I'm eating a great meal with girls at a nice artsy place on the mall. Its all part of the book club my daughter belongs too, an exclusive affair consisting of five brilliant beautiful women. It just so happens this month they chose to read Wild, by Cheryl Strayed.
This memoir is about a woman hiking the Pacific Crest Trail is segments over a three month period. She begins in the Mohave Desert, skips snowbound High Sierras, heads into northern California, makes it to the Hat Creek Rim, skips up to Oregon where she makes it to the Bridge of the Gods. See, that's what enticed me about the book. The woman spoke to my heart. I remember those places, cut my trail teeth in the desert, gained my trail name, earned my ultralighter's stripes.
We enjoyed a decadent desert while discussing the where's and whys of such an adventure, then the bills came and they ratted me out. Come on ladies! Don't go asking if there's an AARP discount for yours truly. I can deal with this. God help me, I am still the through hiker I was of yore, and don't need reminding of my pending senior citizenship.
I don't want the waitress looking at me like that, like maybe I need a doggie bag for the rest of that ultra rich Elvis Presely Cup Cake from Hell. I will finish it, by god, if I have to use the bathroom twice. Sheesh.
OK, thats enough ranting. All I know is I've gotta take another long walk, soon. And you young beautiful things? Don't even go there, asking if I get any discounts on my plane tickets!
No comments:
Post a Comment