guessed from the name. It's really so vast, that I don't think I was ever able to grasp it's size.

We're clomping along when all of the water that I've been drinking from my canteen realizes that in a dry heat, it cannot escape from my pores. So, it wants to escape the other way. It really wants to escape that way. And I'm bouncing along, clomp,clomp, just bouncing and trying to figure out how I'm going to let the water escape. I hate to stop our procession. Maybe I can hold it. Bounce, bounce, bounce. I have to go. BAD. At the next turn, I'll ask our guide to stop. Bounce, bounce, bounce. The next turn, er, the turn after, er, bounce, bounce, bounce. It'll dry quickly if I just let loose. No. That's ridiculous.
"Randy. I need to relieve myself."
"Can you hold it?"
"I've been trying."
"We'll stop up ahead."

This is the most Randy has said. I don't find it funny. When I dismount though, oh man, what a relief. I empty a canteen on the trail. It'll dry soon. I'm serious, I'm pissing like a race horse, or at least a Grand Canyon mule. It's impressive. Not really, but at least I proved that I really had to go. And I proved it to everyone in my group, because I basically just turned and went. Ok, that's enough...

So, there's more canyon and there's more bouncing, but now it's all very vast and beautiful and enjoyable. We get to our stopping point and I tell Randy, "When do I get to hear that sense of humor? It's been pretty subtle so far." I think people who claim they are funny, should have to prove it. Randy makes excuses. Maybe he's having an off day. It turns out, it is his first day back since he got out of jail last week. I'll cut him some slack. I'm sure he kicked the crap out of one of those wimpy park rangers. They're hard on the locals, he tells me. I don't think I offer the necessary sympathy, but he lets it pass. We've come down 3,000 feet. It's 1,400 more to the river. We turn and head back up.

More bouncing, more views. Uphill is easier than down. Or else I've got the hang of this whole thing. It's also like being on a whole different trail. Looking up at the Grand Canyon does not reduce it's Grand effects, but it's different.

My thighs are chafing. The middle of my back is starting to hurt. Nora is starting to drag a bit. I have to use "the motivator" a little more often. The rest of my group is too tired to even use "the motivator". And so they fall farther and farther behind. The view starts to look the same and the whiners start to get louder. I'd like to use "the motivator" on a few of them.

I AM TRYING TO ENJOY A GRAND CANYON EXPERIENCE HERE. PLEASE SHUT YOUR GIANT HOLE SO I CAN ENJOY THIS ONE.

I say nothing. I can understand their pain. It's hot. My back hurts. I'm ready to get off the mule and my ass, but I'm not whining. Geez.

We make it to the top. I say goodbye and thank you to Nora. I graduate as a Master Mule Skinner of the Grand Canyon. It is the greatest honor since the last not great honor I received. I have the certificate to prove it. Better than that, I have an experience. I took a mule part way down the Grand Canyon and I survived. I never could wrap my brain around the size of the G.C., but maybe I'm not supposed to. Maybe that's what makes it a wonder of the world.