Hiking: I hate to hike...I love to...

I hate to hike. I mean, I love to hike, but after

the love of hiking gets me to the trail, I hate to hike.

I mean, I love to hike, but when heart is pounding,

ascending a hill, and legs are heading for hell, and

mind is fixed only on the hill’s top and its subsequent

leveling off and descent, I hate to hike. I really love

to hike when I’ve been sitting inside for a lifetime of

Monday mornings and the wind has blown away the smog and

I can see the mountains across the bay as clean as

glacial ice.

Such conditions herald a hike, and visions of the

way it will be dance in my head like the Sirens that

tempted Ulysses. The legs begin to sense it first and

then get up, often for the most ridiculous reasons.

Then the arms move, almost uncontrollably, and the head

turns to the outside as a compass needle turns north.

Like an addict, I am hooked, not on the hike itself but

the thought of it. And like the actions of the addict,

the thought and the event are inseparable.

So I go. It is not even a conscious decision. I do

not say Should I or Shouldn’t I. The lure of the hike

is like a beautiful woman beckoning me. I do not

hesitate but rush headlong into her wanting arms. She

envelops me with kisses and hugs as we make love till

dawn, and we lie there exhausted, not even knowing each

other’s name. And as it would be with such a woman, I

consider nothing of the consequences, of the potential

pain of succumbing totally to my sensory desires.

I go: to the hills, the mountains, the beach, the

doesn’t really matter. The itch and the urge must be

satisfied. How good it feels to scratch, but how

irritated if I scratch too hard!

Ultimately though, I love to hike and if I could

hike always on an ultimate plane of existance, I would

be in eternal bliss. But this body aches so at times,

and this mind hates the aching. Yet what can I do?

These legs will not stop. These eyes will not close.

This walker’s soul will not rest, although, at

times–upon a time, for a time, in time, because of

time, despite, in nirvana, there being no time–this

body hates to hike and would be done with it if this

mind and spirit didn’t love it so.

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