Float On!

I could preface this writing piece with many details about a wonderful weekend that I just enjoyed with my son and a great group of friends...trust me, that all happened... but then I had to drive home from the beach and deal with rising realities. Ollie and I took the Cape May to Lewes ferry. It was a great experience and I can't believe that it was fricking thirty years since my last crossing.




There's a weird air in the nostalgia that fumes thirty years deep. It was weird and at some points I was feeling like my entire life had just flown by me. My son's age and honesty were making me slightly jealous and remorseful.







(Italicized and quoted text comes from a variety of songs by modest mouse)

"Well he just drove off sometimes life's ok
I ran my mouth off a bit too much oh what did I say
Well you just laughed it off it was all ok"

The regrets and remorse were easily covered by the sound of Oliver's voice. We had a blast and the rest of this story kinda starts at the point of the van going off the boat ramp and Ollie falling asleep shortly there after.

The day of leaving the beach is always so painful. I can remember being a kid, in the back seat of my parent's station wagon whipping through the stink of Avondale, with some Fleetwood Mac crackling on the radio. I was very young and having heavy emotional issues after leaving my favorite place on earth. We were leaving, and as far as I could tell, we may never return. All the shells in the world wouldn't actually bring the beach home with me and this made my little heart hurt...and then there was this awful smell in this totally weird town with green fire trucks and this beautiful but depressing song on the radio being sung by an angel. I'm totally fucked.

Driving home from the beach depresses the shit out of me.

Today I drove 80 in 55's and listened to the loudest Modest Mouse I could find.

"Turn off the light 'cause it's night on the sun
You're hopelessly hopeless
I hope so, for you"

It wasn't helping matters that while I was at Stone Harbor I fell deeply in love with a rusty old beach cruiser bicycle named "Michelle". She had no grips on the handle bars and the kick stand would hold her up at just the last minute, and it left her leaning toward or away from me...depending on which side I left her...or approached her. Damn if there wasn't something oddly romantic about this bike.

I missed her greatly and couldn't even say good bye. When the time came, I felt really weird and it just didn't feel right...I mean, it was only a weekend, but I swore we knew each other a lifetime. And telling Alana that I had fallen deeply in love with a beach cruising bicycle named "Michelle" was not a bridge I would consider crossing.

"Everything that keeps me together is falling apart,
I've got this thing that I consider my only art of fucking people over
...Your heart felt good it was drippin' pitch and made of wood
And your hands and knees felt cold and wet on the grass to me
Outside naked, shiverin' looking blue, from the cold sunlight that's reflected off the moon"

The drive was now starting to drag and steam in Sunday's rain. We approached Dover with rhythmless red brake lights flashing ahead. This NASCAR traffic was killing me. I wished them all quick trips to hell and cursed the monster mile.

The toll booth attendant appreciated my sincerity and kindness, but I would bet the farm that she would have preferred a stiff drink and some pills.

"Even if things get heavy, we'll all float on.
Alright already, we'll all float on alright."

Naturally, the boy driving the loud VW in front of me began to annoy; and I imagined ripping those stupid plugs out of his stretched ear lobes and shoving them up his ass.

After his 100th unnecessary, very abrupt and loud downshift, I nearly 'rammed' into him, and hence had to 'dodge' away into the other lane. He waved a middle finger from his window, and I reached across the dash to give a 'thumbs up' toward his side view mirror.

He took my lane change as a challenge, and began racing me. He zoomed ahead quickly to annoy more drivers. He had a girl in the front seat beside him. I'm pretty sure that she hates his guts as well, but hasn't found the way to tell him yet. This kid is 'what is wrong with America', and I hated him just from the shear fact that he is contributing to the decline of our civilization. Fucking dick. And by the way, dude...I wasn't racing you...I let you and your stupid car get ahead.


"Well that is that and this is this.
You tell me what you want and I'll tell you what you get.
You get away from me. You get away from me."

The NASCAR traffic and it's participants eventually faded into the steam. Oliver woke up hungry and started to pest me into a better mood. We stopped and ate at a McDonald's and I am quickly remembering why I refused their food for so many years. It's all smoke and mirrors. It's fucking junk. BUT, my kid enjoys a happy meal here and there, just like I did at his age. I can't deny him what I know is bad for him just because now I know it is, can I? No. It's some shitty food that comes with a toy...fuck it. I'm even hating the fact that I'm admitting to consuming fast food...and it makes me feel like some sort of villain.

I had the fillet of fish, because everyone knows that fish is so much more healthy for you than red meat...ew! Red meat is so bad for you and gross! Gimme the fish! Gosh I feel so much more healthy now eating this square breaded thing on a bun.

The last leg of the drive felt easier on the heart. My little man was up and I was able to stop dreaming of "Michelle" and the smell of salt water.

