But making it to the Colorado River was worth every painful step and each weary pedal of the bike. The beauty at the bottom of the Grand Canyon is unparalleled. The Grand Canyon holds this mysterious quality in which nothing outside of it seems to matter. Time, worries, nothing else is important when you stare off into the vast canyon. Being at the bottom of the Grand Canyon is like being held in God’s hand, you are completely enveloped by it, and you feel perfectly at peace.
As I sat by the river and prayed the next morning, God gave me something He knew I would need. I noticed a washed up piece of driftwood that would make a perfect walking stick. With only a matter of hours to enjoy at the bottom of the canyon, we ate breakfast, broke camp, and headed out of the depths. My knees were in serious pain, so I relied heavily upon my newfound best friend of a stick.
The sun beat down on us worse than it had the day before. We were previously in shade all day because of the canyon walls and the late sun. But the wide open rock early in the morning caught all the sun and radiated like an oven. Even in the spring, the earth here was scorched. I moved a stone to try to sit on it under a slight covering of shade. A scorpion scurried out, following the stone as I moved it, and quickly took refuge under the shade. I moved the stone again, and this time the scorpion hid under my fallen Clif Bar wrapper. Even the scorpions knew to stay out of the sun.
Late that afternoon, we found ourselves back on the icy trail near the top of the rim. It is truly amazing the differences held within such a small ecosystem. Oasis at the river, baking desert, and snow-filled pine forest, all engulfed us within a few miles. We wearily clambered out of the canyon and were immediately met with an icy chill of wind. A few hours ago we were nearing heat exhaustion, and here we were bundling up with our winter clothes.
That night we crashed at our campsite without ever starting a fire or doing anything else. We slept a good 12 hours before we got back on our bikes to begin our journey back to Phoenix. The next morning, we were woken by a bitter chill wind. We unexcitedly prepared our bodies and our bikes for the next 60 miles of biking. No one was eager to get back to riding, as we all desperately wanted a day to rest. But the road called to us, and we found ourselves miles away from the canyon within a matter of hours. We all expected our road back home to be filled with many effortless miles cruising down hill with ease, but today the wind would not have it. We faced 20 to 30 mile an hour winds all day. We crawled away from the canyon at a frustratingly slow pace. Late that afternoon we arrived at our campsite just outside of Williams, AZ, high on the Colorado Plateau. We quickly had a fire blazing and food cooking. Even though we had such a difficult day, our spirits were high. We even celebrated by picking up some Fat Tire beer to bring relief to our weary bones.
The wind died down and we stayed up late telling stories around the campfire. We prayed the wind would not come back at all and that we would enjoy the rest of our trip down the mountain back to Phoenix. We each climbed into our own tents happy that night. But around 3 am, the wind came back more violent than ever. I lay in my tent that morning praying that it would go away when the sun came up, but it only got worse. That morning we tried to get warm and stretch to loosen up before getting back on our bikes. But the wind made it impossible to warm up. At 7000 feet, the vicious wind chilled our bones. As soon as we started, we knew the day would be miserable. The wind refused to grant us passage. Even on one of the steepest down hills of the entire trek, we had to pedal to keep going. The wind blew us around like balloons in the wind as trucks whizzed by at 80 miles an hour. We each hoped that as soon as we got down the hill that the wind would die, but that never came. We crawled through each mile as the wind seemingly got worse and worse. We inched our way into the valley between Williams and Prescott, where the wind was absolutely terrible. It was like trying to ride your bike directly into a tornado. Tumbleweeds flew by on the road and we were pelted in the face with blowing dirt and debris. I think I heard the Wicked Witch of the West cackling away. At one point I seriously considered hitching a ride with a man who saw us struggling along and felt compassion on us by offering us a lift. It was not even so much that I was too tired, but I actually feared I would be blown over and into traffic. The narrow shoulder along this stretch seemed like a death trap. At one point I was leaning 30 degrees over to the right side of my bike to avoid being pushed into traffic. I consulted with the other riders if we should hop on the truck to go the rest of the way. But something inside me knew we just had to keep going. I think God was saying, “I’ve got you. Just keep going.”
