Prologue :

March 19th, 2022 : Setting the Scene for the Grand Canyon Double Crossing.

The dam is broken and pouring out are my thoughts regarding this upcoming adventure. For weeks I’ve been filling my head with thoughts of our upcoming traverse across the desert and now I can’t contain the waters of consciousness from spilling onto these pages. In just under two months, CJ Heaney and I will be ripping tread across the Moab desert en route to the culmination of months of preparation - a double crossing of the Grand Canyon.

Fortune plays in my favor with a companion to rival the best of men. There aren’t enough endearing words to describe CJ’s warming sincerity. He’s a wilderness extraordinaire and a backcountry bum; but above all else he’s a kind soul. In and of itself a double crossing would be magnificent, but the experience will be magnified beyond comprehension while being experienced with his friendship.

In short, the project calls for 45 miles and 12,000 feet of elevation gain - all in one push. And of course, this will take place after a week of running, scrambling, and climbing in the deserts of our beautiful Southwest. From the red rock and scorching sun, to the forever-sunsets and chilled nights, I’ve contrived all sorts of fantasies that await us while biding time before we depart.

I find myself biding this time before the journey begins by entertaining my inquisitions. I’m enthralled to read and research all that I can about the peoples of the canyon as well as the geology of the terrain prior to our start. In my true idiosyncratic fashion, I’ve somehow attached a far greater meaning to this trip than even my irrationality can explain. Is it sane to put so much emotion and heart into a weeklong running-vacation? Probably not - but my idealistic prefrontal cortex is always looking to assign a grandeur to any adventure. But how does this higher meaning fit into the life I'm living or the world that we’re all inhabiting?

The following vignettes are written in an attempt to add color, dimension, meaning, and context to a trip that has captured my imagination for the better part of a year.

March 23rd, 2022

I’m committing a technical offense as I type this while at work, but I have found myself with a few minutes as I wait for faxes to reach the clinic’s inbox.

I love the presence that comes from working with patients and helping them overcome physical limitations, though I often find my mind wandering when the presence is broken in between patients. I often think about mini-outings that have occurred in previous weekends as well as the future outings to come. Today, I reminisce about my Thunderous Bonk that occurred this past Sunday, March 20th.

The “ThunderBonk”, a name that my internal monologue created, came at the end of a workout-camp style weekend. I planned on long days running and cycling at a moderate intensity to give my body an aerobic boost. On the docket was a 15 mile run on Friday, a 22 mile run on Saturday, and and a triple on Sunday consisting of 3 miles running before a 24 mile bike to the skateshop and a 28 mile bike home.

The weekend escapade transpired without a hitch, glitch, or hiccup… That is until the bike ride home on Sunday evening. Although I believed that I fueled adequately for the return trip, I suppose the fatiguing weekend didn’t give my body enough time in between bouts to resynthesize the necessary glycogen. I also erroneously pushed a tempo pace for multiple 10 minute segments in order to break up a flat stretch between Greenfield and Waukesha - no doubt a pace that increased my rate of carbohydrate depletion.

Between the gas station-less spans from Waukesha to Wales my body burned the last match it had; I could viscerally feel the last of my fuel source burn up. My vision went blurry, my coordination went limp, and my pace slowed from a swift 20mph average to strained 8mph. To an onlooker I would have appeared to be operating while intoxicated with how much I was swerving on the trail.

It is very out of my character to stop mid-ride, but I became chilled and needed to put my wind breaker on. More importantly, I needed to collect my vision and regather my limp limbs. The next thing I knew I was at a full stop with my windy on and my heavy head on the handlebars. With my eyes closed and breathing labored, I made a game plan to pedal for the nearest food outlet.

First thought for fuel - Mama D’s Cafe, approximately 4 miles away. Never did I think I would be in this situation, where 4 miles on a bike seemed daunting, but I suppose I had no other choice. An eternity passed just turning over the pedals, but then I found myself at the stoop of the diner reading the sign. “Closed” it read. “Crap…” I thought…. My only other thought came after another round of head-hanging on the handlebars, “It’s only another mile to the nearest gas station, I need to go”. Even though I don’t remember that one-mile trip to the gas station, I must have gotten there safely because I now found myself standing in the aisle filled with bananas and Cliff Bars.

“...Thank God….”

I remember putting my debit card into the terminal to pay, though I didn’t have the slightest care how much I was paying. Hell, the teller could have charged me $100 and I wouldn’t have known or cared. I. Just. Needed. Fuel.

Next thing I knew I was sitting on the cold ground near my bike while cramming nanners and a cliff bar into my mouth. My vision and mental clarity were slow to manifest and in the midst of the mental fog I thought about how I needed to capture the moment, if only to remind my dumb ass not to get into this predicament ever again. Therefore, I uncharacteristically began to take selfies in a half-delusional state of mind.

A few moments… or rather 30 minutes passed by on the concrete and I had enough mental strength to pay attention. I felt confident enough to make the 3 milee return trip up HWY-83 (a helluva dangerous trip even under full mental capacity). After returning home I cashed out for a slumber that was deeper than the Mariana Trench.

