End of Season Hiking in Arizona

September 24-28, 2026

Thursday, September 24th, 2026

    The flight out to Phoenix was your typical nightmare, doubly so on Southwest. I’m not sure how that airline manages to out-shithole a Mos Eisley cantina, but each time I’m forced to fly it I look forward to the end of the world with a smile in my heart and a clothespin on my nose. We came out of the clouds and I turned off airplane mode. There was a message from Samagra, informing Vignesh and I that he wanted to get some work done, and we needed to find our own way to his apartment on the other side of town.
    “Shit,” I said, looking over Vignesh’s shoulder at the Uber pickup point. “Eighty dollars for an Uber? Not worth it.”
    Lyft said sixty. I thought a bit. “Let’s take the train a few stops away from the airport and then try Ubering. That way we dodge the airport pickup premium.”
    Vignesh was cool with the idea, probably thinking I was operating purely on logic and not a religious fervor for rail-bound public transit. Vignesh bought a pair of single-use train tickets from the machine.
    “Woah, I already got you one,” Vignesh said, noticing me swiping my card on the machine after he had finished.
    “Yes, but I need the transit card. It’s the Copper Card. For my collection.”
    Maybe he had suspicions.
    We descended to the platform and waited. And waited. And waited. Thirty minutes pass. Samagra must have noticed my location was still just outside the airport and asked where we were.
    ‘The train,’ I replied.
    ‘There’s no train brother. We’re not in Seattle. Okay fine, where are you, I’ll just come.’
    ‘No, we’re okay. We’re taking the train.’
    Half an hour passed. Vignesh did not seem the least bit annoyed, to my appreciation. We chatted and waited. A delay came on the screen.
    ‘Shit, train delayed,’ I message Samagra.
    ‘While they build it?’ he replied instantly.

    Eventually, it came. We climbed aboard. It was awesome. Vignesh took out his phone as the doors shut.
    “Wait a second. Wait a second. This train is going the wrong way. Samagra lives northeast. This train is going straight west. Wait a second. I think we fucked up.” Vignesh looked at me in agony, but I was laughing too hard to care. We got off at the next stop, having ridden the train for less than five minutes.
    The uber we called was forty dollars. We halved the price in an hour. Long live the train.
    It took fifteen minutes for our Civic to show up. We slid inside, and a chubby Hispanic man dressed shoes to hat in bright red looked at us in the rearview.
    “Ready Freddies?” he asked.
    “Er… ready.”
    He began driving.
    “We need to make a quick stop at the gas station. Just a bit of gas to get us there, not a full tank, don’t worry.”
    The driver pulled us into a gas station. He positioned himself between a pump and what were very clearly a row of gas station hookers. We all sat there in the car for a second.
    “I’m sorry, we’re in the ghetto here. Let’s go to a different gas station.”
    He took us to the gas station across the street. A woman who had taken too much of something was standing on the curb dancing rhythmlessly but passionately. Apparently this was an acceptable level of ghetto.
    “Alright, just give me a second. And some free entertainment!” the driver offered. He slammed the door and began filling up. Viggy and I kept our heads down until he had returned.
    “So, where are you guys from?”
    “Uh, Austin,” Vignesh said. I figured I’d let him handle this conversation.
    “Nice. Why are you here in Phoenix?”
    “Oh, we’re going hiking up in Flagstaff.”
    “Wow, very cool. I’ve never been. I’ve never actually left Phoenix, and I was born here. Never been to the Grand Canyon either. I’m a really superstitious guy. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back, they say. Well, I’m never gonna break my mother’s back so I’ll never go!”
    “Huh… interesting…”
    “I don’t lie either. Tell a lie, make your mama die, they say. So I’m never gonna ever lie, keep my mama protected and safe, you understand me?”
    Vignesh nodded. “I like that. These are nice. What other superstitions do you have?”
    “Elves,” the driver said immediately.
    Viggy clearly did not expect this answer. “...Elves.”
    “That’s why I don’t leave the city. The desert is crawling with elves. You gotta be careful. I’m not afraid of them cause I’m a neighbor of God, but a lot of people aren’t. My buddy was on the run from the police, and he was hiding in the desert, he hid in a tire shop, and he said while he was hiding he heard the pitter patter of little feet. He was afraid because he’s no neighbor of God. They’re demonic creatures.”
    “Elves? Like… Santa?”
    “Nah man, not the little guys that trade your teeth for money. I’m talking about elves.”
    “What? Gnomes?”
    The driver pondered this. “Maybe. Gnomes. Hmm, yeah. Gnomes. Oh, another superstition I believe in is writing down your goals.”
    “...Right.”
    The car was silent for a bit, but the driver started up again shortly.
    “One thing I’m really proud of, is my sobriety. A while ago, I got into a car accident. It was bad. Hurt myself pretty bad. Broke my hip and tore up my arm. A few months ago, I got into a fight. And I lost.”
    “Was losing the fight because of the car accident?” Vignesh interjected.
    “Yeah, yeah it was. And afterward, my body started talking to me. And I said to my body, ‘woah bro, you can talk?’ And my body said ‘yeah man, we lost because I’m so weak.’ And I said ‘I’m so sorry bro.’ and my body said ‘guess what bro? This is how I feel every time you do drugs.’ And that’s when I realized my body was right. So I got sober. I made a contract with the universe, that I would be sober for six months. But it’s so easy I might just break the contract, cause I don’t need to.
    Vignesh was awestruck, probably in a different way than the driver intended. “That’s… so cool… You had a physical experience that became mental. Or spiritual, I guess? I’m really happy for you.”
    “Yeah, so now I try to spread the good word. Make sure everyone staying sober, you know?”
    Vignesh said he knew. We arrived at Samagra’s apartment eventually and he told Samagra that he was glad to be rid of us since we smelled so bad.
    We rode the elevator up to the third floor and went inside. Shreyas arrived at around midnight.

