And So... I Wait

When I tried to talk to Claire the next morning he reminded me, with all the warmth of Wilford Brimley telling me to eat my goddamned oatmeal, that I was early and that he had no use for me until the following day. I had an entire day to kill. Not so bad except that I feel like I've been hung out to dry. I expected to show up and have someone around to show me the ropes and help me get acclimated to the entire operation.

As it was, I felt eleven years-old again. Like all those summer days when my mom, having no money for a sitter, would drop me off at my grandmother's house with nothing to do. After Matlock, grandma would leave to run errands for the day and there I was, left thinking that I could have just as easily been left alone at my own home where at least I had my BB gun.

So, there I was with a full day ahead of me. I hadn't planned on having free time in Marble Canyon so I wasn't exactly sure how to best spend my time. The sleep I had gotten on top of that boat trailer had been less than stellar, to say the least, so I didn't really feel like trudging my way around the hills in hell-like temperatures by myself so I decided to drive into Page, about 30 miles away, for some cell service and a decent meal.

I ended up at Denny's. Not sure that exactly counts as decent but it was something.

And yet, here it is... in a Denny's instead

A full breakfast and some air-conditioning actually did the trick to revitalize me and my mood. This was turning out to be not so miserable. Afterall, I told myself, I was getting ready for the trip of a lifetime. So what if it wasn't going exactly to plan? That's part of the adventure, right? Right. I decided then and there to have a proper positive attitude and not let the circumstances get me down.

Before long I was exploring the area around the Glen Canyon Dam and Lee's Ferry. I could give you a boring run-down of all the specific hikes but that would suck. Instead, enjoy some photos while I tell you about Claire. Keep in mind, I'd be spending more than a week basically being his bitch.

Hey look, it's a camera. I'd better point at it

And this is just the beginning of the canyon

Right off the bat, I knew I'd have trouble with him. He has the kind of personality that simply isn't taken in by my wit and charm. In fact, he seems put off by any attempts at personal connection. Jokes and wise cracks are met with hard-ass, blunt responses.

Example. At one point on Monday, while stocking the cooler with ice, I casually quipped, "Roger told me that having this big motor boat to sleep on is a huge advantage over those row boats. No sense sleeping in the dirt, he says."

"You won't be sleeping on the boat. You'll sleep on the ground like a common dog. That's how it should be... don't you think?"

My naturally outgoing personality responds to these kinds of obstacles by trying even harder. And the more I blather on about my kids, my job, or any of the other personable kinds of things normal people have conversations about, the colder and ruder he becomes. In fact, he may very well be the coldest, rudest, most condescending son-of-a-bitch to come into my life since my father. Truly.

It eventually became so funny to me that I started to play around with how little a thing I could find that would piss him off. I think the winner had to be how irate he became about the second knife I put in the peanut butter jar at lunch one day. As if babies would die from the extra work it would require for me to clean two whole knives.