I now think to myself that this experience was valuable in teaching me that carrying EXTRA fuel is never a bad idea - a lesson that will serve me for the Double Crossing adventure as well as many more to come… ehem… Kettle Moraine 100 mile… ehem… Wasatch 100 mile… Though I never felt hungry the entire trip, I now see the benefit of bringing an emergency snack. (Let’s learn from our mistakes, Reese.)

March 26th, 2022

The day I sunk my van - or at least partially. Thank god for the help and support for the two adults that have had the most positive impact in my life thus far. Mom, Donny, THANK YOU for dealing with my insane ideas and for helping tow my van out of what I thought would be a great overnight camping spot.

It started with an evening of relaxation with a friend that I have been reconnecting with the past few weeks, Kyle Jackson - A rock climber with shoulders bigger than the boulders he ascends. After a while kicking it and shooting the breeze with him and his drunk brother, I decided to pack up and head out to spend what would have been my coldest night in the van thus far. This overnight would have been my first sleep on the newly fabricated memory-foam mattress that I was ecstatic to try. Alas, I’ll have to wait to break it in.

After scoping out a spot that I thought would’ve been prime real-estate for my stay, I decided to depart Kyle’s house and set out for the night. I wasn’t too thrilled about the location upon arriving at the site, so I kept driving down the road where I found a house under construction. This site was basically a framed shell of a house with pea-pebbles instead of asphalt for a driveway. Further behind the pea-pebbles was, unbeknownst to me, the softest and finest Wisconsin river mud that was far too eager to consume my back end.

“F***”

Heart pounding, legs weak, I came to the realization that my baby was in the grasp of a muck so thick that I wasn’t going to be driving out on my own. So I called the cavalry and awaited rescue. 40 minutes later I saw the distinct silhouette of the S10 Chevy named “Zoltan” as it maneuvered towards my front grill. Bearing ratchet straps, a snout-nose shovel, and two 2x4 planks, Donny swiftly yanked me out of the slop that swallowed my ass end.

An ordeal of unordinary means. Building and camping in my soon to be mobile home has taught me many hard lessons; I suspect there are many more to come. This lesson highlights the importance of trusting the gut and bailing on a spot if success isn’t guaranteed. At least we (my van and I) live to ride another day.

Ps. My sincerest appreciation for my Ma and Donny cannot be overstated.

March 27th, 2022

The last of my Grand Canyon books came in, this one detailing the natural history of the national park. Little does CJ know it, but I decided to dedicate and give this book to him before reading it. I plan on keeping it a secret and giving it to him before I depart SLC on the return trip. On the inside reads the message :

“To CJ Heaney. You inspire me, you enthrall me, & sometimes I think you're just plain crazy. You don’t know it yet, but this book is for you. I’m sure the memories will be quite enough - but a ‘lil “physical sentiment” never hurts!

Ps. Thanks for letting me read your book!”

End prologue

Grand Canyon Double Crossing : May 8th-14th

The days leading up to & the crossing itself on Thursday, May 12th

Day 1 : Sunday, May 8th

The necessary 3:30am wake-up is hardly welcomed, though this time was different. American Airlines reserved me seat 18F for a 6:00am departure & I wasn’t going to be late. With my one carry-on stuffed to the brim with running & climbing gear, we (Donny, Ma, & myself) began the drive to General Mitchell Airport.

I’ll skip the boring travel preamble, but nonetheless, 7 hours & a layover later I stumbled out of SLC airport with an eagerness to begin the journey.

Next thing I knew the ever-reliable Ford 4x4 off-road was at my feet with CJ in the cockpit. His white van was unmistakable being outfitted with a roof rack & storage on top with speckled pockets of oxidation. Upon opening the audible door I was greeted by his smile & sunglass adorned face, complete with a hat which one could tell was once-black. From the get go I could feel that we share the same appreciation for items well-worn & reliable, which I suppose is a reflection of our personalities. And with a quick hug we sped away heading south for Moab.

A remarkable drive ensued with catch-up conversations to no end. Slightly overcast skies gave ideal conditions for gazing at the massive terrain. The Wasatch Mountains were a sight to behold from the vantage of the airplane, but they were even more spectacular from the ground-level sitting shotgun in CJ’s whip. Gazing up from the base of the mountains one could see the coniferous trees blend together and eventually fade into shades of brown & tan below the snow-snow capped peaks. Pockets of red rock dotted the landscape in abstract appreciation.The energy of the environment is palpable, tangible, & tantalizing in the Wasatch.

A few hours South of the Wasatch we made a planned stop to climb some roadside slabs. The rock was now primarily rusty-red in hue & towering directly off the shoulder of the road. CJ knew this spot would be a good confidence-builder as I have never climbed outdoors. I felt confident in my abilities during the single-pitch slab climb, though fate would soon reveal that trad-climbing would be outside of my wheelhouse - for the time being. For the first time all day I got the opportunity to stretch the hips and legs and boy was it welcomed.