Friday, September 25th, 2026

     Samagra had to go into work, so Vignesh and I drove him to the hospital so that we could steal his car afterward. With Samagra, Vignesh and Shreyas all working today, I had also not taken a day off work. But when I got an early email accepting me into an MBA fellowship, my ability to sit still and concentrate became greatly stunted. Between that and the jet lag, Vignesh proposed an early lunch. We went to Butter’s Pancakes and Cafe, and it was freaking awesome.

    Afterwards, we needed to get some work done.
    “Should we find a coffeeshop?” Vignesh asked.
    “No. Let’s go to ASU,” said Shreyas, the guy with the girlfriend.
    We went to ASU. It was ridiculously hot outside, and we marched across the campus towards the library. A few students were walking around in bikinis, which I chalked up to ASU being ASU. The library was almost completely empty, which I further chalked up to ASU being ASU.

    I generally love libraries. I find a lot of joy wandering around looking at books and imagining how productive I would be in the hidden spaces between the shelves. ASU’s library was about as pitiful as you might expect. Stacks few and far between, antiquated study rooms, a thin layer of dust– there was nothing romantic about it. I found a study room and took some calls.
    Samagra got off at 4, so we went and picked him up. After returning him to his apartment to take off his scrubs, he made an announcement.
    “Let’s go to the Village.”
    Samagra lives in Scottsdale, and he’s a doctor, so naturally he’s begun to rub elbows with the powerful white people of Arizona, and the natural venue for doing so is a country club analog like the Village.
    “There aren’t really any Indians there, so they might get nervous to see three of them come through the door. Zach, we’ll position you at the front. By the way, my name there is ‘Sam.’”
    The guy at the desk asked us to register as guests. “Your name?” He pointed arbitrarily at Vignesh first.
    “Vignesh.”
    “V… what?”
    “Vignesh, V-i-g-n,”
    “Wait, wait. Hang on. V, I?”
    “V-i-g-n-e-s-h.”
    Samagra was turned away, his fist in his mouth.
    “And your last name?”
    “Krishnamurthy K-r-i–”
    “Wait, what?”
    Samagra had tears in his eyes as he choked on his laughter.
    The Village was a right proper health club, or whatever you want to call it. A tennis facility, pool, coffee, basketball courts, squash and racquetball– all the yuppy sports and some of the average sports haunted its hallowed halls, and every single person inside looked like they had a tattoo of their college frat on their ankle. Samagra gave us the tour. Shreyas and Vignesh went to practice basketball, while Samagra and I played a few games of ping pong. Eventually, Shreyas and Vignesh joined us, and I beat them too.

