An Oldie-- from last year

radio shows do it...

Finally getting myself in regular hiking mode again. For the past several months my schedule has been too erratic for hiking, but now Im waking up like most people, early in the morning. Now that Gary Hilton is behind bars, I guess I can breathe a bit easier during my solo hiking adventures. It does take an individual like him to make you realize just how vulnerable a position you are in while hiking alone, with only a pocket knife or a stray rock as a weapon. Im sure mugging and car theft are the primary human dangers; plus the only good thing (depending on your weltanschuang) about a pyschopathic murderer is that they tend to be highly rare individuals.

Incidently if you are mugged here's a nice site for how to deal with the situation: http://www.ominouscomma.com/archives/best-of-the-comma/not-get-mugged

So, anyway, Im hiking again, and my body feels like it's been run over by a river barge again, which should lend to some possibly interesting, and bloggable stories, who knows. Last Saturday I went to the Savage Gulf Area, usually touted as the mini-Grand Canyon, or the Grand Canyon of the Eastern U.S. It was a beautiful, crisp, sunny day, temperatures ranging from the 40s to the 50s, but felt warm with the bright sunshine and the physical exertion.

I had to take off my jacket, never feeling cold after the first half mile or so.There are five or six entry points to the Savage Gulf, and I chose The Stone Door, having been there one other time many years ago. I remembered to bring everything but the camera. I did remember my dog. The weird thing about the dog is, my grandmother has developed such a sick attachment to her-- it is rightfully my dad's dog first, then the rest of us accordingly-- that she scowled at me for nearlyhalf a minute as I was leaving Saturday morning for my hike. She was pissed I was taking the fucking dog on a hike! She's in her mid- 80s now and getting battier by the day.

She spends her whole days moving piles of junk around the house,old photographs, ancient newspaper, flotsam and jetsam of a long and jobless domestic existence (Im sure Id get some flack for that statement, if I had a readership!). There seems to be no point to the endless reorganization. It's a weird mix of nostalgia, dementia and OCD. She's constantly opening and shutting dresser drawers in her bedroom, the room right above mine. It's driving me mad, and the scary thing is, she knows it. Our relationship has soured dramatically over the years. And now that her mind is going, Im certain our problems will never be resolved, as was the case with me and my mother. It's so much easier to shower unconditional love on a dog, than it is a human.

Hey, did I mention Im hiking again?