The Grand Bench Passage
- By Javier Espinosa
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- 29 May, 2016
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Somewhere far out disaster struck.
I was 50 miles out in the back country and my tire slammed deep into a trench. Bertha's underbelly was laid flat out on the road. I shook her loose, but the incline was too steep to reverse. I was forced to attempt the worst of the pass.
The road descended along a ledge that arched around into a ravine. I inched Bertha back and forth on that ledge.
Once turned around, I gassed her, wheels spinning. Bertha rocked and twisted in those trenches. Once again, her belly scrapped and clawed the rocks. A wheel was suspended here, then there, and we went through.
Once turned around, I gassed her, wheels spinning. Bertha rocked and twisted in those trenches. Once again, her belly scrapped and clawed the rocks. A wheel was suspended here, then there, and we went through.
Lucky is a silly word for me to consider using in this case. I made a bad decision. Ego will kick your butt every time.
I came upon a beautiful little harbor lined with shops, restaurants, and boats both at dock and moor. I approached a man on a boat. I was seeking transit across the bay where a wildlife refuge and dunes hailed the sights of the harbor. He agreed to take me across the bay.
It was 98 degrees by midday. The sun ablaze in a cloudless sky. I was out of water some 2.5 miles up the trail. On the way back, I took some breaks soaking in the cool baths of the creek. Quite enjoyable really, but deep down I knew time was running out.
Most of the summit is a blur, but I remember being
shaky in the legs and hands, a little bit dizzy and disoriented. I stopped and threw up twice. There was little to no shade.
I kept telling myself I was going to make it. I never allowed the possibility of doubt, disappointment, failure, or giving up. I took my breaks, pressed onward and upward. I kept my thoughts on that icy cold Gatorade waiting for me and the cool AC blasting from Bertha’s vents.
I passed my time watching trout swim in the stream. Before leaving, I dipped my hands in the falls' cool pools and said, "thanks."
Heading west, I came upon a quaint little cemetery on top a hill surrounded by bluffs. It was Memorial Day. I stopped to pay my respects. Most of the vets who rest here served in WWII, others WWI.
One by one, I walked passed the American flags. The tears swelled. Flags were everywhere.
Appreciation and gratitude flush over me, and I am happy to be in such beautiful country.
I clear the sand from my sneakers, hoist my pack and trek on out into the desert once again.
