Chapter 6.
A Day of Rest at the North Rim
Sleeping
In
After three years of tent camping, we had accumulated enough specialized gear, particularly air mattresses and the electric pump to blow them up, that we could sleep comfortably in our tents. That is, if we were prepared properly for the temperature. I wore a hat, put my jacket over the feet end of my bag, and zipped it up around my head. This was barely enough for me. The kids used the few blankets we had thought to bring along, another afterthought.
Still, the first night in a new place, campsite or otherwise, is not one when one can easily sleep until noon only to combat some of the exhaustion of the week of preparation. I was up about six thirty. Viann was already out going through the Igloo. The kids were more inclined to stay in the sack. Viann had not slept well. I had slept as well as expected, considering the interruptions from John getting up in the night.
So this was our day of rest. I could imagine how we could have loaded up two hours ago and gone to the trailhead. We could have stood that. If I'd planned this trip two years ago, that's what we would have done, show up one afternoon then hike in the next morning. I could see how such a plan was unnecessarily pushy. Why come to such a grand place then not just sit and enjoy it?
In time we were all up, wearing all the clothes we could find, continuing to be thankful that we'd remembered to bring at least our heavy jackets along. We ate a cooked breakfast from the camp stove and carried on with basic camping business.
Basic
Camping
This was a Christian Sabbath, a good time to enforce that "don't worry about it today" set of rules. The three-year-old habit put me in a rhythm for a day of rest today. I wasn't thinking much about tomorrow, tomorrow would take care of itself. I wasn't thinking much about what I was missing at church this morning. That had already been mourned for the most part. I was thinking about being cold. Was this usual? We would have to check the bulletin board at the campground entrance for weather when we were up there again.
"I
don't like being cold, I wish it would warm up some," Viann would say
once
in a while.
We had been here last year, the North Rim, and had attended some of the ranger talks and hikes then. No such tourism plans were made for this year. We were going to go where we wanted or needed to in no hurry, the main event was ahead; today was a day of rest.
A
Couple of Site Hikes
John wanted to lead everybody on a hike to a nearby edge and back up a ravine, one that he and I had gone on late the day before. I was in favor of this but wanted to go the same route backwards so as to get a different perspective and to take the experience in reverse order, at least for us guys. John insisted, however, and the vote was to retrace yesterday's route exactly, forward. John led out.
We went up the road, through the same site, and down to the same overlook point. A family of three was there, folks out from Chicago. They too had thought of their cool weather clothing only as an afterthought. All were dressed in the one wrap they had brought that was warm enough. It was cooler on the point. While everyone else headed up the trail to the bridge and then up the draw, I stayed behind, falling back to just out of earshot. Katherine was still making rules, John still objecting. Once back in the quiet, I could hear the wind blowing in the canyon, light gusts in light gray clouds. I caught up as the rest were turning to go back up to the campground road, too late for me to point out the fresh bedding someone had set up in a fallen tree on the other side. I went up the trail to the right instead of left and came up to buildings that must house some of the summer employees. They looked more lived in, more stuff sitting around them, a tricycle here, a grill there. Not wanting to invade anybody's privacy and not wanting to make what would certainly be a mile(s)-sized hike around by road, I turned and, against normal policy, went back the way I had come, crossing into the campground just barely in sight behind the rest of the family.
John was trying to play with his airplane. Someone had the idea to tie it to a string so it could be slung in a circle. With some skill you could take off, go around several time and land. Katherine would interfere, John would whine. Viann and I dragged lawn chairs out in a patch of sun and sat down, finally warming up beyond jacket level.
The sun went back under gray overcast. We looked up together.
"I need to go to the store," said Viann.
Some things never change. A decision was made to go to the store but around the long way on the rim trail. Hot chocolate was the real goal. A few purchases from the store was the lesser goal. After the usual considerable preparations, we were off for the third time towards the nearby point, John leading because he knew the way.
