#and even with gus hes had those same spikes on his head since season one

[trailmafia]

R2R2R - trip report

4/20/2019

I didn’t sleep at all. After rolling around in my tent aimlessly for a few hours I decided it was time to get going. At about 4am, after a quick coffee and a couple of avocados, I left Mather Campground and drove toward the grand canyon visitor center to park. From there I ran a quick 1.5  miles or so to the South Kaibob TH. 

I decided on the South Kaibob > North Kaibob > Bright Angel Route. First, because it gave me a chance to see more of the canyon, and even though it was 2-3 miles longer, it was a “less steep” ascent out of the canyon when I would need the relief most - I knew I would be feeling the hurt at that point. As a bonus, parking at the visitor center, about halfway between both trailheads, would let me tick off an extra couple miles to get me as close to my goal of 50 miles as I could bear, having to run to the South Kaibob TH from my car and possibly back to my car from the Bright Angel TH if my legs were still functional. 

One of the most difficult parts of the day was just getting out of Mather Campground. I drove around for about 20+ minutes trying to find my way out. After flagging a family in a minivan down to ask for help escaping the campground, they laughed and told me to follow them out. Finally making it to the visitor center, I parked, stretched, ran to the South Kaibob TH, and descended into the abyss. 

The weather was perfect - 55 degrees F at the TH and about 65 degrees F down at skeleton point - clear skies and crisp, clean air with this deep hypnotic purple and crimson red glow permeating down into the steep corkscrew below. 

 I was only at Cedar Ridge (1.5 miles in) when I knew that the stairs were going to be a major problem for my left knee that had been having some IT Band issues. I’m not a fan of stairs on any trail really as they force you into an unnatural rhythm and create a very awkward angle on your joints. Luckily though, I didn’t hit any mule trains on the way down and I knew that would save me some time.

When I finally made it down for my first glimpse of the Colorado River, I submitted to the pain, even though my knee was in a full blown rebellion against me, hinting for me to abort while I still could.

 It was normal for the joints in my knees to start rubbing at that time, before I discovered how to stretch, strengthen, and foam roll properly, but usually only after about 25 miles in. I was only 9 miles in and knew I had about 40 something miles to go. This would be the going back point if I decided to give into the growing discomfort, but I dug in, and decided there was no way in hell I was going back, even if it meant not walking for a couple days. I was hell-bent.

After my first crossing of the Colorado, the terrain flattens out into one of the most exotic, single-track, slot-canyon trails I have ever been on. Or at least for the next 8 miles from Phantom Ranch to Manzanita Creek. The latter I knew was my only water stop on the entire north side of the canyon because the north rim would be closed for another couple of weeks.

I was in a nice groove, running about a 9 min/mile pace, listening to boulders crack into each other beneath the Bright Angel Creek beside me, crossing small suspension bridges, smelling the prehistoric red dust that came up with each step, becoming more and more comfortable with the pain in my left knee as my world above the rim began to melt away. I began to settle into this lush, Sonoran canyon-land.

I had only passed a handful of hikers at this point, but was more interested in catching up to the two running shoe prints that I had been seeing since I dropped in. At Manzanita Creek I bumped into two  Canadian girls in full running gear who seemed super happy to see another runner planning on completing the same route. They confirmed they had left the trail head 45 minutes before me so I was convinced it was the two prints that I had been chasing all morning. This gave me some closure that I was making decent time, being right on schedule with the splits I had calculated beforehand. We talked for a few minutes while filling up on water, all of us thrilled about being on this epic run. I pressed on ahead though and told them I would see them on my way back down from the north rim. Off I went.

