In Spite of Virtue and the Muse, Nemesis will have her dues…

It was the return, the chase around Good Hope, round the Norway Maelstrom, round perdition’s flames. We return to the Trexler Game Preserve, this time with more preparation and an idea what the hike holds.

The weather was fantastic, and now that we had a few months of walking and exercise, it was time to tackle the insane inclines again. We arrived with food, water, and shoes appropriate for water crossings. (Lesson learned.) Off we went, me in my ridiculous long sleeves, and hat.

The initial climb to the meadow wasn’t too bad – it seemed shorter. We didn’t encounter as many bugs, it seemed, at least not at this point. We practically slid down the hill leading to the zoo entrance and exit, but this time turned along the river, It’s a paved path for the most part, meant for parking. There are lots of picnic sites and a lot of space, so if you’re in the area it’s a fantastic place to bring the kids and enjoy the weather, particularly now when autumn has shown her face. We walked the full length of the parking area and crossed a bridge while trying desperately to ignore the delicious smell of the hamburgers grilling at a large family picnic.

As soon as we were on the other side, it was back to the norm. The opposing side of the creek is more or less a cliff face, not quite that dramatic, but enough to keep you leaning in one direction. It was a lovely walk through the foliage to get back to the place most of the kids hang out – the car crossing, with its mini-waterfall, and their joy of playing in the wake of passing motorists. Here, we again met the green trail, which is not for the faint of heart.

Possibly the worst part of this little connector isn’t even the inclines, for while they suck, they aren’t as long as those on the red trail. The issue is sunlight. You’re exposed to it. A lot. So even on a temperate day, you’re going to have some heat to deal with, as a great deal of it is crossing grassy fields. We made it up to the environmental center and again took a break there for some snacks and relaxation.

Let me paint a little bit of a picture. Because I already have issues with my immune system, I’m really quite desperate to keep from getting a tick-bourne disease. Part of the reason I wear the clothing I do is yes, my ridiculous ability to get a sunburn in mere minutes, and yes, the fact that I’m allergic to most green things, and heading through bush in shorts makes my calves look like I have wrapped them in poison oak, BUT – it also keeps the ticks moving on to a better meal. I dutifully prepare, I layer my socks and my pants and my boots to create a seal so that no skin might be found. I wear the long sleeves, again, to be able to push through vegetation, without having to look at much other than my hands to be sure I’ve not picked up any passengers. Can you guess what happened?

A tick was on my face. I’m not kidding. It’s like the little ba$^*rd sized me up and mounted a stealth attack. From what, the air? Fortunately, it had not yet bitten me, but it freaked me out pretty badly. We now carry insect repellent, along with the benadryl and alcohol wipes. (In case you wonder – alcohol wipes are my weapons against everything. Use them to clear off the oil from poison ivy, use them to disinfect things, to make a puncture wound bleed – I like to have them any time we’re on the trail.)

We got on the red trail past the larger animal enclosures that are supposed to hold bison, deer and elk. We’ve never seen any of those animals on this trail. We didn’t even see the goofy ground-birds this time. I figure I have enough problems, I don’t really need a stray bison or elk to deal with. The first thing you do on the red trail is go down, on a lengthy downward slope. Then, the up begins.

Once again, this incline felt shorter than I recall. It was long, but I made it far longer without really starting to drag, and we recovered very quickly once we hit the top – all good signs. Every incline was starting to go this way – shorter, easier recovery, and the bane of the middle distance runner, causing me to go out too fast. As it always happens, I didn’t see it coming.

For the non-track athletes, this is a common affliction among runners of the 400 and 800. At least it used to be, they damn near sprint the thing full out now. But with an average athlete, it’s one lap around the track. Mentally, you start out by thinking, this isn’t that far. I can do this. So you come out of the blocks sprinting hard. You’re reeling in the distance as you come off that second turn and you think whew – we’re like halfway done, let’s get the straight. You’ll start to feel tied up as you approach the next turn. You start to wonder why you can’t keep your sprinting pace on the back straight. Then you trick yourself into thinking the turn is shorter than the straight, so in your mind, the end is near. But your legs are starting to feel sluggish. Breathing is starting to require a lot of effort. Then, you come off the turn onto the last straight. This is where you will meet your end. You may make it halfway, but your body is done. You can see the finish line, but you are helpless. You’ll make it there, but you will wonder how it is that you simply had nothing left in you when the end was so near.

Keep that story in mind.

We reached the outer road in a much faster time than previously, and we were both feeling great. As we strolled the part of the trail that’s more of a meadow, we could have conversation without too much effort and felt we were well rested to start the next part of the trail – the loose rocks on steep inclines. The first one, for example, you could easily sit down to get to the bottom. But still, we were feeling pretty darn good as we headed for the home stretch, as it were. As you might imagine this is not the feel good, triumphant post I was planning.

We crossed a little road where the green and red trail pass, and just after this is one of those lovely hills that you practically need to hang onto trees to stay upright. At this point, not only your physical body is reaching the end – your mind plays tricks. You think to yourself, ok, just to that bend, that’s all we have to do.

