BRYCE CANYON NATIONAL PARK, Utah </p><p><i>This article was originally published in the August 12, 2007 edition of The Kansas City Star</i></p><p> A few years down the road I want to be like Jack Wells.</p><p>I met Jack, who’s 82, and his wife, Kathi, 67, a few weeks ago at the bottom of the Queens Garden Trail, where I had stopped for a breath and a drink of water and to jot some notes. The return trip to Sunrise Point promised a rise of only about 320 feet over a mile -- moderately easy by Bryce standards -- but the trailhead stands 8,000 feet above sea level, so any climb can leave you huffing.</p><p>Up or down, it’s a marvelous hike. But then, they’re all marvelous in Bryce Canyon, a magical place filled with fairy-tale limestone spires in candy colors of red and pink and orange and purple.</p><p>But that’s getting away from the story.</p><p>As I took a last sip from my water bottle, the Wellses volunteered that they were headed along the Navajo Trail, a slightly steeper route that creates a loop with the Queens Garden Trail. No sense repeating ground already covered, right?</p><p>We struck up a conversation as we began walking, maps, water and digital cameras at the ready. Around every corner, the hoodoos -- rock formations created by eons of erosion -- became even more fantastic.</p><p>This was hiking heaven.</p><p>We talked about our families and the scenery. I walked a little ahead, but Jack and Kathi were right behind.</p><p>Yet it turned out that I have a long way to go to catch up with my new companions, veteran walkers who have accumulated thousands of miles participating in something called volkswalk with the American Volkssport Association.</p><p>They’ve trekked through cities and parks across the United States. This summer they were traveling across the country from their home in Arlington, Va., to Oregon and back, visiting children and grandchildren along the way.</p><p>We were caught up in conversation when the trail ended. Abruptly. As in "trail CLOSED because of rock slide."</p><p>Maybe we jagged left when we should have jogged right, but we had missed a turn somewhere. Now, it appeared, we would have to retrace our steps. Unless, well, maybe we could tackle that little slot canyon, just to the right of the "CLOSED" sign.</p><p>We looked for other hikers to ask, but none was around. We consulted the map again. This new route seemed plausible.</p><p>The only problem was, it looked very steep -- and we couldn’t see far enough into the canyon to know whether the trail actually came out on the other side.</p><p>Maybe we should go back, I thought, but Jack and Kathi were game. Thirty-plus years Jack’s junior, I wasn’t about to let them go on without me. What if they got hurt? Or worse, what if they made it through just fine and I had been too chicken to try?</p><p>Up I went, the orange canyon walls growing narrower around me, the trail steeper. Up, up, up. I looked in desperation for rocks to grab so I could hoist myself higher. Kathi was just a few yards behind, with Jack trailing her.</p><p>About 50 yards inside the canyon, I got on my knees, still looking for a way through. If I kept going, it would become almost impossible for the three of us to retreat.</p><p>"Folks, it’s just too dangerous to go any farther," I said, a little embarrassed. "I think we ought to turn around."</p><p>They didn’t argue, and scrambled back down the trail. I ended up sliding most of the way down, orange dust caking my backside.</p><p>Turns out, this wasn’t a leg of the correct trail at all. We had missed a sign that clearly pointed the way up along the Navajo Trail. Like a Disney World line, it serpentined all the way up to Sunset Point., near where I had started.