The lingering traffic didn't bother me on the more and more familiar roadways. I got dangerously close to the bumper of a mini van that was littered with stickers pledging allegiance to nearly every cause under the sun. I took note to some of the causes and hoped that her advertising helped their effort. She even had one of those ribbon sort of stickers (the type that usually reminds of autism and breast cancer) posted largely on the rear window. I crept in a bit more to read what it could be that she was also passionate about...and there it read "I love my Guinea Pig."

Foot Noose

It's coming up on a year since my 'last dance'. For those of you who are unfamiliar with that statement, my last dance was an instance where I was dancing and accidentally kicked my wife Alana in the face...we both ended up in the hospital...details are listed in my first blog on Midlife Concrete. I try to never go back to that place...but for anyone wishing to visit...feel free. Just don't ever try and talk to me about 'the last dance'. Thank you.

The wounds have since healed, and I have yet to dance since then. Ok, an occasional hip swing, hand clap and sing along, yes...but no experiences to release the emotional web around me. I've found other ways to release my emotions...without...the dance. I'm getting sort of choked up here, because this isn't something that I really like to talk about but...I fucking love to dance.

My alter ego, "The Wedding Dancer" has not surfaced in well over a year, and for all I know he may be dead. (This is where it starts to get complicated...)

My cousin's wedding has been creeping up on me and my demons. Constantly I'm asking myself "...can I dance again?", and the answer from voices across my brain and beyond is "No.". Sometimes I beckon for a "Yes", for deep down I have learned to forgive myself, and am trying to move on with my life. I knew with this wedding coming I would have a big decision to make, while really having to look deep inside of myself for trust and commitment. I am at the crossroads.

I have lived and learned. And, many times it as though 'The Dance' allows me to sort of celebrate a couple's holy matrimony...it is a type of gift from me to them...hoping that their love and vows will last a lifetime. Let it be so, then. I shall dance again.

But it's not that easy.

Last week's 'super hike' has left an impression on me as well. I've had this knee/foot/ankle pain that has been getting steadily worse this week. I ignored all advice to 'take it easy' this week, and not kill myself doing concrete work. I actually tried to kill myself doing concrete work, and finally I couldn't take it anymore and had to hobble into the Mountville Family Practice yesterday to visit my doctor. I parked in the parking lot for The Mountville Inn, and almost bee lined to the bar. My head was pointed to the door for the inn, chin first while my body crossed the street toward the Dr's office. I was like a horse who was having the reigns pulled one way, while the body wanted to go a different direction...surely I looked stupid, and my neck hurt as I finally walked through the office door.

The good Doctor felt and poked. I joked with him about my skateboarding, smoking and alcohol habits. He didn't laugh and tugged some more. He seemed very concerned with the pain I was having and the length of time that I let it go before seeing him....almost like he was kind of pissed. I admitted to having a 'nine' out a ten on a pain scale. I don't want to get into a big, descriptive babble about how bad my pain is, and all that shit...listen...I'm a tough guy...who had his panties in a bunch over an injury attained hiking...that's all.

The doctor went over advice and tips and ice it and heat and blah blah....he stepped away from the observation table. I made a joke about the wedding...and he stopped me in my tracks. "Wedding?" he questioned. I told him about my cousin, and how we are traveling to West Virginia for this wedding and big party....I became concerned.

"Doc...will I be able to dance?"

His eyes widened and he shook a finger at me. "ABSOLUTELY NO DANCING."

I hung my head and left the room.

Today is Friday. We leave this afternoon. I'm walking with a cane. My brother keeps sending me mean text messages about how I am "disappointing everyone". My mother called me the other day to see how I was feeling after the hike, and was really looking forward to seeing the 'Wedding Dancer' this weekend. Naturally, I assured mom that he would be there...but now I have these Doctor's orders hanging over my head. I have never failed my own mother, but feel that now I will be writing a new chapter in my book of life called 'let downs'.

This crossroad is confusing me, and I'm not really sure where to go from here. Only time will tell. I looked at my cane this morning, and imagined how many dance moves I could do involving this thing...and then I tripped painfully without the support of this simple pole.

Concrete Columbia

It's been a while since I've spent much time in the Columbia city and able to brush elbows with some of it's inhabitants. One of my favorite 'zines (Wiener Out) once described the city as hosting 'only children...with food stains on their face and/or clothing'. For some reason, I've always loved that description, and happen to find it true on most drives through the more rural districts. Immediate apologies to anyone reading or friends of those who have come from this city and lead perfectly normal lives. -You are the exception to my lop-sided opinion on this area.

Well, "Wiener Out" was correct on the description of street mongers of this town in the late nineties and early twenties. But, I would like to remind readers that since then, the children have grown up, and now have children of their own with the food and candy stains. They walk the streets anxious for more ketchup and teeth rotting sugar snacks.

We were doing some concrete work downtown, and the manager of the job, who I was working for told me that "they would have a piece of equipment" for me to use, when it came time to spread stone for our sub-grade. This scared me a little bit, because usually other people's 'equipment' is half-assed and not serviced properly and hence...dangerous. I would have rather used a familiar piece of equipment for the minor excavation, or hire a reliable service to do the work. It seems everyone that we work for these days is "not looking to spend a lot of money on this project", and at the end of the day, that means that they will be finding shitty ways for themselves to save money and make things more of a pain in the ass for me...us.

