A Perfect Day

I was 7 when I went to my first Buffalo Bills game in 1960 with my father, thus beginning a lifelong love with my hometown team. For most of my childhood and teen years, I shared the Bills with my dad and grandfather; going to games together, summer afternoons watching training camp, Sundays in front of the television. When my grandfather passed away in 1968, my father and I consoled ourselves by noting that he had a heart attack at half-time while the Bills were beating Miami. He went happy.

Even though I’ve lived in the Boston area for the past 28 years, I’ve not only remained loyal, but have raised my son to be a Bills fan. Leo, who’s now 16, has been steadfast and true, suffering the abuse of Patriots fans (aka his friends), particularly through New England’s Super Bowl era. Every year we try to get up to Buffalo for a game, or at least, to training camp for a couple of days.

This past year, it was Sunday October 21. We caught a 9am Jet Blue flight at Logan, and my father met us at the airport in Buffalo. A short drive into Williamsville brought us to the Pancake House where my mother was already waiting for a table. After a nice brunch (who doesn’t love a good stack of pancakes?), the Balsom men headed off to Orchard Park, about a half-hour away.

We found a parking space just across from the stadium and as we were walking up to The Ralph, all 3 of us were struck by the acrid odor of burning nylon Willis McGahee jerseys. My son said, “Smells like victory.” We had great seats; it was a beautiful, sunny day and the Bills won.

After the game, we drove straight to Ted’s, home of the best charcoal broiled hot dogs in the world, for dinner. Again, my mother had taken one for the team, and arrived ahead of us to secure a place in line. Then, around the corner to Andersen’s for a dessert of incredible frozen custard (did I mention that Buffalo has the best cheap food anywhere?).

It was just a short drive to the airport for our 6:55pm flight home; we landed right on time and were home in time for the first inning of Game 1 of the Red Sox in the World Series. I got to spend the day with my father and my son rooting for our favorite sports teams. Just about a perfect day.

The biggest hole I know

I've hiked in the Grand Canyon a half dozen times over the past 10 years. And every time I do it I'm amazed at just how big that freakin' hole is.

My god, it's a mile deep, and when you're well down the trail and look up to the rim, it seems as if you'll never get out. But, here's the key......just keep walking. Being able to hike the Canyon is an athletic accomplishment of some sort, I'm just not sure how big. Sort of like how I feel about Columbus Day.....we're celebrating some guy who discovered something everybody already knew.

Anyway, when I hike the Canyon, I've got some built in advantages unavailable to the average citizen. First, and foremost, my sister Jan is the Duchess of the Grand Canyon; actually she's Deputy Chief for Science and Resources at the Park. So when I visit, she's the best guide ever, and she's got everything I need, from a backpack and bedding, right down to trail mix waiting for me at her house. I even get to stay at the Park Service bunk house at Phantom Ranch inside the Canyon, where there's a bed, hot shower and full kitchen.

The first time I did an overnight hike, she was busy with work, so she asked a friend of hers to accompany me; Jan's opinion being that one shouldn't hike alone, no matter how experienced (or inexperienced) the hiker. The "rent-a-friend" was Gail, a mid-50's pediatrician (good idea to send me with a medical professional) who describes herself as "the desert turtle."

Gail's best advice, which I didn't quite understand until it was all over, is that "it's not a race." So, when I hauled my ass out of the hole, at the end of an 8 mile uphill trek, and went "TA-DA" in victory, I looked at the startled tourist sitting at the trail head and said "Is the band on a break?" When she assured me there was no band greeting successful hikers, I realized that Gail is a wise woman. Ever since, I check my watch and figure out how long till my flight home from Phoenix. Calculating getting to the airport an hour before my flight, and a 4-hour drive to Phoenix, I've usually got about 20 hours to get my ass back to the car.

Actually, while hiking the Grand Canyon may not be an athletic feat, it does say something about your own fitness and stamina. Because I guarantee you that at some point during that 8 mile hike out of the hole you'll say to yourself "Wasn't this supposed to be fun?"

The first time I hiked, it was the altitude that got me. You start at 7000 feet and drop down to about 2000 at the Colorado River. I was doing great coming out...on something like a 5 hour pace, which for a 50 year old guy is pretty good. That was until the final mile and a half, when I could barely breath. At first it kind of freaked me out until I realized what was happening. So, I took it 25 paces at a time which got me to the rim in just over 6 hours.

My favorite hike came a couple of years ago. Jan was already on the river with a team of archeologists visiting sites and so I hiked in with a couple of her friends and we met at Phantom. (I'm pretty sure it's called Phantom Ranch after the little spirits who come into your bed and plant river rocks in your calves while you sleep).

Her team was camped across the river and they ferried us across for dinner. We pulled up and there were fires going, big pots boiling, and tunes cranking on some battery powered sound system. Nothing like a bunch of Canyon rats who've been living on the river to throw a really great dinner party. But for me, the highlight was being rowed back across the Colorado later that night. It was dark, with the Canyon walls surrounding us and a ribbon of stars across the only open sky we could see. It was awe-inspiring.

Jan had told me that we'd stay 2 nights in the Canyon, since she needed to visit a site at along North Kaibab Trail, which heads up to the North Rim. "It'll be good....it's a little day hike, maybe 6 flat miles to stretch your legs out." She needed to visit an old Native American granary site that hadn't been seen in about a quarter century.

Sounds like a good idea, doesn't it? Well, it turns out that the site wasn't at Ribbon Falls, and wasn't a little 6 mile day hike. The site is at UPPER Ribbon Falls, and it's 6 miles ONE WAY, plus another mile up a goat scramble. Suffice it to say, that Jan and I had a conversation on the way back about "effective communications."

At the end of 3 days, there were a total of 8 people who hiked out. Of that group the only 2 people who hiked all 36 miles of the weekend were a 40-something triathlete who lives in Flagstaff (8,000 ft above sea level) and me. So, yes I felt pretty fit after that.

I recently did a little day hike with Jan; about 5 hours down into a side canyon and back out. Nothing strenuous, or monumental. A California condor flew right over our heads as we were heading back to the house, close enough so we could see it's wing tag. Pretty cool. Just an incredibly beautiful day in one of the most amazing places on earth.