The troop didn't want to stay together. Viannah was out ahead. I was behind, close enough to see her. Viann came third setting a steady pace. Katherine and John held back to continue their fighting at the rear-guard. The fights soon passed us all and the two youngest took the lead. The lead that is until a fork would appear in the trail ahead. Then Katy would stop and wait, even if the fork only amounted to two paths around one tree rejoining on the far end.
In this way we made our way around to the group campsites and the trans-canyon sites near the edge and continued on the trail towards the end of the Transverse Canyon. As always, there was some draw of the unknown around the bends up ahead in the trail, but it was weak in comparison to the draw of the hot chocolate at the store, falling now off to the right side. We abandoned the trail and passed amongst shotgun houses of more summer workers. These little places also had a more lived-in look than we were used to in the campsites. One had a bicycle leaning outside; another had three chairs around what looked like an improvised fire pit. A clothesline stretched between rows of hovels. A satellite receive dish was placed on a pole so as to see just between the tall pines to the place where some satellite was.
This technology, though interesting and familiar, was distasteful to me on this occasion. Today I was on an anti-technology pole of personality. We moved towards the back of the store, a direction we hadn't seen it from before. I was a little winded in the high altitude. It began to drizzle.
Hot
Chocolate
The camper's store at the North Rim was mainly an outlet for groceries, camping items and souvenirs. On the less-used north end there was a food counter and a few booths. It looked like they had once served meals as large as hot dogs here, but mostly the area was now just used by coffee drinkers or the equivalent from the self service drink machines. We began the morning's venture in the store with five hot chocolates at one of these booths. John wanted whipped cream. The closest thing was packaged coffee cream, actually 'whitener.' He stirred in two packs of this, taking several minutes to do so. The hot chocolate came out of the machine hot. We were sitting, blowing, waiting, spilling. A concession employee was folding souvenir shirts at a folding template on the counter. He was mid 50s, mild, unremarkable. He paused to come over and ask where we were from.
"Los Angeles area," the typical, generic response. Some years ago I had stopped adding, 'but originally from Texas,' or 'actually, La Canada.'
"Oh, where?"
"La Canada, actually."
"Oh, yes, I know about La Canada, I use to do construction supervision in that area."
He told his story. He had worked with his brother as a construction supervisor doing repair work after the 1971 Sylmar earthquake. Later he had turned down an opportunity to be a business partner with him in another part of California. "He has to make $40,000 in payroll every month, can you imagine that?" This man was happy to have a motor home, a cat, a wife, everything paid for, and to be able to do things like work the summer for low pay at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. All summer, not just one week.
"Imagine that," I said to Viann after he resumed folding on shirts, we had never learned his name, nor he ours. We were just some more tourists there, we were special, certainly, we were here to walk across, but that hadn't even come up. "Everything paid for and he goes where he wants when he wants."
"We could do that after the kids are gone," she replied in her 'I'll never have to follow through on something like this' tone.
"They'll never be gone, we'll spend the rest of our careers trying to get out of debt even if they don't continue to live at home."
Done with the hot chocolate, we picked up the few things we needed, marshmallows and chips. They had no long stick matches for lantern lighting. We had decided we needed an alarm clock down in the canyon, our old wind up one was too bulky, undependable, and only rang once. A backpacking model was available for $14, the sort of thing you might see at K-Mart for $5.95. The kids bought snacks with their own money too. Shortly we were back out in the increasing cold and drizzle.
The weather board indicated 89 at Phantom Ranch yesterday. Yes! This is what we want, cool. Viann said, "I wish it would clear off and warm up."
"Yes, after we're out of the bottom Wednesday."
"No,
right now today."
The
Last Shower
Back at the campsite in the heavier drizzle, it was decided that now was a good time to hit the showers. Mid-afternoon they would not be too popular, that is, crowded. We weren't planning anything that would get us very dirty before tomorrow's big hike. We wanted to clean up before going to our dinner reservation up at the Lodge. I started looking for the rolls of quarters.
