My hikes with Kim usually feel like cleaning the kitchen really well: satisfying, but with the notion that once it is done, it shouldn’t have to be done again. Ever.
There are hills involved. She walks at a pace mere mortals call jogging, and the only thing I have found I can do better than her physically is ford a stream (and how often do you get to do that?). We have been hiking all over the world. I am always second in line, and in fact when I find myself in front I wait or circle around behind her like an old, well trained plow-horse until order is restored.
Oh, but what I’ve seen…
All the things the guidebooks or views from car windows don’t afford. In Santa Fe we were stalked by a streamside would-be butcher. Some whack-job was building a stone shrine in the middle of nowhere and when we passed him, he followed hiding and tiptoeing until another hiking group scared him off.
In Scotland we embarked on a 12 mile hike in the Highlands without water or ID’s (Jane and June Doe if anything happened to us), in Colorado we were forced to run down the mountain away from an angry calving elk (bad map reading on my part), in London’s Hyde Park Kim ran rings around me – up and back like some joyous human yoyo, energized by the cool weather and the flat terrain.
We’re learning to take pepper spray and water and driver’s licenses.
Hiking without a hangover is a positive.
Last night I even suggested a second walk along the beach. It was a gorgeous evening…
This was Kim:
This was me:
And so it goes…