One evening, on the mountain

Last summer I and the person I was involved with at the time, whose existence I would prefer to forget, decided to drive up to Larch Mountain. My dad kept telling me how gorgeous it was up there so I finally gave in and off we went.  After a minor detour (Okay, when you tell someone that the road will fork and you have to take the uphill side of the fork, it helps to mention that there are TWO places where the road forks. Sheesh.) we found the right road, winding through the woods and up and up.

One weird thing happened on the way: we were just starting to pass a big patch of clear cut and this car was facing us up ahead and started flashing their headlights, so we slow down and they're pointing frantically off into the clear cut, but we couldn't see a damn thing, and then they drove off, so I now I have to spend the rest of my life wondering if I just missed seeing Bigfoot or what the hell that was about. At least roll down your damn window and yell "Bigfoot!" or "OMG elk!" or "We can't find grandma!" or something! Seriously, people.

We made it up to the parking lot, where I obediently shoved my dollars into the parking fee box, which some yahoo had recently blasted with a paint gun, because nothing convinces your fellow yahoos of the size of yer balls like finger painting with a damn toy gun. Anyway, we walk up the trail, my knees creaking and crunching valiantly along, and get to the top just in time for the beginning of a truly wonderful sunset over a big open world. The best part was when a group of foreign college students (maybe Greek, it was hard to tell) began signing what sounded like a folk song. It was one of the most lovely things I've ever experienced. Say yes to adventures, people. Once you're dead, you can't go back and do all the things you passed up.