This must be what it feels like to fall in love. There’s not one flaw to be found in the view in front of me. Overwhelming as it may be, there’s so much to gain by answering the canyon’sbeckoning. I’m hoping to find some sense of achievement waiting for me on the other side.
I want to beg the sun to slow down so I can drink in the colors just a little longer. Peaches play with soft indigo purples as the mountain wakes up. Harsh corn yellows from the sun barely peeking over the horizon try to steal the show, but as the light creeps higher, it only intensifies the tapestry of the canyon.
I may be stalling. Marigold, my new-to-me backpack, is strapped on tightly, and a hydration pack hangs from my right shoulder, ready for a sip. I’ve done my last pee, triple checked the map in my pocket, and scowled at my shoes at least five times—still offensively hideous.
There’s nothing left to do but begin.
I blow out a noisy, lip-flapping breath and force myself to walk to the trail’s entrance, its signs both welcoming and warning those who enter. At 5:15 in the morning, the trail already seems surprisingly busy, and I want to announce that the canyon is taking a personal day so they can all buzz off and leave us to our date. But the mass of browns and khakis would probably just ignore me.
The trail begins anticlimactically with a four-foot-wide path of warm marmalade-orange stone. I’d think we were headed for a pleasant little picnic if I couldn’t see the series of switchbacks ahead, zig-zagging menacingly down the mountain.
Just one push from a careless hiker would send someone to their death. The only thing preventing such a dramatic ending is a seven-inch rock ledge that follows the path, and I take no comfort in it. My fingers lightly run along the inside wall every few seconds, allowing the rough texture of the rock to ground me.
There’s a herd-like flow as I follow the line of hikers all walking the same path down the cliffside,and I wonder what would happen if I shoutedsnake!It would at least give me some room to breathe.
Already, this isn’t the peaceful hike I imagined. About seventy people all amble their way down the stony terrain, taking steps toward securing the bragging rights awaiting at the other end. Someone slows down behind me, their heavy footsteps just close enough to put me on edge.
“Hey, Newbie.”
I peer over my shoulder, groaning. “Chad,” I acknowledge him in lieu of offering an actual greeting.
“Nice bag.” He smiles, tapping Marigold with his trekking pole. Should I have gotten some of those?
“Looks like your rash is gone,” he continues, despite my silence. “Mind if I stick near you?”
I do mind. Very much. And this bag is killing me. My shoulders already hurt.
Besides, Chad is like every guy I’ve dated in the past. He’s walking white noise, while my head and my heart have things that need working out. I need thinking space.
A hiking pal would probably hinder that process. Plus, Chad is creepy. Time for some inner sense of gusto to work itself up.
“You know,” I begin, clicking my tongue. “I wish I could, but I have to do this alone. It’s one of the stipulations for this course I’m taking, that I complete the hike solo and as quietly as possible.”
“I’ve been told I make a good silent partner. It’s actually on my business card.” He grins, still unfazed.
“He looks like a fun time,” the lady from the restaurant last night adds as she passes me.
“You’re welcome to be my stand-in,” I grumble, wishing Chad had fallen for the rash bit.
While I have no problem telling a white lie to get myself outof a sticky situation, being straightforward isn’t one of my strengths. For some reason I can’t bring myself to speak plainly and tell the guy directly that I need some space. And also never talk to me again.
He raises his hands with an easy smile on his face. “Hey, I get it. I’ve done the solo-hike thing. It’s good for the soul. My buddy and I just like making new friends along the way.” He gestures to the lean-muscled man behind him.
“Hey, Rash Lady.” Chad’s accomplice lifts his chin in greeting before he drapes an arm over my shoulder. “I’m Brandon.”
I give him a tight smile, shrugging my way out of the unwelcomed embrace. Calling someone “Rash Lady” isn’t a great way to make friends, but neither is Brandon’s overpowering aftershave.
Marigold and I hug the cliffside, slowing so the two men can pass. But they don’t. They pause, too, letting others overtake us. My eyes roll as I hustle forward, trying to put some space between us while also trying to ignore the sensory overload threatening to overtake me. Brandon’s arm has left a sweaty streak on my shoulder, acting as a dial, turning up not only the heat but my awareness of every other sensation. It’s made me acutely aware of the dampness against my back, the blister already forming on my heel, and the weight of Marigold’s straps crushing my shoulders. With my shirt nearly drenched, my ears cannot take another attempt at peacocking from Chad or Brandon.
I breathe a sigh of relief when we reach Cedar Ridge, the first plateau with a toilet stop and a line of overhydrated hikers already queuing outside. This might give me a chance to separate myself from my unwanted companions, whose mothers never taught them to take a hint. And my mother never taught me about open and honest communication, so here we are.
I groan when both men join the restroom line ahead.
I wanted to pee. But I can wait.
My legs tremble, the muscles protesting after the mile-and-a-half descent. The temperature has also been climbing as the elevation drops, like the slow simmer building in a pot of stew.
“Line too long for you, too, huh?”