But then you get to the bend, and it’s just a bend, the trail is still going up. This particular bend, is one you almost need to crawl around, the angle is so steep. About three quarters of the way up this hill, I had to stop and rest. You think to yourself, you can’t go up anymore, you just can’t, but what else can you do? You’re out on the trail. So, put one foot in front of the other, use the poles like I’m climbing a cliff, and off we went.

Now the mind really starts to play with you. Where am I in the loop, I ask, isn’t the river coming up soon? I was a little disappointed as well, since I felt so good in the beginning, I knew now I’d gone out too hard. It just sapped my strength, and the muscles only have so much fire in them. Little did I know, there’s a point where they just stop.

As we navigated the last hills, including avoiding the spiders hanging from low branches that jut into the trail, I was thinking. My inability to finish that hill bothered me. (I finished it, but you see what I’m saying.) There have been many times in stories that you hear someone say they just cannot take another step. I’m from stock that won’t ever give in to that – or I think I am. The bottom line is when things need to happen, they need to happen. For example, I’ve always been haunted by stories of the evacuation of the World Trade Center. I don’t understand it. I didn’t, I guess. How do you come down 80 floors, and when you’re a mere couple of flights from the ground, you stop. You just can’t take another step, even when it might mean your life. I can’t understand that. How is it possible to give up when you’ve done so much, and you are so near the end?

Clearly this wasn’t a life or death situation. But I did suddenly have to face the feeling – I had to stop on that hill. I had to. These thoughts consumed me for the next mile or so, until we came to what we knew was one of the worst climbs. You make yourself think it won’t be so bad, because now we know we’re near the end. This is where you trick yourself into thinking turns 3 and 4 are shorter than the straights. You start going up, you go up the rock covered hill, to the bend where it turns to grass. You’re now in full sunlight, adding to the misery. I turned onto the grass path, and started heading to the next bend which I hoped was the end, but I knew better, it still went up. Halfway to that bend, it happened.

I could not move one more step.

Now I know, it was not permanent. I knew I wasn’t going to give up and call the rescue squad. I just thought, maybe we just have to stop and have a snack here. Even with my poles, I could not take even one more step. I’ve never faced this before, and for me, it was both terrifying and unacceptable. Finding your physical limit is a feeling that’s hard to describe. We spend years accepting that our disease process is taking its toll on us, and yes, we maybe limit activities, but to find the wall you simply cannot go around, over, or through? This is a new one for me. It is horrible, when you have to face things that your body might have done easily a few years ago, that it can no longer can do.

After taking a lengthy break, we were able to move on. But at this point, I was mentally wrecked. Every hill I am desperately casting about for that stream crossing. I hear the traffic on the border road and I need to get to it. The last few hills were utterly excruciating. Blessedly, of course, the stream came up.

We donned our aqua shoes to cross the river more confidently, this time. For me the cool water felt wonderful, and I didn’t really want to push on, because I knew there was another hill or two before we hit the parking area. But, we made it. We kept our aqua shoes on, and for the first time drove into the zoo area, finally bringing us to the water crossing for cars. In one of the best decisions we’ve ever made, we brought some collapsible chairs and went and just sat in the river a few feet from the waterfall. The rush of the cold water felt amazing on very tired feet. I’m not one to sit quietly without my mind racing from idea to idea, but I was so completely exhausted, that I did it on that afternoon. Sitting in the river, staring into the trees, watching the kids fish and run around in the water…took the edge off some of the issues I had, mental and physical. After another hour or so, we packed up and headed home for the traditional post-hike pizza.

I did not land my white whale on this day. But return I must, and return I shall.

My White Whale

The next venture we took was a bit different than normal; rather than basing the trip on a visit to a historical site, we were just going for a hike, pure and simple. Nearby we have a nice game preserve, which surrounds the Lehigh Valley Zoo. There is an outer “ring,” the red trail, and we planned mostly to follow that. The path we took also crossed the center of the preserve on the green trail, so we were maybe planning 8.5 miles. I’d never been there, so I had no idea what to expect. Zoo, game preserve, this can’t be too bad.

I knew I was in trouble about 15 minutes in. (To be fair, our inability to find a parking lot should have been considered a sign.) The trail just seemed to keep going up. Then, it was in an exposed meadow, where you had full access to all the bugs the spring could offer. The next thing we knew, we were descending down a hill that was so steep it was hard to retain your footing. This seemed to be a lesser used trail, maybe this is why, we thought.

We then reached a cross area of a paved road, and found ourselves at the road leaving the Zoo, which goes across the Jordan Creek, by actually going through the creek. We crossed the footbridge and found a helpful sign about snake identification, which was good for nervous hiking partners. (In my youth I one day nearly literally stumbled upon a rattlesnake – since then, I realize they want nothing to do with us unless they have no choice.) Off we went to the green trail, which would cut across the west side of the preserve.