He gave me the number for "Joe the tractor Guy" and told me that if Joe tells me he'll be in here an hour, he really means two. I figured that we would need the tractor (not my choice of equipment for grading...most are very in-efficient and weak) sometime after lunch, so I called Joe around 10:00 am and told him to bring it 'after lunch'.

"Well there's no way that I can be there until 12:00, or a little after!" -Joe hollered into the phone at my request.

"That's great! No, that'll be just fine...We'll take lunch around 11, then we will be back for whenever you get here" I said.

"....Uh...Ok...It won't be until after 12..." Joe told me again. Maybe lunch time to him was around 6 in the evening, or ...I don't know. 12 sounded great to me, and he was acting like I was nuts.

We had a terrible lunch a Subway, but were entertained to pieces by a cowboy across the street who has an interesting relationship with a corvette parked in front of his house. He sits on the porch, and occasionally comes out to the car and opens the door, sits in it...rolls down the window...rolls up the window...gets out...opens the trunk...looks in it...closes it...opens it again...grabs a can of paint...puts it on the curb...shuts the trunk...goes back to the porch...comes back to the car...opens the hood...grabs the paint...paints something under the hood...

I'm telling you we could watch this man and the car for hours on end. I was constantly wiping tears from my eyes with a Subway napkin, while eating tasteless food and choking on cherry coke.

We ate and got back to the job site, because I didn't want to be late for Joe. I've never met him, but he sounded kind of dick-head-ish on the phone and I didn't want to piss him off. Of course, he was not there when we got back and we continued working (well after 12, as he had said).

Eventually, a crappy Chevy truck(aren't they all crappy?) comes ripping into the parking lot, followed by a diesel chattering Massey Ferguson, topped by a man whom I assumed was Joe.

Joe held his chin high, and mistook himself for Crazy horse. He held the reigns and lowered the idle whilst breathing heavily out his nose. This was no palfrey, no cart horse or pack mule he attained, but a red steaming charger. The idle now murmured and he hit the kill switch, as he has a thousand times.

Joe is a ketchup stained Colombian who still wears the same sweat pant/sneaker combo that he wore on the day he quit middle school. The pants are tight on the ankle and loose on the knee. A faded t-shirt has holes around the belly button, and I can only imagine what it smells like. I bet it smells like disease chased with whiskey diarrhea.

His cohorts left him quickly to talk around the hood of the Chevy. They made jokes that are not worth typing, and would more than likely make my readers dumber. The larger of the two men had a childish mohawk and his teeth looked like corn kernels. They yelled at each other about who had who's lighter, while dining on hot dogs and kit kat. The skinnier man wore no shirt and a backwards grease covered hat. They disappeared into a warehouse to let the sugar kick in.

Have you ever tried to have a completely normal conversation with someone, and they look at you like they want to kill you? If so, you have had a conversation with Joe. He sort of resembles "Ogre" from 'Revenge of the Nerds', but has a real psycho path air about him.

Joe wanted to kill me for some reason and tried to do so with his intense glare. I asked simple questions about the tractor's basic operations, and he gazed at my flesh, wanting to bury me.

He took the key for the tractor from a large ring of keys and stuck it into the ignition. I thanked him, and he glared at me one more time before heading to the ware house for sugar snacks. He disappeared into the shadows of shelves and I'm assuming he joined fatty and skinny.

I operated the red 'steaming' charger for about three minutes before deeming it a 'piece of shit' and granted Ollie a wish to go home without doing minor grading for me. I told him "Dude...this thing is a piece of shit. This is going to take forever...you can head out if you want and we can do the fine grading of the stone in the morning before the concrete gets here." He saw the struggle and was eager to head home bound via Lancaster's coolest Volvo.

I ran the Massey Furgesson for about ten more minutes, picking up stone from the pile and dumping into the formed areas for sub-grade below the to-be-poured wheel chair ramp. Together, the tractor and I struggled for power and efficiency. At one point, I felt a presence, and sure enough, to my left was Joe...with the physco stare in hand. I idled down the machine enough to hear him say "Sure beats putting it in there by hand, don't you think?". I nodded and said something stupid. I was nervous because he scared me. Maybe he heard my complaints about his family's pride and joy tractor. He left as eerily as he had appeared and I continued with my operation.

Sure enough, before I was done, the fuel gauge read empty, and I had to tell Joe before running this hunk of junk dry. For those of you who don't know...running a diesel engine clear of fuel can be a pain in the ass for re-starting. Don't run a diesel dry...

I told Joe about the fuel situation and he...gave me the look like he wanted to kill me. "Look, dude...I gave them a price to do the ramp...not to bully around the stone with someone else's tractor that I would be expected to fuel up! I had to buy the stone and that wasn't part of the deal...I don't have fuel...you're about to fucking run out." I told Joe and suddenly his glance changed and he was very mad at someone else. "Sorry, dude, but this thing was about fucking empty when it got here...I've got other things to do besides fill other people's fuel tanks."

