They parked the cramped car at the base of the mountain next to the decaying lavatories. He turned himself into a pretzel and performed contortions to get out of his side of the car. Two minutes later I managed to get my own 6-foot frame out the front door.
“My lower back is killing me, but let’s get going,” he said. I agreed but needed a few minutes to limber up my legs. Mt. Tamalpais – that’s Mt. Tam if you’re local – beckoned and we planned a hike parallel to the waterfall. We’d managed the trek in a narrow window of beautiful weather on a February day. The last five days had been cold and rainy and, we knew, the next five days would be chilly and drizzly. In both cases, that meant indoor activities and even though we had a great sex life, we wanted to do more.
I followed him up the narrow path. We made it through low-hanging trees and wet bushes. Thank goodness I’d put on my hiking boots. He wore his new sneakers, but the muddy ground would saturate them before too long. My hair soon got wet, brushing under the trees and getting dripped on. He picked up speed as the path became narrower and steeper. Finally, it became more of a vertical climb over rocky steps.
At first he hiked ten feet in front of me, then it became twenty feet, then it became fifty – finally, he turned a corner of the path and was out of sight. I huffed and puffed, my heart rate a presto agitato that tried to keep pace. A minute later I turned the corner and saw him, standing above, smiling, calm as a yoga instructor on meditation retreat. When we met he kissed me. I followed him up the hill again.
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