vituperation

War wounds from the long hike. Oddly, none of them ever really hurt.
Note: My toes aren’t normally separated all freaklike that way; I had
them splayed out. And I’ll take no guff for my leet nail clipping skillz, either.

Too sexy for you.

Warning: another hike story follows, because it’s all I’ve been doing recently to take advantage of the stunning weather we’re having, so close the window now if they bore you. It’s so nice, I’m hiking today and tomorrow (today with the family on an easy one, tomorrow to knock the awesome Waterline Trail off my map).

Speaking of hiking, I had another Snickers Marathon Caramel Nut Rush bar on a hike last week, and didn’t like it nearly as much as the first time I had one. The difference? I wasn’t starving this time. Still good, and worth a try, but the more I think about it the more I think the Harvest PowerBars were better (especially this one).

Sunlight dappled the green and brown leaves scattering the trail before me as I strode through the trees. The swatches of cerulean sky through the branches overhead were unmarred by clouds from horizon to horizon, and a gentle breeze caressed my skin, carrying the fresh scent that only spring and autumn can.

I walked along the ridge atop Rainbow Mountain, a two-mile trail I cover three or four times a week because it’s so close to our house. The trail is great because it offers nice views of Madison — especially when the leaves are gone — and has some good uphill and downhill sections that really get the blood pumping. Occasionally, I use the trail for a cardio workout and do it in just under 32 minutes, but most days I just like to use it to be outside and take my time, 45 minutes or so.

I rarely see people in the afternoons when I’m doing the trail, and it was to this that my mind turned on Thursday as I walked. Idly, I thought back to my security clearance interview earlier in the day, and how I’d told the investigator most of my free time was spent outdoors in solitary activities. I don’t dislike people at all, I said to the investigator. I just like to do things by myself. They’re not going to mark me as a serial killer, are they? I was assured that they wouldn’t, though the fact that I don’t participate in many social things could possibly raise a red flag. To help prevent this, the investigator noted that I recently joined the Sierra Club but hadn’t belonged long enough to go to my first meeting.

If the first meeting I go to is anything like the official Sierra Club web site, wherein it appears devoted to bashing the current administration because they don’t wear enough patchouli and bathe regularly, I suspect one meeting is all I’ll attend, because I joined for the hiking and not the politics.

I didn’t mention that to the investigator.

(Note for the humor impaired: that was a joke, based on stereotypes of "tree huggers". Please don’t flood my comments with outraged bashes on me or the President.)

My mind meandered, as it does on my hikes, and I briefly wondered if I could hike the entire Rainbow Mountain loop trail naked without running into another person. Then my neurosis kicked in, and before long I was imagining my trial for lewd behavior, attended by my entire extended family, all my coworkers, and every reader of my site.

"He was just seeing if he could do it nude, your Honor," my lawyer said. "He wasn’t acting in an obscene manner."

"Objection, your Honor," the District Attorney cried. "Look at him. If the thought of him without clothes isn’t obscene, I don’t know what is."

"You have a point," said the judge, looking me up and down critically. He shivered slightly at whatever mental image he conjured, then addressed my lawyer. "Counsel, you’ll need to try another line of argument."

I was shaken from my high drama by the sight of two teenage boys a hundred feet or so up the trail. They sat on boulders, one on either side of the trail, and stared guiltily at me as I approached. One lifted a soda can to his lips and took a pull.

I sniffed the air surreptitiously, checking for the smell of pot. Nothing.

The one to the left, a shifty-eyed redhead with a crewcut, leaned down and picked up a rifle. He leaned it against the tree beside him, never taking his hooded eyes off me.

Jesus Christ! the right side of my brain shrieked. You brought a walking stick to a gun fight!

Relax, the left side of my brian said in a soothing voice. I’m sure they’re just out here shooting at trees or squirrels or birds.

This is what you get for being complacent and not carrying your pistol. Shot! How’s that going to look, with your support of the second amendment and a permit to carry concealed?

Could be worse, you could be naked. Calm down, they’re just kids out messing around with a .22, not killers.

I pasted a big fake smile on my face as I approached. The boy on the right, the soda drinker, casually set his can on the rock and picked up his own rifle, which looked alarmingly like a machine gun. He laid it across his knees.

Miz Scarlett! I don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies!

Would you relax?

Relax? That’s easier said than done. What the hell are they doing out here with guns? It’s illegal to fire them in the city, for God’s sake! They’re going to shoot me because they’re disaffected freaks. Look at that one with the shifty eyes, put a trenchcoat on him and he’s the spitting image of a Columbine shooter!

Take a deep breath, Prissy. We’re not about to die. They’re just out messing around, plinking at trees or something. I mean, who kills people with a pussy little thing like a .22? Just turn on that charm that makes you so approachable and they won’t be able to resist.

"Howdy!" I said in a loud voice, the skin on my face feeling tight and stretched from the rictus-like smile.

"Howdy," said sodaboy. Shifty-eyes didn’t speak, but just looked at me.

"How are you guys doing today?" Passing between them now, still smiling, watching for any sudden moves. Ready to go kung fu with the walking stick if need be.

"Good," replied sodaboy. Shifty-eyes stared insolently.

I felt a cold spot at the base of my skull as I continued down the trail, a watched spot, wondering if they shot at me whether or not I’d hear it before the bullet entered my head.

No shot came, and the further I moved toward the wildflower glade at the end of the ridge, the more relaxed I became. I sighed with relief as I passed the enormous prickly pear marking the spot where the trail loops back to traverse the valley below the ridgeline.

My mind started wandering again while I walked along the rockline, this time about getting shot and killed while hiking, and how the whole reason I had a pistol permit was to have protection when I was out doing stuff alone. I looked up and to the left, watching the ridgeline above, leery of being below two people with guns. I went deeper into the valley, moving a little faster than I had been.

Above me and just behind, a rifle cracked, sending all the birds around me flying. One of the boys whooped loudly, and I heard them crashing through the underbrush toward me. The sharp crack of the rifle came again, and this time I heard the bullet snapping through the leaves and branches far overhead.

to be continued…