Hiking Partners

The other day a friend was talking to me about a hike on snow shoes that she took with her husband.  She had enjoyed the experience about as much as she enjoyed being zapped with a cattle prod.  I could sympathize.  Sometimes our nearest and dearest, as much as we love them, are not our hiking partners of choice. 

My husband hates hiking.  He is a contractor.  Because he usually works out in the elements doing hard physical labor, he always would pick watching March Madness basketball in an easy chair with an enormous bowl of popcorn over hiking or cross country skiing.  In his mind, these activities have the added disadvantage of not involving engines of any kind.  For my husband, anything worth doing outdoors is only worth doing if you’re riding something with an engine.

Once, I made the mistake of planning a Memorial Day hike on the Ridge Trail for the entire family.  The Ridge Trail can be an enjoyable hike.  Starting at the Park City end of the trail, the hike is mostly downhill after a steep elevation gain at the beginning.  Since a large part of the hike is on a ridge, the views are expansive and beautiful.  And at the end of May, the flowers are breath taking – or they would have been if I had been able to stop and look at them. 

I said, “Let’s hike the Ridge for Memorial Day.”  My hubby heard, “I have a seven mile death march planned for Memorial Day.”  We drove over the bumpy road and unloaded people and packs at the trailhead.  After the backpacks were doled out, my husband tore off down the trail with a mile long stride, covering ground at a speed that would have made Mario Andretti green with envy. The two teenagers ran up the trail ahead of him and maintained a half mile head start on the rest of us.  While the three younger kids and I brought up the rear, I checked to see if there was cell phone coverage.  My physical state balanced with the pace my beloved had set made a 911 call seem like a probable outcome.

We marched on with all the speed and determination of Olympic marathon runners.  After a few miles, a bend in the trail revealed an interesting plant.    “Look!  A flower!” I gasped. “ Could we stop?  I want to look it up in my book and take a picture.”   My better half glanced at the plant for 1/60 of a second and pronounced, “Humph. Doesn’t look like anything to me.”   He sped off down the trail as I fished my camera out of my pack and snapped a quick photo.  I later compared the photo to my flower book and found that this plant of no interest was a monument plant which blooms only once every 20 to 60 years. 

The death march continued.  After a while, I spotted a beautiful high meadow, “This would be a great place to eat our lunch,” I said.   Exasperated, my mate informed me we were not that far from the end of the trail, only three miles or so.  On he marched until we finished our hike.  We were two hours ahead of schedule.  The younger kids and I collapsed onto a bench on a not-at-all-scenic spot by the trailhead and wolfed down our lunches while my Hubby waited for us to get into the car.  I shoved coats and packs into our vehicle, turned to my life’s partner and snapped, “Next hike you are staying home.”