Head for the Hills

Good morning Coot Afficionados. After a nice long weekend, I’m less than excited about work but I guess at some point I have to do something to earn my paycheck. I gotta tell you, after my pseudo-weekend on Thursday and Friday, the real weekend wasn’t particularly eventful. I’ll fill you in on the details, but I’m not making any promises.

Saturday morning I awoke bright and early around 8:30. I had a bowl of granola and sat out on the front porch, breezing through the newspaper awaiting the culmination of a lengthy coffee brewing process. My portion of brewing coffee is pretty short - filter, grounds, water, flip the switch - but my $9 coffee maker has a different agenda. Despite the fact that his sole purpose in life is to provide me with a piping hot carafe of caffeinated bean juice, he is really lax on the job; I bet he’s part of some coffee maker union out there. Sorry Russ, I know you’re a Teamster but unions are crap.

Anyway, I was about two sips into my long-awaited coffee when I went upstairs to get a book to help pass the time until J “I outdrank Ireland last night” D awoke. I figured he’d be a little worse for wear after the wedding and would want some greasy breakfast PRONTO. On my way up to my bedroom to fetch my book I got a text from MB; she was looking for someone to run with. Somehow I was able to ascertain from the string of misspelled words that she wasn’t operating at 100%, so I agreed. As it turned out, her best friend had been seriously hurt in a mountainbiking accident and she was looking for someone to get her mind off of it. I was that person.

Damn, I’m a freaking nice guy.

By the time I got back from the run JC was ready to pick up his pickup. He was “encouraged” to leave it in my driveway after the wedding, by which I mean there was no way in hell he was going to drive. You know how they say friends don’t let friends hook up with ugly chicks? Well, the same goes for driving drunk. This of course lead to round after round of shots at the reception, win-win for everyone!

After that, Saturday was pretty weak. We hit up Misty Moonlight Diner for breakfast, JD left to go visit the fam, I cleaned up around the house, I napped off and on, I went to bed.

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Sunday morning I was supposed to go to a trail race in Savoy State Forest with CPG, but it rained ALL freaking night and into the morning. She called around 7:00 AM and we agreed that the trails were going to be a mess, plus she was beat from a volleyball tourney and I was beat from a long weekend (Thurs & Fri) of partying late into the night. By partying, I mean watching other people party. Don’t get me wrong, I had great fun but not in the traditional sense of the word “party”. So anyway, we bailed on the race and I slept in until about 9:30. Suh-weet.

With a full day ahead of me, I figured I could get all of my laundry done, go to the grocery store, return the tuxedos, clean the bedroom and still have time to eat ice cream. I did return the tuxes and hit up a few stores for some new clothes, followed by a trip to the g-store. Laundry? Hell no! Clean the bedroom? Hell no! I cleaned up the kitchen and bathroom though, so I felt justified in my laziness.

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Put Your Hands Together for Kirvin Park

As the afternoon approached I was growing weary of sitting around the house feeling glum. The weather was conducive to crawling back into bed and sleeping the day away, but I countered that with a trail run. I went out to Kirvin Park and ran a trail back behind the soccer fields that goes up and up and up. This is basically the same route that I took with KH on mountain bikes when I was just tipping over.

When I entered the woods I ditched a bottle of water for after the run, whereupon I stuck the hell out of myself on a tree thorn. That was a sign of more unpleasantness to come. Bloodied, I started up the “hill”. As the trail narrowed and turned knee-breakingly rocky, I thought to myself that maybe I shouldn’t be in there alone. Or I should have at least called someone to let them know I was going out. If I didn’t twist a knee or ankle I would certainly be eaten by a bear, mountain lion (yes, we do have them here) or any other creature my mind could imagine. To keep the animals at bay I clapped my hands a lot. Everyone knows even a hungry mountain lion won’t attack you if you’re clapping, especially off beat. Being a white guy, this technique worked well until I was coming back down the mountain.

My clapping plan was to let out a few claps at every turn, watering hole, hilltop and so on. I didn’t want to startle any bears who might be out getting a drink, or end up on a trail separating a mother from her cubs; I wanted the fauna to know I was coming. This technique worked flawlessly until I scared something, which in turn scared me. I didn’t actually see what it was that I startled, but it was certainly larger than a squirrel. It was faster than a bear, so my mind went immediately to the Puma (pronounced Pyooma), AKA a mountain lion. I armed myself with a club-shaped stick.

Wielding a club, I was now unable to clap so I took to narrating my every move to any animal who might be listening. “Okay, just going to go around this bend and keep to myself” I’d say, or “I’m totally harmless, but armed to the teeth”. The latter was to let them know that I would not be launching an offensive strike (which was true), but was fully capable of defending myself (which was not true, I’m a Sally). This technique worked flawlessly until the very end of the run.

As I approached the thorn tree where my water was stashed, I passed a kid walking his dog while jawing on the phone. Why he was in the woods talking on a phone I don’t know, but he was. While enjoying the rehydrating qualities of my water, the kid’s all-muscle dog made a beeline for my throat. This is where the stick-defense proved futile. I stood there drinking my water, holding out my hand for the dog to sniff (see, I’m a Sally). I asked the kid if the dog was okay, he said “uh-huh”, then back to his phone conversation. Fortunately for me, the dog didn’t bite or jump, but I was a dead man for sure if he attacked. I offered the dog my club to try and make friends, whereupon the kid momentarily paused his phone convo to say “Don’t give my dog that stick!” What I should have said in response was “I wasn’t going to give it to him, I was going to beat him with it. Put your effin dog on a leash, asshole.” Instead I ignored him; he was back into his conversation anyway and completely oblivious to the world around him, including his own dog.

The dog chased me twice more after leaving the woods, both times looking as if he wanted to dine on my delicious buttock meat. Both times I simply pointed back to Captain Oblivion and commanded him with “GO!”. I told myself I was going to let the dog run with me all the way back to my house if he followed, but eventually he stopped chasing me.

At that point, I was both literally and figuratively out of the woods – or so I thought. The remainder of my run would be down the street, or in the grass next to the street. All that I had to do was not trip over anything or get hit by a car and I’d be A-OK. That and not get attacked by a dog the size of a freaking Hyundai. This second dog was tied up, but on a very long leash. He snapped back when he reached the end of his rope, about 5 feet closer and I would have been cleaning my socks when I got home (if you catch my drift).

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So that was that. I showered up, picked up a little more around the house, ironed some clothes and sat down to a delicious plate of green peppers and carrots.

Then ice cream.

Then yogurt with granola.

Over and Out,
Old Coot