Friends are the Greatest Blessing

Subtitle: Grace is Injured… Again

This blog post features the wonderful generosity of friends, some spectacular Arizona scenery, and a momentous mishap by the most ungraceful Grace that ever graced the Earth. Are you curious yet? It only gets more exciting from here!

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Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/GQySfzqvzpS41FmY7

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October 11th, 2024 - Our Desert Extravaganza Day 1

We met Mark and Noël in the Guadalupe Mountains of Texas. Our first encounter was at the end of the Devil’s Hall trail, where Tyler and I were eating Cheez-Its. A wonderfully friendly person, Mark initiated conversation with the young Ohio couple eating Cheez-Its in Texas. This quickly led to sharing photos, hiking together, and exchanging contact information at the trailhead. It was a natural-born friendship from the start! We kept in touch with Mark and Noël periodically through the rest of summer. When we spontaneously booked an autumn trip to the desert, we reached out to them in hopes of sharing another hike. Instead, they invited us to their home. Now, Tyler and I were on an airplane, flying out to visit our wonderful Arizona friends. 

The interior of the plane was dark. The flight attendants, hoping to lull their passengers into an early bedtime, had dimmed the cabin lights. I wasn’t complaining. After a long workday in front of a computer screen, the darkness was a wonderful chance to rest. I pushed away drowsiness, however, and cupped my hands around the window again. I had been doing this the whole flight. There was an excellent forecast for aurora borealis tonight, and I wasn’t about to miss it. So, like a weirdo, I kept shoving my face up to the little airplane window, peering with squinted eyes into the night. 

As our plane soared over Kansas City, they finally appeared. Faint ribbons of pink and green danced above the glowing city. Delighted, we took pictures and told anyone who would listen. The flight attendant, sharing our excitement, disappeared into the cockpit to tell the pilots. Ten minutes later, she was back at our seats. In her hand, her phone screen glowed with aurora colors gleaming over the shining buttons and switches of the cockpit. She had gotten a picture from the front of the plane. How cool was that? 

We arrived at Mark and Noël’s sometime after midnight. They had graciously stayed up late to welcome us to their home. We faceplanted in bed, waking up a few hours later to share a sunrise hike with our Arizona friends. Although it was only 4:30 AM, they were as vibrant and conversational as if it was noon. Our dynamic was comfortable. I knelt on a cow skin rug in their dining area, filling water bladders as we chatted. Mark leaned against the counter, and Tyler stood at their microwave watching a bowl of instant oatmeal spin. Despite only meeting face-to-face once before, it was as if we had known them for years!

Their home was a beautiful space too. It was the perfect combination of southwestern decor in a modern setting. A glass cactus dominated the center of the dining room table. A cow skull, decorated with strands of turquoise draped over its horns, resided in the bathroom. Their front yard was a stunning rock garden interspersed with several varieties of cacti. Our guest bedroom doubled as Noël’s studio, complete with colorful bottles of paint on a storage cart. Her art was scattered throughout the house, little pieces of her everywhere. In my last blog post, I wrote about striving towards a marriage like Mark and Noël’s someday. I have now decided that I am going to strive towards their home decor style too!

Sunrise met the four of us at Picacho Peak State Park. We had hiked up to the saddle between two mountains, where a stone-lined path provided the perfect vista to greet the morning sun. It appeared like a flaming basketball, blazing upwards in a haze of gold. The saguaros cut prickly outlines into the brightening sky. I was grinning. I love saguaros, especially in the cool of the dawn desert air. They were dramatic shapes against a rocky backdrop, the kind of scenery Ansel Adams enjoyed most. Trying to pay homage to my favorite photographer, I took many pictures.

By the time the sun had turned everything orange, we were hoofing it up the Hunter Trail. Our aim was to ascend Picacho Peak, an accomplishment that Mark and Noël promised would be memorable. It was certainly that! With an elevation gain of 2,112 feet over three miles, the trail climbs quickly and steeply. Mark and Noël made quick work of the trail, hiking with a vigor that I immediately (and still do) envied. They were masters! Several sections of the trail required hand-over-hand rock scrambling with the aid of cables. One section of the trail had a narrow catwalk stretched over a gap on the rock face. Another section was a nearly-vertical climb that felt like rock climbing. Mark and Noël took it all in stride, keeping conversation the whole way. I, on the other hand, was a hot mess. I am not an excellent hiker, by any means, but I am typically sturdy. For whatever reason, Picacho Peak was my kryptonite. I felt nauseous, dizzy, and tired. My muscles wouldn’t wake up. My lungs felt like water balloons. Was it jet lag? Was it dehydration? Whatever it was, it was embarrassing. The mysterious ailment wouldn’t let me perform at my best. I felt as though I was inconveniencing our group with my slowness. 

