Unexpected Wretched Excess

Binney PondAlthough I don't like to make a big deal about birthdays, I do like the idea of doing something meaningful for myself. Something a little different that, I dunno, lets me reset or reflect or something. So of late (that would be the last two years), I've taken a day off from work and gone on a hike. Last year we ended up doing a moonlight hike of Mt. Monadnock in New Hampshire. (It wasn't planned that way, but it worked out well enough. I got a flat that couldn't be plugged early that afternoon, so we ended up getting there at dusk -- but it was a known option when I decided on the hike.) This year I figured I'd go hike the Wapack trail that starts at the "base" of Mt. Watatic in Ashburnham and ends at North Pack "Mountain" in Southern New Hampshire. (Sorry, coming from California, I still am embarrassed to call some of the bumps out here "mountains.") I usually do this hike over Labor day weekend, but this year got filled with various events and activities, so I had to skip it.

I usually start out in the early afternoon from the parking lot off 119 in Ashburnham and do an out-and-back hike, turning around based on my best guess as to how much light I'll have left. I usually make it to somewhere around New Ipswich Mountain before heading back. I had hoped to get an earlier start this time, but the margaritas from the previous night (a birthday dinner for my friend JBar) had done a pretty good job on me, so I ended up getting to the trailhead around 1pm. Not really an issue -- I had already assumed that I'd be hiking back in the dark given the rapidly shortening days and had brought a few extra layers along with a headlamp and the best freakin' flashlight on the planet. (Saved our ass on the Monadnock hike when we accidentally got off-trail.) The plan was to try and get to Rt. 124 in New Hampshire, the first road-crossing the trail makes, if not Kidder Mountain. I figured it was a bit less than the halfway point of a 21-mile trail, so guesstimated it to be about 10 miles out. I didn't really think much beyond that. I thought it would be cool to have a tangible goal and set off for the trail.

It was a beautiful day, and it was good to be outside. I'm glad the weather held out, since there had been forecasts of clouds and possible rain that night or the next day. (it ended up holding off the entire weekend)

It being a weekday, I only ran into four or five groups of people:

• A young couple and their dog sitting at the summit of Mt. Watatic...
• followed by two women and five fair-haired children just as I was heading back onto the trail
• A middle-aged couple in a beat-up blue Ford pickup with NH plates, the bed full of wood and a gas-powered chainsaw. Between the MA/NH border and the Binney Pond area there's a section of access roads, so it's not totally crazy to see a vehicle on the "trail," but it's the first time I've ever seen one. I think they were gathering firewood. It's New Hampshire -- Live Free or Die country. We made a little chit-chat about the Wapack trail as I passed, and I went on my way.
• As I neared Binney Pond, I noticed another blue truck, this time with MA plates, parked on the side of the road, a CD collection of baby tunes on the passenger seat catching my eye as I passed. Sure enough, as I started walking along the pond, I could hear the shouting of small children, eventually catching up to, and passing, a guy with a goatee and wraparound sunglasses with mirrored lenses, holding the hands of (presumably) his two daughters, each with matching backpacks. It really was adorable.
• Another middle-aged couple, the woman wearing a semi-dressy white top and capri pants, the man, in jeans and a navy blue shirt, smoking a cigar, backpack slung over his shoulder with a loaf of french bread sticking out the top.

By the time I made it to 124, I was just about ready to give up and head back. The timing worked out pretty well since the continuation of the trail wasn't immediately obvious to me. (Incidentally, the area around 124 is actually a cross-country ski and snowshoe area -- all the extra signage was a bit confusing until I figured that out.)

I was already pretty tired at that point, so I took a short break (taking the time to find a trail map from the ski area), and then started on my way back. That was probably around 5pm. It was around that time that a few things started to concern me. Sure, it was getting a bit late, but that was expected. (There were certainly a few moments where I had to get the Blair Witch Project out of my head. Annoying.) But my feet had started to hurt. And there was that sign I saw as I made my way down to 124.

< What was that, again? About half of the 21-mile trail... 10 miles... 8.6 miles to 119...

Aw crap! I just brain-farted my way onto a 18-mile hike!

At first, I figured I'd be alright. Sure, my left heel was rubbing uncomfortably in my sweat-soaked socks and the laces on my right boot felt like they were starting to crush bone, but it's just a walk. A long walk, but a walk nonetheless. What's the big deal?

Well, the light-hiker socks and the light-weight boots to start. I think the light-hike ended about 3-4 miles ago.

I took a short break on New Ipswich to take in the sunset. I probably would have stopped to eat except for the mosquitoes that would have joined me. I tried to adjust my stride, hold my feet up with my shoulders, use my momentum to get one foot in front of the other, just concentrating on getting back to the car. It was the strangest feeling to have to struggle just to take one step after another.

7:40pm and I'm in the car, chowing down on cheese and pepperoni and triscuits. I actually leave the parking lot at 8pm and catch Ortiz's game winning homerun in the bottom of the 10th on the radio.

