Let me start at the beginning. The morning after my "Nerdy 30" party I pulled a very rookie move and thought A and I should start our three week road trip, through six states, early in the morning. Our 7am departure hazily turned into an 11am one, which was executed only after we cleaned up the house, I was given a coffee IV, we hoisted our camping gear into my CRV, and accepted the delightful muffins and Gatorades A's parents gave us and we promptly devoured. Our destinations were chosen based on park awesomness and geographical nearness, a very meticulous decision process, as you can imagine. In the end we chose (in order): The Grand Canyon-Zion-Bryce Canyon-Capitol Reef-Arches-Grand Tetons.
We drove over 5,000 miles and discovered a LOT about each other.
That first morning, we made an enormous bet. Not a glamorous Vegas bet, with red velvet tables, but the kind of bet where if you lose, you want to curl into a ball in the corner. We not only bet on good weather, open campsites etc, but we bet on each other. He was betting that I did not all of a sudden have a personality change and reveal that I actually HATE the outdoors, and my favorite hobbies suddenly twisted into nagging him excessively, complaining about a lack of technology, and perhaps revealing my dream of being a pop star and serenading him with endless melodic failures while he is forced to smile and tell me I'm talented. I was betting that he would not unfold, like a beautiful origami bird being doused in water, from the man I loved into one who was grumpy, yelled profanities at female drivers, and would comment negatively on the amount of plaid and pigtails that I planned for the duration.
It
is wild to think that many married people will have never spent the
length of time together that A and I did, which was 24 hours a day, for
three weeks. Not only is this a significant chunk of time, it became
clear that being in a relationship with your best friend is a crucial
component for not wanting to light your partner on fire with a bun-son
burner. It's hard to really paint the picture of the level of intimacy,
but it helps if you know that A is 6'4" and we stayed in an alleged "two
person" backpacking tent suitable only for Tolkien characters. A's feet
and head literally touched the tent's interior edges, constantly
threatening to pluck open the seams, and we could not both lay on our
backs simultaneously. You have to really love someone to commit to that
kind of confinement with them, and that's even before I've told you the
added elements of sweat, dirt and craft-beer-desperation that was also
brewing in the tiny REI-produced cave. Even so, we managed to laugh,
smile, and enjoy the beauty of joining nature's slow way of sprawling
out the days. Each morning, we felt the sun rise, and listened sleepily
as the wind slowly swirled into our tent. At night, we relaxed to the
sweet silence of nothing, the dropping temperatures that cause you to
deliciously curl into your sleeping bag, and of course, the debilitating
fear from the cacophony of snapping snicks outside (which A was
convinced must be a bear wanting to lick off his beard oil as a night
cap).Now that I've painted a picture of us, sweating, smiling, sun burned and finally realizing we have an REI addiction problem, I can segway into the poop water story.
Day One: Five hours and a trivial amount of minutes in.
We stopped at yet another nondescript gas station in New Mexico. It had been hours of staring at cement and concrete as we drive, the sun beating down relentlessly. We decided to stop since I apparently pee every one-two hours. As we went in, I grabbed my canteen, since I, of course, care deeply about the environment and would be appalled to buy anything with-GULP-plastic! As I went into the bathroom, I did a quick scan....multiple stalls, only a mild urine saturation smell, medium-high level grossness of the sink.....somehow this all added up to me thinking it was a fabulous idea to fill up my canteen. Well, as I exited, I felt really good about myself, in a way that middle-class people do when they do basically anything mildly helpful for the planet. As I walked pass the chip assortment I saw A BUYING WATER! I walked up to him, scowling, my eye brows almost touching in judgement, and remarked, "Why are you buying water when you can get it for free?"
He responds, "I don't want dirty gas station water, plus this is cold. It's only one dollar...you can have some, too."
Naturally, I respond very maturely, "I'm not going to drink your bougie water!"
I feel as though I did something like a strut as I walked out and got back in the passenger side door. As A paid, I listened to the sweet squeak of my canteen lid turning as I took it off, and went for a nice swig of water, when an abhorrent smell violated my nostrils. I pinched my nose in horror. Right then, A opened the driver door and started the car as I examined my canteen further.
I turned to A and asked him, "Does this smell funny?"almost exactly like the clip from "Shit White Girls Say".
A took a sniff, while dutifully watching the road, and his eyes got wide as he responded, "That smells like shit!"
A then gave me the good advice (in theory) of throwing the contents out the window. So, the rest of this story, I can definitely blame on him and society for not teaching me how one properly dispels liquid from a moving vehicle.
Event One: I panicked and rolled down the window, my eyes nearly shut in horror at what I nearly put in my mouth.
Event Two: The window was down half way, my head positioned in the middle, ready to deploy the liquid immediately.
Event Three: I pour all the contents of the canteen out and watch them fly out the window.
Event Four: I watch, mouth gaping in horror, as they fly right back at me, soaking my face and shirt.
Event Five: I turn to look at A, who is now crying.
Four minutes later: A is still dying of laughter, basically convulsing as he grips the steering wheel. I'm not sure if he has been stabbed in the rib or is just mocking me mercilessly and preparing for the years of joy he will get from this event...it was the latter.
Six minutes later: I am now dried off, yet still humiliated and not making eye contact with A, who is clearly turned into Brutus.
Eight minutes later: My arms are tightly folded over my chest, and I'm nearly huffing as I mumble, "Can I please have some of your water."
A erupts in laughter yet again as I reach over to grab his beautiful, crinkly plastic bottle and gulp down what must be the best water I've ever had in my entire life.
Epilogue: I smell for the rest of day, and do not feel bad, as that is what A deserves for giving me such poor advice and then taking such joy in my suffering.
Now you know what happens when you try and save the planet. So think about that, when you cut the six pack holder-thingy to save a dolphin, use less electricity, or bring a reusable bag to the grocery story: It might end with the possibility of you getting dysentery (thankfully I didn't) and a type of humiliation that will be pressed into your relationship for the rest of your days.
But seriously-if you can find a way to load the car, escape the city, and bask in nature with the people you love, go do it. There isn't a day gone by since my return that I haven't wished we were back there, waking up at 4:26 AM to watch the bright, bountiful red and orange hues rise up the spine of the Grand Canyon, or just missing the way that our hammocks rocked when tied to the great pillared pine trees. I am grateful to have done it all with someone who not only can laugh at me (when appropriate, like above anecdote) but who I can also laugh with, through trips and through life.
Let me leave you with one of my favorite nature enthusiast's quotes, who truly knew the sacred space of nature, and never stopped being an adventurer in it.
"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul."
-John Muir
