I have a love affair with the mountains. I don’t remember when it actually began but I remember when I first encountered them. The mountains are great, I prefer them over any other landscape. If I had to chose between the mountains and the beach I’m choosing the mountains. I prefer them because of their majesty, beauty, and the awe inspiring feeling they radiate. I also prefer them because I don’t have the legs to pull off a pair of Speedos at the beach. Let’s face it when you go to the beach you should be sporting a banana hammock, and I unfortunately don’t have a pair of sticks to make them work. Instead I go to the mountains.
The first time I ever encountered the mountains was when I was approximately 10 years old. I grew up in Ohio and the closest we had to a craggy alpine playground was driving near Kentucky and seeing the hills that were cut through when the interstate was being built. I would stare at hewed slabs of rock and think of how cool it would be hike to the top of them. Now when we drive past them my wife wonders if she could top rope them (she is so awesome). The hills of southern Ohio and Kentucky were as close as I was going to get to mountains because of where I lived. I wasn’t the only one in my family with mountain fever, my aunt loved the mountains too. She loved to hike and would often drag her family to Rocky Mountain National, Glacier, and Yellowstone. She would eventually move to and retire in Colorado. It just so happened that this particular year they were heading out to the Adirondack Mountains and she invited me to go along. I was excited at the prospect of hiking in real honest-to-goodness verifiable mountains and not just having to pretend that anytime I saw ten feet of exposed rock that it could be my mini-mountain.
There are just a few memories that I can recall about the trip. I remember that it was also my introduction to fried Spam. Oh the joys of fried Spam, cooked in a skillet until deliciously browned on each side; it was manna from Heaven (with the exception of the jelly substance that covers the top which I’m sure they used in the Alien movie series as a prop). It helped to fuel my dramatic ascents in the mountains and gave me what I needed to make it there and back. Still to this day I would love to bring it along on a hike and cook it up for my family except I fear the backlash may be too much for me to bare. There is also another memory I have and that is of my yellow sweatpants.
Ah yes the yellow sweatpants, surely they were a Kmart special. Probably a blue light special, but most likely not. My mother worked at the local Kmart and I’m sure she got them with her 10% employee discount, what a benefits package they offered. My sweatpants had a sketchy waistband that would fray and tear just by looking at them. They also had the kind of drawstring that if you pulled too tight it would break on you and the world see what kind of Underoos you were sporting that day. It was the kind of drawstring that after a week of pulling far too hard that you mother had to replace it with a shoestring by using a safety pin to weave it through the shredded and exposed waistband. You remember, the high quality clothing you wore as a child. My mother packed those for me on this trip along with my sneakers which were probably Puma’s since they never bought me Nike’s or Reebok’s. I lived a destitute childhood.
I used to wear my sweatpants with the elastic cuffs pulled up over my calves; I was cool that way. On the day I chose to wear said yellow sweatpants was after it had rained and the trail was pretty muddy. Given that the chosen ( i.e. forced upon by Scrooge like parents) shoes were more suited for the basketball court and not the trail I was destined that day to slide myself right off the mountainside and tumble to a painful death. Luckily for me my fried Spam induced superpowers kept me on the trail and the only hardship I endured was slipping and falling into a puddle of mud which coated the backside of my yellow sweat pants and soaked me to the bone. This of course was on the ascent and I would have to finish the hike cold, wet, and muddy. I don’t remember complaining for how could I, I was in the mountains. A dream fulfilled, I was in a paradise of elevation and the fact that my parents sent me to my doom because they skimped on proper clothing and footwear would have to wait for another day. This day I met my love, and we embraced and I trampled upon her well worn bi-ped highways to sights unseen. Even now I smile and gleefully giggle every time I get to see and be near my beloved peaks. Now I don’t make the same squealing sounds as a 10 year old girl at a Justin Bieber concert, but I must confess I’m in the same ballpark. Yellow sweatpants or not the mountains have lost none of their luster in my eyes and I sit here writing as my mind drifts off to snow-capped peaks, and exposed rock formations, of scree fields and mountain goats kicking rocks on me from above (another story for another time).
Until next time…..Adventure On! And wear your pants proud no matter what color they are.