After an hour on the slabs, we packed back into the van & continued to our first camp spot. Darkness fell as heavily as my eyelids and soon the only illumination was from the yellow-tinted headlights. The ambiance of the barren desert is other-worldly, especially in the nothingness of night. I couldn’t see the monolithic buttes in the distance, but I could feel their gravitas & spiritual presence. I would have to be patient in waiting for the next morning’s daybreak to set my sights on the foci of this energy

After peeling off the road & onto unevenly packed dirt that required 4x4 maneuvers, we slammed the van in park & slumped our heads on pillows. CJ had rights to claim his self-built bed stretched lengthwise in the van & I was lucky enough to have floor-rights. With one close of my eyes I was sound asleep in the middle of the desert & lucky to have a great friend by my side.

We seemingly had all the time in the world before our climactic trek across the Grand Canyon on the coming Thursday, though retrospectively it happened all too fast. Our task then was to spend the days having as many adventures as we could without exhausting our bodies or minds for Thursday’s endeavor. We did all that and were cognizant to remain appreciative of our surroundings. Although, when there is so much to absorb in an environment so foreign, I suppose I will always feel like we weren’t able to appreciate it thoroughly enough.

Day 2 : Monday, May 9th

Heavy eyelids were no match for the rising sun’s glory, & shortly after it arose I found myself eager to evacuate our quarters. All I knew was that I had to get a look at the landscape that was shrouded in darkness just 6 hours previous. Under my feet laid a burnt-orange colored dirt that bloomed upon landing. Even the most hardened nostril would be challenged with how easily the dirt would stir into the air.

In the foreground was our van surrounded by pine-needle green shrubbery, the occasional cacti & the rare sight of a wiry sun-bleached tree. In the background loomed the buttes as if to be keeping a watchful eye on the desert floor. So large are these shepherds that they are always deceptively far from reach. Our climbing objective for the morning was one of these buttes called the South Sixshooter, which stood only a quarter mile away via a rough jeep road. This butte is a popular destination in the middle of the climber-revered Indian Creek, just outside of Moab. We were lucky enough to have first dibs.

Within 30 minutes of awakening we were loaded with trad-gear on our harnesses & approaching the base of the climb up “The Shooter”. 2 miles & 800ft of loose hiking later, we stood gazing upwards at the imperceptibly tall & solid rock face. Boulders the sizes of planes, trains, & automobiles laid in rubble all around, making navigation a bit tricky. I could only imagine the amount of energy released as such oversized rock dismantled from hundreds of feet above before making impact with the base of the butte. It’s hard to believe that even those colossal boulders are not in their permanent residencies.

My previous experience in the outdoors gave me confidence in the terrain up until the point where it was time to use our harnesses. CJ assured me that I would be fine in helping ascend to the summit - but I knew I was beyond my current skill set. I had faith in my climbing ability to ascend the rock, but zero experience with the safety gear. After heavy deliberation, I convinced him that I didn’t feel confident in skills required to manipulate the gear to keep myself (or more importantly, himself) safe. These are not the environments to learn, rather to execute. My execution of skill was nowhere to be found with this circumstance. The difficult decision to hike down was made clear & we trekked back to the van. Any day that ends at the van and not the hospital (or morgue) is a success.

From here we made plans to make a quick breakfast of oats & embark towards the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park where we laced up our running shoes for an intended 15 mile run. “This is my wheelhouse” I thought. Confidence in my ability to scramble & run the route imbued a new energy after the deflating return from “The Shooter”.

With water in our packs, shades on our eyes, & snacks to last the trek, we began running under the blistering sun. The ultraviolet exposure was inconspicuous with ambient temperatures in the 60’s - good thing for the sun hoodie on my back

The footing consisted of rock and sand weathered by millions of years of erosion with only sparsely constructed cairns to guide the way. The challenge of identifying artificial rock piles in the middle of a valley of natural rock piles was frustrating. If it weren’t for ol’ “Eagle-Eyed Heaney” I wouldn’t have been anywhere close to being on trail.

The extraterrestrial and multi-colored hudu formations appear to grow out of the earth while mushroom-topped obelisks manifest at irregular intervals around every turn. One could unknowingly be spinning in circles while trying to navigate the foreign enormity of such twisting caverns. Shades of amber, rust & clay are intersected by grays, blacks, & tans along the horizontal fractures of earth. Amidst a dry riverbed we ran alongside lizards darting between prickly ferns (the only perceptible greenery to be found).

Seconds blurred into minutes and minutes into hours. Before we knew it we were at our destination of Druid Arch, a 300ft tall stone tower missing its internal substance. We scrambled up a number of boulders to seek shelter from the sun after having felt the toll that was taken on our wintery-white integument. Underneath a scrawny, yet hardened, tree we appreciated the quietness besides the looming rock to our left & right. Above is hundreds of feet of ancient rock layers; below us, a dry riverbed once rich with nutrients for primitive existence.

3 hours elapsed and our supplies ran dangerously low. By this time we hadn’t the energy to remain focused on looking for the hidden cairns and we took a wrong turn I had sensed for some time the heavy fatigue overtaking CJ, even if he wouldn’t admit to it. His fatigue overtook him and became evident after realizing we had added mileage to an already stout effort.

“Are you f**king kidding me?!”, he belted.
An intended 15 miles turned into 20. At this point CJ not only hit the proverbial wall, but it was clear he was getting heat sick as well. By now his once cantered pace turned into a dizzying death march.

