Dreams

Dad’s side-yard allowed him to create his garden, store tools and supplies, and have space to work on projects. One of those projects is a camper trailer that he dreamed of taking out on the road.  He bought it used a couple of years ago, in much need of repairs. He had gutted the inside to rebuild it, but in the end he lacked the strength to finish what he started.  Now I’ve inherited this gutted old camper trailer and the realization that I need to pursue my dreams a little harder before I get too old and tired to finish them.

One of my dreams has been to hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon (and back up). This dream started the very first time I saw the Grand Canyon.  It was on a road trip with Dad in the summer of ’78 when I was 14.

I don’t remember everything we saw on that trip, probably because as a 14-year-old nerd stuck in a car for hours on end I was pretty bored.  I managed to spend most of those hours reading some science fiction novel.  This was in the days before I developed motion sickness and could read in a moving car.

With my head buried in a book, Dad had nothing to do but look at the landscape before him and marvel at whatever feature or sign caught his eye.  He would occasionally point out something interesting, to which I would usually respond as only a 14-year-old can, “So?” Those of you who have had teenagers, or can remember being fourteen, take a moment and pull from your memory the sound of disdain that a 14-year-old can put into their voice.  Imagine the curl of the lip and slight bob of the head when that 14-year-old can only answer with one word when you point out the majestic beauty of a sandstone formation in the American West.

“So?”

Now imagine being told this over and over again for nearly a week.  Can you imagine leaving the teenager on the side of the road?  Or putting them on a bus headed back home while you finished the trip?  Or do you wait for the opportunity for revenge?

Fortunately for me, Dad chose the last option. On one of the rare occasions that pulled my nose out of my book, I saw something on the landscape that caught my eye and pointed it out to Dad.

“Sooo!?” was the response he spat back at me.  Point taken, Dad, point taken.

On the trip itself I remember seeing the Alamo – that’s it?; Carlsbad Caverns – I couldn’t have cared less, and the ketchup in the commissary deep in the cave was the cheapest, nastiest flavor of ketchup I have ever tasted; Indian cliff dwellings – boring; Pike’s Peak – so what?

But something at Grand Canyon finally caught my eye.  It wasn’t the Canyon itself, but the sliver of a trail that went down into the canyon. We had stopped at a scenic overlook and there was a trail led out to a large feature jutting into the canyon.

To give Dad credit, he sat in the car and waited while I explored this trail for about 30 minutes.  Or, in hindsight, he was happy to have a break from me.

I hiked out to the feature and found myself a hundred yards from the parking area and any other people.  Cool!  But the trail didn’t end there.  It started to wind its way down into the canyon.  I so much wanted to go further and follow that trail and explore the canyon. I promised myself then and there to do that someday.  I’ve been back to Grand Canyon a couple of times since then, but still haven’t explored those trails.  I’ve hiked quite a few other trails, but that first one in Grand Canyon has always been fondly with me.