By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher
Arriving at our hiking destination to…nature. I was not a happy camper.
Well, it finally happened. I have successfully avoided multiple invitations to participate in a “sporty” activity for five years now, but alas, my girlfriend wore me down. I agreed to participate. Granted it was a “pour” decision made during libation consumption. I’ll need to work on that.
My Colorado companion sweet Christine loves to hike. It’s a thing. She’s always inviting me. Usually, I send whoever is visiting me to go hiking with her, hence getting me off the hook. Christine goes several times a week with dog Duke in tow to be one with nature. I don’t share that particular affinity. I like to be one with retail.
Christine picked me up at the appointed time. I donned a Johnny Cash t-shirt lest I perish during this laborious activity. That way folks would know what type of music to play at my memorial. I think that’s just considerate.
The shirt was the easy part. The footwear, another story. I perused my show selection, but I didn’t think Gianni – Versace or Bini – would appreciate the trek. I found an old pair of Ariats and commenced toward preparedness for my unwelcome activity.
We traveled a good 30 minutes out into parts unknown down a dirt road. No cell service. No civilization in sight.
“When we get to the end of this jaunt, what exactly is up there?” I posed to Christine. “I mean, am I hiking to a bar, a store, a restaurant? What exactly am I hiking to?”
“You’ll see. It’s just beautiful along the river, so peaceful. Just gorgeous views,” was her reply.
I silently gave her the side eye. I’m just not one for risk without reward. I needed there to be something at the appointed destination. Otherwise, why go?
I sun screened up, adjusted my pearl embedded visor – again, leave a well-accessorized corpse just in case – and Christine promptly handed me my hiking accoutrement: a walking stick. I was expecting a pistol, some water, snacks, but no, I got a stick.
We embarked on our adventure, and it was abundant with treacherous terrain. It wasn’t exactly a trail; it was more like a directional suggestion complete with rocks and uphill climbs. Now I am not a sporty girl. I do not appreciate over exertion, sweat or labored breathing. All were present during this escapade.
When we finally arrived at our destination a mile in and up, there were caverns with the river running through them and children splashing having a ball. The scene was quite Utopian, but I have the Nat Geo channel so I can view paradise any time – day or night – without nearly stroking out.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” proclaimed Christine.
“Lovely. Now what,” was my retort.
“Well now we hike back.”
It was the same way we came, but I still couldn’t appreciate my surroundings. My head was down the entire time in an effort to survive without plummeting to my demise off the side of a mountain. My view? My feet, rocks, dirt and occasionally mud. Not much of a view.
When we finally made it back to the car, I was done. “I need champagne and breakfast,” I sputtered out between labored breaths.
“Absolutely!” said sweet Christine. She made good on her promise.
Apparently when making this date with danger, there were multiple witnesses. I wouldn’t know – “pour” decision, remember? My phone blew up all afternoon requesting proof of life. Good thing as I spent the afternoon on the sofa tending to my blistered feet and dusty self. It was all I could do to respond in the affirmative.
My takeaway from this arduous adventure? Never agree to anything that you can’t return while drinking. Exactly why I’m sticking to retail as my main sport. See y’all next week – on the porch!
Patti Parish-Kaminski
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