Our feet trudged forwards and soon enough we passed random hikers that looked too fresh to be too far away from the trailhead. They assured us that we were not far away… I became unnerved seeing my friend decline in such a tough environment. By now the thought of reaching the van seemed like an abstract idea rather than a tangible reality since we didn’t feel any closer to the van compared to an hour prior.

We rounded innumerable hudus thereafter until all of the sudden the white van glistened like a mirage a few hundred feet down the valley floor.

Overwhelming joy filled us both as we took down the descent towards food, water, air conditioning, shade, & most importantly - the comfort of civilization. Now sitting in the shade, CJ slowly recovered as I nervously awaited the color to return to his face. Nothing a cool-down, calories, & shade can’t fix. He quickly bounced back & soon we were laughing about the ordeal while driving to a Mexican cantina in search of some quality food.

Now sitting at the diner, CJ was the first to order. “I’ll have the bean burrito” he stated without a second thought.

“I’m sorry sir, we can’t serve those to anyone over the age of 6,” countered the waitress without missing a beat.

“But I’m under the age of 6.” CJ naturally rebutted. After all, he just wanted some warm beans in a supple corn-tortilla for Christ’s sake.

The waitress wanted none of it. CJ had unknowingly ordered off of the kid’s menu, and after a brief moment exchanging confused glances with me, he gave in and ordered a meal fit for an “adult”. We didn’t hold it against her, but confusion struck us while pondering what makes them unwilling to put pintos in a tortilla for anyone over the age of 6? It’s not like they were all that much cheaper than what he ordered anyways!

I digress.

After receiving our adult meals we asked for the waitress’s name, to which she replied “Ashdla’”. I immediately replied how sweet and unique of a name she has. She then told us, with a comedic undertone and bashful demeanor, that her name is Navajo for “number 5”. CJ and I paused and looked puzzled at each other for a moment - more puzzled than when he was denied a bean burrito. When we came back to the conversation, Ashdla’ told us that she was the 5th girl born in her household so her parents named her “number 5”. I know she tried to play it off humorously, but I thought her name was beautiful and would totally own the origin of it. I’m thankful she didn’t lie to us and tell us that it means “Diamond of the desert” or something. I would’ve believed her, but I think the real story is cooler by far.

We proceeded to inhale our food and get back to the van to log some more travel-miles before we called it quits. By now, the sun dipped below the horizon but the eminence of the buttes were still omnipresent. I couldn’t see them due to the lack of light, but I’m sure they watched over us as we pulled over and made camp. The darkness somehow deepened as the stars began twinkling above us like a cosmic mobile.

We proceed to etch out our plans to traverse the Grand Canyon. We spoke of everything from goals & nutrition, to gear & safety. It was a sobering moment when we talked about the potential of fatality on this trek. We both acknowledged our sovereign decision to commit to the crossing while assuring that we would do everything we could to make sure the other gets out safely. Should the unthinkable happen we both made a vow that the survivor deserves to live with no remorse.

The solace of sleep came easily, especially with the lullabies of the desert cattle nearby. With the repercussions of demise out of the way, we let our eyes close & our minds drift to sleep.

Day 3 : Tuesday, May 10th

It was dark, it was early morning, and it wasn’t warm in the slightest. I neither had the energy to discern the time nor the willpower to move against the covers while fetaled on the floor of the van.

“This is what they mean about desert weather,” I thought to myself.

It went from a content 60 degrees to high 20’s between when I first closed my eyes and when they opened up while shivering. I tucked into as tight of a ball while on the floor as possible, being cautious of my movements so as to not wake up CJ. While lying awake with my eyes closed, I noted the drastic plummet of the temperature in order to deter this situation in the future. I definitely didn’t want this sleepless situation to occur the morning of the Grand Canyon Double Crossing. Such a trek is hard enough without battling the heavy eyes of a sleep-stolen night.

The seering-sunrise crested the plateau & gave reason to wake. Now eager to jump up and get moving (and warm), I pulled off the covers. Utter amazement for the landscape encouraged me to capture myself untangling from my sheets on film & stepping onto the campsite.

There to wake us up were the cattle that lulled us to sleep only hours before. No further than 30 feet away was a herd of 20+ ruminants doing the only thing they probably know how to do - graze shrubbery. I got close enough to maximize my appreciation for the scene, but stayed far enough away in order to leave their breakfast undisturbed.

CJ graciously cooked us a meal consisting of oats, berries, yogurt, & coffee on his dual-burner stove right out of the back of the van. After a swift cleanup we headed further south through Mexican Hat & then Monument Valley, where we took an obligatory photo along the same road displayed in the movie Forest Gump. With my eyes pressed against the glass, we jammed to the Grateful Dead & continued towards Flagstaff.

Hours later we arrived at the Flagstaff city limits with Mount Elden & Humphreys greeting us with open arms. The once rusted-desert landscape was now a lush forest covered in various conifers. Dirt was now plentiful & brough a beautiful brown color back into the landscape’s palate. A whipping breeze could be heard through the trees & proved contentious towards any movement in opposition. The only relief from the wind was found in the woods besides the shelter of the foliage.

We quickly made plans to project some bouldering spots & I couldn't wait for CJ to finally have some time on the rock. After my previous climbing-bailout I really wanted him to get a chance doing what he loves to do.

