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Tales of Adventure pt 6
2003-05-30 - 1:46 a.m.


before/after
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Tales of Adventure

part 6

Denoument

So I clambored down to the magnificent white sugar sand beach.  The lake was placid next to it, and incredibly clear.  Up close, there was absolutely no color to the water, the kind of clarity that makes you wonder about water in general. 

The beach was littered with driftwood and I was alone.  At the end lay Chapel Rock, a phenomenon of the contest of time between land and sea, eroded perfectly hollow with something that looks unmistakeably like an altar hewn by the forces ofr erosion.  I imagine the indians sacrificed something there, but I cannot be sure.  I sure as hell would.

I found a large peice of of driftwood, a log, and it had a space hollowed out in the sugary sand beneath it.  Someone had been sitting there.  I followed suit, throwing down my towel and relaxing.

A feeling of accomplishment washed over me as I gazed at the multi-hued cliffs I had traveresed, a sense of peace and well being overtook me as I listened to the ever restless crash of pristine waves and a supreme sense of fleeting solitude washed over me breifly.  I was not afraid, and relished the moment.  I had beaten the hills, found out secrets and reasons to be, and my hike, my trial, my quest was nearly over.  Three miles to go.

I looked to my right to see three people walking down the long beach at me. 

I walked along the surf towards them.  There is no denying the presence of someone else in a situation like this.  Four people on a pristine remote beach, crafted by the ages, loved by me.

I approached them and asked them to take my picture.  (Seeing it afterwards, I held up well after seven miles over rugged terrain)

They were incredibly trashy stoners from detroit.  He boasted about being in "great shape" but "din't know about the rest of 'em".  Either way, the shortest route to the parking lot was three miles.

I took this to be my cue, and started the final approach.  The last leg.  Tried jumping a stream and got my boots wet.

I hiked up the slope of the land, back into the canopied forest and the lush underbrush, finally breaking a true sweat for the first time.  I would never cool off from this point.

The heels of my boots dug into my feet and made thiem bleed.  My ankles and feet were hot, sore, and starting to get a little numb from the pounding, but still I hiked on.  There was no other option.

I stopped twice for a breather, but my heat attracted a halo of mosquito's.  Push on!  Push on!

I noticed with grim satisfaction that I had held up well.  Now I kept thinking that the parking lot was "just around the next bend".  Silly boy.

The endorphins in my body started to get to me, and I began to hallucinate.  It started with seeing people sitting alongside the trail that were not there.  I reached them, only to see nothing, and this made me laugh.

I hiked along, trying to get the pain out of my head to no avail.  Each step was painful.

I saw something dark up and to my left in the trees, to hallucinate once more.  I saw a man, crucified, and also impaled through the back hanging from a tree.  This did not make me laugh.  I lowered my head and looked away.  He was mutilated.  Best not to acknowledge even seeing a thing like that. 

I crossed a bridge, thumping up onto the wooden structure awkwardly.  The pain in my heels was affecting my balance.  On the otherside was an older couple, walking with matching walking sticks. 

I greeted them and thumped past.  All that mattered was finishing the hike.  Completing the trial.  Succeeding.  Winning.

The older man turned to his wife and  exclaimed with surprise, "He's alone!"

She looked at me as I walked off into the arboreal dream, "Well, he must know the area, very, very well."

Or I am simply me.

I wore the miles away in eagar anticipation.  It had been a wonderful, beautiful, seminal day.  And now the hike needed to be over.

Finally, after many estimations and guesses, the trees opened up in the distance.  I moved toward it and saw my car.

Still many cars in the parking lot.  People stowed somewhere in the wilderness, hiding.  Another couple changed clothes in their car, and then pulled away.

I fished out my keys from my black back pack, opened my car and got in.

"I did it."  I whispered.

I said a quiet prayer and changed my shoes.  It felt incredible to get them off my feet, my trusty wet doc martens. I slipped on clean socks and my leather sketchers.  Started the car, popped in some clash, opened the moonroof and moved back out down the long dusty road, music thundering out of my car, disturbing the peace as I moved away.

I did it.  It felt unbelievable.  From where I had come to where I am was a distance not easily grasped or expressed.  And, like I said, some distances aren't expressed in miles.

I felt great.  I felt elegaic.

I felt, and still feel, like I can do anything.

 


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