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I should have suspected my trip to Arizona was snakebit when I got food poisoning from a slice of heat-lamp pizza.

I should have known the trip was doomed when I stopped to pick up a rental truck, and the fellow who promised it to me had left the country.

Oh — and this trip was in September 2001, mere weeks after the 9/11 attacks. Air traffic nationwide was grounded. I lost a big chunk of vacation time to the long drive from Georgia to Arizona and back.

On paper, my vacation had great promise. I had signed up for a work project with the Grand Canyon Field Institute. Our group was going to Schmutz Spring, a natural spring near the Toroweap Overlook on the north rim of Grand Canyon. The spring had been stomped into mush by cattle and needed restoration.

It was my second trip to western Grand Canyon. The year before, I had gone to Toroweap with another Field Institute group, and I liked it. I wanted to explore further.

Specifically, I intended to hike down the infamous Toroweap Trail, which leads to Lava Falls, the biggest rapid on the Colorado River. I planned to camp there for two nights and return home with awesome photos.

Twice, I had been through mighty Lava Falls by raft. Hiking down to the rapid and camping there would be a new adventure.

The previous year, our Field Institute group had a chance to hike down to the river. The group leaders called for a vote, but not enough people wanted to go. I was seriously miffed.

So the real highlight of this 2001 trip was the week prior to the restoration project: my long-awaited hike down the Lava Falls Route.

Author and photographer John Annerino, who wrote the definitive Sierra Club handbook, “Hiking the Grand Canyon,” described the Lava Falls Route this way:

Plummeting an astonishing 2,600 vertical feet in a mile and a half, the Toroweap Trail is an avalanche of a route waiting to throw you to your knees during the descent and to suck the last drop of moisture out of you during the debilitating crawl out.

There is little more to say about the viper-plagued route snaking its way through glass-black lava other than follow the rock cairns on the descent and, once you turn around, the white crosses shining the way back out of this fearsome hole.

How could I resist? A mile and a half? That’s a stroll to the mailbox.

On the other hand, getting to the trailhead on the north rim of Grand Canyon is a serious challenge. The trail begins near the Toroweap Overlook — 75 rugged, unpaved miles from Fredonia, the nearest town. To drive your own car to Toroweap would be foolhardy; to drive a rental car, probably illegal.

But I had a plan. On my previous trip, I had met a mechanic in Fredonia, Tony, who offered to let me use (rent) his truck on some future visit. The truck, fitted with heavy-duty tires and three spares, routinely made the run out to Toroweap to rescue stranded motorists.

A few months earlier, I called and told him about my upcoming trip. He readily agreed to let me rent his truck.

At that point, I had a vehicle, a Backcountry Permit, and my gear at the ready. Things were falling into place.

The unraveling of everything began on September 18. After the long drive west, I stopped briefly at Grand Canyon Lodge on the North Rim. At the cafeteria, I ate a slice of pepperoni pizza for lunch before heading to Fredonia.

On the road a short time later, food poisoning kicked in. I pulled over, staggered away from the car, and vigorously deposited the offending pizza at the edge of a roadside meadow.

I reached Fredonia a few hours later, still queasy, and checked into my motel. I went to bed early, hoping to sleep it off.

A good night’s sleep helped considerably. The next morning, feeling almost normal again, I went to Tony’s garage to get the rental truck.

The garage was padlocked. According to a hand-written note in the window, Tony had gone hunting in Canada.

Tony, Tony, Tony.

I was screwed. I couldn’t drive the long, rough road to Toroweap in my own car. All it had was one laughable donut spare tire. Unless I could find other transportation, somewhere, somehow, my Lava Falls hike was off.

With nothing specific in mind, I drove a few miles north to Kanab, Utah, a larger town that might offer options.

When I got to town, I stopped at a camera store to buy a few lens cloths. I told the owner, Terry, about my plight and asked if he knew anyone who might rent me a vehicle.

Terry had a better idea. He would be willing to shuttle me to and from the trailhead for the modest sum of $250.

Ouch. That was about a dollar a mile for two roundtrips, rounded down a bit to be nice.

Well, what choice did I have? I went back to the motel, grabbed my gear, and checked out. Soon, Terry and I were bumping down the road to Toroweap in a Land Cruiser.

Sixty miles south of the nearest pavement sits the Toroweap Ranger Station. Ten miles beyond that, the dirt road ends at the Toroweap Overlook on the rim of Grand Canyon.

To reach the trail to Lava Falls, you turn onto a ridiculously primitive spur road five miles past the Ranger Station. That spur, which is so rough it isn’t even comfortable for walking, ends three miles later at the trailhead.

The trailhead consists of a small bare flat spot close to the rim, a forlorn visitor register, and a beat-up wooden sign where the Lava Falls Route begins.

Terry would be back in two days to pick me up. I was the sole permit-holder. No one else would be there for days.

At that point, my bout of food poisoning was the last thing on my mind. I felt perfectly fine.

Terry helped me unload my gear, which included two extra gallons of water to leave behind at the trailhead, and departed. It was 2:00 PM. I shouldered my pack and headed down the Lava Falls Route at last.

To be continued…

The adventure begins here.

The trailhead.

View from the rim showing the lava flow.