Liking Hiking: It's a thing

Take 3

My friend Deb and I really enjoy hiking together. We are extremely like-minded in our love for adventure and in our desire to strenuously challenge ourselves physically. Yesterday, we implemented what I like to call "Phase One" of our pilgrimage plan. Departing at the crack of 9 am, we scoured the horizon like the seasoned outdoors-women that we are. "I sense rain," I remarked, pointing out the subtle shades of gray cloaking the sky. As personal safety is the number one criteria of any experienced trekker, we decided to slightly alter our daunting plans and re-route our hike to a near-by breakfast place. 

"Slow down," my friend cautioned as I raced to shovel down my Belgian waffle topped with fresh-cut strawberries and whipped cream. "Remember to pace yourself. You don't want to get a cramp. Think of it as a marathon rather than a sprint." Very wise. One does not wish to over-exert one's self.

Today marked "Phase Two" and 9 am greeted us bright and early with blue skies and a blinding sun. With the limitless hiking opportunities available to us here in Wyoming County, we decided to combine our love of local history with exercise. With a little digging, our research unearthed a bounty of biographies waiting to be discovered at the cemetery. 

We parked beneath a magnificent maple. "I don't think that's a maple," Deb said, squinting up into the branches. Before I could launch into a passionate rebuttal, she pointed. "Look at that spiky-ball-y thing." She had me. Maple trees do not sprout spiky-ball-y things. We took a sample so that we could research the type of tree later, walking away while congratulating ourselves for our intellectual curiosity and botanical interest. 

The layout of the cemetery was split down the middle by a well-trafficked road. This division caused us some confusion as our research did not factor in the halves. Bad enough that we were instructed to go to the southeastern side ("Do you have a compass?" I asked Deb as she tried to orient herself to the sun like she was Davy Crockett.) but we didn't know if they meant the southeastern side of one of the halves or the cemetery as a whole. Lost but hopeful, we wandered, having lively debates about font, the sometimes unscrupulous measures of the stone cutters who allowed mourners who were paying, by the letter, to include obvious/unnecessary information ("...who died..." I read, "Pretty sure everyone knows the "who" and the ultimate outcome of the situation."), agonized over those who died too young, expressed delight and sometimes confusion over the old-fashioned names, and discovered that reverse, raised etching really stands the test of time rather than embedded etching. Our search for the infant son of the town's earliest settlers who was the first occupant of this historic resting place was unsuccessful. "Due to the lack of lumber," I read to Debbie, "he was buried in the wood constructed from a wagon box." Confused, we looked at the large trees that surrounded the cemetery as we returned to the truck. Deb plucked the spiky-bally-y thing up off the seat, reminding us that we had some more research in which to delve. Happily, we spotted a sign (that must have been posted while we were walking the grounds) that helpfully labeled the tree as a "Washington Sycamore." 

To reward ourselves for that exhausting research, we headed to the most popular coffee shop in town. Having tirelessly worked my way through an impressive frappe menu board in San Diego, I was eager to see if my local place could measure up. My friend Shanna works there and she immediately set to work creating a Milky Way frappe for me and OH MY STARS!!! It was scrumptious! Cool, creamy, smooth, intergalactic goodness. Exploring the shop, we discovered a super-secret conference room where my friend Peggy was leading some sort of meeting about world domination. Some time later, as Deb and I finished our drinks outside, Shanna and Peggy joined us for a fun round of "Let's Make Fun of Amy." I do not understand, with the infinite number of intelligent conversational topics out there, we invariably return to mocking me. "It's common ground," Shanna told me.

And, to commemorate when friends gather together, we decided to take some pictures. My friend Peggy, as it turns out, is QUITE the talented photographer. "Take One," I said, smiling for the camera. Peg looked doubtfully at me as I approached to admire her work. "Take Two," I announced as Peg took a very artistic picture of the chairs next to us. "Take Three," I prayed.  Whew! Success! "That's a wrap," I exclaimed. "We serve pastries and paninis too," Shanna shouted. 

It is said that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. When it comes to hiking, Deb and I really embrace that philosophy of a single step. But how much better is it, when along our arduous journey, we encounter fine food and good friends! Don't you just love hiking!?!

Take 2