Joe stormed around the lot with his hands in the air cursing some man. He brought me fuel. He apologized for some reason. I did not tell him how much I hated his tractor.

The Hike is Done...and so am I.

Yesterday's morning air was just right to make me alert quickly and perk my nipples. This was a good sign, but was no promise that I would be finishing the Keystone Trails Association's Susquehanna Super Hike. A hike that follows the Mason Dixon trail of York county from the Otter Creek Campground to the Normanwood bridge, across the Susquehanna, and up and over the rough ridges of the Conestoga trail, to the familiarity to me known as The Pequea Creek Campground...for intensive purposes, "home".

Our plan was to meet at Heidi's house at 5:15 a.m.. There we would make certain that we had all that was needed, and attach our registration numbers to our shirts, to officially make us become (and look like) legitimate participants in this event.

I made it a plan to get up early and chug a decent amount of coffee. This would surely get my stomach sweltering in an effort to churn and make my morning poop possible at Heidi's. It did. Everything is going as planned.

Together the three of us admitted our fears on the dark and cold school bus that shuttled us from Pequea to Otter. We made jokes while the rest of the bus was absolutely silent. No, really...you could have heard a pin drop with the exception of the roaring diesel and our intense laughter of repeated one liners.

The laughter helped, but did not eliminate the obnoxious family of butterflies in my stomach that seemed like they were going to be hard to digest.

Otter Creek campground was littered with stretching athletes and smiling volunteers with sleepers in their eyes. The lines for the restrooms were very long and we decided that maybe we'd better try and go here before final stretching and group prayer.

The men's room door was open and shortly inside a cluster of super jocks stood waiting for stalls. Another man came up quickly behind me and the man in front of me said "There are urinals available...if that is what you are here for", and we both said nothing and just stood in line expressionless.

I really had to do a #1, but thought it would be smart and try and stay in line and give a shot to my mornings second #2.

The men in front of me were tall and confident. They were chiseled from stone and the gear they obtained was for high performance and endurance. Their rock hard butt ox's were staring in my direction, and it made me shift my eyes to the mirror, where I caught a glimpse of myself...shoulders slouched with the weight of the world, dirty flannel shirt and concrete stained cut off shorts. I sucked in my gut, and still I was unhappy with the size it has become. It was very possible that this was some sort of trick mirror...really this thing was putting thirty pounds on me.

It was finally my turn for a stall. I did some business quickly and reminded myself to lube up one more time. I fished the small container of Vaseline from my intense back sack. I did the deed and dropped the container...it bounced around and slid under the wall to the stall next to me, out of sight. Before I could mutter a return request, the dude toe-kicked it back to my stall, as though he had done this a million times. I whispered "thank you" and returned it to it's designated pocket, washed my hands and went out side to meet my co-partners.

Heidi and Shannon were engaged in a conversation that was going over my head, so I began to stretch with out them. The stretching was necessary, but I felt silly doing it in the presence of obvious trained professionals. I was sure that they were mocking my warm up style. I jogged in place. I snapped my neck from one side to the other and I killed mosquitoes with precise karate chops.

Eventually, some official looking people started huddling around the starting line. Like loyal turkeys, we followed the masses and gathered. The officials called for the runners to be at the front of the pack. We took a step back and agreed collectively that the people in front of us were the runners. When the count down to begin ended, we were swarmed by everyone running. Like, everyone was running. People were passing us and bumping into us. It was extremely awkward. Heidi and Shannon were in a panic. "Matt! What do we do? What do we do?". They scuttled off to the side and almost started jogging. "LEON SAID 'NO RUNNING'". I told them and I held our ground...hiking.

The mass quickly calmed and we were in line going up hill at a decent hiking pace with 400 strangers.

The burn came quickly. I tried to save my breathing by not keeping up with Heidi's talking and agreed to Shannon's pace. Without too many details, I can assure you that the first hour and a half passed rather painlessly. The girls knew the checkpoints and were familiar with the map and had penned in estimated arrivals to certain points. I just kept hiking and wondered when an appropriate time would be to plug in my ipod.

Shannon was leading, setting the pace and took a bullet for me. She was stung by a bee that had my name on it, and due to the fact that I am highly allergic, I was gracious.

The peaks and valleys of the York side of the Susquehanna were new sights to my eyes. We charged inclines and passed previous joggers. We found the first rest stop an hour ahead of schedule and patted each other on the back. Heidi sent text messages to Alana and Ben, to assure that we were doing well as Shannon updated her face book status. I stretched and gobbled the free grub and bananas provided by our sponsor, Backcountry Edge (www.BackcountryEdge.com). We didn't take long (10 minutes tops) on this break and immediately started charging onward to Lock 12.

