Danger Lurks Everywhere!

About 485 people were checking out of Ruby’s Bryce Canyon Best Western Inn as we attempted to hit the road. Because most were on European holiday, they were having trouble with the language and apparently were protesting the many add-on charges that had lifted their bill far away from the Triple A rate and into Rack-Rate stratosphere. The well-trained members of Ruby’s staff did not budge at these protests and instead insisted that the charges were correct, smiling pleasantly until each and every bus-riding tour member relented and signed the bottom line.

As we waited, I was able to post the previous day’s recollection, thanks to WiFi access in Ruby’s lobby. On the way out the door, the last throngs of European tourists were scrambling to capture photos of cowboys behind desks, booking trail rides into Bryce Canyon. I followed suit and was able to snap a photo of one of the poor pseudo-wranglers without protest.

The night before at Bryce, our hiking interloper, Manny, had confessed that he was terrified of being alone on the trail because of the potential for chance encounters with cougars. Apparently, the previous day at Zion, an effective ad campaign had scared the bejesus out of him to the point where he viewed the woods as an alien place where danger lurked around every corner. At one point in the hike I had pondered pulling the K-Bar USMC survival knife from my pack and menacing him just to ensure he wouldn’t try any funny stuff as we made our way down the isolated and virtually soundproof Peekaboo Trail. But he seemed so utterly spooked about the woods that I thought my plan would push him over the edge and we’d be forced to either have to drag him up the horrendously steep trail once he became utterly paralyzed with fear, or we’d have to report him as a missing person once he ran screaming blindly away into the rugged, hoodoo-infested maze that enveloped us.

Fear is all around. George W. Bush used Fear of The Unknown to ensure another four years of corporate profiteering for his friends and family. Ever since Nine Eleven, we are used to being frightened in this country. Even today while walking in the rock crevices deep below the rim, I was paralyzed with a momentary flash of fear that certain death would befall us if an earthquake were to suddenly occur and pour weighty objects down upon our heads.

What frightened me more as we made our way toward Zion National Park was the paucity of restaurants in rural Utah. Those that did exist had weird hours and mostly were closed by the time we were able to finally negotiate past the human horde of Ruby Guests and get on the road. It wasn’t until several hours later that we finally came across a restaurant with hours that matched our schedule. About 80 miles before Zion, the neon lights of The Thunderbird beckoned to us like sirens in a lonely sea. I pleaded with Caroline to stuff my ears with wax so I could avoid the Thunderbird temptation, but it was too late. Inexplicably, I found myself parking out front. The sign announced that its baked goods were made by Utah prostitutes, known as “Hos” in the vernacular. They were proud of their Ho-Made pies, and I couldn’t wait to get my lips around a slice—but not before ordering a Ham and Cheese sandwich for me and an ersatz Denny’s Superbird sandwich for Caroline. After our "meals," as we ordered our pie slices, a busload of French tourists descended on the place, and this reminded me of the coolest thing I’ve heard in years. The night before at Bryce Canyon, Caroline overheard a French tourist talking to her friend about what they were seeing: “This place is like the music of the sun,” she said. And she was absolutely right. I wish American English allowed for phrases like that, but the fear of sounding stupid has erased any hope of lyricism for the time being in this country.

Zion National Park gave us a chance to face Fear head on, hand-to-hand, nose to nose. After arriving mid-afternoon, Caroline and I grabbed the shuttle and headed off toward Angel’s Landing, listed as one of the nation’s “Epic” hikes. Zion itself sits among towering cliffs of Navajo sandstone that rise thousands of feet from the bed of the Virgin River. Angel’s Landing is a five-mile round-trip hike that takes you quickly up and up and up, nearly two thousand feet. The last three-quarters of a mile is a heart-rate-raising steep and treacherous journey along a narrow razorback that’s only six feet wide, with an 800-foot sheer drop on one side and a 2,000-foot sheer drop on the other. A series of chains anchored to the rock give climbers an additional handhold. But stability is not the problem. Fear is the problem.

As I ascended toward the lofty destination, the sky darkened with a bruise of threatening clouds. The winds kicked up to a sustained 30-mile-an-hour gale. At a wide spot in the trail, a thousand feet from the summit, I cowered among the rocks and fished my wind breaker from my pack, taking special care not to lose my grip on the garment and on the single rock outcropping that prevented me from being carried away over the edge like a runaway kite. I continued climbing, trying with all my might to shake off the Devil’s shackles, which were filling my head with whispers of doubt and visions of doom. One foot after the other, on and on, higher and higher until ...

About 40 feet from the summit, the wind stopped completely. I lifted my head, which had been braced against the buffeting gale. It was quiet and I was but a few steps away from the top. I took those steps with authority and marched out onto the wide ledge at the top, puffing out my chest and calling out a hearty greeting to the small handful of hardy souls who had ventured to the landing.

It’s amazing to me that, with all the liability laws in the nation and all the fear of lawsuits ripping through the viscera of Those in Power, a National Park has an activity such as the hike to Angel’s Landing, with only a mere warning sign stating that “Safety is Your Responsibility.” This is an obvious statement, and people accept it. Our rugged founders accepted this proposition from the beginning and we’ve accepted it ever since. Until recently. Now we have become a nation of scared little crybabies who are willing to do just about anything in exchange for protection by the Government. And this is what should truly frighten us.

See you on down the road.