    After pingpong, we wandered around, testing out the various facilities and tasting the water stations.
    “Wanna try the jiggler?” Somu asked.
    “What the fuck is jiggler,” I asked.
    “I don’t really know. It jiggles you.”
    We found it and got jiggled. I hated it.
    Shreyas, also having been jiggled, needed to do some stretching.
    I have not mentioned the crowning star of the Village, partially because it was what filled me the most with dread– the cold plunge. Underneath the Village is a sprawling complex of showers, locker rooms, saunas, steam rooms, and a large hot tub, next to which lies a 48 degree cold plunge. Samagra had taken Aditya on a visit this past summer, and Aditya had mentioned Samagra had made them both get naked before getting in. “It’s the culture at the Village,” he had justified. Having heard this tale before, we all brought swim trunks with us. Culture be damned.
    The hot tub was excellent.
    “Just so you know, the record in the cold plunge is ninety seconds. Who wants to go first?” Somu asked, obviously trying to ruin my happiness.
    Vignesh was the sacrificial lamb. He confidently strode up to the stairs into the cold plunge, watching the clock until the seconds read :00, and stepped in.
    It took a second before his face changed to one of sheer horror. His breathing went heavy. His eyes sunk. He lasted all of twenty seconds before racing out into the sanctity of the room temperature’d room.
    “Fuck. That.”
    “Zach? Your turn.”
    Hiding my nervousness, I approached the plunge, waited for the clock to turn over, and descended. It was awful. The water bit at me angrily in a way that the cold of Harbin never did, despite being 70 degrees warmer. I felt my nipples turn to rock, and then my fingertips begin to tingle. I heard my heartbeat in my ears and I focused on breathing in and out, paying close attention to the movement of my chest. My legs numbed underneath me. I looked at the clock. Fifteen seconds. I was not going to lose to Vignesh, at least. I kept breathing. Shreyas looked so calm and peaceful in the hot tub, half watching me, half eyes closed, unaware of the sheer agony of the cold plunge. Twenty eight seconds. Twenty nine seconds. Thirty seconds. I rose, clamored up the steps, and realized I could hardly stand. My legs had no sensation in them, and my balance was predicated on the angle of my bones alone. I stood at the edge of the hot tub, waiting for sensation to return, before collapsing into the heat once more.
    “Alright, Shreyas, you’re next.”
    We all took a few rounds each in the cold plunge. Shreyas and Samagra were quite incredible, lasting over two minutes each. Vignesh and I are made for warmer pastures. My best time was 45 seconds, and I have no interest in breaking that record.
    After the cold plunge, Samagra and Shreyas went into the steam room, and Samagra shaved, as there were razors and shaving cream inside. Because the mirror was so fogged, he nicked himself a few times, but you do what you have to for the Village culture. We then showered, put clothes back on, and took advantage of the products at various sinks throughout the locker room.
    “Have you ever used a hair dryer before?” Shreyas asked loudly to me.
    “I haven’t,” I replied. “Let’s try it.” An eight foot tall Norse god with a hedge fund father smirked as he walked by.
    I put on some hair gel, some deodorant, some moisturizer, and whatever else I could find. Shreyas tried some mouth wash. He spat it out.
    “Don’t try it! It’s NOT mouth wash.”
    I dropped my cup into the trashcan. “What is it?” I asked nervously.
    “I’m kidding. It’s mouth wash.”
    I tried that too.
    When we were all showered and good smelling and handsome with swimsuits dried in the tiny automatic dryer we marched back up to the main level and left the Village.
    “I think I understand the Village,” Vignesh professed. “This place is awesome.”
    Everyone was sufficiently hungry, and after a few false starts we settled on a Thai place for dinner. I love Thai food, but I get the same dish every time– pad kee mao. My friends are the same.
    “Wouldn’t it be great if we just went in and ordered four pad kee maos? I’ve always wanted to do that, but I always feel like at least someone should order something else.” Vignesh said.
    To his credit, the menu was strangely extensive for a Thai restaurant, and there were tons of unique dishes I hadn’t seen too often. Samagra asked the waitress what she recommended.
    “Oh, you will love the spicy tom yum mussel soup! It’s so good, you must order it.”
    “Okay, what do you think about the furious fish?”
    “Oh the furious fish is so good! It’s this big. I picked the fish out myself this morning! It was still alive this morning, I pointed to it and said, ‘I want that one!’ I am very good at picking out fish, you will love it. Westerners always see it and ask me, ‘can you chop off the head? It’s looking at me!’”
    Shreyas leaned in and whispered, “shit, I was going to ask her to chop off the head.”
    Vignesh looked heartbroken, because with an anecdote like that, how could one order the pad kee mao?
    “One last question, so we normally order pad kee mao, what would you recommend that’s similar, but not pad kee mao?”
    “Oh… I guess the pad see ew?”
    “Great. I guess we’ll have the tom yum, the furious fish, the pad see ew, and a pad kee mao.”
    The lady beamed.
    To her credit, the pad see ew was fantastic, and the rest of the team enjoyed the furious fish and tom yum. Vignesh confirmed, however, that the pad kee mao was the best dish.
    I wanted a beer, so Samagra chose a brewery in downtown Scottsdale and we navigated there. It was a fantastic pick– it was clean and well lighted, with a nice patio and an empty picnic table. I ordered the pumpkin beer, Somu ordered the pumpkin beer, Shreyas ordered the pumpkin beer, and in a panic, Vignesh ordered the Oktoberfest. The night air was perfect, and perfect is synonymous with Nitin, so we chatted about Nitin’s dating life. Surely it’s going well.

