The Hundredth Meridianrnby Chilton Williamson, ]r.rnThe CentaurrnI used to make fun of them, those barelegged,rnball-capped figures grunting underrnthe weight of 90-poiind loads givingrnthem the appearance of Neil Armstrongrnon the moon or a man bearing his ownrncoffin on his back: tall, headless silhouettesrnlurching from around a bend in therntrail to dispel the illusion of primordialrnwilderness and scare the horse apples outrnof seasoned stock. So what am I doingrntrudging the hills above Laramie, a Keltyrnpack filled with 65 pounds of rocks andrnassorted trash sawing my shoulders andrnpounding my kidneys, in 42-degreernweather widi the wind blowing 3 5 milesrnan hour out of the northeast? It’s TomrnSheelev’s fault for having talked me intornmaking a trip off the North Rim of thernGrand Canvon from which horses arernbarred bv the National Park Service,rnalong with the firearms required to putrn:he less surefooted animals out of theirrnniser)’. You actually need a PERMIT torn50 down there yourself—pay good mon-rn;y to the U.S. government 2,500 milesrniway in Washington, D.C., for the priviegernof packing cases of wine and beer inrn)n your own knotted-up, broken-downrn)ack. It isn’t her bailiwick, of course, butrnexpect to speak firmly to Sheeley’s oldrnluddy Madd- Albright v’hen she showsrnip with tlie rest of the gang from Flagstaffrnt the Jacob’s Lake Inn at three o’clock inrnic afternoon of April 13. “Who was yourrnomalian waiter last year?” I’ll ask her.rnhe State Department wouldn’t treat arnmich of Kosovo Serbs this way—notrn’hile it thought someone was looking,rniiyway.rnLaramie to Steamboat Springs, Colrado;rnSteamboat to Vernal, Utah; Veralrnto Duschesne and down to Price overrn•ray Head Pass; Price to Castle Dale to IJrnto Richfield; Richfield to Circleville tornanguitch to Kanab, following the Sevierrniver; Kanab to Fredonia, Arizona; Fre-rn)nia to Jacob’s Lake Inn: a total of 699rniles, taking a day and a half with gasrnices climbing steadily from $1.32rnLaramie to $1.87 in Kanab, wherernpanese and French tourists piled fromrne tour buses and I had my photo takenrnice. (It’s probably sticking to somerndge door in Tokyo or Toulon, a souj^^rnj^t” r”” “^rn^’Y.rn%” -rnL-rn:rn’ ; J..A’ •rn• ,’H.^ r*J ” !rn”””‘, -T ‘ ^ – -L ‘ –‘A:rnK 7]rn”” “i V jrn~~:f–~^f-i-‘[ioo •7- -]rn’~*T j’T’ ‘rnr l ^ •rn• h ^ ^ i -•rn^fcj^ ‘1rn1rn* ‘ – f r. ^lrn’ ‘~- hirn.–.^•»!jg •;! ‘ “-.Sstt^/Jl W ^.A^SBB^JBHrnvenir of someone’s encounter with arnGenu-wine Western Badman, lookingrntender and slightly irritable from toornmuch Chilean red wine taken behindrndrawn curtains in his motel room in Latter-rnDay Saintly Richfield the evening before.)rnThe Inn was cjuiet, no one aroundrnbut a few overweight pre-season touristsrnand a Twig Pig with a gun on his hip,rnlooking for a redneck like me to shoot. 1rndrank a beer in the truck, wonderingrnwhether, if I tossed the empty can in thernair, he’d be able to hit it with his .38 Special,rnand went to call Rhonda in Laramiernto see how my horses were getting alongrnwithout me. When I got off the phonernmy watch said 3:45, meaning Sheeley &rnGonapany were running three-quarters ofrnan hour behind schedule. They pulledrninto the parking area at four o’clock sharprnby my watch, 3:00 P.M. local time (I’d forgottenrnArizona doesn’t observe DaylightrnSa’ing): Tom, his daughter Gory, andrncolleague Tim Smith from the music departmentrnat Northern Arizona Unixersity,rntheir three backpacks brdging likernT.E. Lawrence’s baggage train in therntruck bed, along with ten or twelve casesrnof Busch’s beer —lacking only Madd}’rnAlbright, who Tom explained had beenrndispatched by President Clinton to an internationalrnconference in Cairo organizedrnto protest the plight of enslaved gavrnpeople in the Sudan. Her absence wasrnregrettable, as the expedifioia would nowrnbe lacking a beer truck, but it’s as well forrnus to be reminded from time to time ofrnthe truth of the motto Nolite Confiderernin Principihus. Tom switched vehicles tornride with me, and we entered the parkrnheaded for the North Rim 45 miles to thernsouth, followed by Tina and Corey inrnTina’s Toyota pickup and drinking Busehrnto celebrate the start of our latest adventurerntogether.rnThe Grand Canyon was fornaed by thernColorado River cutting through a bulgernlifting high above the north-central Arizonarndesert floor. At the North Rim, thernKaibab Plateau attains an elevation ofrnnearly 9,000 feet. Climbing higher, werncame to wide expanses of glar)’ corn snov’rnbordered by forests of Ponderosa pinernfading away in deeper and deeper shadesrnof cold blue shadow.rn”We could be in trouble,” Tom said.rn”As warm a winter as we’ve had, I didn’trnexpect to find this much snow up here.”rnA mile farther on we came to the signpostrnmarking the start of Forest ServicernRoad 422. The gravel apron shaded offrninto mud, and beyond the mud was thernsoft snow, filliiag in the cut as far as therntreeline across the low swales and therndrifted-over creek bed.rn”Do you have a shovel with you?”rnTom asked.rn”Sure. It’s in the toolbox.”rn”Let’s try it, then.”rnI stared at the slumping sea of glazedrnsnow ahead. It was a sight to have maderneven my old comrade-in-arms JackrnMootz consider where he expected tornspend the night. But Tom was in thrall tornhis vision of the Esplanade, Thunder River,rnand Deer Creek, as Coronado hadrnbeen entranced by the Seven Gifies ofrnCibola.rn”You want to tr’ and push that for 45rnmiles?”rn”Let’s see how far we can naake it, anyway.rnIf we get stuck, we can dig out.”rnWell, y e s . . . we could, but the fun wasrnnot supposed to start until the trailhead,rn45 miles away, with nay 65-pormd packrnoia a crumbly, ankle-hvisting desceiat I’drnbeeia promised was steeper than breakfastrnin Aspen.rnI locked the wheel hubs in and dowiashiftedrnto compound low for a halflaeartedrnrun at the snowfield. We naade 20rnyards before the truck succumbed to thernforces of inertia and quit, spinning itsrntires deeper into their slush’ grooves.rn”Let me tr’,” Tom suggested.rnPositive thinking, while adiaairable,rnhas its limits. He gained another 30 yardsrnbefore the truck went down again, thisrntime in snow that packed the driveline iiarna bit more snugly than I felt comfortablernwith. Cory and Tim climbed frona thernAUGUST 2000/49rnrnrn