The cookhouse prepared us breakfast and we had ordered 4 sack lunches so we were set to hike. The bikes on our backs on smooth singletrack, as we hiked up to Cottonwood camp. The sun was hidden by the towering black walls of “The Box” and the cool wind blowing up from the river made the hike pleasant as it could be. The bikes were very heavy with our little bike packs not meant for such a load. The straps cut into my shoulders and the belt bruised my waist. My mind soared in that beautiful place, I played my tunes on the MP3 player. At Cottonwood the campground hosts hosted us with kind words and edible treats. I would have stayed the night. Scott likes to move though and I like to move too but not as much as Scott. I had the strength to continue so the pack went on and up we went. Up into that fabulous canyon. The trail a marvel of planning and engineering. Bridges over the roaring, deafening, Bright Angel Creek. Swithchbacks and narrow ledges where the trail clings to soaring red cliffs. No missteps here. The bikes would sometime clang into a rock or overhang if not carefully navigated. When we got into the steeper sections my legs just had so much power. The riding muscles are the same as the steeper climbing muscles when hiking. The power in my legs seemed limitless. My shoulders and hips cried in pain, my legs carried me, the scenery separated me from my body. Snow appeared as the top came, and then it was over. We were on flat ground and a highway was curving in front of us inviting us to ride our bikes. We did.
– Lee
Leave a Reply