I glanced down at my cheap Casio watch as Bobbie and I approached the Green River Overlook. It read 3:18. Under an over-zealous sun, we had pedaled away from camp for over three hours; this might be a good place to think about turning around.
As sure as I am from Arizona, Utah is from Mars. You can't prepare your mind for canyon-scapes so boundless, sweeping—vast; so Martian, so mind boggling, so surreal. Indeed, Toto, "we're not in Kansas anymore." I felt like ripping the arbitrary, shortsighted Casio from my wrist and heaving it into the abyss.
When I gape into geologic wonders of our four corner states, I come away feeling infinitesimal and insignificant... like some waste by-product from the bowels of greater purpose. Best case scenario, we are but a crop of obscure, self perpetuating fertilizer... on an obscure speck... in the darkest corner of the universe, one that's not bound by artificial constrains of time, space and dimension, because, unlike "fertilizer," there is no beginning to it, there is no end to it.
If you want to understand your true value and place in the grand scheme of Totality, stand on the rim of any grand canyon and take note of the eons in the layers that make up its depth. Try to comprehend how a sluggish trickle at the bottom etched its way through sold rock, and carried away a mile deep by a mile wide's worth of spoil. Casio based minds tell us it took billions of years. The universe says, it happened when you blinked.
I feel so small and powerless among Utah's canyons. It's like wading into the Pacific, with a paddle and canoe, bound for Australia.
|No one captured the Grand Canyon's moods better than Thomas Moran|
Now for a few "on the way" pics I can't load in camp because Verizon's supply is not keeping up with demand!!!!!