The green trail. Well, we went up. Up. And still more up. It was as if it would never end, until we reached the Education Center, and sat for a most needed rest and refreshment. So far the majority of this hike was also in direct, full sun, and while it wasn’t overly hot, it was not exactly comfortable. I’m blessed with a background of Irish and Slavic skin that is basically translucent. I’m surprised I’m not mistaken for a ghost in photos. That, plus a few medications for my AS that make me sun sensitive, leaves me little choice but to wear long sleeves, long pants, and a hat. It’s awesome. The only clothing I had at the time that were light, breathable, and offered coverage, were all black.

Anyway, after our break, off we went, joining the red trail (finally!) and starting off on a wide trail road covered in grass, that was, joy of joys, downhill. We went past what was supposed to be the bison enclosure. Clearly this road was meant for staff to be able to maintain the large pens, but the amount of fencing that was either missing or in pieces didn’t really inspire confidence. It was pretty well for naught anyway, since the most wildlife we saw was a strange little apparently ground-dwelling bird that didn’t move until you shooshed it out of your way while standing nearly over it.

Then, we started the up. It kept going. And going. And going. What was cruel about it was, about two thirds of the way, this about 45 degree incline, became a steeper angle. It was the kind of hill you end up using your arms to press down on your thighs, just to get every last inch you can from each step. Of course, this wouldn’t be the last hill like it.

This was the craziest part about this place. If you drive its borders, which we did, there really isn’t a noticeable elevation change. At no one point do you say, wow, this is really high up there, or that’s quite a hill. There is no indication of what you face on this trail. It was up, and down, and up and down, over and over, and nothing, not one, of these hills was gentle. It was straight up, straight down. Unfortunately, photos don’t capture depth, and you lose a bit when you’re looking at a steep incline.

On many of these hills, and there were many of these, I had no choice but to stop part way up and have a breather, and in some cases, to stop and have a drink. It seems repetitive to call it insane but there’s no other word for it. It was this same nonsense, over and over. If there is any redeeming part, the absolute brutal pain of the hill and of labored breathing made me really ignore anything my back was telling me.

Then, blessed be, we thought we could see the parking lot. Now prior to being able to see cars, there were two hills. I’ll single these two out because they deserve it not only for their ridiculous nature, but also for their location – just when you’re close enough mentally to sense the end is near. There is something really powerful in your brain when it senses an arduous task is nearly complete. When things interfere, and that is snatched away from you, it is crushing mentally and physically. My brain at this point would have all hope dashed.

The first hill. Loose rock. So straight up that you actually do it on the balls of your feet, because you’re quite literally climbing. You climb and climb and then you see a turn and you think Ah! Just to the turn! Until you reach the turn and you see it’s a hairpin that keeps going up, you couldn’t see it from below. Up and up you climb, at some points hanging onto tree limbs as you try to rationalize with yourself, why you have to take that next step. What are the options, really? And when you’re convinced you can’t take one more step – you see the crest. You think, it can’t possibly get worse than that. The worst is over.

Hardly. Because the trail as we walked it, had saved the best for almost last. As you can hear the cars, and you know the map, and you know the trail signs, and you are so very close, it’s up again. Once again, this demon hill hides itself behind corners. You climb the rocky hill, thinking once you hit that left turn, you’re in the clear. You even see the trail opens into a grass path. You get to that left turn and you see another 50 yards or so, still up. But you think, okay, I made it here, all I have to do is make it to that right hander and … yeah. Still with the up. To add insult to injury – this entire hill has no canopy, you’re in full sun.

Things get fuzzy at this point. You lose your mental edge, you start to get panicky – this must end, and soon. Now we know it will, it must, there are distance markers on the trail and we’re quite close to our starting point. We went down the big hill, it’s almost over. The end is near!

That’s when we found the river crossing.

I’m not sure what to say aside from the cackling laughter of the insane, to describe my reaction to this. We’ve now got to cross this thing, there’s no bridge, there’s no path, there is only the water, and the trail on the other side. No choices. After some debate, we decided the best course was barefoot, so now I am carrying my boots, walking across very slick rocks, trying to get to the other side without a thorough soaking. Honestly, I got to the point where it didn’t matter to me if I sat down in the water. This had to end. Off to the right of the other side of the trail, we could see parked cars. I was completely prepared to go barefoot up the hill into the lot.

Except it wasn’t where our car was parked.

At this point I could have cried. We  had to put our boots back on and get back to it, and thankfully it was maybe a quarter mile over not too difficult – let’s face it, what would be too difficult at this point – terrain. The whole way of the trip all I could say was this was incredibly stupid and the worst trail ever. My partner kept wondering if his trail-hardy friend would like to give it a go. It made the most sense in the world for me to get into the car, start driving and never look in the mirror.

Maybe I’m not that smart. Somewhere between the point of utter despair in climbing those hills, and the euphoria of being in the air conditioned cabin of the car, I lost my mind. Synapses fired, or died, who knows which, but somehow, some way, it got into my brain, like an earworm – I must conquer that trail. I am coming back here and I will continue to do so until I conquer it and hike that trail without failing, or I will die trying.

Optimism? Madness? I’ve not decided which yet. One lesson learned – a “hard” trail should be taken seriously. What might have surprised me most of all? The next day, I did not have the overwhelming back pain and spasms I expected. Maybe this was a good thing to take on, after all. On to the next…