The day had arrived for our last bit of adventure, a mule ride into the canyon, and the weather looked like it would work in our favor. We met the guides at 7am, which we somehow pulled off. Our fellow riders, a family from the Netherlands, almost didn't. The driver was just about to pull the van away when they came huffing around the corner.
They gave us a safety/orientation talk along the way, clarifying that we would be riding mules, not donkeys. Mules are a cross between a female horse and a donkey, while donkeys are their own separate species. The mules turned out to be much taller than we expected, and to us inexperienced riders, were very similar to the horses we rode in Badlands. I got Bert, Everett got Ronnie, Anne rode Cassie and Olive, continuing her tradition of getting mounts with cool names, rode Tennessee. Similar to Badlands, there was a very brief minute or two to get situated, and then we were on our way.
This is where the similarities ended. Badlands was open country, grasslands, rolling hills, leisurely walking. Today’s agenda was split into two sections: go down, then come back up. And I have to say, down was an experience. A dusty trail full of loose rock, waterbars, and precipitous cliff edges, you really had to trust the mules sense of self preservation. Our guide assured us this was the case, but there were moments when I swung out over a ledge and wasn’t so sure.
But we all made it down, sore in the knees but otherwise unharmed. We checked out the Supai Tunnel, carved through the rock along an ancient footpath, rested a bit, and then mounted and headed up. This was actually much easier, at least for the riders, but something about going up made the mules very flatulent. Ronnie especially let off some record-breaking farts. I wish I had some video of that to share, but sorry, you’ll just have to use your imagination.
The rain started falling when we got back to our car, and that settled a debate we’d been having about whether to leave a day early or not. Spending the rest of that day dodging rain showers while trying to complete some small hike was unappealing. If we left that day and stayed at a hotel in Page, Arizona, we’d cut the travel time to our final destination, Mesa Verde National Park, by more than two hours. It was a good trade, so we broke down in between the raindrops, packed up, and said goodbye to Grand Canyon, not quite believing our grand trip was finally coming to a close.
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