In addition to the cereal bars, water replenishment, fruit and power drinks, Back Country Edge also provided jell packets for nourishment and hydration. There were different flavors...we all decided to try the espresso flavor. The girls were sort of scared of the gel. Shannon hated it and Heidi didn't even try it...she has a caffeine problem that tends to make her act like a crack head and when she was reluctant to eat it, I urgently agreed with her to save it for Ben. I fell in love with the texture and taste. The texture was similar to (what I imagine) what it would be like to drink Elmer's glue, and the taste was something peculiar. Actually, I had every flavor of gel later on in our hike, and damn if I wouldn't have killed for a biscuit to go with the berry...'fo Shoshone!

Amazingly, Lock 12 seemed to come in no time flat from the first stop. We were tickled pink with our progress. I gave Heidi the trail rods that Leon had urged me to use. They were extremely helpful. Heidi's hands were swelling up like lumpy potatoes and I suggested that she take the poles to help with keeping her hands busier and hopefully improve circulation. I can say this now that is all said and done, but I missed the poles greatly. There was a definite advantage to being able to use your upper body to help thrust up inclines and to use them as counter weights on flatter areas. Heidi got tangled in the poles shortly after using them and wiped out in a ball of rocky dust off the trail. This was her first of many wipe outs and close calls. We re-adjusted the poles for her stature. The wipe outs continued and I denied every chance she gave me to have the poles back, because ultimately...I am a gentleman.

My morning butterflies were now digesting and occasionally I fumed the trail with butterfly farts.

Leon and some of his co-friends were at the Lock 12 check point. They were happy to meet us and I spent more time talking with him than I should have. This time should have been spent stretching religiously and doing a better job of filling my hydration pack. Maybe there was a fold in it or something, but I ended up running out of water before the next check point, which harmed my mentality greatly...but that is yet to come.

We left Lock 12 and began over the Normanwood bridge. We were extremely high in spirit and enjoyed the view greatly. There was a four-pack in front of us that I was assuming we would pass easily (it's not a race) but the distance between us never seemed to change, nor did the incline as we headed east.

Son of a bitch, this hill was lasting forever. The bridge itself has an incline that you would kinda notice in a car, but was very present on foot. Once over the bridge, the incline increased, as did the temperature of our hiking surface. The feet burned now with pain, and this was a first during the trek. The incline and the hot, hard surface was slowly killing us. We began to complain profusely. Finally, forty minutes after leaving Lock 12 we were back to trails via Holtwood park.

It didn't take us long to realize that we were trail hikers and not road runners. The trail massaged our feet back to normal, but we had various intense pains from the road. Knees and hips swelled and beckoned our permission to stop performing. Permission was denied. I stubbed my slowly becoming sorer toe, and almost had to begin running to submerse the pain. I took the lead and ground my teeth. This would be a perfect time to toss in the towel and call it a day. I couldn't hear the girls behind me and and no idea if they were even there. The trail was before me and I kept Shannon's pace, trying to bury all the pain. I broke my stick (since prince charming gave Heidi his poles, he now resorted to old fashioned oak branches for trail support...I wonder if hiking with a forty pound tree limb was actually contributing to my increase in fatigue?) and now used a shorter portion that dug into my palm. Whatever happened in the last twenty minutes was helping the pain go away and I could once again see 'going on' a prospect.

The Conestoga trail was quick to prove it's aggressiveness by testing agility over sharp rocks, intense inclines and loose, untrustworthy descents. Together, we talked less an sweat more.

Thinking that I had more than enough water was a big mistake. I drank and drank without considering the horror of running out. During one of the larger rock climbs (was this a hike or a climb?) I took a break in the early afternoon sun, and sucked on my hydration pack's straw only to suck and suck with no water coming forth. This for some reason weakened me. The thought of not having water made my nerves race and I felt like I could shit my pants.

I didn't want to ask the girls for their water (it's not like they were offering) because I wouldn't want anyone else to feel the way I felt at that moment, and, that includes the feeling of crapping one's self.

Forward.

We made it up the rest of the rock climb and it led to a dried up grassy incline. I stopped for two three second breaks. Before my third stop for three seconds I could hear the cheering of sponsor's volunteers. Hike on, dude...it won't be long now. My stick kept slipping in the grass on the way up, and I tried not to think about Heidi using the Black Diamond ultra light hiking poles...(available at www.backcountryedge.com)

The Pinnacle point was a beautiful overlook, but I couldn't help but sense the shadow of decent from this point.


I filled the hydration pack to the brim and dodged hundreds of bees at the check point. I wasn't hungry, but tried to eat a sandwich and sucked down a packet of gel that was about ninety degrees in temperature. MMMmm good!

What I heard about this descent was absolutely true. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if we were fresh, but at this point we are about 21 miles into our hike. My knees trembled vigorously in the first minute of a twenty minute decline. The girls didn't complain so much, so I tried not to...while wanting to scream. Near the bottom, I had to stop and take something for the pain. I popped four generic ibuprofen and swallowed with very minimal water. The thought of running out of water again scared the shit out of me.

