Monte Sano in Huntsville. There are a couple of fairly flat trails that Fred wanted to knock off, because it’s his goal to hike all the trails on Monte Sano this winter. Also, for some reason the spud had suddenly decided that she wanted to scatter the small container of my grandmother’s ashes in a place with a pretty view, and Fred knew the perfect place. We got to the hiker’s parking lot around 11:30 and parked. Then we followed a trail a short distance to a bluffline with a nice view. There, the spud scattered some of my grandmother’s ashes and I scattered the rest. Naturally the wind was blowing in such a way that I couldn’t get a handle on the best way to scatter the ashes, so they blew back on us. After brushing Gram from the front of our shirts, we turned around and walked back the way we’d come. “Do we want to do the 1.2-mile hike or the 3.5 mile hike?” Fred asked. I looked down the trail we were standing on, which was flat and wide as far as the eye could see. “Which one is this one?” I asked. “The 3.5 mile hike,” Fred said. Don’t swallow your gum, folks. Because what I said was “Oh, let’s just do the 3.5 mile one.” Fred about fell over. “Are you sure you want to do that?” “It’s flat all the way around, right?” “It appears so on the map.” He’s no fool. He knew that if it turned out that the last half of the hike was straight downhill, I was going to kick his ass. “Then yeah, let’s do this one.” You’re waiting for me to tell you that as soon as we got far enough into the hike so that it was no longer feasible to turn around, the trail got hilly and rocky, aren’t you? Nope, it was pretty flat and wide for most of the hike. But what appeared on the map to be a 3.5 mile hike somehow morphed into the Monte Sano Death Hike from hell. Once we reached O’Shaughnessy Point – the halfway point, or thereabouts – I was sure we’d be back to the parking lot annnnny time now, but somehow the trail seemed to stretch, and the further we went, the slower I walked and people were coming out of nowhere to blow by us like we were standing still, and I thought we were never EVER going to get to the end. At one point – before we got to the halfway point – I realized that like a dumbass I had guzzled about a liter of water before we’d even left the house to drive to Monte Sano. And then I realized that my bladder was close to bursting. And THEN I realized that though the 1.2-mile hike would have taken us by the bathrooms, the 3.5-mile hike? Not so much. Longtime readers might recall that I’m pretty much a virgin to peeing in the woods and have only done it two times in my entire life, both of them in one outing. To make matters worse, though the path we were on was flat and wide, to either side of the path were hilly areas that really weren’t all that climbable, at least not by me. “Oh, come on,” Fred said impatiently. “Just step behind that tree and squat and pee! There’s no one coming!” With Fred watching one way down the path and the spud watching the other, I stepped behind the tree. A small tree, certainly nothing that would hide my glowing white ass from anyone unfortunate enough to come moseying down the path at the exact wrong moment. Then I squatted down and peed. And peed and peed and peed. Did I mention I had an entire liter of water before we left the house, plus more on the drive to Monte Sano. I just knew someone was going to come along and be struck blind by the horrific sight of my ass, but the gods were on my side that day and I was able to do my business in peace. I did pee all over the back of my sneakers and soaked the hem of my pants, but I’d had SO FRIGGIN’ MUCH WATER that I’m sure the urine was completely diluted. Near the end of the hike, Fred was constantly claiming that he was sure he saw the parking lot. After about the third round of “I see the parking lot! We’re almost there! Oh wait, that’s just someone’s driveway…” I started to ignore him. (Also, FRED And3rson, I’ve SEEN the map, and I am NOT QUITE SURE why you thought the part of the trail to O’Shaughnessy Point was winding and the path back to the parking lot was more of a straight shot, because they are BOTH ten miles long and winding, which even a woman who can’t read a map to save her life can see. Which leads me to think that you’re a sadist who enjoys seeing your wife stumble along in eternal hope that ‘we’re almost there! we must be!’ when in fact we have entered some sort of scientific warp that Michael Crichton could surely explain in ass-numbing detail, but I lack the knowledge, wherein we actual travel 23.45 miles on a 3.5-mile trail. Don’t think you’re fooling me, you bastard!) When we really and truly were almost to the parking lot, Fred said “Oh! There it is! I see the car!” and I said “Oh, shut up. I hate you. You suck. We’re probably a HUNDRED miles from the car.” But he insisted with such certainty, “No Bessie, look! You can see the car right there!” that I looked up to see the car. Which is when my right foot hit a large root loop in the middle of the trail, and I sailed about three feet through air before landing on my left foot, doing a jerk-and-stumble I’m pretty sure I saw once in a Milli Vanilli video, and I was immediately embarrassed, so I snarled at Fred because OF COURSE it was HIS fault that I stumbled because he’d INSISTED I look at the fucking car. “Jesus Christ, baby!” I intended to yell bitchily. “I need to keep my eyes on the trail so that I don’t stumble and fall and break my leg requiring you to carry me out of the woods on your back, which would cripple you as sure as I’m standing here, so STOP insisting that I LOOK at things, and just find the FUCKING END OF THIS PATH!” What actually came out of my mouth was “Can I KEEP my FACE on the TRAIL?” and Fred turned and gave me a puzzled look and said “I guess you can if you want to.” Arrrgh. But we made it out alive, and that’s what’s important. Maybe next week we’ll do the 1.2 mile hike. Or MAYBE we’ll just do a jaunty little hike straight up the side of the mountain. Fun! (If you’re in the Huntsville area and in better shape than me (and really, who ISN’T?), it was the South Plateau Loop Trail. I recommend it as long as you’re not a whiny little bitch like me.)
Spanky, drunk on sunlight.