A Centaurs Journey Blog

Toby, or not Toby? What is the answer?

Apparently Toby is not to be. Being one of the horses with more of the gallop off bucking tendencies (crow of course wins first place). It seemed to be the best idea for him to travel back to Chauncey with the rest of those troublemakers (or perhaps we were just too much trouble for them). Fortunate for me I was able to seduce Penny away from Andy. Although the fire burned hot, the romance was short lived. At this point, I don’t think she likes me any more than him (and that means not very  much K). But, perhaps by the end of it, I’ll have what it takes to win her over again. Carrots, apples, and even dried pineapple don’t seem to do the trick. If you have any good advice, let me know.

But that is just one of many parts of a long and complicated journey. To capture a whole month of travel is daunting to say the least. It’s hard enough to try to capture a day, a moment. But certain moments pop-out like balloons against the blue sky. Like the night of brownies on the north rim of the Grand Canyon. That final indulgence of 2% of the following: chocolate, bad jokes, laughter, and eggs, before Marry and I decided to go vegan for the trip. Or what about Phantom Ranch, the late night we arrived at the bottom of the canyon? It was how the smell of sweet and hearty spaghetti sauce spilled out from the small reservation only kitchen. Travelers’ voices emerged from down the trail and across Bright Angel Creek as the bright crisp stars filled the canyon with dim white light. We passed the warm bustle of this strange and endearing ranch—that final destination for so many—and settled down into our own camp with a single metal bar to tie up the mules (U-haul, Ryder and Marybeth) and our one horse representative, Hardy. One by one we exposed our naked, stinking, hot and blistered feet to the cool night sky. It looked as if Marry were growing translucent ping-pong balls from the sides of her feet. Thank God there was that water trough, not just for watering horses though; it made the perfect footbath. Who knew that sitting with our feet in slightly dirty water talking about that hot 14 mile day from the top of the canyon to the bottom could be so perfect? Its funny what reminds me that everything’s gonna be ok—and that life is cracking open with dark chocolate, if your willing to just stick out your tongue.

But more lately I have seemed to be in between, in between thoughts, aspirations, and destinations. It’s like how a ball tossed into the air hovers still, silent, empty for a brief moment. I still wonder where the next half of this journey will take us? I’m not even sure if I know what I want this experience to become, what it can become. We’ve traveled 18 mile days, had moments of escape into the amenities of civilization, struggled to find water, struggled to understand each other, struggled to understand what all this is about. It does seem like that ball is beginning to drop though—that somehow we’re gaining momentum, feeling the rush of the future moving towards. For me it feels like hope. But maybe it’s more like perseverance for others, or perhaps just letting go. I know that there have been so many expectations of what this trip was supposed to be flying around that it’s been hard to tell my toes from my head at times. That’s created a fair share of conflict and that’s not something easy for me to handle, especially when it continues to linger—when it secretly brews underneath the folds of the skin for reasons I don’t understand. For some reason I just get really sad, in a sick sort of way. It’s like a hidden war rages and I just want to hold up my white flag. Sometimes it seems like it’s worth getting shot for that. I think it’s because there’s been a war raging inside and outside of me my whole life and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of the confusion, the battling, the senseless need to be right. Being right isn’t human strength. Human strength is trust—trusting myself without needing to be right, or being afraid of being wrong. It’s learning how to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Sometimes when I let myself love, I find that I am no longer afraid. Sometimes that means playing a stupid game of cards in order to see one more color in someone’s eyes, to listen to the way someone laughs.

And you know what? SOMETIMES it means having silly boat races down the Verde Headwaters. Andy and I made the most awesome trash boat ever. Plastic soda bottles in a multitude of various sizes tied together with natural cordage. Don’t forget the soda can flag and red straw phaser lazer of our flagship starship enterprise AZT cruiser boat. With our quickly downloaded star trek theme music, our bark com badges, my not quite bald Picarde’esque head and Andy’s horse hobble adapted Geordie la Forge visor we were ready for take off, or a really bad skit anyway. We went head to head with Pam and Paul’s trash vigilante voyager made solely out of trash and self-righteousness, Sha and Jordan’s bark barge (the adored keepers of Paul’s mustache) and of course Marry and Eleni’s boat constructed partially out of human hair that I will call the pooper scooper because of it’s dirty little shovel dragging off the back. As we launched the boats you could immediately tell that our AZT enterprise was the best constructed, pushing other boats aside and elegantly rebounding of sharp rocks. We eventually had to jettison our lookout tower to adapt to the creeks constrictive tendencies. Although the floppy mass that was Paul and Pam’s trash vigilante voyager seemed to scoot around and through almost any obstacle, it quickly turned into a bloated sack of trash dragging behind one buoyant plastic bottle (oh well…). At this point things began to get heated. Sticks began to get thrown, people got pushy trying to rescue their bashed boats, and boat parts began to get left behind. On numerous occasions Jordan came barging through dragging his barge and unprofessionally knocking the enterprise and other boats out of the way (shame on you Jordan! Shame!). “OH NO!” Andy was heard yelling. Unbelievably in the home stretch the AZT Enterprise got stuck in a cave. Sticks were no use. In fact, even Paul’s sacred mustache got left in those black dreary waters. But fortunately, because GOD is clearly on our side, our boat emerged from the cave at high speed leaving other boats behind. Although Marry and Eleni’s boat had lost its shovel, that human hair was holding the Pooper Scooper together well, and it was right on our ass. “Shit,” I exclaimed as our boat got trapped in a deadly eddy. Andy and I began to count to Mississippi 5 in order to free our boat as the Pooper Scooper passed us. The Enterprise then caught northerly galactic winds (my breath) as the popper scooper neared the finish line. Luckily we had energy reserves and Geordie engaged our warp engines to speed ahead. In the end, the Pooper Scooper’s team members were seen bribing the judges to disqualify our winning space jump because we landed on rock and that it was a boat race! On top of that, we found out that the barge actually crossed first. Doesn’t that sound like a bunch of baloney? I mean, what cheaters! Dragging that barge behind them on a string like that… and leaving Paul’s mustache behind like that, what lousy boatpersonship! But, ultimately of course, we prevailed. Getting extra points for complexity of construction and creativity we ended up in a tie with Marry and Eleni. It was time for a “VEGGIE OFF!” When Paul spoke the words “Asparagus,” Christopher was seen writhing on the ground sputtering strange words about being boiled, and Eleni was heard saying “I live in a swamp,” with her arms reaching above her head. Who do you think should win? (Yes, of course we know the AZT Enterprise deserves it!)