Troop 12
Origin
Story
(Like any epic journey or cautionary tale should, ours begins ....)
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Once upon a time, six adventure hungry women met up in Sedona, Arizona, matching 32oz water bottles in hand, eager to tackle a desert hike to Devil’s Bridge.
They just had to get that iconic Devil's Bridge picture. (You know the one.)
One among them sensed danger. She knew these parts and had packed accordingly. Once a national park ranger, these days she flexed her trail prowess as a girl scout troop leader. She noted her friends’ paltry water rations, shook her head, and quietly packed an extra camelbak, hoping it would be enough to sustain the merry band of desert novices.
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At the trailhead, the group of friends not only read the cute lil warning sign to not attempt the hike without an ample water supply, but took a picture of the sign (for posterity and social media, of course), and then collectively shrugged, assuring each other “we’ll be fine,” and set out.
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They were not fine.
Some ran out of water before making it to the iconic bridge. The rest soon after.
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The incognito troop leader surprised her friends by presenting her gift of the reserve camelbak--"Oh thank you, thank you, wise and generous one!"--which the parched friends made quick work of, chugging with abandon.
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An ominous quiet set in among the brave but foolhardy crew. Giddy chatter died as worry and doubt crept in. Someone muttered something under their breath about idiots not heeding literal warning signs and ending up on the news.
A UTV full of men zoomed by, heading up the trail. One brazen visionary broke the group's silent reverie: “how many boobs do y'all think we'd have to show for a ride or some water?”
Ever the pioneering go-getters, the friends began formulating a plan. Collectively, they had 12 boobs available for bartering.
At first, the group was conservative. 4 boobs? That sounded like a reasonable offer for a ride and maybe a sip of water.
As they continued their thirsty trudge, and as more UTVs full of men passed by, the group became more generous with their boob offerings.
“maybe 6? 1 each? or do they need to be in matched sets?”
“I’d be willing to show both of mine at this point.”
“Are all boobs equal currency in the flashing economy, or do y’all think our 4 biggest boobs would be worth more than our 6 smallest?”
“anyone’s still perky? Those have gotta be worth something.”
And on it went.
In the end, the women didn’t show any boobs that day, and they did eventually make it out of the desert—sunburnt, parched, and greatly humbled, but hopefully a little wiser too.
What the group lost in pride, they gained in identity. They now had a trusted sage—Troop Leader Anna—who they promised to listen to in the future. They had a new handy rating system forged in the fury of an unforgiving desert.
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And they got their iconic photo, but they all love this one a little more.
Devil’s Bridge Review:
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With water? 9/12 boobs. Highly recommend.
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Without water? 2/12 boobs. And you’re gonna have to show ‘em.
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"We survived" celebratory margaritas:
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14/12 boobs.
