Went for a hike this weekend. It’s still March, but the weather here in Colorado has been stunningly beautiful for the last two weeks. Almost all of the snow has melted, save for the once fifteen-foot piles of snow in the parking lot outside my apartment. Following two weeks of temperatures in the sixties, they have been reduced to mere two-foot piles of snow. I am convinced that they will in fact never melt, and thus have become very small glaciers.
But generally, it’s been beautiful here, and clearly, this weekend was time for a long-overdue hike in mountains. Nevermind those ominous-looking clouds over thar on the horizon. Sure, the weather lady said there was a slim chance of rain. But what does she know? Do her fancy thermal imagery and doppler radar really make her superior at predicting the weather? Remember, this is the same girl who told me it wouldn’t snow back in December, and we know how that turned out. Rain be damned! It will be a cold day in hell before I believe those half-assed Colorado weatherpeople and their “meteorology” ever again. So my girlfriend and I set out on our hike, ominous-looking clouds notwithstanding.
And it was a doozy of a hike, too: Our aggressive plan was to hike the “Apex” trail, which is about 3 miles long, roughly 1000 or so feet sharply uphill, and terminates at the summit of Lookout Mountain. From there, our plan was to descend the “Chimney Gulch” trail, which is essentially the same concept, but it goes downhill. We made it to the top without much difficulty, and in fact, the hike and weather were great. As we began our descent, however, the Colorado weatherpeople redeemed themselves, and that slim chance of rain became an absolute certainty.
Hiking in the rain isn’t too bad, especially when it’s nothing more than an annoying drizzle. Still, I wouldn’t call it “fun”. But hey, we were enjoying the Great Outdoors, and we were making good time on our descent. That’s when I discovered the meaning behind the First Commandment Of Hiking, which I shall now share with you:
Thou shalt not hike in the rain.
I’ll give you the play-by-play. We were coming down a particularly steep portion of the trail, and embedded in the trail before us was a fairly large rock. Hikers in Colorado know these rocks well, because they are everywhere; trails here are unlike, for example, the worn path of the Appalachian Trail. The Rocky Mountains actually are rocky, to such a degree that trails elsewhere are like paved roads by comparison. See figure 1.
As we approached this fairly inocuous-looking rock in the trail, the dirt path — now mud from the rain — gave way. I slipped. See figure 2.
When I landed, I landed on the rock. But like a sophisticated cruise missile, the goddam thing planted itself squarely in the middle of my back. See figure 3.
Legendary is my love for the less sophisticated elements of the english language; namely, those four-letter expletives that are banned among children. Indeed, the torrent of profanity that was released following my impact with The Rock shall go down in history as one of the more creative, and certainly the longest, unabridged streak of swearing in the history of spoken word. See figure 4.
Suffice to say that The Rock hurt. His calling card, which was fully realized only this morning, is a basketball-sized bruise square in the middle of my back. For those who missed the First Commandment of Hiking above, it shall be repeated:
Thou shalt not hike in the rain.
Good things did result from my painful encounter with The Rock. First, my girlfriend, recognizing the opportunity to shower me with pity, ordered some pizzas upon our return home. Second, recognizing the opportunity to shower myself with pity, I no longer have to take out the trash or do other manly things for a few weeks. Nonetheless, my tale of woe should serve as a painful lesson to those of you who anticipate hiking in the rain: Don’t.
Soon, I shall recover, and soon, we shall hike the trail again. There, I shall find The Rock, and shall cast him into the oblivion.
