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CLUE NUMBER SEVEN (from the Grand Canyon):


For the Hidden Journey:

The landscape of the West is as essentially American as the freedom to travel itself.


For the Puzzle:

Here is the seventh set of 5 letters of the puzzle/cryptogram:

c a a a i

To solve the puzzle, collect the other 13 parts and assemble them in order. This is part 7.

                                   


The Story:

The moon slowly gets adiosed by clouds, so by the time we roll into the National Park it's pitch black and we can't find the campground. After driving around the loop again we find the entrance just before it closes for the night. Tracie wakes up in time to kick in her share of the camping fee and then she helps us unload our gear and light the propane lantern and stove. I open some cans of chili and scoop them into the old aluminum pot we have that's about to lose the handle. It hangs on for one more use and with some big burrito-sized tortillas and a can of fruit cocktail that Tracie pops out of her bag, we do an okay dinner.

The other campsites are dark and still, so we try not to make too much noise with the tent but we can't see do-wah-diddly and we're starting to swear at it because we've never set it up before. Tracie comes over and whispers, "Forget the tent, it's not cold enough. Just roll your tarp out and sleep on that."

As stupid as it sounds, I've never slept outside with no tent or anything, and I can just see a rattlesnake crawling into my sleeping bag. But we're tired and the tent's a mess, so we throw the tarp and our foam mats down like she says and it's nice to lay on your back and watch the stars break through the clouds and the branches sway a little in the breeze.

The next morning Alex is doing stretching exercises on the pine needles when I wake up and Tracie is still down under. She's scrunched up on her side and has a small pillow over her head, so I can only see her brown hair and one arm that's laying outside her sleeping bag. Her skin is smooth and tan, and I see a small red patch like a rash on one of her fingers. She looks small in her sleeping bag, and I think about how much guts she has to travel alone.

I can't wait to see the Canyon and I don't want to be distracted by any conversation, so I tell Alex I'll see him at the hotel's restaurant in about half an hour. Then I head for the edge.

(continued in Chapter Eleven of I-State Lines)


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