We loaded up with towels, soap, and a change of clothes each and set out for the showers, all the way back across the campground. We were all beginning to be cold in extremities in the light rain. The door to the men's shower was standing open; the heater was on. It was toasty-warm inside. The heater wasn't working in the women's shower, the door was shut; it was chilly. We were going to warm up in the warm water, everybody had plenty of quarters for this purpose.
John and I looked for a stall. One was empty, one was flooded; water was running out, creeping towards the door. Another was busy. Another looked like it didn't work; the quarter-taker was jammed. We picked one near the end. As usual, inside there was a bench six inches wide and two feet long, barely enough for a grownup to sit on, much less undress and dress over a wet floor in a dry, sanitary way, much less do all this in duplicate, with a child. We used our dirty clothes to walk on as they came off, fed the machine quarters, let the water warm up, and got in.
We were finished and just rinsing when time ran out. Just for good measure, I fed it five more quarters and we stood in water as warm as we could stand for another five minutes. By now we were really warm, nearly sweating. We dressed, trying not to sweat, trying to get a little cool air from the outside. Packed up, we walked back out in the steady, cold rain. The three girls had been faster, it was not as warm in the women's showers; two were already on the way back. John and I stopped in the laundry to neatly refold our wet, dirty clothes and towels. Katherine stopped by on the way out to ask if we were doing laundry here too.
Worried about getting my newly clean and dry hair wet, I put on my little camping hat, the only one I had with me which was because it lives in the pocket of my heavy jacket, and started back to camp.
The
Ranger, Again
Everybody
but me disappeared into the tents to dump their dirty clothes and lay
down. I stayed out in the light pour to
straighten up things around the picnic table.
A truck drove up. It was our
friend the red-haired ranger who had not believed yesterday that a
grown man
could be named Courtney. Today her duty
was parking violations. She was acting
with the same, characteristic short, red-haired diligence.
The van was parked for unloading
convenience, the back rather than the side facing the table. This gave the appearance that the rear
wheels might be off of the paved parking spot.
She was direct, as always, "You're not allowed to park off the
road, you'll have to move your vehicle, sir."
I looked up, water dripping from my hat, starting to say something
non-trivial. She flashed back that look
of feigned open-minded surprise that could easily be followed in half a
second
by a lecture, 'It's your own fault if you are miserable out here in the
rain;
it's not my job to make your life cushy.
(The preamble would only be in her eyes; the rest would be
verbal) Get that vehicle off the grass or
you'll be
cited and removed from the park!' The
whole interaction flashed before my eyes. "OK,
I'll move it right away." She nodded
crisply, bounced back into the
truck and was on her way to the next flagrant violator.
The native grass we were protecting had
grown within fifteen feet of the site.
Better move now before it starts gaining on us.
I got in the van and straightened it
up. Viann stuck her head out of the
tent wondering what was going on.
"The Ranger," I replied.
A
Little Nap
The rain continued, I joined the rest in the tent and got my shoes off, trying to do so in a way that wouldn't get everything inside wet. This done, all five of us lay on our air mattresses and rested, unable to think of anything else to do. This was the first time we had been in the tents in this much rain. Sitting in the car, though dryer, didn't seem as attractive, comfortable, or quiet. Soon we were all asleep, Sunday afternoon naps.
When I awoke the rain had stopped, the clouds were broken and the sun was out. I put my shoes back on and climbed back out into the still-brisk air. Anyone else who wasn't still asleep at least wasn't moving. The ground around the site was already nearly dry, mostly tacky, not muddy. The only place that was bad was on top of the ground sheet where pools of water and piles of dirt made a muddy mess. The trees dripped as I tiptoed through this to the regular ground, looking for something to do.