Passing Roaring Springs was another cool rush and a well needed distraction from the ever sharpening pain in my knee. I could feel the vibration of this massive waterfall thundering down into the canyon, reminding me how small I was. Farther up the trail I began to hear what sounded like helicopter blades, echoing louder and louder as I passed over and under misty bridges and aqua blue waterfalls. Finally, about 3/4 of the way up, I came around the corner to the source of loud echoing blades. It was a helicopter lowering what looked like a generator to two workers harnessed onto the side of the sheer canyon wall. I was stunned that these two guys were just hanging onto the side of a cliff going about their work like it was normal, grabbing onto the slowly repelling machine, giving the helicopter pilot a thumbs up that they had control of it. I remember wanting to say something to them but I didn’t know what to say because I was so perplexed, so I just kept running up the trail smiling in wonder, smh.

At this point, I had passed a couple of runners who were on their way down. This surprised me because I hadn’t really seen any other fresh tracks earlier on the South Kaibob besides those of the two girls I just bumped into, so I assumed they probably just came down Bright Angel. I over-enthusiastically exchanged high fives with them, being so excited again to encounter other people on the same run as me. I noticed that none of them were wearing packs though which made me question if I was the only one wearing one, but then it dawned on me later on that most of them had probably stashed them at Manzanita to cut down unnecessary weight for the 5,000′ climb up the rim. Next time.

When I finally made it up to the north rim there was nobody. Just a bunch of left over snow. I had pictured this moment in my head, but I couldn’t have imagined how much peace and happiness I would feel as I rested my legs for the first time and slowly ate a bag of dried cranberries and some trail mix. I was as far away from safety as I had ever been and I had never felt better. What a strange and enlightening moment that was.

After about a 10 minute rest, my mind was back to the 24 mile challenge ahead of me with a blown out knee. The water spigot was dry which I knew was going to be the case reading every nps report I could, but nonetheless I was hoping to fill up at the slight chance the spigots were back on for the season. I also decided that on this rare occasion I would take some Ibuprofen I had packed, attempting to numb the increasingly sharp pain I was feeling. So I threw some pills in my mouth and a big handful of snow to wash them down. I packed some snow into the knee brace I was wearing as well as my hydration bladder to cool down and supplement whatever water I had left. Regardless, I felt amazing as these hardy calories coursed through body. I had only been eating gels up to this point (about 8 GU’s). The temperature had dropped to about 43 degrees F on the north rim so I put some layers back on, covered my neck and face with a buff, and dropped back into the gorge with an incredible sense of refreshment and vitality. 

About 3 switchbacks down from the trail head or 400 yards or so I turned around the corner to hear a “Cack cack cack cack” of branches snapping in half that I will NEVER forget. I turned to respond with my eyes to see what my ears just heard. 

I’m not sure exactly what it was, but it was big, and as quickly as my head could turn, whatever it was disappeared back up towards where I had just come from. I had read several reports of cougars being spotted in this particular area this time of year but I’ll never really know what it was. I was officially spooked though and started running like hell. All pain in my body disappeared as the adrenaline took over. 

Shortly after this encounter I bumped into the Canadian girls again who were on their way up. I was coming at them fast and when I finally got to them I told them what had just happened. They immediately stopped in their tracks and turned around to come back down with me. I didn’t want to discourage them from missing the north rim but I think they could tell that I was genuinely spooked and that was enough for them. They  followed me pretty closely for about a mile down until they were feeling a little more at ease, and they finally stopped to rest. I kept going, and this was the last I would see them. I was genuinely spooked, but as my downhill pace picked up and the endorphins started flooding through my veins, that fear transformed into exhilaration like I have never felt. This was now a true adventure.  

Then, as quickly as my high surged to its highest point, the pain began to set in again. This time with a ferocity that still sends shivers down my spine thinking about it. I was now unable to control the limp that had been developing as my knee was almost completely locked. 

At this point the temperature started spiking again as I made my return to the canyon floor. I was burning through water quickly and ran out about 2 miles before hitting Manzanita again. Water never tasted this good. There was a guy lying on the bench there getting some rest. He had his hat resting over his face but kept one eye peeking out at me, watching me nervously, gulping water into my mouth faster than I could swallow it. 