    After six beers (total, not each) we pivoted to another location downtown– the Wasted Grain, a music venue slash night club slash bar. Such a combination is enough to fill my heart and soul with dread, but I tried to rally. There was a line out the door, but no cover fee, and the guy checked my ID and belt. Inside was shoulder to shoulder packed, and Shreyas and I found an empty-ish space where drunk sorority girls only bumped into me every thirty seconds, apologizing profusely in English dripping with inebriation. Pastel colored lights lazily changed hues over the crowd, and an overweight woman on the stage sang radio pop from the early 2000s.

    “Vignesh needs another drink, we’re going to the bar.” Samagra disappeared, pulling Vignesh along. I scratched my palm and tried to not panic with all the people.
    And suddenly I realized it wasn’t so bad. I knew the songs, the other people knew the songs and were singing along, the lights weren’t giving me sensory overload, it wasn’t too loud. It was actually kind of nice. I even sang along a bit.
    Shreyas leaned in. “I”m watching this Indian guy over there.” Another Indian in Scottsdale? I craned my neck, I couldn’t see. Shreyas has about eight inches on me. He’s also seven inches taller than me, which is slightly more relevant here, so I just had to trust him to keep me updated if anything interesting happened.
    A few songs passed and Vignesh and Samagra reappeared.
    “DUDEYOU’LLNEVERBELIEVENEVERGUESSWHATJUSTHAPPENEDWHATJUSTHAPPEND,” they both erupted simultaneously.
    “What, what?” asked Shreyas.
    “Okay so we were in line at the bar, and this guy comes up, this Indian guy, he’s like Nitin, but a chad, Chad Nitin, anyway he comes up and he’s like, ‘woahhhh! No way! Handsome Indians! I never thought I’d see two handsome Indians here!’ Then he told Samagra, ‘If you ever see me, I’ll hook you up.’ Can you believe it? Chad Nitin!”
    “Hook him up with what?” Shreyas asked.
    “I don’t know, but I kind of want to find out!”
    At that moment, Chad Nitin walked by with a girl, winking.
    “Holy shit,” I whispered.
    We didn’t stay too much longer. Shreyas was hungry, and he was latched onto the idea of the sandwich menu at AZ88, one of the only places selling food at 2am. I was running on fumes. Vignesh took the opportunity to recharge with an espresso martini.
    “Hang on,” Shreyas said, his mouth full of sandwich. “This is by far, by far the worst sandwich I’ve ever had. This is actually so gross.”
    “Do you think the waiter was hitting on me?” Samagra asked, a bit of ego stoking mimicking the efficacy of the espresso.

