Vacation Part II, the Roll That Got Away

Everyone who takes rolls of film has a story about the one that got away; yes, often confused with the fish story. This is one of those stories…

When I plan a vacation, I plan a pretty full vacation. I mean, who knows when you might get to return? And of course after you’ve spent seven days seeing the sights, won’t it be several years before you go back? After spending two days and nights acquainting ourselves with our hotel, the restaurants there in and about, and with the Fremont Experience Ducky and I spent Monday taking in the sights and sounds of the southern end of the strip time share high pressure sales seminar. Note no commas, that’s how it felt. No I didn’t take pictures…well I did…sort of…but that is for later.

As a child my parents gave us the best of the US that they could. We scoured Route 66, I-80 and the roads in between. I have a freakish memory that can pull out bits and bobs of this event or that dating all the way back to age two and a half. I’m sure part of that is aided by my mom’s photo albums spurring my memories along. Which explains why I can’t remember first grade, I had mumps the day pictures were taken. And maybe I’ll tell that story tomorrow, but the gist is that I don’t remember first grade. Major digression. Knowing that we would be within driving distance of great places I remember from childhood, but Ducky’d never seen, I was primed to play the tour guide.

Monday afternoon I rented a car for three days. Tuesday morning, way too friggin’ early for vacation, Ducky and I bought coffee and a bran muffin, loaded up the rental, went against what Horace Greeley preached, and headed east. I’d planned three-day trips for our vacation: Hoover Damn, Grand Canyon, and Zion Canyon. Ducky smartly suggested doing the farthest first and the nearest last, so Tuesday we were off through the Nevada high desert into Arizona, into Utah and back into AZ for the North Rim.

After having to make a few stops for Ducky to rest his hip (really it’s walking the kinks out, but well you know) and five and a half hours later I was second guessing my desire to show him the Grand Canyon. He was in pain and fighting off cranky (which is a huge accomplishment) when we arrived in the parking lot of the North Rim Visitors center. One shot and I was already changing my film. We walked along the path getting small glimpses of the rim rock, making me fear the North Rim would not live up to my memories of the South Rim.

Suddenly the area opened up and we were offered endless views of the Grand Canyon. I am always amazed by the grandeur wrought by Mother Nature, an amazement that was renewed by Ducky’s fascination.
Now my husband has a
fear of heights, yes pretty much equaled to my terror of snakes, he’s a bit more emboldened than I am. He walked out on points and let me take his picture. UNFUCKINGHEARDOF!!! Ducky despises having his picture taken. He let me take shots here, there,
and even had a German couple trade cameras and locations with us to get couples shots. I was in seventh heaven.

Half way through I changed film again and loaded roll number four. While my digital was in the rental, I’d only brought my Pentax on our walk. That Tuesday I shot the better part of two rolls of film capturing the vistas of the North Rim, Ducky, and the day.

Only to return home and find, roll number three of seven is nowhere to be found.
Sith,
Cele