Maybe it was my intense metabolism, but the medicine worked in mere minutes. Back to 100%? No, but definitely feeling like I could go on. We all sort of complained mildly occasionally, and when there was any dead air, Heidi would start yacking about some paper she wrote at school, or some other shit. Clearly it was too late in the day for me to suddenly jam my earphones in and drown her out with music...it would have been too awkward.

We were getting near the end. Shannon was hurting as well, but really felt the need to burn through it by going faster. This was not possible for me, and I urged her to move on and not wait, I knew if I needed it, Heidi would hold my hand.

We were now cresting 'the worst of the last of it' at a section known as House Rock. It was at this time that Leon and his equally athletic friend came charging over the trail from the ending point to meet us. They were fresh. They were happy to see us. I hated them from head to toe.

Heidi was refreshed by having someone new to talk to. Leon shot back with glee and interesting statements. I started to get a headache and tried to drown them out...I would have choked them both if I had the strength. I was silently dying with a mile to go. I was not being fair by comparing this 27.4 mile experience to what 'hiking' is like in general. Luckily Leon's friend was being respectively silent, and in doing so was avoiding my imaginary wrath of violence.

"One more little switch back and you guys are home free!" Leon encouraged as we crossed a newly paved section of Pequea roadway. Admittedly, his words were encouraging and I forgot about the choke hold and charged up the steep bank with the last of my energy...I left the three of them ten yards behind and stopped quickly for a drink of water from my hydration pack....wait a minute...nothing is coming out. I sucked harder until the rubber tip on the straw device pulled off. No water. I fell to the ground in dismay and failure. The sweat poured from my brow, nose and chin. Breathing in the rocky trail dust did nothing for my thirst and I...(I'm not exaggerating for effect) could feel the cold sense of failure. Goosebumps popped up on my forearms and I heard speed boats on the yonder river. I tried to keep my eyes open, for maybe then I could hold back the tears. Breathe heavily out the nose and keep your mouth shut. Words will extract emotion and then the dam will break and the tears will come. Everything about me hurt and I was ready for a full on mental break down with sobbing and snot running...dust sticking to my wet cheeks. This break down will be followed by an out right demand that these monsters following, just leave me here. I'm done.

The monsters that followed came closer.

Leon said something and smiled large enough that I could see his teeth through the mask of beard. I did not hear him, but was sure that he was tossing humorous advice my way; advice that I was surely deflecting with intense defense mechanisms and the urge not to cry in public.

Heidi was talking and no one was listening. She now used the poles effortlessly and naturally. I stared at my stupid stick on the ground before me; covered in sweat from my palm, and my palm caked with bark dirt. Indeed a gentleman I am...and I'm about to bawl my eyes out in front of two good friends and a man I've only known for 12 minutes. All hope was gone, and I really could give two shits about this stupid hike.

Leon's tall friend reached into his pocket without anyone seeing him but me. He pulled his hand from the pocket clenched, as though he was holding something. He rose the hand to his chin and opened his palm in front of his mouth and blew a mixture of fine dirt and dust in my direction and winked with a nod at the same time. Sparkles glistened across the trail in my direction and I heard echoes of an Indian flute playing an inspirational hymn that I'd never heard before, but it soothed me. The wind caressed the tall branches above and the leaves danced merrily in shadows of the sun. Could this be? yes. It was.

Trail magic.

I rose to my feet. I laughed at Leon's joke, and adored Heidi's talking. We walked the streets of Pequea and people cheered us on from the rooftops. Once on Trolley lane, people called our names and handed us beer. Children congratulated us. Leon and the magic man left our side to let us cross the finish line victors. Thank you.

set...set...blue...huthuthut hut...Hike!

Coffee is on. I'm up and getting ready to lube...as soon as I'm done writing this. 'Scored a small container of Vaseline at the store last night...I just hope it's enough.

The back sack seems kind of heavy with all the water and bananas in it, but I guess that will just get lighter as the day goes on. I'm packing my 'chill' shoes in the bag, as a sense of inspiration. -That way every time I grab a pbnj out of there, I'll see the shoes and get stoked on chilling later this eve.

My evening stretches weren't that great. Poured some concrete yesterday morning and kinda wrenched my back a little bit (I'm complaining real quick, so that in the instance that I don't make it today, there is evidence of my prior condition) hopefully the trail will loosen it up a bit.

I was thinking that I KNOW I can crawl on concrete, finishing it with trowel for 12 hour easily, so maybe I should take two trowels, and if the going gets too rough, I could just get on all fours and crawl backwards, and swipe the trail behind me with concrete tools?

Ok...enough. Time to go chug coffee and see if I can actually do this shit. HIke!

One more day till Hike City!

Yeah Yeah! Just got back from Leon's...hooked up!

First of all, this "under armour" is a bunch of crap. The name brand stuff is just a rip off of product that other suppliers have been making for years. 'Compression' under wear is the proper name for it. It's like that biker short stuff. It makes even a tug boat like myself look all lean and slender. "Under Armour" is like McDonalds. If you want a burger and fries, yeah they have it, but you have to eat all that corporate America bull shit with it too.