I'll be home in an hour.

Postscript: after cleaning up, we grab some dinner downtown. I'm craving noodles so we hit a Korean restaurant in Chinatown and I get jambong -- a spicy seafood noodle soup. Tasty. But having not eaten anything substantial all day, I end up feeling totally stuffed and bloated, and am unable to fall asleep until way late. Oy.

stupid little things

I left for work this morning seething mad. Monumentally pissed off. Angry to the point of being unable to think straight. Speeding. Screaming at no one. F--------CK!!!!!! [check it -- self-censoring even though I know NOBODY looks at this site] Hating everyone. People are bad. People suck.

By the time I got halfway up 93, the roar faded. Just sad and depressed by the time I drove into the office parking lot. For myself. For the world around me. I suppose it's an improvement. I'm not going to bite anyone's head off at work, but I'm still having a hard time concentrating.

For the past week or so, we've been fruitlessly scouring the house for a CD case, trying to find one CD in particular. It's the 2nd CD from a 4 CD set of Chinese language recordings that I've been using to try to learn... well, Chinese. We didn't really notice the CDs were missing until I recently finished the dialogs from the 1st CD and starting looking for the 2nd.

This morning, we had an epiphany of sorts, after my newly habitual search of the house before giving up and heading to work. The last time we saw the case was when we were briefly in Manhattan where we parked the car overnight in a garage. It all makes sense now. The CD case was stolen while we were in New York.

Cut to: Angry. Visions of amoral parking attendants pocketing the CD case after parking the car, snickering to themselves as the bleary-eyed couple returns early the following morning to pick up their car, unaware. Later, flipping through the sparse selection contained within: two mixes (both birthday presents), Hot club of Cowtown (western swing), David Wilcox East Ashville Hardware (obscure live CD)... and my language CD. I can see 1/2 of those ending up in a dumpster somewhere. Or onto eBay.

It's not the value of what was taken. Sure, there's frustration. The time wasted searching, recovering, replacing. Small consolation that it *is* mostly replaceable. But what really gets me is that it's thoughtless. It reminds me of the selfishness and greed of the people around us. I'm sure whoever took it didn't give a rat's ass about what it might have meant to me. [Geez, that sounds so petty; I guess I can be selfish too. Is that any different? It seems like it is, but taken on it's own, I wonder...] Of course, maybe they did, and they still took it. That would be worse. And if they saw how worked up am was over it, they'd probably laugh. "Ha, what a loser."

But yeah, it reminds me about things.

A few years ago, I had hardwood floors installed in my house. When I got home one day, I noticed that someone had gone through my nightstand and upon further investigation discovered that I was missing a (cheap) gold tie clip, a good amount of cash out of a change jar... and a $20 gold coin circa 1900 that was given to me by my Grandfather ("hidden" in the same case as the tie clip). Livid. Anger. Disbelief. The works. Just like this morning.

A few days of terse conversations with the owner and eventually one of the installers, a kid, fessed up to taking the tie clip and $10 in change. He denied knowing anything about the coin. Lying little sack of shit. But I gave in. It was an impasse: I wanted the floors done, the coin wasn't coming back. It was just a thing. I let it go. Gone is gone, past is past. They took $1000 off the bill.

I still miss that coin. Perhaps I should have been more careful with it; locked it up for safe keeping. It was probably collectible if I had kept it in "mint" condition. Maybe not. Regardless, locking it up would have been a waste. It was a beautiful thing. It had a nice weight and you could feel the textures of its edge, flipping it in your hand. Walking Liberty. Or was it an eagle? I can't even remember anymore.

When my Grandfather gave it to me, it was one of two. It was shortly after my Grandmother had passed away; he told me a story about his first trip to the U.S., coming by way of Europe, across the Atlantic, by ship. On the voyage over, a man offered to exchange a $20 gold coin for 20 silver dollars. He told me that at the time, he wasn't sure it was such a good idea. Presumably there wasn't the same discrepancy in values of the two metals at that time. And if push came to shove, you at least have a lot more silver at the end of the day. But in the end, he took the gold coin. I always liked to think that *that* was the coin that I had, however unlikely. It was a nice story. So there was a lot of sentimental value that was stolen along with the thing itself.

But that's not what was bothering me at its core. As David Wilcox would say, it was bothering me for metaphorical reasons. Like the Big Blue Poodle. (if you don't know what I'm talking about, you have to check out his album Live Songs & Stories) And what bothered me was, like today, not just about me losing my stuff. It's that it was a betrayal of trust. I let you into my house. I paid you to keep our car safe. (although I guess we should have been warned that they weren't responsible for lost or stolen items -- gee, that makes me feel so much better) It reinforces the idea that people are bad. I'd say it weakens my faith in humanity, but they I ask, "what faith in humanity?" Everywhere you look: liars, cheats and thieves.

But they're just things, right?

*sigh*

Ok, I'm done thinking about this.