I can't start this story without visualizing that commercial showing the ladies in the wheel chairs trying to decide between the Statue of Liberty and the Grand Canyon. You all know that one. Our family chose that huge hole in the ground; it was closer than New York.
Our first problem was finding a way to transport that rather LARGE and very heavy chair that I travel in most of my waking hours.
Dixie, now my ex, found some sort of program to have a special hitch installed on the rear of our recently purchased 2001 Chevy Van. I was a little dubious with the arrangement, but it was done for free, and the men who were installing it seemed to know what they were doing. After all, what did I know? Besides, I can blame all this on Dixie
now that she's not around. I'm kidding, of course, and just hope she never reads this.
Gary volunteered to play chauffeur for us and that put my mind somewhat at ease on the one hand, but there always seems to be a "kicker." It gave me more time to look out the back window and worry about that clumsy looking cart bouncing with each and every bump in the road. I visualized that brace snapping with each bigger than usual bump we hit.
I have been struggling with a way to put into words a picture that the readers of this story can imagine. All I can come up with is two boys on a teeter totter. One boy is a bit larger than the other. When the bigger boy lets the smaller kid down he lets him come close, but never lets him hit the turf. By the time the bell rings the little guy is visibly nervous, but there's no damage done, at least for now.
We made it to the resort at the edge of the Canyon in time to keep our reservations. They won't hold them if you don't get there in time. The demand is just too great.
Terri selected the Lodge from a brochure and it appeared to be right down our "family alley!" It seemed that Terri had "rolled a strike," but advertising can be misleading. We were a tired travel weary group on arrival and a bit hungry. As luck would have it, the dining room was closed. We had to settle for cold sandwiches and the snack stuff we had with us. Then to add insult to injury, something was wrong with the heating system so there was no hot water. I suddenly became a member in good sitting. (I can't stand up in the shower, since my amputations). I don't know if sitting made the water any colder, but it sure seemed colder. I suppose not being able to move around had something to do with it and as I started to say, I was now a member of The Polar Bear Club!" "Brrrr!"
After we were all cleaned and "shivved" some one broke out one of those small portable bar-b-que grills and put some chicken on it. It was a nice gesture, but too little too late, it smelled good though and the dogs enjoyed some leftovers. We had our Scottish Terrier Cricket with us and Lynzee had Quincy, a Pekingese, with her. Cricket was a typical terrier and when she had a harness on, she thought she was a Pit Bull and strained as though she was pulling a plow. She was a powerful, little dog. It seemed like a game to her.
We were all in that state of "Road Jittery" weariness that makes it difficult to relax and slide into never, never land. Dixie and I were just about there when we heard it, "Tap, tap, tap." "Rustle, rustle." Little noises coming from the waste basket and the tile floor. I turned on a light and there was a lot of scurrying going on. Dixie was deathly afraid of mice and wasn't overly fond of them myself when they're "traipsing" all over my sleeping quarters. A complaint to the office brought the following response, "These cabins are quite old and as it is starting to get chilly at night, they come in to try to get warm. There's just not much we can do about that, I'm sorry. Just make sure there's nothing in your trash and nothing they can eat on the floor. Food is what they want and the rest you'll just have to tolerate. Again, I'm sorry."
After cleaning the mouse attractions from the cabin as best we could, we both fell into tired, nervous sleep with not much rest in it. We awoke early, and although still pretty tired, anxious to assault the Canyon. The rangers advised that the electric cart was too heavy for the fragile trails and suggested we use one of the regular chairs that they keep for emergencies. With Cricket in her harness, pulling with all her might and Gary guiding from behind, we set off to see what we could see. Once we put the harness on that little dog, she became a machine and you couldn't stop her. It was as if she was obsessed. People passing us on the trail laughed and commented, "that's quite a little tugger you have there." "Yeah, we can't hold her back!" At the end of the day, she was one exhausted little dog.
We had a terrific lunch at the Patio overlooking the Canyon. That afternoon, we all decided to take the mule ride into the Canyon. Dixie didn't want to go as she was not fond of riding anything, especially mules.
