No Guts, No Glory, No Broken Bones

Ok maybe I didn't really wanna go.  Have you ever been a hostile passenger in a “side by side” bone shaker with nothing between you and the Almighty but a few wispy clouds and the clear blue sky?  “Open air” not like a quaint cafe but windowless, not even a windshield to stop the mud, dust, attacking birds, spiky cactus, pelting grasshoppers, my best friend right now is the roll bar which I didn't even know existed until a few seconds ago. At the outset I felt slightly braveish, a few monster boulder piles and drenching sprays later I imagined what it would feel like to be a jumping bean, salt shaker or pureed in a blender.  Unforgiving rigid steel seats recline, bend unintentional as the rattletrap ascends a mountain side meant only for bobcats and big horned sheep, not certain the vertical path continues over the ridge, maybe this is our “Thelma and Louise drive off the cliff” moment?  Unrelenting ear shattering thunder, head shaken so violently I commiserate with my little buddy Duke, our truck dash bobblehead Chihuahua, frantically nodding across bumpy washes and bumper to bumper traffic, he should be perched here in this tin bucket instead of me.  Aside from all the whining, the Box Canyon was truly spectacular, motoring through the slot, soaring stone walls cascading above,  a few Red Angus relaxing alongside the trail oblivious, as peaceful a place can be with booming decibels blasting, reverberating throughout the canyon.  Lethargic cattle nod, yawn, continue grazing uninterested, just another day at the bronco bustin’ rodeo.

Snake sighting on the trail today, our leader went crackers, I had to talk her down from just about the next mountain.  She does have a pretty sweet story to tell along with photos for honest to God proof.  Hiking the trails here is not for cowards or cupcakes, whiners get no respect either, I've tried that too.

Devils Bridge, one more demented pursuit that had me doubting my sanity, the hike was epic along a graceful stream, limestone stepping stones across river beds, steep scrambles, stunning vistas, nagging anxiety creeping in my head with each step forward, cowardly praying for a “Bridge Out” sign somewhere please, no luck.  Doesn't seem too smart to tempt fate since I've got about a bazillion potential offenses racked up over decades, the devil has been following close, chasing, harassing, antagonizing through it all, now lying in wait at his very own tollway, the Devil's Bridge, a sandstone arch stretched over a deep canyon then tapers to a gangplank barely wide enough for a foot long Subway. How many people have slipped on the rocks and sailed over the edge at this very spot where my quivering knees are shaking the bridge right now? Don't know how many lives I've got left, what was I thinking, gripped Paul's hand so tight my fingernails permanently tattooed in his left palm.  My hero.  

There are crazies here, bridge jumpers similar to Lassie bounding over the canyon to save Timmy, but in that episode Lassie was replaced with a stunt double stuffie as the dog, unlike the clueless canyon jumper, was smart enough not to leap off into oblivion.   A young lass stands on her head at the edge of the precipice, a limber middle-ager saluting the sun, then striking warrior pose, impressive.  A group of twenty something dudes, chalky white, shirtless karaoking “Half Mile Down” while flexing saggy biceps and drooping bellies.  Pretty funny.  All Photo Op maniacs who obviously forgot every single warning their fretful mothers drilled into them,  “if you fall and break your leg don't come running to me” or “would you jump off a cliff if Jane did?” (uh yeah for sure). All that perfectly logical advice faithfully transferred through the ages from grandmother to mother to sons, daughters, grandchildren thrown to the wolves along with their shirts sailing over the edge of Devil's Bridge.

Enjoying Arizona paradise while the brilliant sun shines, arthritic knees endure and our stock of afternoon cocktails keeps flowing.  Cheers friends.