I knew this upcoming section from Manzanita to Bright Angel campground would be the easiest and the perfect opportunity to make up some time that I had begun to lose from my slowing pace. It was about 8 miles of slightly downhill running. I went into autopilot, grinding my teeth, and wincing in pain at every uneven step I was forced to take. Somewhere around Cottonwood campground I found a nice river crossing and soaked my legs in the rushing cold water for a few minutes. 

Throughout the day, I had this growing realization that even though I was in pain, all things were fair somehow. Nature provided as much as it could for me. It gave me snow to stuff in my knee brace and in my pack when I ran out of water. It gave me a gentle breeze when I was burning up, and a nice cool river to soak my legs in when they began to swell. Ultimately though, nature is impartial. It’s not there to  soothe your pain.  It’s not there to comfort you when things get bad. Nature is there to give you a glimpse into yourself. It’s there to remind you that you are alive. Each moment your heart is still pumping blood throughout your body is a good moment. 

My legs still slightly numb from the ice cold soak in the river, I flew through the rest of the narrow canyon, past Phantom Ranch and back to the Colorado. 

I had been contemplating going back up the South Kaibob knowing it was the shorter route, but I was determined to stick with the plan, knowing I would be seeing one of the most beautiful trails on earth, and finishing what I set out to do.

The sun was blazing down as I crossed the Silver Bridge during the hottest part of the day and ran the sandy banks of the Colorado River toward the bottom of the trail. I knew the hardest part of the trip lie ahead. They say the Bright Angel is the safest trail in the canyon, but 40 miles in, nothing seemed safe. Beautiful streams and lush gardens taunted me to stop and enjoy like all the other hikers and leisure seekers, but I knew I had to keep going. Surprisingly, I was still passing people on the trail pretty quickly and began to develop the feeling that I was on the other side of my fears, confident I would make it out. I knew looking up to the top was a big mistake and would check my growing confidence if I did. I could see it out of the corner of my eye, but I tried to keep a balanced approach, staying focused on the moment and each next step, but not forgetting to appreciate the desert paradise surrounding me. 

At this point, I was helplessly tripping over rocks and smashing the tips of my toes harder and harder as I became more fatigued. I couldn’t lift my legs high enough to step over them anymore. I knew that my left and right big toenails were probably going to fall off. I couldn’t feel them anymore though. I knew this was pretty common with ultra runners and it used to gross me out quite a bit. Now, it was a sign that I was progressing. It was an initiation, a marker on my path to running long distance ultra marathons. 

I made my final water refill at Indian Garden. Using the last of my salt tablets and the rest of my food, I felt like I had planned my nutrition pretty well, and now that the sun was beginning to set below the rim I was really bouncing back from a mental low. This was the most beautiful portion of the trip I thought. The final switchbacks were long and steep and took everything I had, but I felt good and really took in the beauty of the trail for the last few miles as I reflected on my day.

As my ears began to pop, I knew I was close. If I stopped at all at this point though my knee would completely lock up, so I kept a steady pace most of the way back up. With the help of some positive vibes from a hiker, my spirits were lifted just high enough to get me out with a smile. As I slowly and haggardly made my way past her, she asked if I was ok. Apparently I didn’t look so good, but I smiled, coughed, and nodded my head up and down in exhaustion. We had a couple quick laughs at my expense, questioning my sanity and the dirt covering my face, and then before I knew it, she was gone, several switchbacks below as I maintained course. I was still so focused on the end.

Seeing camera clad tourists with no hiking gear on was my sign that I was close. They had no idea what I had just done, and that was comforting to me, knowing that I had this little secret. They would probably never see what I saw or experience what I experienced that day. This was my moment of self-transcendence. This is what I had been searching for my whole life. Just over 12 hours and 49.2 miles later, I reached the Bright Angel trail head. 

#r2r2r 

[itsteaveetime]

An AU where the Wonka kids aren't completely messed up from the tour and go on to live decent and somewhat fulfilling lives.