One thing that needed to be done was to convert the van ham radio configuration back to what Viann was used to, a single 222 MHz antenna and amplifier running to a plug that would fit into her radio. Since the vehicle was currently fully configured for two meters and short wave, this took a while. I took down antennas and stowed them, putting up others then re-cabled boxes for the right set up. I thought of leaving two meters available in case of emergency. Viann's license didn't cover two meters normally, but in an emergency it wouldn't matter. An emergency seemed unlikely. The setup working or her knowing how to use it or even that two meters might be more effective in an emergency seemed less likely. I took down two meters and stowed it too. Finally there was the single cable running out from under the driver's seat with a phone plug antenna connector on it, the amplifier under the seat was powered all the time, ready as usual.
The thought of journaling occurred to me, but I didn't rush to get to it. I did think about the big departure prayer we would have tomorrow. We would all gather in a circle at the trailhead, John and Katy tired and ready to get back to the car and lay down, Viann anxious about the three days beginning. I'd been thinking about this for much of the week. In my own anxiety I had thought about the significance of it all and the words to say to properly commemorate the occasion.
"Lord, we thank you that we have the opportunity to do things like this." It would be important to word this in such a way that it didn't show pride as if we were better (because we were not) or had more opportunities (though we did) than most other people. We didn't feel that way that I knew of and didn't want to show it in any case. I had worried over this particular wording with each thought session. "Thank you for bringing Viannah safely to this stage of life where she can take on challenges like this. It hardly seems any time at all since she was tiny." Here I would begin to choke up if I wasn't careful. "Continue to make yourself known to her and to keep her close. And now as we descend into this Grand Canyon, go with us. Be with us on the trail, prepare us for whatever we might find. Protect those who share the trail with us from disaster. If we find ourselves in a position to help, be with us and guide our actions. Minister through us." and so forth. "Amen, let's go!"
I finished up the radios and had tested the setup by talking back and forth between her radio hooked up in the car and mine. By this time, Viann was up going through the ice chest. Despite the cool weather we were nearly out of ice. It was, after all, consistently above freezing. Yet another trip to the store would be needed this evening.
Katherine was being helpful; she had taken all three canteens and filled them up.
Viannah and I went back to the store. It didn't seem like ice was enough of an order at the checkout, so I bought a cold Dr. Pepper to drink on the way back. I did not feel the need to rough it by walking up to the Lodge for shopping, sightseeing and dinner. "Let's drive to the Lodge," I ordered. No one else was aware that there had ever been any other option.
Dinner
at the Lodge
We drove to the Lodge, covering a distance in five minutes what would have taken forty five on foot, covering a piece of the map parallel to one that would take nearly half a day tomorrow. Skies were broken now, the sun out much of the time, and though clocks said late afternoon, the sun was still high in the sky. Earth was near solstice, northern summer. I was in a relaxed mood.
We visited the trinket store and bought trinkets, gifts, and clothing. We visited the park service outlet and bought North Kaibab and Bright Angel trail books to go with the Phantom Ranch guidebook we had picked up last summer. A Grand Canyon picture puzzle was in process in the corner. Three or four people finished it up while we were in the store. This didn't seem right, ours at home had been sitting out similarly since just before Christmas and wasn't half done yet. It had proven harder than it seemed it would judging from the picture. Shades of blue sky, shades of red canyon rock. I walked over; it was a 500-piece version. The pieces seemed child-sized by comparison to those of our 1000 piece set.
Our dinner reservation was for 6:15 and it was barely 4:30. We looked for ways to kill time. A ranger was giving a talk out on the east porch. We went out and listened. Teddy Roosevelt figured prominently in ecological history here. On the one hand he was the President who loved the Canyon and, through various steps, started the process by which it would become a National Park. The spin for this talk for the last many years had been pristine preservation of at least some part of nature in the interest of the ongoing mental health of humanity, at least for the humans who chose to partake of it. This usually meant total absence of humanity or any effects of humanity for the preserved area according to these modern talks. Humanity was not part of nature was the underlying implication. Well, at least not since they let all those techno-genies out of the bottle anyway. Roosevelt himself, for all his good points, was usually held up as a prime example of the problem. Why, he came here just to shoot mountain lions! There was a man who lived up here on this side, Uncle somebody, who hunted the lions for sport and for the good of mankind and docile wildlife as well. He hosted Roosevelt who had come across from the south on mule trains just for the pleasure and they went on expeditions together. There was no Highway 89 back then.
