Barely Hiking
By Don Weston
One summer day, a high school buddy and I were standing at a sign indicating
“Hey Rick, lets hike to
“Okay. Should we go back down to the restaurant and get something to drink or eat?” he asked
“Nah, we can get water from creeks and pick berries in the wild.”
We plodded along for a while, communing with nature.
“Hey Don, it’s been an hour … puff, puff … how far have we gone?”
“About a mile … puff, puff, gasp! Boy, this trail sure is steep.”
“Man, there’s a lot of cute chicks hiking down the trail, but I ain’t seen any hiking up,” Rick said.
“Yeah, they’re flirting with us.”
“They ain’t flirting,” Rick said. “I think … puff, puff … they’re laughing. Come to think of it, we haven’t seen anyone walking up. And, I ain’t seen no creeks since just after we started,” he griped. “No berries either. I’m starving.”
I tried to tell him not to think about it, but a wild black bear’s growl drowned me out.
“What did you say?” he asked.
Grooowl!
“I can’t hear you. That growling is too loud. Say it again, louder,” he shouted over the now ubiquitous din.
“I said ...” GRROOOWWL! “... it.”
“I can’t hear over the growling of your stomach,” Rick said.
As darkness loomed, we ran, falling one step back for every two we took. There were no more pretty girls on the trail. We hadn’t seen anyone for hours.
GROOWWL!
“Your stomach is getting worse,” Rick laughed.
I didn’t stick around to tell Rick it wasn’t my stomach. I passed him like he was running backwards, the hot breath of the bear still searing my neck.
I was shifting into fourth gear, when Rick’s two big feet climbed up my back and used my forehead as a spring-board, propelling Rick
Now, I was the bear bait. And so, two skinny teenagers in short pants went streaking up the trail, followed by an equally swift big bear about the size of
“I think … puff, puff … we’re losing him … puff, puff,” I said
“Growlll … puff, puff … grroowl. Gasp! Gasp!” came the bear cries from behind.
Eventually the black bear gave up, figuring two toothpicks weren’t worth the effort. He turned and went into the woods, ostensibly looking for wild berries and a creek.
The bear propelled us to the top of
It was a close call, but in the end we decided the long-legged girl was not worth the risk of the young couple driving off a curve in an alcoholic stupor.
The booze would have been nice to have in the Volkswagen. From the moment we started down the
“Duuuduuh, spatch guung!” Rick said when we reached the parking lot.
“You’re welcome,” the old man said.
“We’ll return your safety strap, as soon as I can get it out of his grip,” I said politely.
“That’s fine,” the neighborly man said. “Nervous kids aren’t they, honey?”
We were still kissing the ground 20 minutes after the crazy old man had left, when the young couple in the sports car chugged into the parking lot.
“You should have told us you needed a ride,” the young man said. “You would have been safer with us, than with that crazy old man. He nearly ran us off the road on dead man’s curve.”
Never doubt a man who drinks martinis in the wild.
“Can I …” groooowl “… have your olive sir?” I asked.