Bad Choices in Great Places

I know a guy. I know a guy who knows a guy who was in the villain’s entourage of the second “Die Hard” movie. This 6’6, 250-pound steel cable of a man trained hard for his role, notably by climbing a mountain in my hometown with a 100-pound sack. I’ve always wanted to be in the movies, and I figure I should start training for the “Die Hard” reboot they’ll unfortunately make in a few years. So, with stardom in mind, I threw 80-pounds of sandbags into my car and drove up to the Grand Canyon.  A cloud was sitting on the Bright Angel Trailhead when I pulled up at 7 a.m. Placing the sandbags into a pack and sinching it onto my back, I hobbled through the mist and down the edge of the South Rim. After a quarter-mile of snow-packed trail I stepped through the bottom of the cloud and found the miles of rocky outcroppings and slot canyons that make this canyon so grand.  Past the 1.5 Mile Resthouse the snow turned to mud, and my body cried for a break. Aiming for a dry patch, I took my pack off

By request of the National Park Service, this edition of Bad Choices in Great Places will not be published. Come back for more outdoor adventures in Issue 12!

When we received the email announcing a snow day on Valentine’s Day, my first thought was, “Sweet! Free mid-term study day!” My second thought was, “Hike the Prescott Triple Crown.” Everyone says to think twice before you act, so I went with my later option. In defiance of the email’s forecast of “rapidly deteriorating weather… including freezing fog and high winds,” I set out on a single-day trip up Granite Mountain, Thumb Butte, and Spruce Mountain. I arrived at Granite Mountain’s Metate trailhead when I normally arrive at campus for my 9:10a.m. class. After making my $5 donation to the good folks of the Forest Service, I trotted off onto Trail #261. Granite Mountain had a cloud sitting on it, and I caught my first glimpse of its red rocks only after I had turned onto its switchbacks.  The whipping wind blew uphill, carrying me like a malformed sailboat with legs, until it deposited me above Granite Mountain’s eponymous climbing wall. The Ponderosa Pines had one inch of ice stuck to

During orientation my freshman year, my mom and I stumbled upon a map for the Prescott Circle Trail: a 56-mile loop that encompasses Willow Lake, P-Badger Mountain, Thumb Butte, Granite Basin, and part of ERAU. She half-jokingly mentioned that I should travel the trail at least once before I graduate, and I’m nothing if not committed to an unserious comment (I once enrolled in Yavapai College because someone asked my nicely). I have one semester left to commit to the comment, but before I could set out on a single-day attempt at the loop, I had to approach the task like a good engineering student. Givens:  56-mile trail.  The sun sets at 6pm (1800).  Assumptions:   I can average four miles per hour by jogging and walking.   I should be off the trail by sunset.  Calculations:  56 miles / 4 miles per hour = 14 hours.  1800 – 1400 = 0400.  Interpreting results:  Start early.  And so I found myself pulling into the Activity Center’s parking lot at 3:30am on a Saturday. I quickly got runnin

The setup of the Man Against Horse race is rather simple: the left half of the starting line is folks wearing running shoes, and the right half is folks riding horses. Then someone says “Go!” and the running shoes try not to get trampled by the hooves for the next 25 miles. When Man Against Horse occurred last semester, my competitive nature demanded that I answer one burning question: can I beat a horse in a marathon up Mingus Mountain?  The first ten miles trotted through the rolling hills northeast of Prescott Valley, and I spent these miles leap-frogging with the last-place horse – a large brown mare named Cassie. (Don’t ask me for the rider’s name, I only cared about his horse). I’d hold my steady jog and pass her when she walked, while she passed me every time she picked up to a run.  Cassie and her nameless rider were a bit too quick for me at the start of the Mingus incline, and they left me in losing position to all horses, alone to pick my way through the pine forest. For so

I like to think that I’m an eco-conscious guy. When I was craving some Haunted Hamburger the other day, I just couldn’t justify driving my car all the way up to Jerome. I could’ve called on a friend with an electric car, but until their electricity comes from renewable sources, it isn’t any greener than my gas guzzler. To get to Jerome, I had only one eco-friendly mode of transportation: my legs.  I started pounding pavement in the early hours of an overcast morning. Running through Prescott Valley, I made it to an off-ramp of Highway 89 and started up the left shoulder. It was my first time running on the side of a road, so I stayed cautiously far from the traffic lanes. I ran in the dirt next to the shoulder every time I could, which wasn’t often.  A few snack breaks later, I made it to the base of Mingus and settled in for the long ascent. I alternated half a mile of running with half a mile of walking. It was no blazing pace, but please remember: I was running for hamburgers, not