Anyhow. Leon gave me some compression underwear, that, he said I "absolutely did not need". I tried them on, and that was it! I looked like an athlete! All slick and slender lookin'...jeez! You should see it!

He gave me 'Darn Tough' socks to match. He has admitted to becoming a sock snob, and mostly due to this brand of sock. They are made in America by a family run company for generations.

I wasn't expecting anything but maybe some more advice...but today he texted me and told me to come over for some out fitting. That sure as hell beat my plan of rummaging through K-mart later this evening, looking for some bullshit hiking gear and dealing with the...ok, I'm not going to go on about the type of people that hang out at K-mart and work there. That's not right...besides, technically, I am one of those people.

...But anyhow, Leon also had friggin' shoes for me! They are already broken in, and are extremely similar to the New Balances that I've been wearing all summer. They are a little bit heavier, but have some more ankle support...and they are dripping with fashion sense.

I'm telling you that if Lewis, Clark and Sagagewea had the gear I have...they probably could have discovered the moon.

Hmmm....I'm forgetting something....the back sack.

I was just gonna get one of those 'camel back's' or whatever you call it. It's just a back sack that only carries water. ...Dude. This back sack that he gave me has all the bells and whistles. Hydration system, clamps, straps...I can't stop looking at it. There's enough room in this thing for many sandwiches, extra water (the hydration system holds two liters itself), iphone, flannel shirt, carton of smokes, extra shoes...all that and more...and then there is a little string that you tug on, and it like...squeezes the whole thing together. It's boss.

I'm going to try and find some more bananas tomorrow. Friggin' Turkey Hill was out this morning, so I just drank a shit load of coffee...and OH SHIT! They have the fricking 'tasty claires' again...so I've been 'housing' a few of them here and there between my hikers training diet.

two or three days till super hike?

Call me stupid...the hike is on Saturday...it's now Wednesday evening...so does that mean it's two or three days until the hike? Oh who cares. It's Saturday. 'Got my hiking rods from Leon today...then he posts this blog about how people shouldn't use them, or something like he couldn't find the rhythm? BUT he said they make great counter weights. Ok. Great. That's what I need.

Now it's getting to the point where everyone around me is starting to tell me what I need. Energy gels, emergency blanket, water pills, band aids, cortozone, sunscreen, camel back pack, nail clippers...on and on, dude. Shit, Lewis and Clark didn't have any of that shit and they did just fine. Just fine. Plus Heidi and Shannon are going with me, (the marine dude pussed out). I don't know Shannon too well (probably will after this hell on Saturday) but I know Heidi's like a natural Sacagawea. Yup, my friend the Shoshone.

I guess last year only twenty people didn't finish the hike. Shit! I thought there would only be twenty people on the hike. Here, there's like four hundred! What? Holy shit! I hope that Heidi and Shannon realize that we are going to have to be kicking people out of our way in order to finish on time. It could be a full out brawl.

I'm so uninformed about this whole thing. I know Leon is at half way...that's about it. I did some stretching today and it felt good.

What if I can't finish? I'm a little nervous about major cramps. I'm drinking a lot of water this week and have already eaten like five bananas. That's good, right? I'll be like a friggin monkey swinging from branches on this hike. Another major worry is this chafing issue. I don't know what shorts or pants to wear.

All of my clothing is handy downs or Salvation Army issued...none of which resembles athletic attire in form or view. I've been told to absolutely wear athletic shorts and underwear of the same liking. Ok.

All of my shorts are cut offs (stained and crusted with concrete and mortar...trust me, I'm not making that up and it's kind of become my 'look') and all of my underwear comes from K-mart...like rain man(who, as we may remember was no super hiker...he was a lazy prick who knew a lot about something...I forget...and I shouldn't talk badly about him like that...it will give me bad karma before my hike, and I need all the help I can get...sorry Rain Man, I take it back...you're fucking cool dude!).

I'm worried about my fat hairy thighs rubbing with my...other stuff down there, and getting sore. BUT I gotta stick to Tim's advice to 'lube up'. Well shit, if that's the answer, I'll put so much lube down there that people will report a petroleum leak on the banks of the Susquehanna.

Other than that...Heidi isn't answering her phone and Leon is impossible to get a hold of...and if Shannon has better gear than me I'm going to be pissed. I will keep all interested posted on news of this historical event, and may even post status updates on the FB during the trech...maybe. We'll see. That was Jay's idea...and I'm not sure if I like the idea of informing curious, out of shape, over aged college students on the state of my physical well (or not well) being.

Training my ass...Gear!

Four days till super hike...

Along with the shitty advice that I've been given by everyone, I've also attained some pretty primo gear for this hike.
The same friend who told me to 'lube up down there' also gave me a shirt. He said he's 'sponsoring' me. I'm wearing the shirt right now for the first time...and it looks pretty gay. Trust me, I tried taking a picture of it ten different ways, and every time this thing just isn't me. Please no one take offense to the 'gay' term...it's a bad habit. I mean nothing by it. Trust me, I'm half a homo.

