Good morning White Rim! Still can’t believe all I had to do was unzip the tent, stick my head out and take this shot. Hot damn. While it started out sweetly demure, Day 3 was INTENSE. First, I got psyched out at breakfast. Maggie ensured us a hearty meal before we took off for the day, since we weren’t eating again until a grueling 27 miles later.  Then she served us up some spiced quinoa (which had Boyd grumbling about those weird grains and was that hemp milk?), while on the side she was prepping more food (which I later learned was lunch). So of course I thought the quinoa was a pre-game and the bacon and eggs were coming. Not so! I took a lady-like portion and regretted it all day long…

It was admittedly hotter and heavier than the previous two days, with gorgeous rain clouds in the distance. Thus the thick air. Luckily our first stop was only 2 miles away! The awe-inspiring Maggie took us down into a slot canyon she had discovered out there. We all scrambled down into it, learning new techniques like “stemming”, “sliding on butts” and “trust jumping”. It was glorious.

Then began what would clearly be the most challenging day of the trip. The trail gently rolled along for awhile until we hit a series of climbs known as “Hardscrabble”. It truly lived up to it’s name, though I was proud of my progress and got up some pitches I didn’t think I would make. At the top an exhausted Samara and I were thrilled to hear that the ensuing trail would be “easy river riding” as we had reached the point were the White Rim layer dives into the Colorado. We raced along, eager to cool off and enjoy the trail before the killer climb out, when we hit, SAND! TONS OF SAND! I will not bother to describe this dark period.

They did let us take a quick break and refill our water. I found shade.

About 20 miles in Samara and I thought perhaps we were now the sole inhabitants of this sandy and hot land. There was no sign of the rest of the group and all we knew was there was a looming pass to ascend somewhere ahead of us. Our spirits were low and energy sagging. All of a sudden it came to me: we had to sing! We sang all that we could remember of the best songs we knew, mostly the choruses over and over again and perhaps the first verse. Suddenly I felt good! Strong! Hopeful! Not sure where the lung capacity came from for all of that hollering but the body really comes through in a pinch. Just then, we spotted some bikes on the side of the trail; Tim, John and Roger were down by the river, just having finished up a swim. Oh sweet heaven!! Samara and I dropped our rides and ran in, clothes and all. That was one of the happiest moments of my life.

Revived, our clothing damp and our hair wet, we were off to conquer the world, aka climb Horsethief. I believe this pass is so named because if you were not in possession of a horse upon approaching, by god you would steal the first pony you laid eyes on to get you up and over it. It was the most physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually taxing feat I have ever tackled. Yet. We cranked into the granniest of the granny gears, put our heads down and just kept going. Cause lord knows if I stopped there was no way I was going to start again!

See the rider on the bottom section? Up, up, up, 1,000 feet later and we made it! Greeted with cheers and potato chips, you better believe I cracked a Tecate and did a little jig.

The motley crew in all of it’s glory. So long White Rim, until the next time.

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