[Prompt meme: drop a prompt in my inbox, get a one-shot/drabble]

((Thanks for this prompt, anon!  Sorry it took so long.))

He can feel someone’s eyes on him.  The man seated next to him is giving him a very long look.  And this isn’t really that kind of bar.

“Didn’t you used to be Mike Teavee?” The man asks, shaking his finger like someone has tried and failed to pull a fast one on him.

It’s going to be one of those conversations.

Mike Teavee turns on his stool and gives the man a close-lipped but not unfriendly smile.

“I like to think I still am,” the twenty-seven year old says.

The man laughs, like they always do, and it only grates a little.

“Man, that Wonka contest,” the man says, shaking his head, and Mike lets him go on, because that’s all people really want, and it’s not like he doesn’t have the time.  “I spent an entire month’s allowance on Wonka bars.  Can you imagine doing something like that now?”

“Not really,” Mike replies, chuckling politely, even though he never spent a single penny in the first place.

“Still,” the man says, pointing at him again.  “You got to see inside.  You lived the dream.” 

“I definitely lived it,” Mike agrees.  “It was a trip.”

“Lucky sonuvagun,” the man says.  “Oh, and hey, my little nephew?  He loves your games.”

By which, Mike has learned over the years, the man means: he has no nephew and is speaking of himself, but is too embarrassed to admit he still games in his thirties.

“Lemme buy you drink,” the man offers.

Mike waves him off.

“Thanks, I don’t drink,” he says.  And then, because he can feel the question of why he is in a bar at all start to form in the man’s mind.  “I’m here meeting some friends.  But: it’s always great to hear people are enjoying my stuff.  I gotta go; nice meeting you though.”

He gives the man a firm but distinctly final handshake, and moves toward a back corner where he has spotted her lurking.

“I think you did not even roll your eyes at this one,” she says, her Russian accent slightly more muted than it was at twelve.  “I am impressed.”

“Prozac,” Mike insists.

Veruca laughs, and it doesn’t grate at all.  The slender young woman is wrapped in a scarf he thinks might be longer than she is tall, a slouchy sweater, leggings, and well-worn over-sized boots.  This seems to be one of the default uniforms of all off-duty ballerinas (and some models).  Her blond hair is pulled up into a tidy bun.  His own hair, by comparison, is a spiked quiff that is a mess by design.

“It’s good to see you,” he tells her.

“Hug me, you idiot,” she demands flatly.

He does.  When he pulls back, a meaty hand lands on his shoulder.  He turns to face its owner.

Augustus Gloop looms over him.  Augustus Gloop looms over almost everyone.  A growth spurt at fifteen that Mike cannot help but envy eventually left the German six feet and six inches tall.  It thinned him out somewhat as well, and although he will never not be big-boned, Gloop is no longer as wide as he is high.  He retains soft edges, a rounded stomach, a slightly ruddy complexion, and a warm friendly face.

“Hallo Michael.”

Like Mike, Augustus has long since lost his high pitched prepubescent voice, but he has retained more of his German accent than Veruca has.  He has also retained his blond hair, but it no longer looks like it was placed under a bowl to be cut.  In a flannel shirt and hoodie that his mother did not knit for once, Gloop looks pretty cool.

Mike lets the German envelop him in a nearly rib crushing bear hug that momentarily lifts him off his feet.  Once released, he goes immediately for Gus’ messenger bag, crouching down, because Gus wears the bag low on his hip, and running a hand over the soft leather.

“This is one of yours, right?” Mike asks.

The German nods.

“Goat leather.  Mother had gotten more orders for them, so she had sent me more hides.”

Sewing, apparently, runs in Gloops’ blood as much as sausages do.

“I have made a batch,” Augustus continues, “and that same shop downtown will take them.  But also there is a crafting fair that maybe I will go to if I have the days off at the restaurant to-…”

“Shut up and take my money,” Mike says.

Augustus laughs.

