The Adirondacks-Part Five: Going Down (the mountain)

"Seriously...there's no other way of getting off this mountain," I grumbled as it took three members of my family to successfully lift me to a teetering standing position. My moaning muscles promised that we'd go SUPER-slow on the way down. Until..."expect...sudden weather changes even on a fair summer day," advised Lisa Densmore of the book Hiking the Adirondacks. "Seriously?" I screamed up into the heavens towards my trail spirit guide, Lisa Densmore who was probably lounging on her couch in New Hampshire watching "The Real Housewives of Bangor, Maine" as my fair summer day turned gray.

Turns out rain was the least of my worries as, at 5' 10", I was one of the tallest objects on the summit. It's been said (by Brad when I woke him once by standing over the bed with a sledge hammer) that I have an electrifying personality but I was not eager to test that assertion out...no matter how loving or voluntary the observation seemed to be (Side note: A chain saw encouraged him to admit that I was pretty).

There's a saying that you're only as fast as your slowest member. "There's another saying," said Sydney, speeding by me as we were pelted by rain, "that those who fall behind, are left behind." The hordes of people passing us like lemmings looked at her with horror that she could be so heartless. Brad proceeded before me (presumably to break my inevitable fall) and Savannah hovered behind me to coach, coax, and occasionally cackle. I was stuck on a large rock at one point, immobile with fear as my choices were to (a) commit to turning into a human fungus on my new boulder friend, (b) leap to a neighboring boulder, or (c) take a large ham-string snapping step down. "It's wet there," I shouted, momentarily forgetting that I was trapped in a downpour. I pointed to the puddle beneath me that was threatening to envelope my blue memory foam sneakers. I decided on option (b) and lifted off of my precarious perch to land directly into the puddle while Savannah roared.

It was a laborious descent. My calves quivered. My ankles shook. Sydney scurried ahead like a squirrel scouting out resting areas. "Here's a dry spot," she'd shout and wait happily there until the rest of her drenched group caught up. Terrified of slipping on the slick stones, I apparently developed a ritualistic dance. I thought it looked like a professional tennis player awaiting a lob. Savannah thought it looked like a barefoot toddler trying to cross hot sand. Either way...it did the trick.

On the way down, I'd given up on my spirit trail guide, Lisa Densmore and had begun channeling my inner Stevie Nicks, singing "Landslide" under my breath, mantra-style. As we neared the end, the girls grabbed the car keys and raced back to be able to pick me up as I emerged from the wilderness. Exhausted and resolved to NEVER climb a mountain EVER again...I climbed gratefully into the passenger seat.

And when you climb a mountain and you turn around

and you see your reflection in the rear-view mirror

well...the downpour ruined your hair.

And stones shouldn't be described as stairs

And Lisa Densmore is a terrible spirit trail guide

And climbing a mountain was a ridiculous idea.

Take me to Perkins.