Make sure your bladder is full, said nobody ever

You’d think I was going to scale Mt. Killamanjaro.

I’m not. But if I was, I’ve got the tools. As I write we’re prepping for a trip to Utah and five National Parks — with friends in a convoy of two RVs. The trip was purchased in 2019, canceled by Covid in 2020, out of the question in 2021, and now back on the calendar.

We’re more than three years older than when we first signed up and wondering if we still have the stamina for the hiking and room in the duffel for the medications, C-Pap machine and hearing aid chargers.

We’re flying out to Salt Lake City, picking up the rental RVs and heading to Canyonland. Arches, Capital Reef, Bryce and Zion. And we are ready.

First we bought hiking shoes. My spouse has made me wear them around the house for the last week to “break them in.” I have a mountain in my kitchen but it’s only dirty dishes. I feel silly. But tromp around in hikers I do, preparing for the red rock outward bound.

While ordering the shoes I read about their purpose: to cushion and support human feet from abrasions from rough wilderness, water, mud or wildlife underfoot. I almost canceled the trip right then and there. Face it, other travelers or bears will not find themselves underfoot. I know what they meant. Noooooo!

As for wilderness, there’s guaranteed to be thousands of other tourists tromping along these same trails we are, so wilderness is probably a thing of the past. It’s possible it will be so populated we’ll be wise to mask up.

We also bought hiking sticks (to beat back the wildlife?) and backpacks with water bladders. I figure that the Amazon delivery guy thinks new people bought our house.

So where should we try out the hiking sticks? The only 2-degree rise in Delaware is the one on my treadmill. I’d look pretty silly using my trekking poles to walk into WaWa. The poles collapse down for easy packing. Better them than me.

We decided we didn’t need the anti-shock poles which have an extra spring in them to absorb the shock of walking for people with unstable knees, hips and ankles. Heck, that’s me but unless it was going to absorb the shock of going on this trip at all, I went for saving money.

Our vacation partners called this morning and told me they cleaned out their bladders yesterday. This gave me pause. I clean out my bladder several times during the night but that’s apparently not what they meant.

Oh, the bladders in the back pack. I guess it does make sense to clean out something you are ostensibly going to suck tepid water from while schlepping up trails and down canyons. So I washed my backpack bladder, then tried on the backpack. I fought the urge to yodel like Heidi going up to feed sheep in the Alps.

Cleaning out my personal bladder figured into our rental requirements for the RV. The bed needed exits on both sides. We’re too old to climb over one another, especially when nature is calling. That nature called for me to visit Utah’s slotted canyons and grand rock arches and I agreed is still baffling to me.

Luckily, being equipped for RV travel is no problem, we’re experienced. We know all about full hook-ups, where you get sewer, water, electric and sometimes even wi-fi and cable. We bring bug spray. As you might guess, I refuse to sleep any place with turf between me and a bathroom, so tent camping was out. The RV has carpeting on that path so I’m good.

Consulting a list of what to bring for day-hiking, I recognized some hikers’ need for things like a compass, knife, flashlight and first aid kit, especially those hiking a long way to Tipparary. But I figure that at any point we’re not going to be more than a mile from the visitor’s center and a regulation toilet. After all, I am still me. And besides, I’m more worried about extra battery power for my iPhone camera and perhaps a very loud whistle.

Oh, and in addition to hiking, some of us are going zip-lining (been there, done that, barely survived, you probably read about it), rappelling into slot canyons (maybe) and a boat ride (for sure). Can’t wait.

We do have to put together a shopping list for our campfire dinners (S’mores!) and food for lunch to take with us in the aforementioned back packs. Nothing with mayonnaise, I guess.

While researching I found out that you can purchase a FEMA-approved one-week survival kit of non-perishable food that is disaster-proof and can be stored and safe for 25 years. I’m going with peanut butter and jelly instead. Although I liked the idea of disaster-proof.

Let’s hope that this whole upcoming folly is disaster-proof. And there’s a nightlight in the bathroom in the camper for cleaning out my bladders(s).