Someone referred to in the talk had figured out that it was time to call for an end to this boyish hunting enthusiasm of the former President and those who followed. These were the sages who are quoted today, not the “conquer and hunt” forefathers. I never heard of them while growing up and doubt that anybody standing here on the porch of the lodge had either. When I was in elementary school, forest fires were something to be prevented; now they were something to be controlled or even planned. I wondered what the unquestioned wisdom of the ages would be thirty years from now. It was kind of like the 'latest' medical research. You could work hard to always do the best things for yourself according to the very latest wisdom and heaven knows you should take care of yourself, but being in such a tight loop with oscillating, meandering, sometimes contradictory 'scientific' findings could have its downside, not the least of which was stress and inappropriate busywork.
I looked around towards the trail we were going to be on tomorrow. There must be tens of thousands of users on that trail every year. Pristine, untouched by man indeed! Well, it was true that you didn't have to get far off the trail before it really was nearly untouched. Untouched that is but for the noise of airplanes and air pollution. You'd nearly have to go to Mars to get completely away from the impact of man. No, Pluto, and we at JPL were trying to remedy that oversight too. I had personal doubts that man was totally and completely alien from nature, even in his current techno-mangled state, my aching body agreed with this hunch.
The talk was over; most people bolted, some milled about. I walked back towards the house and overheard the ranger talking with some bystanders. "See, in Roosevelt's day, something like backpacking would be unthinkable; mules were the beasts of burden and were intended to be used as such." This started me thinking about my own plans from a different point of view. In my own stubborn, independent approach to this and most other adventures, I had volunteered, really relegated myself to being a beast of burden. Interesting. Well, at least I would never be found in a tightly coupled relationship with the latest fads in health science.
Knowing how such things go, it seemed wise to us to check on our dinner reservation. We were in the book as promised, "come back around ten after," but we were already checked in for tonight, so "don't worry." This seemed a good time to go call in for a reservation for Thursday night on the south rim. I went to the phone, used my calling card for the number provided on the other side and asked to be connected to the restaurant. "El Tovar?" asked the operator. "What," I responded, not sure if we were speaking English or communicating at all. "El Tovar?" She must be saying the name of one of the restaurants over there. There were many and this had not occurred to me until now. "Yes," I tried to sound confident that this was what I wanted. They only had seatings at 5:15 or after 8:30, no, wait, there was one at 7:45. I took the 7:45 and went back to report to the rest, already sure that 7:45 would be considered too late. Of course it was, it was after dark, the kids would be restless, we would want to be back at our tent soon, I should go back and change to the earlier time.
Back at the phones, I asked for El Tovar, now understanding who I was looking for, got somebody different at the reservation desk and re-booked for 5:15, canceling the later time. The taker of reservations assured me that all was well but I didn't have good vibes about it. Getting things right once was bad enough, getting a change right, well, it was like ordering at the McDonald's drive-through. A complicated, twenty-piece order would nearly always harbor comprehension or execution errors.
We shopped some more. Back at the ranger outlet, someone was swapping stories with the ranger, the same ranger who had just given the Teddy Roosevelt talk. The puzzle was abandoned, finished. We tried out the public rest rooms. Back in the lodge, we decided to just sit down and wait, starting about a quarter of six.
