Burro in for a good hike

MY CAVE, MY VIEW
It is not every day that I decide to go for a hike carrying a 40-pound pack and bring my too kind and loving wife along with her very own 35-pound pack.  Most people thought that carrying a pack should come natural to me; as many have called me a beast of burden.  I don’t think they used such civil words “ass” that, “butt” it was something like that.
My too kind and loving wife and her sister called me a beast of burden pretty much the entire trip.  My brother-in-law doesn’t say much; but then again he has only been married to my sister-in-law for some 25 years so I am sure that it isn’t his turn to speak yet.
So our adventure was to hike into Havasuapi, a canyon tributary to the Grand Canyon.  What makes this trip unique is that there are spectacular waterfalls and that if you want to see them you either hike in, charter a helicopter, or ride a burro.
Based on our youthful exuberance and stupid group think, we decide to hike carrying all our provisions.  We are well trained athletes, so you shouldn’t try this unless you can drink a 32 oz Pepsi; eat a bag of Doritos, and down a bag of jerky without ill effect.  This concoction can be lethal in a zipped up airtight tent coupled with four hours of sweating like Richard Simmons in a donut factory.
We were very serious about this whole thing so our training consisted of watching exercise videos and a couple of You-tube instructional videos on how to properly pack a back-pack.   I would have thought that my too kind and loving wife would be better at this, as she comes from pioneer stock that pulled hand-carts across the plains. 
You would assume they didn’t get to bring everything with them; good thing my wife was not there because we would have needed a semi-truck.
After she packs her bag and goes to the store for even more provisions, I check her bag and compare it to the list I got from the instructional You-tube video. 
While she wasn’t looking I took out the curling iron, 14 pairs of shoes, three outfits, twelve-inch dutch-oven and her laptop (she is in the middle of a Shutterfly project).
I might add that we were only going overnight.  I had planned this trip down to the last detail, including the dehydrated eggs for breakfast and granola bar for our rest break.
The first two miles includes a drop in elevation of nearly 3,000 feet; which we learned upon our return must certainly be nearly 6000 feet as sure as I am tall, dark, and handsome. 
It was a little disconcerting that even the burros looked tired coming up the hill.  Several looked like they were quitting and going to do easier things, like haul pallets of brick over the Rockies.
We hiked eight miles to the Supai Indian Village where you meet with the park rangers, who cheerfully lighten your load some by taking all your money.  After being robbed by the Rangers and a brief rest, we cheerfully head down the last two miles to the campground and see the first waterfall. 
They are spectacular and we are all convinced that it was worth it… until we try to get up from the rock we were sitting on.  For some reason our muscles don’t work anymore. Acute rigamortis has set in and if my sister-in-law could move she would come over and slap me; but I am safe for now.  We see another train of burros heading up the dusty trail and she looks at me and says, “There is such a family resemblance.”