Over the Rim

In this episode – Over the Rim . . .

Early dawn breaks in Arizona; with both arms frantically flailing, I grab to catch my hat. An enormous blast of wind snatched it off my head in a split second. My well-worn "Indiana Jones" style fedora plummets end-over-end hundreds of feet over the rim of the Grand Canyon. Flabbergasted - the moment felt ageless, like a scene from an ole' western movie in slow motion, "Well, there's no way I'll find that hat again!"

Tenacity! photo by - Patrick Ball

We've just crested Ooh Aah Point on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon in northern Arizona. It's a cool crisp morning, and the wind whips through the canyon like a cyclone. You experience slight dizziness and are somewhat giddy from vertigo, afraid to get too close to the rim. The sheer drops plummet over 3,000 feet. But as time passes, you become accustomed to the wind and the comfort and security of the wide multipurpose trail.

Magically you're drawn into views of spires, buttes, mesas, and talus slopes from different vantage points along the mile-and-one-half trail to Yaki Point. Panoramic vistas of reds, oranges, gold, and sand against a turquoise blue sky with puffy white clouds.

"It seems a gigantic statement for even nature to make." John Muir.

Since the 1870s, visitors have flocked to the south rim on foot, horseback, wagons, and stagecoaches, by rail, automobiles, and busses. Grand Canyon National Park was established in 1919, only three years after the creation of the National Park Service. Today environmentally friendly shuttle buses transport you to trailheads, viewpoints, hotels, and architectural works of art.

If you're there for a few days, any conversation with the locals goes like this, "Most visitors today spend about two hours on average, then move on."

"I can relate to that; my first visit was no different."

While moving west to California in 1985, the three-day drive from Illinois took me across I-40. Approaching Williams, Arizona, the thought occurred: I'll detour north and see the Grand Canyon; why not? After about an hour of driving through flat desert scrub on Route 64, you begin to question your decision, "Where is this big hole in the ground anyway?" Finally, you arrive-breathtaking panoramic reds, oranges, and gold vistas against a clear blue sky. It's mid-afternoon, with the sun high in the sky, and the features are flat – but you've made the trip, so you're determined to take a few photos at the rim. Nothing extraordinary, proof you were there.

Twenty-six years later, grasping for your hat as it plummets over the rim, you calmly grin and experience the delight of re-discovery!

Here’s a tip; if you're looking for framable photos, spend the night, get out early, and experience how the morning shadows cause the light to dance through the canyon. It's spectacular!

Today's Thought for the Day; "The mystery of life is not a problem to be solved but a reality to be experienced." - Aart van dee Leeuwa.

I’m Patrick Ball; thanks for listening; see you in the next episode.

Updated: March 9, 2023

Comments

Sunflowers, French Steel, and the Yellow Jersey

Watching Le Tour de France this year, I found myself transported back to August 1983 as the Peloton in Stage 10, Bastille Day, flowed through the French countryside like a brightly colored ribbon. I was in my twenties, visiting family in the Charente-Maritime region of France, completely obsessed with bicycle racing—and convinced I was much stronger than I was. My connection to cycling—and to France—runs deep. I was born in France, and my very first real road bike, at age fifteen, was a Mercier . To me, it wasn’t just a bicycle; it was a work of art made from beautiful French steel. I rode that bike for miles, through high school, into college, and until the day someone decided they needed it more than I did. I hope they at least appreciated the craftsmanship. Its untimely disappearance led me to a Schwinn Voyageur, and later, when I started racing around Illinois, to a Raleigh Competition . But during that summer of ’83, while staying with my Uncle Jean Paul in Lagord, just north of L...

The Yellow Legal Pad

In this episode, the Art of Refiring July 1st is staring me in the face, less than two weeks away. For years, retirement seemed like something that happened to other people. Suddenly, it's on my calendar. I've been thinking a lot about the dreaded "R-word" lately. Not because I'm worried about having enough to do. Quite the opposite. What fascinates me is this strange paradox: Why does retirement make so many of us nervous, while having a job—even one that regularly drives us crazy—somehow feels comforting? Let's be honest. Most of us spend years complaining about meetings that should have been emails, reply-all disasters, impossible deadlines, and that one coworker who insists on microwaving leftover fish in the breakroom. Yet when the idea of walking away finally arrives, we hesitate. I think I've figured out why. A career isn't just a job. It's a highly structured coping mechanism. For forty-plus years, somebody else has basically decided what I...

The Big Rip and the First Tee

The telescope (Celestron) sits quietly under its cover, temporarily blinded by Southern California's annual meteorological hostage situation – June Gloom. Somewhere above that thick gray ceiling, photons that began their journey before humans appeared are streaming across the cosmos, only to be intercepted by a marine layer that seems to have veto power over astronomy. Instead of observing the universe, I find myself imagining – The End of Everything (Astrophysically Speaking) by physicist Katie Mack. According to modern cosmology, the universe may eventually end in a Big Rip, a Big Crunch, Heat Death, Vacuum Decay, or some other catastrophe that sounds suspiciously like a rejected heavy-metal album title. Astrophysicists spend their careers calmly discussing the possibility that reality itself could suddenly cease to exist because a quantum field had a bad day. It's a remarkable way to start a Saturday morning. One moment you're contemplating the ultimate fate of spacetime...

Rediscovering the Magic of Summer . . .

Summer mornings, especially on a holiday weekend, have a special magic. The air is cool, the world quiet, and the day full of possibilities. This July 4th weekend, Lori and I decided to capture a bit of that magic by beating the holiday traffic with an early morning bicycle ride. We went through our usual pre-flight checklist: Stretched out the morning stiffness. Filled the water bottles. Strapped on the helmets. Checked the tires. Three tires passed inspection. The fourth had apparently declared independence. The rear tire on my e-bike was flatter than a Kansas highway. “Well, it looks like we’re not riding today,” Lori said, with the calm acceptance of someone who had already mentally promoted coffee to the day’s main event. “Why not?” I replied. “I’ll ride my old bike.” She gave me that look —the one that safely translates as, "Are you sure about this? " “Absolutely,” I said. “Why not?” I dragged the bike stand out and surveyed my options. One glance at the aggressive gear...

On The Fly

Search This Blog