Just at the edge of town & only a slight trek into the woods we found some good rock to climb. For hours I practiced my crack climbing skills & we sent some solid projects. What a beautiful way to end a long day on the road.

Now tired & ready for a hardy meal, we drove further into Flag’ in hopes of anything but Mexican food, which was our only option for the previous dinners. We came upon an Italian restaurant called “Oregano’s” that offered truly generous portions for our starved bodies. From here we made plans to maximize our final day before the Grand Canyon run. CJ and I wanted to use our drive time wisely and not backtrack due to the high gas prices. With the sparse townships we had to plan our way strategically.

Upon dusk we found camp at a densely populated free site. The wind was forthright and pulsating irregularly, sometimes reaching 45 mph. Therefore, we positioned the van to block as much as we could. With the wind blowing in the opposite direction as the van’s side doors, we opened it wide open and spent the evening foam rolling and stretching while watching the loose dirt pick up and get strewn away. Before dusk we laid out our gear, the daunting 8,000 calories of fuel, and hydration for the canyon crossing.

Night fell in the Coconino Forest, but this night we could faintly hear and hymnal chirping of crickets in the distance. I donned the alpine-thermals that I had brought in hopes of not repeating a cold awakening. With the van door shut, curtain pulled closed, the windows cracked, and myself now in CJ’s Dad’s sleeping bag rated for sub-zero temperatures, we talked ourselves to sleep. Now more than ever I was ready for a cold night.

Day 4 : Wednesday, May 11th

I awoke to sweating legs eager to jump out of the sleeping bag and chuckled at how well it insulated my body during the night. Again, I noted the nightly low temperature and planned to alter my next night’s sleep in order to optimize the few hours that we would get in the coming morning, now only 24 hours away from the Grand Canyon Crossing.

The blustering winds of Flagstaff hadn’t given up and continued to drive into the surrounding forest. We quickly arose from our sleeping positions and drove to the Mount Elden trailhead where we made plans to cook breakfast before ascending to the summit. With only a 15 minute drive, we were there in no time and already preparing breakfast.

I took leave to find a bathroom while CJ continued to fill water bottles and cook food. From the forest headquarters where we were parked, I walked a short distance before noticing what looked to be forest-rangers buzzing around. I turned to the nearest who was headed in my general direction and asked where the nearest porta john was. He kindly told me to follow him since he too was in need.

I don’t remember his name and I wish I would’ve written it down, but I do remember his story. From California, this young and thin guy of hispanic descent told me that he had been stationed out in Flagstaff to fight a nearby fire not even 20 minutes away. I was amazed at his story and he was amazed at ours. He’ll never read this, but I feel the need to again thank him and his the other rangers for their service in protecting Flagstaff’s beautiful forests. I relieved myself in the outhouse, met back up with CJ, and strapped water to my back for the ascent up the Elden Slabs.

Our chosen route up Elden would have us scramble up the South East slabs and descend down the Lookout Trail. After a thick bushwack we arrived at the base of the slabs. Looking upwards as far as the eye could see revealed rock of immense size that was ripe for scrambling. The rubber on my shoes gripped as tight as my hands while ascending thousands of feet up this steeper route of Elden.

The exposure felt while overlooking the valley floor, thousands of feet above the city, was completely new to me. I focused on the rock and ascent above me and began to flow with the terrain ever-cautious to remain in complete control of my mental engagement. One slip here could result in death, serious injury, or entrapment between a deepened rock crevasse.

Two hours of scrambling the slabs brought us to the summit where we took a quick break while meandering beneath the radio-tower built atop. The summit-celebration was short lived as the wind was extremely violent and we were in no mood for further competition with this unrelenting opponent. We made it back to the van 2,500 feet down within the hour where we stretched and rolled our fascia. We were hungry for more peakbagging and even wanted to summit Humphrey’s, but made the better decision to curb our enthusiasm in hopes of banking some energy.

Now close to lunch-time, we packed the van and made our way to the Chipotle in Flagstaff where we devised the ingenious plan of ordering 2 meals - a salad and a burrito. The salad was immediate consumption while the burrito would be squirreled away in the cooler to be feasted on after our intended success in the canyon the following day. In hindsight, we both agreed that this was the BEST decision we made all week.

We spent the afternoon hiking while looking for bouldering problems and decided to call it quits in the early evening since we didn’t want to be stressfully rushed to a campsite the night before the crossing. After meandering around the van, we pulled into a spot not even 15 minutes from the Bright Angel Trailhead, where we would begin our trek in less than 7 hours time. A brief re-check of our gear, food, water, and safety supplies eased our minds while putting on our running-clothes ensured we’d be in for a quick awakening in the morning. We wanted to fall asleep as ready as possible in order to eliminate as many logistics the morning of the crossing.

With a healthy dose of fear, anxiousness, and excitement for the endeavor ahead, we pulled the covers over our eyes and for the first time on the trip labored to fall asleep.

Day 5 : Thursday, May 12th

2:15am. The Day of “the Grand Canyon Double Crossing'' The alarm sounds and we jump into action. We slept in our running clothes, pre-packed our bags, and pre-made our breakfast. CJ and I were ready in no time at all to drive the 15 minutes from camp to the rim and begin our Grand Canyon Double Crossing. We had ambitions of starting the trek before 3:30am which we were able to outbest by 3 minutes.