    It was late and I was exhausted, and between all the events of the day and the jet lag, I was more than ready to sleep.
    “Alright, let’s get Zach home, I think it’s his bedtime.” Samagra announced.
    I didn’t protest. Shreyas did.
    “Wait. I kinda want to gamble. Let’s go to a casino.”
    “Shreyas it’s so late, we gotta get up early to hike tomorrow.”
    “No come on, it’ll be fun. Let’s just go.”
    After some argument, Samagra routed to the Talking Stick Casino, which at 2am, was still quite busy. It was a pretty standard casino, with the sea of slot machines, craps, roulette tables, and about fifty variants of poker.
    “Is it true that if you’re losing hard enough, they’ll give you free drinks?” Shreyas asked.
    “Yeah, I’ve heard if you lose thousands, they’ll even offer you a hotel room so you don’t go home.”
    “Wait, I kinda want a drink, excuse me, where can I get a drink?”
    The lady smiled and led Shreyas to a bar, where she said something to the bartender, who gave Shreyas a cup of coke and a tiny straw.
    “Holy shit, she just got me a free drink. This place is awesome.”
    After a few false starts, we finally found the poker tables Shreyas so desperately craved. The poker warden recommended Shreyas take a seat at table 18. Shreyas walked up to table 3 and sat down at the empty seat.
    “Ayyy, bro this is a private game, whatchu doing man?” a Hispanic guy in the corner of the table asked.
    “I guess you can stay if the birthday girl is okay with it, it’s her game bro,” his friend chimed in. They both seemed very easygoing. Shreyas turned to the girl next to her, who I suddenly noticed was wearing a pink dress and sash and tiara. She smiled and said it was fine.
    “I bet he’s a shark! He’s got all his friends back there, that’s such shark behavior,” the first guy said.
    “I’m not a shark, I’m a fish,” Shreyas retorted.
    “Ah! Something a shark would say! He’s gonna wipe us clean!”
    The dealer did his job. Shreyas flashed us his cards and played calmly. He won the first round with a full house.
    “See? What did I say, he’s a shark!”
    The unfortunate consequences of Shreyas’ victory was that he completely cleaned out the birthday girl, who thanked everyone and bowed out. Shreyas took his second hand. Pocket aces. He went aggressive early, and the birthday girl’s dad thought he was bluffing, fighting him to the end. The pot went to Shreyas. He picked up his chips, tipped the dealer, and left the table. Two hands, two victories, 7x return, and he was gone. Absolute shark behavior.

    Back in the poker lobby, we bumped into the birthday girl, who proudly told us in a Lizzo-thick Southern accent that she was 21, this was her first time gambling, and she’s terrible at poker. As a birthday gift, Shreyas gave her ten dollars in chips.
    “You know what you gotta do now, right?” Vignesh asked.
    “Put it all on red?”
    “Put it all on red!”
    Shreyas put a handful of chips on red. It was black.
    “This was so fucking stupid.”
    “Okay, but imagine if you put it all on black.”
    Shreyas did not put it all on black. Instead he cashed out and we drove home with his fresh new Benjamins.

Saturday, September 26th, 2026

    After a brief stop at a grocery store for some supplies and Starbucks, we drove to Sedona.
    “You know it’s kinda hot out here.”
    “Well maybe if we left at 8 o’clock like the plan said, we would be able to hike before it gets murderously hot.”
    Shreyas casually raised his phone. “Chat, update the plan so that we’re actually arriving in Sedona at 12:30, not 8:30.” I assume ChatGPT did just that. “Okay, it’s updated. You can look at the new plan now.”
    Nobody looked. Instead, we found some sandwich shop called Drewbies. In typical fashion, Vignesh, Shreyas and I ordered the avocado sandwich, and Samagra got an egg burrito.
    “What now?”
    “Chat, update the plan so that we’re actually starting in Sedona at 1:30,” Shreyas responded.
    Samagra sighed. “What does it say?”
    “Uhm… Some church..”
    “Alright, let’s go.”
    Most of God’s workforce has retired in the prior century, so He expanded his benefit plan to include a perfectly timed parking spot for us on the narrow road leading up to the church. It was a small church, absolutely packed with people, with some nice views of the valley and red rock formations around. The church felt very modern, which I suppose lent itself to a nice contrast with the western-vibe of Sedona, but personally I wasn’t too impressed. A huge Jesus statue, crucifix and all, loomed over the congregation, with disturbing painted-on eyes that shifted the icon from tragic to creepy. In the church basement was a divine gift shop, and I oggled the statues of heavily armed angel soldiers while Shreyas spent some of his gambling money on a candle for the altar.