The group pressured her unmercifully and the guides, being made aware of her apprehension, assured her that the trip was quite safe, and finally convinced her. The two glasses of wine she had with lunch might have had little to do with her decision to go. The mule skinners were very understanding and paid special attention to her "case."
I was relegated to be the dog sitter as you had to be able to use both stirrups for the "jostling" ride down the canyons' steep trails, my back surgery was not conducive to bouncing in a saddle for a long period of time. I took care of Quincy and Cricket, but they were both pretty restless and hard to entertain.
When our party returned, Dixie was a very, very unhappy mule jockey and the words she used to describe the mules cannot be repeated in this story (or anyplace else for that matter.) She was not one to use vulgarity, but she made an exception in this case! I thought it was mildly humorous, but to laugh would be suicidal and I considered myself way too young to expire.
We all agreed that a special dinner would be a well deserved treat. All had a pretty rough day! Funny to a few of us, but not so to a select one or two.
Dinner was a pleasant affair once every "body" got their parts taken care of. Dixie wasn't the only one requesting an extra cushion with their meal and shifting positions occasionally while they ate. After a few drinks stronger than water, the group dynamics took over and the jokes began. Someone started to sing and out came a guitar; our group began to grow. At a table next to us, sat a man and his wife, they kept glancing our way. The lady was afflicted with cerebral palsy. When the husband arose and came towards us, I thought, "Oh, oh, oh, here comes a complaint, we've gotten too loud." He introduced himself as (I've forgotten his name), and much to my surprise asked if he and his wife could join us! "Absolutely, positively come on over! We'll be happy to have you!" It wasn't long 'till you'd a thought they were members of our family. We all had a grand-old-time! As we parted company he told me, "My wife urged me to ask if we could join you folks. You guys were just having so much 'damn fun.' I'm so glad she did; what a great family you are!"
The next day after a night of mice rattling around and refreshing "freezing" shower to bring us all up to par, we were ready for a hearty breakfast. Packing was done quickly and we started for home.
I watched that cart bounce precariously all the way to Tuba City, AZ, and was relieved when the decision was made to make a rest stop. It had been an extremely tiring trip and we all needed some R & R, not to mention, some mice-free sleep and a luscious, hot shower. What a difference a "spray" makes.
Terri and Gary wanted to get in a few rounds of golf and I drove the cart. I'm good at that. Dixie had never been on a golf cart and once we assured her there were no mules involved, she agreed to ride along. She commented a couple for times that it appeared to be a very simple, easy game to play. The course was not very crowded that do so I convinced the guys to let her try a few strokes. Gary gave some brief instructions and she tried it on her own, as it looked easy to her. It wasn't very long before she sincerely regretted saying that. Humble pie was pretty hard to swallow when you've basted it with barbed wire.
One of the things I've desired to accomplish before they shut the lid for the last time is to go for a helicopter flight. In all my time in the service and flying in all kinds of bucket bolts, I've never had that experience. We got wind of an airport on the edge of town that had been known to charter the desired helicopter flights. We drove out to investigate and the person in charge told us their copter was down for maintenance; looks like we just took another cold shower. The lady did offer us a flight over Lake Powell in a small aircraft if we had no objection to a female pilot. I laughed and said, "Hell no, if she's willing to fly it, we're willing to ride in it." Dixie was all for it, as she thought women made better pilots anyway. A wee bit "sexist," I'd say.
The flight over Lake Powell was truly magnificent and well worth Terri's money. She footed the bill. The pilot knew what she was doing and made sure we saw all there was to see as closely as we could see it.
The rest of the trip was uneventful until we reached the very last few yards. I find it very hard to believe myself, but I swear by all that is holy that it is true. We lived in the very first house on North Beach as you turn south off Empire. As we made that turn I heard a powerful "POP!" Then the sound of grating metal dragging on concrete. That damn hitch had finally snapped. We drug it into the driveway and stood there thanking our lucky stars it hadn't broken "slap dap" in the middle of that busy highway. Looking back I still find it hard to believe, but that's exactly the way it happened!!
