What hiking does to me

I wrote the following several years ago, when my body was younger and my knees didn't hurt going up stairs to say nothing about going up a hiking trail. At that time in my life I made a point to hike the eight mile La Luz trail that runs from 6,000 feet at the start to 10,000 feet at the Crest at least once a month. During this particular hike, I only went a mile up the trail to a juncture where the trail branches off to the right to follow the foot hills trail or goes straight to the Crest. I used to call this mile hike an Emergency Hike, a hike I would do when I really needed to get away but didn't have time for an all day adventure. I miss those days. Here's the story of this hike:

I reached the trail head early in the morning, before sunrise. I walked in the shadow of the greater mountain, the night’s cold nibbling numbness into my fingers as they held the walking stick they couldn't feel. Lungs heave, trying to collect any nearby air to fuel the unexpected exertion. Legs are puzzled at the unfamiliar demand for action. Feet struggle to maintain balance on the unpredictable trail. Thus it goes, the body demanding an explanation for this activity, demanding to return to the inertia of body-at-rest, insisting that, after this foolishness, it will keep it that way. We're not doing this again.

Clearing the switchbacks, the sun has been victorious over the night, bursting with an exuberance of light and warmth into this lowly canyon. I sit on a rock to stop time and look across the ravine. I see the blur of a blue coat, hear pebbles fall, a voice “Shit! Goddamn it!” Whatever catastrophe happened over there is hidden by the privacy of piñon trees. I remain still to preserve my own secrecy. Minutes pass, no further sound. I wonder if I should call out to see if everything is okay. I look further up the narrow valley. Almost at the top of the ridge, I see two ants, one with a white hat, one in a red jacket. Then I hear scrambling across the ravine that turns my attention back to the blue coat. What ever happened has been resolved and the anonymous hiker continues on the trail. I check back with the ridge. The ants are gone. I am in solitude again.

I drink deeply from the well of silence, feeling the cool, refreshing invigoration that quenches my thirst for tranquility, for calm, stillness. The sun bathes me, completely, totally, in a shower of warmth that cleanses a filth I had grown accustomed to. I hadn’t realized how fetid my soul had become until I feel the cleanness, the purity that had been buried under months of accumulated evils that pass for everyday life. A breeze, as gentle as a lover’s touch, rips away leeches of artificial concerns that had latched onto me, unnoticed in their stealth and steady accretion. Priorities begin falling into place like a well adjusted spine. Timeless, eternal moments pass. I feel whole, replenished. The sun had passed its zenith and was on its journey to close out the day before I finally come back from my revere. I rise and walk back towards the world, savoring my renewal, listening to the crunching laughter of gravel under my feet. I am renewed.