Well, here it is 9-11-2015.  Fourteen years ago today I was at work and heard the news that some planes and flown into the twin towers.  The office buzzed with anxiety, people wondering what was going on, and (since I worked in the defense industry) security heightened within our building.  Just about everyone congregated in the cafeteria to gape at the news flashes scrolling across the scenes and crying at the devastation taking place in NYC.  Lives changed that day and have continued to evolve.  The only thing constant about life is change.  Nothing ever stays the same.  I changed my life that day too.  I decided that no matter what happened, those damned terrorists were not going to stop me from a trip I’d been planning for nearly a year.

Ten days after 9-11, Pat, Bobbie and I flew to Arizona to embark on a new adventure – a hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon (South Kaibob Trail down/Bright Angel Trail up).  We didn’t know if the planes would even fly, but we determined we were going to go anyway even if we had to do a road trip.  Fortunately, the planes flew and the trip, though difficult despite all of our training hikes, proved that we General Dynamics babes would trek on.  The hike into the Canyon wasn’t as easy as everyone thought it would be.  Who would think hiking down hill would offer up all the joys of burning knee tendons and hikers toe?  We were most grateful for the cold stream at the bottom of the canyon near our campground.  We sat and soaked our burning nether limbs, gaped wide eyed at the splendiferous scenery everywhere, and wrote copious notes in our obligatory journals.  Setting up camp, we learned quickly not to turn over rocks with our hands when we heard the girl in the next camp screaming thaGrand Canyon Threesomet she’d just been stung by a scorpion.  After three days at the bottom of the canyon, eating chocolate cake at the Phantom Ranch and hearing no news of the world, we trekked back up the Bright Angel Trail to civilization.  The trek up seemed easier than going down except for our inadequate and burning lungs.  The toes and knees felt a lot better, and as we got closer to civilization and what we now mockingly called the tourists, we took on an attitude of bravado – we felt dazzlingly accomplished and superior despite our lack of make up, our dusty and rumpled clothes and shoes, and our nosably sweaty aromas.  We cared not, we’d done it – hiked to the bottom of the canyon and back.  We knew people did this trek every day and probably better than us (our youngest person in the group was in 40s).  However, that was them and this was us.  I can hardly believe it’s been 14 years.

Since then, we three decided to take our pension checks and run from the 9 to 5 world.

I’ve been thinking about the past a lot lately for many reasons, but that’s another story for another day.  For right now, remembering the trek into the canyon has put me in a pretty good and adventuresome mood.  Think I’ll put that energy to good use today.