After years of planning and saving, my family journeyed to Arizona, to see the Grand Canyon, Petrified Forest & Painted Desert, and other "required" points of interest. As a native Arizonian, it was great to be home, breathing that clear, cool air that can suck all the moisture out of your sinuses in 3.2 seconds. There's nothing like sniffing Carmex for a few days to keep your nose lubed and alter your brain chemistry.

The fact that I have zero cartilage in either knee wasn't gonna stop me from being the Ultimate Big Girl Adventure Seeker; I did what every Big Girl on a mission does: I self-medicated. Months of hoarding dental work painkillers paid off, and each day I tromped and hiked my way up rocky paths, scenic overlooks, and on and off shuttle buses with the best of 'em. Each night, I doused my troubles with a top-shelf margarita and a pain pill, slept like a baby, and faced the next day ready to go.

Despite surviving the stair-climbing in 40mph winds with zero oxygen at the Meteor Crater, the tromping and stomping at the Grand Canyon and up and down the Giant Log Trail, and stuffing my bruised ta-tas back in my bra after a Red Rocks Jeep Tour, I was pretty proud of my middle-aged endurance. Every morning, as we departed on another adventure, we drove past Bell Rock, and I'd blissfully suggest that at some point, it would be cool to visit it.

"Bell Rock's a vortex, you know. Native Americans say the negative and positive energy is very healing. We have to do it, how many chances do you have to visit a vortex?" My husband and 10 year old son rolled their eyes at my Big Girl New Ageness.

On our last day of vacation, after we'd exhausted all other sources of entertainment, as well as our finances, my son at long last expressed an interest in seeing Bell Rock. I gleefully drove to the ranger station for a permit, and a trail map. "What are all those little dotted lines?" I innocently asked the ranger.

"That's the elevation. Bell Rock Trail goes straight up, but it's short, only 1.1 miles. A child could do it."

Big Girls with Zero Knee Cartilage don't like to hear the words straight up in the same sentence with 1.1 miles times two = 2.2 miles, when our knees scream in pain just getting in and out of the car. I batted my eyes at the ranger. "Isn't there some kind of drive-up trail for disabled people? I have bad knees."

The ranger didn't blink. "You and everybody else your age, lady. It's a vortex. The Native Americans say it can heal your arthritis. Maybe you should try it."

My son and husband laughed out loud.

We set out on a beautiful day, hawks soaring overhead with my lean, mean muscular machine of a husband yards ahead, and at first, the gentle incline on the dusty red dirt was simply not an issue. If I became a little breathless, I simply stopped to take photos, or examine rock samples on the path. So what if it took me forty-five minutes to walk a tenth of a mile! I am Big Nature Girl! I'm going to climb a vortex and be healed!

But soon said path inclined more steeply into the wilderness, and with my head down in order to keep my lungs from collapsing, I was nearly trampled by a herd of wild mountain bikers who careened down the trail at, I'm not kidding, 50mph on their big-tired mountain bikes. If I'd only brought a smoke hood, gee, I would have been able to breathe through the huge cloud of RED DUST they generated.

So this coughing, choking Big Girl Who Was Not Amused stopped every thirty seconds and gasped at my son, "Ok, are you SURE we didn't already pass Bell Rock?" to which he rolled his eyes, and said, "Mom, um, see that huge red rock up ahead? The one that looks like a bell, the one you can see for miles? That's it. Come on, you have to touch it for the cure to work."

I looked up from my red dust-infused stupor. Bell Rock, the former icon of Big Girl Vacation Happiness, was now the enemy. I turned my head to see a group of Elderhostel Refugees passing me double-time on the path.

After much huffing and puffing, I made it to Bell Rock, and if my family hadn't taken pity on me, Bell Rock would now be my permanent residence. When you have Big Girl Bad Knees, the up-climbing's painful, but not so bad as the down-climbing. So after much haranguing and gnashing of teeth, I negotiated myself to the edge of the rock, sat down for the requisite Big Girl Photo Op, but promptly realized I had to get back down. Not a pretty sight, or within the realm of possibility.

"Oh, it's so beautiful here, I think I'll just stay."

My husband sighed. "Yep, it's gorgeous. You rest for a minute, then we'll walk down."

"No, I mean I'll just live here. I can't get back down, look at all that loose gravel, I'll fall! What were you thinking, making me climb up here? You can bring me food and water every few days. And my mail. And some chocolate. It wouldn't be so bad to live here. How cold does it get at night?"

My son rolled his eyes. "Didn't the vortex heal your knees? I can feel the healing power, can't you, Dad?"

More male sighs and laughter. "Oh, yeah, I feel it all right, in my arms after I haul your mother down this rock!"

Obviously, I made it down to the safety of my car, where my purse contained my stash of painkillers, which of course I refused to share with my husband. Next day I couldn't walk a step, but how many Big Girls can say they climbed a vortex, and lived to tell about it?

Bunkie Lynn