Zion by way of Vegas

Back in April, fed up and caged-in due to well, we know what, I looked at my niece and said “I’m sick of not going anywhere. Wanna go to Utah?” It was a virus-defying and immediate YES. All the national parks? YES. 2 weeks? Works for me! So for the next 5 months, we planned and I questioned my sanity going on a rigorous hiking adventure with my “the most fit of her life” 27 year old niece. Did I learn nothing from the Machu Picchu trek? (The worst best thing I’ve ever done or better known as four miserable days, too sore to squat to pee, and smelling like a nursing home.) We’re about to find out.

It all started out hilarious. At least to us. Taking COVID precautions to a whole new level, Jenny thought the Biscoff cookie from American Airlines (handed out in sandwich bag with water) was soap. Then there was the jenky van that sounded like the space shuttle sloughing off its panels. What would the rental be like? (Hopefully a Jeep!) We opted out of the SUV which had keyed into the hood the same image that usually gets sharpied on the first guy to pass out at a frat party. Hard pass. We begrudgingly settled for a the mom van. Pulling literally 5 feet out of the parking space, we nearly getting into an accident. Then. The worst. In a slow motion moment, we rolled by the Jeep we wanted. We were stuck like peewee soccer gangstas in a super hot mom van.

Our first morning we took heli-flight over the Grand Canyon with Captain Jimmy.

If you’ve ever done a helicopter tour, you cross every extremity and say a prayer to sweet baby Jesus to be seated in front. I’ve never been so happy to be the counter balance to my skinny ass niece. Two in front please! Jimmy was hilarious but it was a tough crowd. The four in the back couldn’t have been more humorless. “Hi. I’m flying over purple mountain majesties. But my face looks like I’m watching a documentary on the secret lives of the red-lipped bat fish.” It was a case of party in the front. Business in the back.

The best part? A little bubbly at 830am. It turned out we were gonna need it. You see the only way into Zion is via shuttle. (We knew this.) They release tickets 24 hours in advance and they’re gone in about 5 minutes or less. (We knew this.) So our fingers were poised and ready to go at 9am on the dot. Then nothing. No tickets. Nothing was released! Panic.

Well, turns out we were in Nevada. And if a state was a bags of Ds … it would probably be Nevada. Except that Florida has the corner market on that. Nevada is the only state in the union that doesn’t observe daylight savings time (which I kinda respect). So! It wasn’t 9am MT, it was actually 10am. No soup for you!

We decided to hike it out at the Valley of Fire. A great acclimation state park and so hot it was a little unnerving for what was ahead (so my “what was I thinking” fear set in again). But “The Wave” was well worth it. An easy enough mile down to some absolute glory. Ripples of rock that reminded me a little too much of inescapable cellulite, rocks were so red orange, Jenny (a ginger) blended in.

We ended for the evening in Springdale, the adorable town closest to the park. (Highly recommend.) Still without a way into the park, we figured we give it another go in the morning. What could go wrong?

INJURY UPDATE: One day with no injuries.