I also scored some diabetic shoe supports. My good friend Joshua helped my cause by throwing a pair of these beauties my way. You are supposed to put them in the toaster oven and cook them just until they won't really burn you, and then stick them on your feet so they take your foot's impression. Then I guess you just fuckin hike away! They're pretty cool. AND they're saving me cash from just buying new shoes. I'm just going to wear the same pieces of shit that I've been wearing all summer....with these bitchin' new inserts. I already tried them out a little bit, and my heels kinda hurt in them, but I haven't cooked them yet...and I had no socks on; which also made my feet sort of fart as I trotted out to the shop to grab this shirt.

PLEASE. I'm not writing this to have everyone (my two readers) to start giving me shit to take on my hike. Thank you. No thank you. All I really need yet is a canteen of some sort and these hiking rods from Leon. I just kept imagining all day the shit that people may start to give me.

"Here...take this...it's good luck. It's my brother's foot ball helmet that he wore when they won the regional s... "

"Oh...wear this chain that my sister made out of her first bicycle..."

"Eat this...it's an heirloom pepper from Cogg's garden"

I could see this going on and on until I'm clonkin on down to Normanwood with a fist full of good luck charms and looking like a retard. I'll be fine, friends don't you worry. Trust me, I'm going to have my hands full dragging Heidi and Shannon up and over the last few ridges...I'm sure of that.

I should be training.

It's less than a week until the 'super hike'. This event takes place on the skirts of the Susquehanna river. Twenty Eight point four miles...up and down all day. Twelve hours to completion. I mentioned on a thread devoted to the event that I am “excited” for the day. What a crock of shit. “Excited” like I'm ready for it to be over.

My 'friend' Heidi asked me to join her on this hike. I was not paying attention to the details, just trying to be a good friend and agreed to do it. She was being sort of desperate and pathetic...so being the nice guy that I am I was just like “sure...I'll do it”.

She's been training and doing the practice hikes...I told myself all summer that I would also do such things, and now here there is less than a week to go and I'm sitting around on a beautiful day, trying to beat the Sonic wii game with my son. We get heavily involved in beating stupid video games to a pulp. -Yet another thing that I said I would 'never' do as a parent...play video games all day? No way. Not in my house...My kid's not going to be one of these...and on and on. Hypocrite. Damn right, that's me! In the big picture...we're not melting our brains into the video game (here comes my defense). I can say that I prefer our gaming to simply watching Sponge Bob (I fucking love Sponge Bob), or other zombie beckoning television. Yes. It's true. -Listen...these games take patience. I have no patience. I don't think I ever really swear in front of Ollie until we get neck deep in beating one of these stupid games. I yell at the screen rather loudly and he believes in my skills. He will hand me the controller at certain points, for me to take over...and at those times I will stop at nothing for the blessings of my five year old. We both get overly frustrated and overly joyous at the peaks of different levels. It's fun. Whatever...I'm spending time with my number one little man. It rules.

Twenty eight point four miles? What the hell am I thinking?

Sure, hiking buckets of mortar up scaffolding all summer could be considered some sort of training, and yes...I did some stretches two weeks ago. Stretches I swore I was going to do daily. I don't do anything daily and I don't do anything super. Super hike. What a stupid name. (Am I really starting to hate the whole idea of this event?). I guess it's coming down to me losing a little bit of my confidence. Well...not losing my confidence just yet...I'm actually extremely confident. -Which scares me...and that could be what this little rumble of emotion is. Yup, just a few butterflies. I eat butterflies for breakfast.

I haven't been training whatsoever, but I have been gathering lots of advice from seasoned hikers and runners. Well, I've been taking advice from those friends of mine who choose to live a healthier life than myself.

I was 'super' stoked because Leon told me to 'pack a lunch...eat a sandwich'. And I liked that advice. I liked it so much, that I may ad to the lunch idea and bring a couple of cold ones. I think that cracking a beer at Normanwood would be something to look forward to; and could give me the extra incentive to 1) make it half way and 2) finish the hike so that I may enjoy more beer. Damn that thought made a lot of sense and didn't seem so, so stupid until I wrote it out.

Other advice that I've taken, and may elaborate with as well. “Make sure you lube up down 'there' so that you don't chafe'. Wow. I wasn't even thinking of that. Shit. Ok, ok, ok...what if I just don't wear any pants or under wear at all? I won't chafe, and I'll be able to clear the trail of those in my way of victory. “Ahhh...look out! Theres a fucking NAKED dude coming down the trail! Ewww...gross!”

I kinda like that plan the best. Full on naked dude ripping down the trail, eating a big old sub from Nino's, cracking a beer and using hiking poles awkwardly for the first time. I'm headed to Normanwood. From then back up to Pequea...naked as a jay bird, leading the way. Super!