It was dark, quiet, and a chilly 27 degrees fahrenheit when we started our GPS. I’m very aware that the Canyon can boast high temperatures in the middle of the day, but this chilled start gives credence to the idea that this environment is formidable and highly rugged. In order to survive in the canyon, you need to be able to best the sub-freezing mornings as well as brave the sweltering box of the valley floor.

We began our frosty descent with our puffy jackets on our backs. Had we both known that 15 minutes into our trip we would take them off we probably wouldn’t have started with them. However, we argued that starting the day with them on would help us slow down instead of trying to push the pace in order to warm up. The puffy jackets would remain in our packs for the remainder of the 17 hours.

For hours we ran down the dusty Bright Angel Trail. We would regularly happen upon steps made of logs that dropped 2ft in height, which would later become the bane of our journey on the return hike. Much like the previous night where I felt the presence of the buttes in the darkness, I could feel that we were face-to-face with towering formations, though we couldn’t see them in blackness beyond our headlamps.

Further we ran with the idea of the looming canyon walls above us growing ever taller as we descended ever deeper. After an hour into the trek we could finally see the first kiss of sunlight over the horizon, though it wasn’t enough to fully illuminate our surroundings. By hour 2 there was finally enough light to see the vast expanse that comprises the canyon. The indirect sun began to show the pale colors of the canyon that one could tell would be exquisite given a few more hours. Much like the color palette of Canyonlands National Park, the Grand Canyon displayed white rock atop rusted stone with tan accents interspersed. Adorning these cliff faces were vibrantly colored vegetations of green, purple, brown, and yellow.

The gravitas of the canyon was now on full display. Here we were, two seemingly inconsequential humans in an environment that could consume us without hesitation. It is a special gift to feel so small amidst a landscape so expansive.

3 hours passed and we were now at the bridge spanning the Colorado River. The roar of the waters was deafening and the rapids were on full display. We paused for a moment to take in the scenery and admire that we had already reached the river. Although it’s easy to break the day into quarters of descending and ascending the canyon walls, reaching the Colorado River for the first time is nowhere near 25% of the journey. I would advise everyone who undertakes this trek to think about reaching the river as 10% completion.

We stopped at Phantom Ranch just after the river in order to transfer food from our packs, put on sunscreen, and refill our water bottles. This brief pause took no longer than 10 minutes and just as we were about to depart I saw a caballero leading a train of 20 pack mules right through our departure route.

“C’mon CJ we gotta go!” I quietly squeezed through my teeth so as to not alarm the approaching animals. But by the time we gathered our packs they were already well-within reach. To sprint ahead of them now would have been a hasteful, ill-mannered, and selfish move. The pack mules always have the right of way in the canyon since they bring aid to the campsites. Runners be wary not pass, disturb, or agitate the pack mule’s train.

CJ and I exchanged a deflating glance that signified our day was about to be a bust. We thought that being caught behind the mules would mean that we were doomed to hike behind them for the remainder of the ascent up to the north rim.

To our surprise, the mule train quickly navigated onto a separate trail at the nearest junction. CJ and I belted laughs of relief and quickly shuffled our feet into a cadence befitting of ultrarunners. Now we were entering what canyoneers call “The Box”. AKA, the valley floor of the canyon that one traverses before beginning the official ascent up the North rim on the Kaibab Trail.

“The Box” section was aptly named due to the unrelenting heat that radiates from all sides deep within the canyon walls. The Box takes a while to heat up but once the midday sun is directly overhead, the rock captures the solar energy and releases it back onto all passers that traverse the canyon floor. Travelers will need to be prepared to face oven-like heat from all sides while in The Box, let alone the direct sunlight that pierces the skin itself.

We entered The Box for the first time around 7am and under ideal conditions, long before the rock had a chance to bathe in the sunlight. My best estimate would put the ambient temperature at 60 degrees with plenty of shade, which would be diametrically opposed to the conditions 9 hours later. But for now, we were having a blast in a perfect running-environment.

We ran through the box while noting the desert fauna (primarily lizards) and alien-esque vegetation. Here we picked up a few partners to run with as well. The first of which was Kevin, who we briefly spent time with and subsequently let pass as his pace was faster than what we desired. Soon after Kevin dropped us we picked up a crew headed by the talkative Karen. It would be made known to us later in the day that Karen was training for Western States, which she finally decided to run after 3 years of deferment. She and her partners were entertaining company and even noted the size of my calves (which I find hilarious since it’s not the first time the comment has been made).

After a few rounds of conversation they dropped us too. Neither of us decided to say goodbye since we knew we’d end up seeing each-other again. It was in these exchanges that the community of The Canyon really shines. Everyone we met on the trail was eager to lend a hand or a story in order to help pass the time.

By now CJ and I began our ascent up the North rim. Little did we know that it would take us 5 hours to make it to the top where we would tag the trailhead before taking a break. CJ adopted a “diesel engine” mentality for the remainder of the trip in that he wasn’t going to move fast, but that he would continue to move at a steady pace. I could tell he was hurting as his specific preparation for The Canyon was sub-par. For the entirety of the ascent I would hike my usual and quicker pace before taking a complete break in the shade to wait for CJ to catch up.