This was early enough that there were still a few empty chairs around the entrance room; we took the couch near the mule desk. A group of hikers was standing in the middle of the room. You could tell because they were all wearing their packs. Was this some sort of exhibition? Did people who had hiked in and out or across parade their packed gear as a token of separateness? Superiority? It didn't seem to me that if I'd done something like that I would want to stay in pack now, at the restaurant. Those things were bulky and made you ache. On the other hand, where else would they put their stuff? Oh, surely some of these people were staying in lodge rooms, indeed there was a line ten or more deep of people waiting to check in. The "No Vacancy" sign had a permanent look to it. Rarely did anyone stay here without a reservation, not this time of year. None of the people in the check-in line were wearing packs.
We went over in groups of two or one to check the menu. This saved, for me, the first ten minutes of trying to decide what to eat once we were seated. A lady was tending the mule desk for information only. Otherwise it was closed for purposes of taking reservations or handling money. Her first words to every comer were that the desk was closed but that she would answer anything they wanted to know about the service and they would be open again at 7:00 a.m. when they would be glad to make any arrangements for anyone wanting a trip. The most expensive outing was $85 per rider, a day round trip to Roaring Springs. We would see tomorrow just how far that was. By the map it was five miles, but who knows how far a mile would be on some trail down into a Grand Canyon, walking as rather than on a beast of burden.
I tried at reading some of the North Kaibab trail book amidst these interruptions. It seemed interesting, mostly history, geology, plant life. In fits and starts I got half way through the book. There would be plenty of time to finish tomorrow, right in the middle of the action. We were getting restless. Finally at six thirty we were called in and seated.
The dining room was in the west wing of the lodge with windows facing south and west. Our table was in the middle and ran north to south. I took the head seat in the aisle, which faced out to the south. There was plenty of daylight left in the canyon. There were plenty of other diners in the view too.
I wanted to eat big; there was a big workout ahead. How often can you eat big and feel like it has been the right thing to do? I ordered something that looked big but nothing that was delivered was over-portioned. This would mean dessert. Our waiter's tag said he was from Texas. We speculated about where in Texas. My bet on San Antonio (mainly because I couldn't tell anything different) was closest, but the correct answer was El Paso.
During the meal I tried to talk about lofty things. Following a pattern of the last few years, however, I was less enthusiastic and less talkative. Viann had become less responsive to this, less encouraging. I had become less energetic and less visionary. Still, I retold the story of Michael Collins as he prepared for his flight to the moon. He brushed his teeth really well and set out to do something highly unusual. He knew that he was different from the rest of the people for a time. He would not be able to rejoin the masses of humanity until he had done what was before him, represented humankind at the moon. Looking out on the canyon, I felt this way too, in a somewhat smaller universe. In three days we would be back on top. Until then a great challenge was before us. We couldn't be normal people again until then.
As I talked on the spot, the description hadn’t gone as well as they had in the paragraph above. Viann, who had heard the story before and who was distracted with the kids, wasn't impressed. She did not respond directly at all. This reminded me of another story from the Collins autobiographical book. In order to be an official candidate for some flight record, you had to register your attempt with proper authorities, in France I thought I remembered, and then carry an official coupon on the trip and return it upon successful completion. They had a special locker on Apollo 11 for such things.
This was even less impressive. Viann knew that I would take a few facts that I remembered badly and work them up into a confident sounding story of great detail, including much fiction. I didn't try to lead conversation for a while.
"Momma, look at this," Katherine had colored a picture on the kids’ menu.
We ate our conservative portions. We watched the sunset through the west windows, barely visible. I kept tabs on a very hot date three tables over to our left. It must be some employees on their day off; they were getting considerable attention from the restaurant staff and others too. Every waiter made a special trip to the table and stayed for more than just pleasantries. We ordered dessert. We ate dessert. We paid and left. We drove back to the campsite in the dusk.
