Terror in the Whites: The Approach

Because we hike over Labor Day weekend, it’s critical we make hut reservations far in advance. As such, plans are made around November and all reservations secured before Thanksgiving. We keep none of this a secret from one another, with Jamie sending clear emails regarding dates, locations, and reservations. We know this information has been received and understood because we get the reimbursement checks from Chris and Kevin for the huts. Additionally, we tend to start the hikes at the same location, from the same hotel. There is nothing uncommunicated or unclear about these hikes (except who chose the bloody trail).

As the start of the hike approached, it became clear that Christopher had retained zero of this information. Christopher is exceedingly smart. We don’t understand why this happens, or why it happens every single time.

He posted several comments on Facebook regarding our hike to Mount Washington. A hike we were not doing. I began to share information, but it soon seemed simpler to provide data on a need-to-know basis. Our interactions went like this:

Chris: Where are we staying? When are we meeting up?

Gretchen: Littleton, same place as last year.

Chris: I don’t remember where we stayed last year.
Gretchen: We sent you all of the information.

Chris: Don’t have it.

Gretchen: Look it up.

Chris: I need an address.

So I sent him an address. It wasn’t the address of the hotel; but it was an address.

He stopped speaking to me.

Meanwhile, Jamie and I had decided that it might be a good time to start training.  We went on a bike ride one grey afternoon and, after my legs turned to hot, useless, mush half-way up a hill, I announced I was in no condition to do the hike and needed to stay home. He vetoed that proposal. Two days later, we were doing hills at the park and I confessed I was hoping to fall down and injure myself so as to avoid The Hike of Horror. Unfortunately, and possibly for the first time in my life, I was coordinated and remained on my feet. 

Kevin was silent, because Kevin was

A. In shape

B. Had all of the necessary information.

The morning of the day we left, Chris bailed. 

There was some bogus excuse offered about preparing for a trial. I concluded that there were only two possible reasons for this situation:

1. He had procrastinated and not prepared for the trial in a timely manner.

2. He was afraid.

I decided the second conclusion was the right one, decided he had realized, no matter how much P90X he was doing, he would suffer, decided he knew I would win. I decided he knew I was going to defeat him in hiking and that such a defeat would haunt him though the decades left in his life, causing him distress and regret on this deathbed. I decided he knew I would gloat. And, of course, I would.

Much as I would have enjoyed the years and years of mockery, teasing, and verbal torture I was prepared to offer up, this wasn't going to work. We needed him. We needed him because:

1. He provides comic relief

2. I rely on him to over-pack peanut M&Ms for me to eat

3. This is the one time each year I get to help him understand how my life growing up was so much more horrible than his life and I therefore win the “I had it the worst of all of the children” game (one I have since learned only I am playing)

4. There is no way for me to tolerate four days of two engineers (Jamie and Kevin) engaging in Geek Speak and analyzing every god damned thing under the sun. I needed Chris.

And so I that most heinous thing, the thing siblings are loathe to do, the thing we swear we will never do to one related to us, the thing so awful it is never spoken of:

I begged.

I promised to send him real directions and, against my better judgment, let him have a map of the trail so that he could ditch us go at his own pace. I told him he was the strongest and best and several other things I’m too ashamed to confess.

He relented and said he would be there in a few hours. He said it smugly, with a smirk. I could just tell from the way the letters appeared in the text. 

A thought occurred: had he just been messing with me time in order to get what he wanted? He’s wily like that, you know. 

THE START

We set out on Friday morning for a short hike: about 2.5 hours, 2,000 or so feet up. The first hour of a hike, much like the first hour of 2001: A Space Odyssey, is the worst part. You aren’t in the zone yet, you aren’t quite sure what’s going on, if the whole thing is going to be like this part, and if so, you are so not finishing what you started. But if you get through that hour, if you push through and grit your teeth, you’ll be all right. Perhaps this is why we let Jamie lead.

We started to sweat. We started to pant. We climbed skyward along until the highway was silent. And then we fired Jamie as path leader for setting a ridiculous pace. This was inevitable.

At times, we hit clearings which yielded a view of the mountains surrounding us. Taking in these vistas is bittersweet, for while they are stunning, they are also your future. More than once, someone mumbled, “Wait. Are we climbing that? Today? Really?” And that someone was me. Every. Single. Time.

Half way up to Greenleaf, we passed two spunky women. They were so pleased with their progress that they had stopped to enjoy the scenery and prolong their first day in the woods. We passed them, rested. They passed us. They rested. We passed them, rested. Such is life on long trails. I liked these women. Their attitude was infectious, a contagious glee: two people just tickled to be out there, in the elements – free. And I hope that they remember this feeling when they look back on their journey. Because it wasn’t going to last. 

Friends: Still need title help.