“Michael, you know I never charge you.  In black, you will want it?” Gus guesses correctly, because Mike remains somewhat predictable about certain things, and Mike is already imagining studding the strap of such a glorious beast as Gloop embraces Veruca somewhat more gently.

“Do we wait for her?” the blond woman asks, more or less rhetorically.

Mike shakes his head.

“We all know she’s gonna be late,” he says.

They head through a door and down a flight of stairs few people know about.  A girl at the bottom recognizes Gus from restaurant circles and ushers them into an intimate space where they take a seat in a comfortable booth with privacy curtains.  Gus is only still a rising star on the chef’s circuit, but it’s funny how small New York actually is.

It’s funny, how they all ended up in New York, at least, for the time being.

(It’s funny that they are here at all.)

Well.  Not that funny.  Each of them walked out of Wonka’s factory exactly as they walked in.  It was their parents who were altered (although also: not physically).  

No magic spells, no potions: just as the Candy Man promised, but one thing Wonka certainly was, was an illusionist.  And he had seen immediately who needed to be shown the error of their ways, and few things are as motivating to a parent as the idea of their child in peril.

“I was barely in the chocolate,” Augustus had been the first to explain, the first time they all reunited.  “I fell through a bottom.  I was not in a pipe at all.  It was, I think, a doll to look like me.  The falling in was still startling.”

“Yeah, the bloating was not fun,” Violet had said.  “But those Oompa guys gave me some antacid and it went away.  I got no idea what my dad thought was me that exploded, or what he medically thinks is inside of people, but, uh, thanks for groovin’ on a bop while y’all thought I was dying.”

“Also doll,” Veruca had told them.  “How could I call for my pappa with my head removed?“

“…V.R.,” Mike had reluctantly admitted.  “I thought I seriously got shrunk and teleported inside the internet, but then it went black and I was just down a trap door with a V.R. headset on.  I was kinda bummed, honestly.  But on the plus side: I did get a eight inch remote control replica of myself.  That was pretty awesome.”

And they had all watched as their parents had reacted to their apparent untimely demises.  Had realized the peril their parenting (or lack their of) had placed their children in.

(It had taken Mike slightly longer to realize that his mother had not really been happy about the idea of him being shrunk; that the idea of seeing something like that done to her son and not being able to do anything about it had actually driven his mother temporarily insane, which is probably the strongest and most negative reaction it is possible to have.  But he had gotten there.)

After the factory, things had been…different.  

None of them had been punished (because none of them had been truly to blame), but all of their parents had certainly changed their tunes.

And somehow it hadn’t been so difficult to get used to after all.

They sit around a table now, well adjusted young men and women.  Or: woman, at the moment.

Augustus Gloop has been making a steady name for himself as a gourmet chef.  He is working under a celebrity at the moment, producing the epic tasting menu’s the Swiss establishment is known for, but he has headed his own pop-up’s and food carts to great success and reviews.

Veruca Salt is currently a soloist at ABT, after training and dancing at the Bolshoi and the Vaganova.  They have all seen her perform: she is generous with her comp tickets.  She is also undeniably talented.  There have been rumors circling that she may be promoted to principal next season.

Mike Teavee designs video games.  Because of course he does.  Immensely popular games that require strategy, and critical thinking as much as hand-eye coordination.  Some of them have won awards for serving educational purposes.  These games, along with several well-received apps have left him unexpectedly wealthy.  His first apartment is in San Francisco, but he likes the vibe and the weather in New York so much so that he has a residence in the city as well. 

And Violet Beauregard is always late.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She says, breathlessly, as she joins them.  “A thing.  But you all know.  I don’t even gotta tell you.”  

Violet is a celebrity hair and make-up artist.  She made her name on YouTube, but she’s as legitimately trained as Veruca and Augustus are.  She’s in high demand from both companies and clients.

She frowns at Mike’s hair.

“What happened to the blue?” She pouts.