Mark, Noël, and Tyler were extremely kind. Our Arizona friends paused for several extra breaks to let me catch my breath. Tyler stayed close when I lagged behind. Though I was embarrassed by my poor performance, I felt loved and cared for. It was a blessing and a fond memory that I cherish still! When we reached the top of Picacho Peak, we stopped for a time to recharge. Apples were passed around. Photos were taken. It was a spectacular view from the mountaintop. Far beneath us, thousands of saguaros dotted the broad valley. They climbed up our mountain in steps, the youngest cacti growing just beneath our rocky perch. The rest of the Picacho ridge jutted up from the smooth valley, resembling the crested back of an iguana. Up on the iguana’s “head,” the sun was getting hot. It burned our dry skin, reminding us that we still had a trail to hike before we could escape its midday heat.  Heeding its warning, we began our descent. 

Descending Picacho Peak is more fun than the ascent, but just as dangerous. Going down a cable section was more like rappelling than hiking. Gloved hands gripped the cables in a silent prayer. Eyes remained downcast, carefully minding foot placement on loose stone. When the cable ran out, you would turn to encounter an impressive dropoff, guardrailed only by saguaros and prickly bushes. Anyone afraid of heights would be tempted to shimmy against the side wall, saguaros or not. In one spot, it may have actually have been easier to crawl. Let’s just say that it was a trail that my grandma wouldn’t approve of. But gosh, it was fun! During the descent, I was finally able to catch my breath enough to hold a decent conversation with our friends. We laughed, joked, and exchanged stories of hiking adventures. It was a wonderful time of fellowship.

By the time we were two-thirds done, the trail had levelled off into a steady decline. It was wider here, bordered by gravel instead of sheer dropoffs. I was feeling tired but pretty good, intent to maximize the remaining minutes of our hike together. Up ahead, I could see another hiker approaching. She was somewhere around my age, dressed in the cutest hiking outfit I’d ever seen (I always like to check out other people’s “fits!”). Smiling to her, I stepped to the side to let her pass. Hiking rule #1: Always yield to uphill hikers. Suddenly, I was giving a live demonstration of being the most ungraceful Grace to ever grace the earth. My feet weren’t under my body anymore. They were sliding, of their own accord, down the gravel slope. It wasn’t even really a slope, but I was sliding anyways. I twisted on the way down, falling flat on my belly with my palms in the dirt. I was sideways off the trail, looking up into the startled face of the hiker girl in the cute outfit. 

And then it started to hurt.

A long time ago on the blog, I wrote about how I slipped on a (completely dry) rock while crossing a creek in Rocky Mountain National Park. I managed to avoid getting wet, but I bashed my left knee hard enough that I think I fractured my shinbone. That hurt. In Hawaii, I sliced my knee on a piece of volcanic glass, leaving it freely bleeding while I jumped off a cliff into the ocean. I’ve hurt myself on bike pedals, stray tree branches, and greenhouse windows. I am not sure that Tyler was completely aware of how ungraceful his wife would be when we got married. I’ve managed some dumb accidents in our time together. But this one definitely took the cake. 

My leg looked disgusting. It was scraped and dirty all the way down my shin. My knee was sliced in a few places, mostly minor, with one big chunk of skin just flapping loose. I had enough adrenaline to get my backpack off and situate myself on the side of the trail, and then I was pretty much useless. I may be a scientist, but there’s little I can do about my head swimming when my inside blood becomes outside blood. I thought I was embarassed earlier, but nothing compared to this. Woozy and nonfunctional, I was humiliated.

Gracious as ever, our crew patched me up. Mark duct-taped some gauze pads to my knee and Tyler dumped water on my head. When I was finally done passing out like a corset-wearing Victorian aristocrat, we finished the trail. Everybody did me the kindness of not mentioning my really bad hiking. For that, I was grateful!

This hike made me grateful for a lot of things, many of which I have already mentioned. Beyond them, I was grateful for Ranger Kira in the park visitor center, who helped properly bandage my mishap. I was grateful to Tyler, who indulged my saguaro obsession with an air-conditioned drive around Saguaro National Park. I was grateful for beautiful places, tough hikes, and friendly faces. So, even though I finished the day with a nasty-looking knee, I counted it a success. When blessings overwhelm the difficulties, every day is a success.