A
Session with the Big Backpack
It was time to get serious with the pack. If it was too heavy to move from the van to the table, it was too heavy to be lugging twenty-five miles. The clothing and food that were in it were part of the Big List; their positions were secure. I brought over my daypack to accept the rejects and opened it up, then opened up the electronics accessory sub-pack mounted on the big one. Out with the two-meter radio, two pounds. There would be no repeater tests from the bottom; such tests were barely working from the rim with good mobile equipment. Out with the spare batteries, a pound and a half. The one battery on the 222 MHz radio would last into double digit hours, I just had to make sure that it didn't get turned on accidentally and left on overnight any time. Out with the repeater directories, again no repeater tests. I was starting to free up some room for overstuffed items in the other parts of the pack. This left only the one radio, flashlight, AA batteries and GPS receiver. Good enough. Probably too much still, but this was starting to seem realistic.
In the main pack: out with the book. No book reading at the bottom. I was going to spend a day at the bottom of the Grand Canyon; I would spend the day staring up the walls if I lacked anything else to do, not reading Les Miserables. I left in the tiny domino set. It was too small and light to make any difference. One brand new spiral notebook was for journaling. I thought about this one for a while and finally decided to use it to flatten the load next to my back. Many a time I had needed to stop after one minute on the trail to reload something in a pack so as not to poke me in the back. Now the daypack was full and the trip pack was lighter. I located The List and left it on top. There would be one more reading as we loaded the cold food early in the morning.
I took the toothbrush and toothpaste to the bathroom, then secured both packs in the van and locked it. Off to bed.
The Dark and Cold
We lay in our bags on our air mattresses. The girls had the blanket. I had my heavy jacket over the feet of my bag again and, this time, two pairs of socks. That would have to do.
I started trying to estimate the usage of the Grand Canyon working from one old data point and wild assumptions. About five million visit the Canyon each year, ten percent of those come to the North Rim as it is much less accessible, half a million. Let's see, how many would actually hike in? Depends on what sort of hike. Down half an hour and back out? Many would, maybe ten percent of all visitors, half a million from the south, fifty thousand from the north. Down as far as lunch and back out? Fewer. To the bottom and back out one way or another? Fewer still, but hard to guess. Five million, half a million, fifty thousand, maybe ten thousand, one hundred for each day of the summer? No probably more than that, maybe twenty or thirty thousand annually. Somebody surely knew. The Back Country Office and the Ranch - Mule concession holder would have good records.
I didn't need to be estimating, I needed to be sleeping. This was it! This was the stage I had been in many times before, the last hours and minutes before the big, long anticipated big, charged up, big event. This was the time when there was nothing to do but count down the final moments and try to rest in preparation. The anxiety of an imminent performance was upon me. I needed to get some rest, but tomorrow we were getting up at four. I would like to be a morning person, to always get up at four and be fully ready for the day when it arrived, to have time for meditation or even work before sunrise, but I wasn't a morning person. Getting up early was something I could do and enjoy in a sense but I knew I would be tired, I knew I would be running on adrenaline, I know I would be charging ahead to beat the dawn to the trailhead. It was now too late to get a full eight hours of sleep, I couldn't have gotten to sleep early even if I'd tried, what with the naps this afternoon and the excitement and the last minute preparations. Lindbergh had the same problem the night before he left New York for Paris. It would take me a great deal of discipline to get to bed at eight and up at four every day.
I tossed, trying to get comfortable. Tomorrow would be easy, all downhill. Tuesday would be easy, going nowhere. I wasn't going to think about Wednesday until Wednesday. Thursday would be easy, nothing but maybe some letdown and soreness. It was not time to be thinking about letdown yet. Friday we would be driving home. Would I be up to it? Viann would happily drive if not. We would have to see. It was not time to be thinking about driving home, it was not time to be thinking about anything, it was time to be sleeping.
I tossed again.
Viann was already snoring, she never gets anxious about anything
except
on the spot and then rarely (but sometimes intensely).
John had been asleep already when we started
coming in. This had always been normal
for him, early to bed, late to rise but less late as he got older. I started dozing, drifting into a light,
worrisome sleep after midnight, waking several times in the darkness,
pulling
the bag up around my head best I could against the cold drafts.