Last week Pastor Pike and his wife Judy brought me along on their annual Grand Canyon adventure. While most park visitors come to look over the edge or to catch a sunset from Hermit's Rest, Harl and Judy have been hiking down to the river and spending the night at Phantom Ranch for years.

The weather was great. The food was even better. It even felt good to be hitting the hay early and rising with the sun (says the night owl). I could share stories about the scenery - about the sunrise changing the canyon's color from blue to purple to rust as I climbed higher and higher on Wednesday morning. I could rave about how good it feels to hike with only the sounds of abyss and breath around me.

It's all true, but I won't. What will continue make me smile long after my calves stop aching? The people.

There was a man from St. Paul at dinner in the canyon, deeply saddened that I had been learning to shoot guns this year and a Parisian who shared his take on the French elections. Two young men were outed as Midwestern-bred boys when I heard their accents. Although they've been living in Mesa for 8 years, they still have a South Dakota twang. There was a comedy routine provided by two middle aged men from North Carolina, the widower wooing me in jest. And the patent lawyer from Tokyo here in America to discover the Southwest (aka Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon and L.A.).

I enjoyed meeting people from all over and learning about why they'd come so far. I sat on a bench at the rim one evening and watched people interact. I realized that we travel in search of a beauty that will change us, but that beauty doesn't mean we leave the ugly behind. One couple stood in awe of the view until he made a passive-aggressive comment, "You know I think your boobs look better in a strapless bra. Why did you only bring sports bras?" You can imagine things escalated from there.

I went to the cafeteria for breakfast feeling sleepy and satisfied on Thursday morning. Breakfast is my favorite meal, so I took my time wandering around and scoping out the different stations: oatmeal, eggs, yogurt, grits... I watched two foreigners (probably from Eastern Europe) from a distance as they marveled at the muffin selection. They're so big here in America, I imagined them saying. Have you ever seen such big breakfasts? They each giggled with glee and took a few for their tray.

I smiled. Traveling away from home teaches me to marvel at the wonders of other cultures and lands, but that morning I was reminded that I take the simple beauties here at home for granted. We've got a great canyon - it's not the deepest or the widest or the most colorful, but it's perfect and magical in it's own way. We've got some really funny people - dozens of cultures in one nation. And we love our pre-packaged pastries - large, greasy and full of saturated fat.

The men sat down and opened the muffins, sampling each flavor and nodding with approval. So I took a large, greasy, raspberry-filled pastry to keep me company on the drive home. It was sticky and sweet and I licked my fingers with delight, thanking God for the strange and wonderful people we met on this trip. We were all there for the same moment - taking in the beauty, being ourselves and loving what is Grand about America.