I thought this was the best compromise to our differing strides as It allowed my body to move in its usual patterns but gave me the opportunity to speed through the exposed sections and then shelter in the shade. Anyone who has done a longer trek like this would affirm that moving too fast can stress the body, but so too can moving too slowly. Moving at any pace foreign to the body invites injuries.

Besides the views of the now fully-illuminated and glistening rock, the trek up to the North rim was fairly unremarkable. It was more of a slow march up to the rim while navigating the highly exposed trail. In some sections, a few steps away from the canyon wall would result in a tumble of at least 1,000ft. This terrain required a high degree of engagement in order to appreciate the surroundings while remaining solid in one’s footing, especially North of Cottonwood Campground.

5 hours and 6,500ft of elevation later, CJ and I arrived at the North rim in exactly 8 hours - the halfway mark of our adventure. I voiced the plan to take 20 minutes to eat, use the restroom, and fill our packs. CJ would also need to take care of his blisters during this time.

It’s a skill to be able to multitask and take care of yourself in a timely manner while on the trails. Every minute counts while undertaking such a lengthy expedition. I wasn’t in any rush, but I had a feeling that the longer we waited to descend back into the box, the hotter it was going to welcome us, which made me eager to get moving. Therefore, I slammed the 4 leaking peanut butter & jam tortillas that I had packed. I didn’t want to eat them all at once, but after realizing how messy they had become I knew I wouldn’t want to get my hands messy later in the day. I washed my hands while filling my pack with water and I was ready to roll. 20 minutes came and went and I was ready for the return trip, but CJ needed an additional 15 minutes.

After such a long hike, we were happy to finally be going downhill. Both CJ and I trotted down the North Kaibab Trail that we had just ascended. This is where I hit the first and only low moment of the journey. My mood declined slightly and a mild side-stitch overtook my abdomen. I suspect the stitch was due to the outrageous amount of peanut butter and corn tortillas in my stomach, so I told CJ I’d have to hike for a while in order to let my stomach settle. 20 minutes later I was flying high and running flawlessly. I was glad to have the stitch under control as now the heat of the day was belligerent and oppressive.

4 hours of downhill navigation brought us back to The Box under fully hostile conditions. By this time it was 3pm and the rock spared us no mercy in convecting the heat it had soaked up in the 9 hours previous. During the first traverse of The Box we were met with cool temps, a smooth breeze, and plentiful shade. Now in the second traverse we were met with conditions akin to a convection oven with shad few and far inbetween. Roasting air devoid of moisture brushed past every exposed piece of skin, we were now in the crux of the heat.

CJ kept his diesel-like and even pace throughout the second crossing of The Box. I, on the other hand, didn’t want to spend any unnecessary time in the sun. I looked at CJ and told him that I wouldn’t leave him, but that I needed to move quickly through the sun to avoid being broiled alive. I quickly adopted a movement style where I would sprint the sun-exposed sections of the trail while waiting for CJ in the shade. CJ understood that I needed to adopt this technique of shade-hopping in order to look after my own needs. Again we were able to move together, but at our own paces. We were truly an unstoppable team.

The Box is full of maddening twists and turns as you cross several feeder-streams that flow into the Colorado River. On many occasions we thought Phantom Ranch was approaching, only to turn the corner of a canyon wall and be met with another bend a hundred yards ahead. On one lucky bend we were finally met with a sign denoting our approach to Phantom Ranch. Our spirits brightened as we passed the campgrounds at the outskirts of the ranch en route to the water spigot where we refilled our bottles 10 hours previous.

Now staring down the barrel of one final ascent, we were erroneously overtaken by a feeling of relief that our taxing day was coming to a close.

“How long do you think it’ll take us to ascend the South rim?” CJ questioned.

I thought about it for a minute and noted that it would probably take us at least 4 hours. Seeing as how there was an hour discrepancy between our North rim ascent/descent times and that the descent of the South rim originally took us 3 hours, it only seemed fitting that it would take no less than 4 hours. Though we were so close to completion of the double crossing, we were still so far away.

My spirits remained high all day long so I was ambivalent as to how long it would take us to complete. I would have ideally liked to finish early enough to see the sun set over the canyon, but by now that idea was fleeting given our current pace. Oh well, more time in the canyon is never a bad compromise.

During the ascent up the South rim we leap-frogged with two other friendly gals that we had seen at the North rim hours before. They came with nice conversation and good looks that the canyon couldn’t provide. Within a few hours we were coming up on the Indian Garden Campground, 4.5 miles away from the finish.

While CJ and I were hiking just outside of Indian Garden, we heard a distinguished noise that could only mean one thing. We were listening to audible oscillations of air reverberating from the blades of a helicopter. As we turned our heads to the right we could see the black and yellow “bird” navigating through the canyon airspace, 2,000ft above the floor, but still 2,000 feet below the rim. I told CJ that I needed to see it land at Indian Garden and proceeded to sprint ahead of him and gals that we were moving with.

I took pride in my ability to run a sub-7 minute mile with a 15lb pack on my back after 15 hours in the canyon. This ability should serve me well in my first attempt at a 100mile race come June.

