Hiking -- I say that I enjoy it but what I really dig is the scenery. That is, I’m totally down and there with being at the ultimate breath stealing destination and all the magnificent stopping points along the way too. What I honestly don’t care for (and I hate to admit this, particularly to my own self) is the actual hiking part. You know, the constant stumbling and tripping over rocks, roots, branches and that stray blade of grass. Then there’s the toppling ass over tit down gentle slopes -- you know, a hummock that even bunnies laugh at.
And yet...I continue to say “Hey, let’s go for a nice stroll up Monadnock,” “Lets take a little excursion into the Grand Canyon,” “Gosh, I think I’d really like to take that longer trail when we’re in the Superstitions next.”
Apparently I’m also a glutton for punishment. With all this reality sitting in front of me -- that I’m just going to keep going out for hikes even though I couldn’t be more of an ungainly doofus -- you’d think I’d just break down and get the very clever hiking accoutrements.
A walking stick -- orphaned cross country ski poles work delightfully I'm told.
Actual hiking boots -- Chuck Taylors and cunning little cowboy boot-ish mules are completely inappropriate footwear. Yes I hear you saying “well DUUUUH!” I’ve gone for hikes in both. No. Really. Why? C’mon -- the Cons are bright turquoise with tie dyed laces -- they rule! The mules? OK, I just liked them, they were way comfortable for walking everywhere else and.....and....nevermind.
Trail map AND my reading glasses.
Backpack -- I may be the only idiot hiking with a purse -- it’s a water resistant courier bag though. That MUST count for something. Still and all, I expect a backpack would make more sense.
I’d love to blame my trail ineptitude solely on my missing balance nerves (both severed eons ago during some fun brain surgery action) but that would be inaccurate and unfair. Even when I had those babies I lurched and bumbled every inch of the way. In the woods, on a mountain, surrounded by so much transcendent beauty I lose all ability to do anything but drink in the glorious sights and smells.
And then I do a Dick Van Dyke over a root, a pebble, a leaf.
Maybe a nice little walk in the Blue Hill Reservation this weekend would be just the thing!
No comments:
Post a Comment