Spent most of the night crossing the Grand Canyon. Only, half the time, I seemed to be in caves and tunnels.
And not the solid rock, large-open-space caves of Carlsbad, New Mexico, but those crumbly, shifting, sandstone ones of the Palo Duro. My tunnels were narrow, barely enough room for a single person, and sometimes they went straight up.
Dreams are funny like that. Freud said they were wish fulfillment. Not this one.
True, I’ve always wanted to hike across the Grand Canyon. Went part way in 1988, to a little Indian village called Supai. And, lately I’ve been thinking about going from rim to rim, starting at the South Rim near Kingman, Arizona.
But, while I think I can handle the suspension bridge that crosses the Colorado River, I’ll not go if there are tunnels.
Oh, almost forgot. My old Quarter Horse, King, was in my dream. Not sure how he fit in the tunnels.