Mike runs his hand carefully over his ‘do.  

“It faded really fast and I didn’t wanna rebleach,” he explains.  “It’s fine.”

“I know you’re punk rock as all hell, but seriously: let me do it,” Violet insists.  “I will do it in yo’ bathroom sink for the sake of your authenticity if I gotta.”

He eventually agrees.

“Your mothers are having the good time,” Veruca says, with a smirk.

Both Mike and Augustus freeze, because it is their mothers she is talking about.  Mrs. Teavee and Mrs. Gloop have long since struck up an unexpected single lady friendship and enjoy taking vacations together.  They are currently on an Italian river cruise making the most of Italy, Italian food, and Italian men in a photograph that is burned in both Mike and Gus’ mind that neither of them are sure they were meant to receive and both are afraid to ask about.

“Yes,” Augustus says, smiling a little more rigidly than usual.  “…jah.”  

“Did she drop a new post on Instagram?” Violet asks Veruca.

“I will never get over the fact that you follow my mom on Instagram,” Mike says.

In her retirement, Ethel has joined Instagram.  Instagram is very about her retro aesthetic.  She has been interviewed for ‘Racked’.

“She is crushing it,” Violet tells him.  “Did you teach her hashtags?”

He maybe guided her in her hashtagging.

“Annnnnnyway,” Mike says, changing the subject and turning towards Veruca.  “How’s what’s-his-face?”

“We do not speak his name,” Veruca hisses.  “Ballerinos!  все мужчины сосать.  All men!”

She looks pointedly at Gus and Mike, who know better than to argue with her.

“Yeah, speaking of,” Violet says.  “No more 3am Teavee specials?”

“What is this?” Gus asks.

“I kept getting these late night texts from him, and I’m all jazzed because I think Teavee’s got some serious tea for me that can NOT wait and instead I get bull.  What was the last one?” Violet asks, while scrolling through her phone.  She stops and reads:

“‘Treasures in disguise as monsters’.  What in the Dungeons and Dragons is that supposed to mean?”

Mike has buried his face in his hands, but he’s laughing behind them.

“It was the Ambien again, I swear,” he swears.  “I got off it.  At least I didn’t buy any more non-refundable plane tickets to Shanghai.”

“That was fun, though,” Augustus points out.

“Yeah, it was,” Mike admits.

Off of Paxil, it turns out Mike likes to eat.  Like, a lot.  And still has the metabolism to mostly deal with it.  Gus had been very willing to join him on a tasting trip through Shanghai, lest the tickets go to waste.  The trip had left both with fond memories of Ci Fan Tuan, and You Dunzi, as well as up a pants size, but that’s what vacations in your twenties are for.

Gus, Violet, and Veruca order and then sip cocktails.  Mike sticks to ginger ale and truffle fries.  He has never had a problem with alcohol, because he has never let himself have one, and he knows himself (and his family history) well enough to know that he too easily could. 

Things are too good to wreck like that, you know?

He checks his phone.

“Hey, it’s time,” he says.

The others put their drinks aside, and Mike…unfolds his phone.  The palm sized device becomes twice its size, then three, until it is a twenty-inch tablet with an extendable stand that Mike places in the middle of the table, and then taps on.

An app connects.  A screen pops up.  A hand reaches through the screen.  They all help Charlie Bucket until he is sitting in the booth with them.

Bucket is thin, for a chocolatier.  He is only a little taller than Mike, who is short.  He has the same boyish grin he had back when he and his family had nothing.

Mike refolds his device, until it looks like just a phone again.  He spends the rest of the evening wedged comfortably between Gus and Violet.  Plans are vaguely made for another trip like Shanghai, and more concretely for a sort of pub crawl that consists of, instead of drinking, eating dollar slices of pizza until they have located the best one.  Veruca refuses to take part, but will still come along.  Charlie cannot make it: he has a factory to run, but they promise to send him a winning slice.

It’s just one of many good days in a more than decent life.