Read Part 1 of my trip to Flagstaff here.

Day three of my exciting adventure in Flagstaff began on a somber note, as we awoke to find the bear had finally given up the ghost.

A few hours later she would be nothing but a leg.

But this was not our concern, as Josh, Ginny and I were headed to the lava tube. Tucked away discreetly in a random Flagstaff forest is the stone entrance to a cave that was once a conduit for molten hot lava. I had seen a picture the day before at Josh’s newspaper and decided that I had to go to it. Little did I know that inside the lava tube, I would discover a painful secret about myself, a secret that’s so explosive and shocking, I must hide it on the next page.

Ginny stands before the entrance of the lava tube.

The secret I discovered about myself is that I AM TERRIFIED OF CAVES.

I had been inside a cave once before, Mammoth Caves in Kentucky. It was an awesome experience. This was nothing like Mammoth Caves. In Mammoth Caves, we went on a very safe, well-illuminated group tour led by a park ranger. The cave we toured was wired with electric lights.

The lava tube, on the other hand, was a dank, dark hole in the ground. We had to suit up in crazy headlights that looked like S&M gear to see our way around:

The air inside the cave hovered somewhere around 30 degrees. I was feeling slightly claustrophobic but decided to muscle through, lest I appear to be a wussy in front of Josh and Ginny. Ginny, perhaps sensing my nervousness, taunted me by slowing down time:

Josh joined in, shooting psychic energy out of his head:

Suddenly, they bum rushed me, and everything went white.

When I awoke, I was in the darkest pit of Hell. Josh tended over a blazing fire while strange men in fleece jackets drank exotic beers.

Needless to say, we didn’t get too far. After crawling through a tiny passageway on our hands and knees, I insisted we turn around. When we looked at the map afterwards, we discovered we’d made it less than halfway through the cave. The entire cave was only 1/2 a mile long. It was not a pleasant experience.

Luckily, I am not afraid of heights. We moved on to the Grand Canyon.

Now this was my kind of adventure. You see how happy I am?

We set out on the largest trail down the side of the mountain. Josh and Ginny did their best impression of American Gothic:

Then they let me watch them make out.

The trails of the Grand Canyon are filled with fat tourists on mules. According to Josh, every year a few of these tourists fall to their deaths in some muling mishap. As I said before, I have no problem with heights, but the thought of riding some unpredictable beast down the tiny paths of the Grand Canyon gives me the shivers.

There is not much to say about the Grand Canyon except that it is as breathtaking as you think it would be. Ginny went on a week-long rafting trip down the river at the bottom of the canyon. It sounded pretty amazing. This is something I would like to do myself some day. Here we are in a happy group shot:

After the Grand Canyon tour, we went to a special secret hidden spot that is off the beaten path for tourists. Cochino Pass or something like that. This was where we saw the most beautiful views of the canyon. Here Ginny appears to dangle her feet off the edge of the earth.

I think Josh put it best when he said, “Can you imagine the early explorers, traveling all the way across the West, and then getting here and being like, ‘ohhhhhh fuuuuuck.’”

That night, we headed back to Josh & Ginny’s and watched a really horrible movie called Waiting. It was the only dismal spot on an otherwise wonderful weekend. Well, that and being dragged to the darkest pit of Hell.

The next morning I left bright and early. If there’s any question left that Flagstaff is a strange place, I will leave you with this sign I spotted at the Quality Inn on my way out of town.