    Having been spiritually cleansed or something, we decided to mainline some irony by taking the Devil’s Bridge trail to see the competitor’s compensation package. The parking benefit was slightly worse– it took us two rounds of the parking lot before someone left and we could swoop in, and then we were off, walking through the literal desert on a sandy riverbed. I found myself reaching for my water immediately, and hoped my SPF 50 would be enough to keep my neck from frying.

    “Do you think Chad Nitin could have made this hike?”
    “Oh, easily. Chitin can do anything he wants.”
    “Man, I’m so curious what he’s going to hook me up with. I should have asked.”
    We put heel to dirt for another hour before we arrived at the climax of the hike– the Devil’s Bridge, a rock formation between the pillar we were standing on and an adjacent pillar resembling a bridge, with a dizzying drop below. About a dozen hikers were already lined up to take their pictures, each of them passing a phone back to the next group to do the job. Most of the hikers were European, strangely, and many of them wanted solo shots, so we waited around 45 minutes for our turn.
    “Here, I hope these are good,” the lady said.
    They were straight ass.

    The sun was beginning to set, and we had one more destination (‘Chat, it’s 4:30pm,...’) that we needed to see in Sedona– Cathedral Rock. Clearly, Islam has taken a tight hold over central Arizona. Once again, we were blessed by convenient parking.
    Cathedral Rock is a famous sunset hike, and there were plenty of others joining in on the fun. A surprising amount were young kids and old people. The hike wasn’t very long, but there was a good amount of scrambling, including a tight crevasse that Vignesh immediately dubbed “the buttcrack.” Shreyas kept it thematic by taking pictures of mine as we ascended.

    At the top of the butte, the sun was going down, striking long shadows into the desert behind us. The rock glowed a magnificent orange. It was beautifully peaceful, with the exception of some guy trying to fly a cheap drone (BZZZZZZZZZZZZZT), and a group of women that had never been in public before (“AYIYIYIYYIYIYIYIAIIIIIIIIIIIIII! WOOP WOOP WOOP!”) We took a handful of rather excellent pictures.

    “Alright, the sun has set, should we head down now?” I asked, cautious of scrambling in the dark.
    “No, we gotta wait until the sunset turns pink. It’s Saturday night in Sedona. It has to,” Samagra answered, confident Houndmouth would never lie to him.
    Houndmouth lied, and we descended in the dark, found the car, and made for the Airbnb in Flagstaff.
    With the big hike scheduled for tomorrow, Somu and I were hoping for a calorically dense but easily digestible dinner, especially after the furious fish had swam through, wreaking havoc along the way. We were set on Mediterranean, but Shreyas was set on a wreaking havoc of his own.
    “No. Doesn’t Indian sound so good right now? Let’s get Indian.”
    “No, bro, my stomach can’t handle Indian. I need something gentle.”
    Vignesh chimed in. “I want Chipotle.”
    “Chipotle is a terrible idea, you’re going to be shitting yourself on the mountain.”
    “I don’t care, I want Chipotle.”
    “Come on dude, let’s just get Indian. Doesn’t this look so fire?”
    “No. It doesn’t. Check for Mediterranean places.”
    “Someone drop me off at Chipotle.”
    “I’m calling the Indian place right now. I’m ordering for myself. You guys are on your own.”
    We made the appropriate rounds. While Vignesh was building his bowl, the remainder stepped into a grocery store to buy more water.
    “Let’s grab a cart,” Samagra said.
    “We don’t need a cart,” I replied. “We’re just getting water.”
    “Oooookay, suit yourself.”
    I came to regret the decision deeply. The first thing we picked up was a 24 pack of water, and naturally I carried it. Then we decided we needed peanut butter and jelly, ziploc bags, yogurt, focaccia bread, the list continued. Our pathing seemed intentionally inefficient as we paced the length of the store, and Samagra set each item on top of my heavy platform of water with near orgasmic relish. Shreyas very kindly offered to take some of the burden, but it was all just noise in comparison to the 24 pack, which had somehow begun to leak on me. By the twenty minute mark my biceps were screaming, and setting it down in the car was nearly as much a physical relief as climbing out of the cold plunge.