I sprinted up the trail and watched the “bird” land gracefully on a helipad just outside the campground. Unbeknownst to me a stranger resembling the likes and mannerisms of Mr. Bean was standing behind watching as well.

“Must be some rich millionaire flying in who is too good for the trek down!” Mr. Bean hilariously exclaimed before turning his attention onto me and my pack.

“Hey guy, where are you coming from?” Mr. Bean sounded in my direction.

“The South rim,” I enigmatically stated. My desire to explain the double crossing is always lacking, especially while in the midst. Hence the vague answer.

Mr. Bean’s brow furrowed and his facial expression went from amusement to puzzlement. I could see the cogs in his brain turning as we were obviously coming up the trail from the North, though I had told him we were coming from the South.

“Where are you going?” was his next question.

“The South rim,” just like my original answer.

“Did you go to the North rim?

“...Yessir”

By now I could see his eyes light up.

“Oh my goodness so you’re in the middle of a rim to rim to rim run!” it dawned on him. To his credit he was able to piece together my vague clues about the trajectory of our day and to my surprise he knew about the double crossing adventure.

He took a step back while looking me square in the eyes, raised his right hand to his brow, and gave me a salute while thanking me for serving my country.

All I could think was, “who is this guy?”

Moments passed and the black and yellow “bird” flew away now loaded with cargo from the campground. By this time CJ and I had reconvened and kept hiking upwards after wishing Mr. Bean farewell.

The sign at the campground said 4.5 miles from the top. What it forgets to mention is that you still have over 2,000ft of gain ahead of you, making the hike a slow grind.

The ascent after Indian Garden was full of switchbacks and steps over 2ft tall which required a high degree of effort to maneuver, especially after 15 hours in the canyon. By now the sun was setting in the canyon and the heat was beginning to lift - my favorite part of the day. The canyon glowed and the air became crisp.

Within an hour it was pitch black except for a dim glow from the almost-full moon and a few sparse headlamps from hikers nearby. This minimal amount of light made it possible to hike the 20 minutes we had left in order to crest the South rim - our final destination. By plotting one foot in front of another, we rounded the rim and meandered our way towards the van where we stopped the GPS and ended our day.

We had done it. After over 17 hours of traversing we were back at the van and eager to clean the dirt from our bodies and devour the burritos we had squirreled away. Our day started and ended in the dark. There it was, the climax of our trip was completed. Now all that we had left to do was to find a suitable camping spot before making the return trip back to Salt Lake City.

With bellies full of beans and guacamole, we eagerly fell asleep on the laurels of a successful trek.

Day 6 : Friday, May 13th

Morning greeted us with blue skies and crisp air blowing through the Coconino national forest. The day would have an undertone of accomplishment as we drove the 8 hours back to Salt Lake City. Passing through the outskirts of Zion and Bryce Canyon provided us with entertaining views on the arduous trip back. After a full day of travel, we were finally greeted by the teal-colored home where CJ stays that is proudly owned by a gentle man named John. John just happened to be returning from a bike-packing trip in Canyonlands National Park, coincidentally enough, and was washing his bikes off in the driveway.

We exchanged words and welcoming gestures before heading downstairs where CJ and I would spend the night watching climbing movies like “The Alpinist” and “Free Solo”. A fitting end to such a climbing-focused adventure. I later fell asleep on the floor with visions of the Grand Canyon incessantly parading around my head.

Day 7 : Saturday, May 14th

This final travel day gave me time to begin writing. Nothing notable happened besides 2 flights, 1 layover, and a bear-sized hug from Donny when I landed back in Milwaukee.

Now I was on my way back home and beginning to process the overall meaning of a week spent in the desert.

Reflections

After having a week to reflect on the travels, I keep coming back to 2 overarching themes. The first of which I identify as the importance of the ability to edge into the boundaries of one’s comfort zone without crossing it. I feel it is critical to push one’s boundaries by getting close to the edge without tipping over into unknown territories. Crossing one’s threshold too hastefully can result in encountering situations so foreign to one’s skill set that the probability of success is purely left up to chance - which is a dangerous position to be in.

However, edging towards the boundary without surpassing it means that the probability of success is primarily determined based on one’s expertises. This view identifies that although an objective may seem daunting, it is within one’s capability to accomplish if judged accordingly, and that the probability of a successful outing is not left primarily to chance.

The second theme is that I yearn for more intimidating environments to explore. I found myself thriving in the landscapes that are more hostile than what I’ve experienced my whole life in Wisconsin. In my home environment I’m not challenged by the landscape anymore. Rather, the challenge comes from my ability to traverse a certain distance in the landscape. I now know that in order to feel more alive, I need to have access to terrain that is inherently more intimidating, such as the mountains and canyons encountered on this journey.

That’s it. The whole trip in a nutshell. Although I tried to log all notable recounts of the journey, I’m sure that I missed at least a few. But that’s what makes it personal to me and CJ I suppose. Now onto the next… Whatever that may be…

P.s. Always thankful to those that made this trip a reality and provided emotional support and beta.

End

Reese Slobodianuk.

B.S. Kinesiology, nutritional minor

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