Rob, Mike, and I went hiking Saturday morning, in lieu of our semi-regular gym session. We went to one of the Pennsylvania state parks.
This is great! It's a beautiful day, nice and sunny, but not humid or too hot. The trail is really pretty. There's so much green, it's refreshing. When we pick the trail, Rob jokes that following it was "the first mistake" on our road to being killed by serial killers that horror movies have taught us live in the woods. There is mention of the Blair Witch. We muse that, according to the Scream metric, none of us will make it out alive.
I should probably have had something more for breakfast than just two slices of rye toast. I feel a little hungry.
Is this trail all uphill? Is that even possible? Mike says it's the M.C. Escher trail.
Now it's hot. My back is all sweaty. Rob and Mike - innocently, so they say - start to discuss if we had to resort to cannibalism, that they would eat me first, since I am the youngest and an "herbivore" so I'm bound to be the most tender. Rob starts asking for "mendallions de Vicki." Mike pinches me to check how tender my glutes are.
We are completely lost. More jokes about being lured to our demise. Mike says that he hears a strange noise in the woods, and maybe we should split up to investigate. When we finally find the trail again, and a map showing us where we are, we are disheartened to find that we are not even halfway through. Who chose this trail anyway?
Mike and Rob discuss a proposed trip backpacking in the Grand Canyon, where you have to train for weeks in advance to break in your boots and get used to carrying 40 pounds of equipment. I tell them they can drop me off at a spa for the week.
Hikers approach us from the opposite direction. Rob whispers, "It's the Others."
We are lost again. We start looking for edible berries or vegetation in case we never make it out of the woods. Cannibalism isn't looking that bad.
When we find our way again, we decide to take a short cut of the trail to get back to the car. Our moods are dropping along with our blood sugar levels.
My car is a haven of air conditioning and seating options. The next order of business is to find a restaurant as quickly as possible.
When the first place we stop - a pretentious "tavern" - refuses us entry because the boys are in tank tops, I briefly consider mass carnage, but decide it would take precious time away from finding food.
We end up at a place that is slightly nicer than fast food. I can't tell if the food is really delicious, or if I am just so hungry that anything would taste wonderful.
Mike tries to get us to go again next week.