Infinite Walking
March 9, 2022.
My sister, Liz, an in-shape Californian created the pace. Erik and I, a bit jet legged, and exhausted from travels dragged along. 12 miles of uphill hiking on the first day for a couple out of shape Minnesotans,
“How hard can walking be, right?”
Erik and I came retrofitted with barefoot hiking shoes, and all natural knits. We could have focused more on preparation in the form of getting our asses on a treadmill amidst a cold and busy winter, but we didn’t. Instead, I hectically researched ultralite gear, wools, linens, barefoot shoe selection, backpacking spice racks and how to make homemade baby wipes. The end of the first day proved to be much more excruciating than we predicted walking with a backpack could be. There’s a reason that they call it hiking and not walking, because it’s quite a bit harder. Uphill, downhill, pressure changes, 20 pounds of weight on your back, preserving your water supply, carrying your water supply, finding the right path, staying on the right path, stopping to heat up your jet boil, to pour water into your astronaut food. Eating hot and soggy food under direct noon sun, because there hasn’t been shade for the last two miles and you’re so hungry you’re willing to do it. I should have spent my time researching how hard it is to walk all day. I should have walked all day in preparation. I should have.
Scorching hot gravel through my zero drop Merrell's, not a stone unfelt, is that the saying? Blisters, the size of quarters. My legs, so tired I can’t feel them. The impact of each step shot through every joint in my body. I hold myself up with my walking sticks, is that what they’re for? Lean on them like a granny with two canes, limp, whimper, complain, waddle, cry a little, as we approach the first campsite of this 4-day journey, at last. We are 1/4th done, but I’ll worry about that in the morning. Suddenly, I look up from my inner turmoil and the world is not how I remembered it. I lock my eyes with the most beautiful sight I have ever seen to this day. I’m not sure if another moment will ever feel quite as euphoric.
Of course, no picture could ever do it justice, and we didn’t take many, we barely even spoke. We sort of just uttered odd moans, ooo’s and ahh’s. The view transfixed us, collectively the three of us were shot through a portal of heaven meets earth. That might sound too ethereal, and if it does, just wait until you see a view so beautiful that you’re willing to walk on top of blood-stricken blisters for 4 days because you saw God in a cloud you were inside of. Then you’ll understand.
This moment was infinite. I’m still inside of it. I could never leave; the water vapor pulled me in and never let me go. The earth gave me a hug and a kiss and said I’ve got you. I’ve always had you. As hard as anything ever becomes in this earthly form, such as hiking 30 miles on the Trans Catalina Trail, utterly out of shape, more importantly improperly dressed, somehow, I will always be held. Mother nature doesn’t care if it hurts, and it does. Life jabs you where you least expect it like a never-ending boxing match, but at least you’re in the ring. At least you showed up to play, and you’re not the guy in the audience booing at someone trying their absolute best. Despite it all, despite every heartache, bump or bruise you’ll inevitably face, probably this week, there is a part of me and there is a part of you too, being held up in a cloud, right at this very moment, looking out at the most beautiful painting handcrafted by earth framed by infinity, just for you and just for me, always and forever, held.