Sunday, September 27th, 2026

    The alarm saved me from my gross Airbnb bed, and within an hour and a half we were at the base of the San Francisco Peaks, bags filled with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cliffbars, and water bottles (they were less heavy in small doses.)
    “Excuse me,” Vignesh asked the park rangers for a map.
    “No, we don’t have physical maps. But it’s very hard to get lost up there. The trail is well marked.” The ranger looked us over. “Clearly, you’ve never been here before. You’re gonna want to dress warmly for the top. If you have gloves, wear them. Hiking poles were basically made for Humphrey’s peak. Have fun.”
    We started walking.
    “I don’t like the sound of ‘clearly, you’ve never been here before,’” Somu muttered.
    We hiked. And hiked. And hiked. The San Francisco Peaks were once a 16,000 foot volcano that blew its top off and now boasted a rim of several peaks, the tallest being Humphrey’s at around 13,000 feet. The foot of the mountain is pretty heavily forested, with a half dozen long switchbacks snaking up. I felt slightly nauseous, slightly lightheaded from the altitude, and I found myself unable to walk and eat, as I couldn’t even spare a few seconds to pause my mouth from its panting. We powered through the early hours, and after a thousand feet of climb we started taking more and more frequent breaks, lasting slightly longer each time.

    “We’re almost to the treeline,” I said five or six times.
    “You’ve said that five or six times,” Samagra said five or six times.
    At the treeline the switchbacks disappeared and we hiked along the alpine tundra ridge of the crater. With the disappearance of roots and dirt, we were climbing over jagged rocks and boulders, and it was quite punishing. The sky felt dark and close, and the winds were sharp and cut straight through my sweaty wool shirt and into my bones. Despite the Wikipedia page calling out that the climb famously has several false peaks, Vignesh and Samagra fell for almost every single one of them. After five and a half hours of hiking, we finally summited and touched the roof of Arizona.
    The view from the top was quite lovely.

    “Wait a second, this was just a Seattle hike, and not even a good Seattle hike,” Shreyas complained.
    ‘THE VIEW FROM THE TOP IS QUITE LOVELY,’ I thought a little louder.
    In the crater was a grove of aspen trees, painting a yellow stain against the green to indicate that the fires of autumn were at the vestibule, and on the opposite side the desert of Arizona stood sprawling. To the northwest one could make out the north rim of the Grand Canyon, and a few lonely mountains dotted the horizon.
    Shreyas and Viggy lay down on the rocky summit to rest. A few others were up top with us.

    “Oh my god bro, you brought a Cartman plush up here? That is so funny bro,” one hiker said.
    “No bro, that was here. But you know what would be even more funny?”
    “What bro?”
    “If I brought a Morty plush,” the first guy replied.
    “Bro, that would be so funny.”
    We didn’t stay at the top much longer after that.
    The hike down was infinitely faster now that we had gravity working with us and had mostly adjusted to the altitude. The hiking poles my mom insisted I bring were a godsend, and I lent one to Shreyas after he had a spill. We were far quieter in those final hours, as we were all tired and focused mainly on getting to the car and getting food as quickly as possible. Comments were limited mainly to “Shreyas, did you just cropdust me AGAIN?” from Viggy and Samagra’s self directed compliments towards how nimble he is on the rocks. We stopped maybe once an hour. We reached the trailhead once again after eight hours on the nose, and set a course back to Phoenix.
    “What are we getting for dinner?” I asked.
    “I’m down for Thai again,” Somu said.
    “Thai sounds good.”
    “No wait, let’s get hot pot,” Shreyas said.
    “What is Zach gonna eat? Boiled vegetables?”
    “I’m vetoing hotpot!”
    “Okay, everyone gets one veto. Viggy just vetoed hotpot, Somu, what are you vetoing?”
    “I’ll veto Vietnamese.”
    “Oh, good veto, okay. And Zach vetoes Native American food.”
    “What? That’s not my veto.”
    “Okay we all have our veto in, let’s get Mexican, this place looks soooo good.”
    “What? No it doesn’t. Also, this is far as fuck.”
    “Fine. What should we get then?”
    “What about Thai?”
    “Hmm… Thai works. Let’s go to this Thai place, it looks soooo good.”
    “Shreyas that place is so far away. Let’s just go to the Thai place next to my apartment. Thai food is basically the same everywhere.”
    “Fine. Samagra, on a scale of Nitin, to you, to Chitin, where would you rank Kunal?”
    “Wait. Am I the midpoint?”
    We got Thai again.
    “I think we’re gonna do four pad kee maos,” Vignesh told the waitress. Character development.