August , 2019
I felt as though we were in a Wild West film, the desert expanding around us before sharply jutting upward into the sky, jagged earth painted in shades of reds, oranges, golds. Ánh and I drove around the rim of the Grand Canyon in the early afternoon, knowing that our four hour trek into Utah would take a majority of the day if we were going to make it back before the sun set (or, at least, we thought we wouldn’t have to drive the winding roads in a void of pitch black darkness).
Glen Canyon National Recreation Area was beautiful. The highway curved across the Glen Canyon Dam, where traffic slowed to a crawl as tourists stopped to take pictures, but as we passed over the bridge all I could think about was how beautifully blue the lake was below us, stretching north all the way through where I knew the rocky canyons opened the steep cliff walls. The reds of the canyon walls and dusty cliffs sloping up into the desert contrasts so deeply with the golden hills of Oklahoma, of the forests of Arkansas, of home and heart.
In our preparation for this trip, we ended up bringing the (yes, inflatable) kayak along for the ride, hoping that we would find some sort of excuse to use it. Usually we’ve packed it for the “just in case” trips, where we had no solid plans for water sports but somehow found our way into the water anyway. It’s inevitable–I grew up practically a fish, even though Ánh can’t swim.
We blew up the kayak as some of the other visitors look onward, watching us go through the motions, now a well-oiled machine compared to the struggling we did on the lake in Hot Springs last year. Even though I love the water (practically lived in it), boats make me nervous for some reason, and kayaks are no different. The florescent yellow, inflatable kayak mocks me when it sits on the edge of the water, rocking unsteadily sometimes against rolling waves. But that afternoon, as we pulled it down into the shallows of Long Rock Beach, the effort and the heat of the midday sun became worth it.
My arms tired after a solid fifteen minutes even though I pride myself on regularly working out–Ánh and I took turns propelling us forward, and we floated nearer and nearer to an offshoot of the lake, the rocks jutting up and outward toward the open sky. The morning had cleared into a beautiful blue, clouds dotting the sky, and everywhere we looked morphed into a picturesque landscape of something akin to a Wild West folktale–I was so heavily enraptured by the landscape I got lost in the moment.
We pulled the kayak up onto the dry shore of a rocky island sitting in the middle of a split in one of the canyon offshoots. The waves lapped at the sandstone, pulling with it sediment and debris, but still remaining an idyllic crystal clear blue. We spent an hour or two watching the clouds pass overhead as a family climbed a nearby rock, screaming in delight as they jumped–one by one–into the water below.
I felt at peace.
We rowed back across the water after exploring the rocky hills of the canyonland above its surface. We waded through the shallow waters for a time before finally packing up, our limbs heavy and out clothes completely soaked through. We were exhausted, but happy and sated–not to mention a little sunburned.
Ánh pulls out, heading up the incline towards the exit of the beach. Everything looked the same, so it looked as though we were heading the right direction when all of a sudden the car lurched forward and the tires began rotating without budging an inch.
The car got stuck.
It’s happened before, but in mud, never in sand.
And when the unexpected happens, I am more than prone to frustration, and, when the mood strikes me, tears when it overwhelms me.
“We have to get out,” I told Ánh, looking over at her sitting in the driver’s seat and staring out over the beach trail leading out of the sands.
So, we got out.
And I stared at the mess that became my tires, the sand filling in between the hub caps, and stared and stared. We were at least four states over, we knew no one in the area, I had never encountered sand as an obstacle, and I had no clue how long it would have taken for anyone to come and help us if I called. A German family wandered in to try to help us, but they were just as stumped as we were.
“Do you girls need help?”
We heard a guy call to us out of his window while his friend pulled up in a pickup behind him. At that point I had already thrown my hands in the air in defeat, nearing pulling my hair out in the process. The two cars pulled in a little closer, and the literally the most sunburned man I had ever seen popped out of the driver’s seat, taking one look at our buried front tires, and laughed.
“This happens all the time!” he told us, waving off our tired expressions. “The sand over here is bad; you should have taken the other exit. Here, take these.”
He then pulled out not one, nor two, but three shovels, walking over to dig one underneath the passenger side tire. He cleared away some of the sand, instructing us to do the same with the other front tire before directing us to the driver’s seat to direct the car. It was hot and sweaty work, and considering both Ánh and I were already so exhausted we could barely walk it nearly did us in.
“Go slow,” he told me as I look backward, trying to back up onto a hard surface again. “Push!”
Heaving, he and two other guys helped Ánh heave the car onto more solid ground. We all cheered, and I slumped over, my fabric seat now soaked through with the day’s grime. I was so utterly relieved to have made it through the ordeal that I was ready to cry.
“Thank you,” I told them genuinely, and the ragtag group of sunburnt men waddle back to their cars, and wave us out. We sped off into the evening encroaching on the horizon, past the busy bridge and flatlands, disappearing back into the rocky hills of Utah.
Starry Night
I practically begged to stop on the way back to the place we stayed at the edge of the Grand Canyon National Park.
I wanted starry nights and crisp air. I wanted to watch the stars come out and the moon shine overhead, to watch the sun set over the canyon, mellowing into yellows and golds and brilliant reds and burnt oranges. I was robbed the other night, when the clouds hung heavy over the night sky, but tonight—tonight.
I could see the clear skies above us as we drove the winding roads of Grand Canyon National Park.
We stopped halfway through the park, pulling out onto the side of the road and walking out onto the canyon rim, where one of the trails passed by the natural benches made of rock. We sat down, and I stared up at the expanse of the sky above us, so many stars, as it unfurled out into the never-ending universe. I felt so small, sitting next to her, but I felt so full of my knowing that my place in the world was set, contentedness seeping into my bones.
I thought of all the times I didn’t think I’d make it that far.
I thought of all the times I didn’t think I’d live to see twenty-five, not knowing how to look farther into the future more than a few months.
And I am grateful for where the journey has taken me.
Sam