maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. After all, I hadn’t been an alcoholic for long—no more than a year, tops. “I’m in pretty good shape.”
She did a long, slow blink, but didn’t outwardly disagree as she finished the paperwork. I looked down at myself. I was still in the yoga pants and shimmery blue tee from the night before, with a pair of sandals on my feet. I knew I’d lost weight in the last few months and hadn’t been doing yoga or playing tennis, as was my habit—but a lifetime of fitness would surely carry me the mere six miles downhill to the first cabin. Mercifully, I’d left my hiking gear, still covered with plastic and tags, in the rental—I could well imagine her scorn on seeing it.
“You’ll need to carry out everything you take in, including toilet paper,” she said. “We have a ‘Leave No Footprint’ video for you to watch.”
“Okay.”
“You sure you want to do this?” she asked suddenly. “This is a long time out there you have planned. It would be better to go with someone.”
I felt a twinge in the region of my heart that reminded me of the thousand unfulfilled dreams of my married life that I was burying on this trip. “If I had someone to go with, I’d be with someone. Sometimes you just need to go do it.”
She must have seen something in my eyes because she finally smiled and gave a little nod. “Good for you. Well, there are frequent hikers through the crater, so if you get in trouble, just wave someone down. We also have ranger patrols that go through every so often to check everything’s working in the cabins. We’ll keep an eye out for you. You won’t have any phone reception in the crater, so make any calls you need to before. Remember to boil your water; there’s plenty of it, but it’s untreated.”
That and the Footprint video and I was ready.
Back at the car, I stripped all the tags and packaging off of the backpack and the pair of hiking boots I’d bought. I slathered some sunscreen on my face and arms and put on the billed hat with the detachable sunshield that covered my neck. I packed the backpack with all the food, my last bottle of vodka for a week, and two liters of water, which I figured was enough to get me to that first cabin six miles down the ominously named Sliding Sands trail.
Because I’d heard the Sliding Sands was difficult to ascend, I’d decided to park the car at the other end, the Halemau`u exit of the trail. This meant I had to go park it where I wanted to exit, then hitchhike to the summit with my pack—the first leg of my journey.
Driving to the parking lot at the Halemau`u trailhead, I kept craning my neck at the incredible views. I was now well above the clouds, above the island spread below like a throw net over a lush reef. Maui was as enchanted-looking in shades of green and turquoise as that first glimpse of Peter Pan’s Neverland when the clouds parted.
As I was getting out of the vehicle, a sharp breeze, thin and blue as skimmed milk, cut through my clothing. I dug out the parka I’d had enough presence of mind to pack that long-ago morning. I took a hit off my water bottle, ignoring the craving for a hit of vodka as well, and hoisted the backpack.
It was heavy. Very heavy. Probably thirty-five or forty pounds of heavy that I was ill prepared to carry a hundred yards, let alone six miles through sand. Oh well. Let the hell begin. I beeped the rental locked and began the trudge to the main road.
My new boots were technically the right size, but there was a telltale tightness in the toe box. Hopefully thinner socks, which I had, would take care of it. At the main road, I stuck my thumb out and was surprised by the feeling of vulnerability and rejection that swept over me as each vehicle passed me by. God, to be doing this at my age and stage of life—humiliating.
Hitchhiking was not an endeavor for the faint of heart or those with any other choices. I reminded myself I was not faint of heart, and I didn’t have
She did a long, slow blink, but didn’t outwardly disagree as she finished the paperwork. I looked down at myself. I was still in the yoga pants and shimmery blue tee from the night before, with a pair of sandals on my feet. I knew I’d lost weight in the last few months and hadn’t been doing yoga or playing tennis, as was my habit—but a lifetime of fitness would surely carry me the mere six miles downhill to the first cabin. Mercifully, I’d left my hiking gear, still covered with plastic and tags, in the rental—I could well imagine her scorn on seeing it.
“You’ll need to carry out everything you take in, including toilet paper,” she said. “We have a ‘Leave No Footprint’ video for you to watch.”
“Okay.”
“You sure you want to do this?” she asked suddenly. “This is a long time out there you have planned. It would be better to go with someone.”
I felt a twinge in the region of my heart that reminded me of the thousand unfulfilled dreams of my married life that I was burying on this trip. “If I had someone to go with, I’d be with someone. Sometimes you just need to go do it.”
She must have seen something in my eyes because she finally smiled and gave a little nod. “Good for you. Well, there are frequent hikers through the crater, so if you get in trouble, just wave someone down. We also have ranger patrols that go through every so often to check everything’s working in the cabins. We’ll keep an eye out for you. You won’t have any phone reception in the crater, so make any calls you need to before. Remember to boil your water; there’s plenty of it, but it’s untreated.”
That and the Footprint video and I was ready.
Back at the car, I stripped all the tags and packaging off of the backpack and the pair of hiking boots I’d bought. I slathered some sunscreen on my face and arms and put on the billed hat with the detachable sunshield that covered my neck. I packed the backpack with all the food, my last bottle of vodka for a week, and two liters of water, which I figured was enough to get me to that first cabin six miles down the ominously named Sliding Sands trail.
Because I’d heard the Sliding Sands was difficult to ascend, I’d decided to park the car at the other end, the Halemau`u exit of the trail. This meant I had to go park it where I wanted to exit, then hitchhike to the summit with my pack—the first leg of my journey.
Driving to the parking lot at the Halemau`u trailhead, I kept craning my neck at the incredible views. I was now well above the clouds, above the island spread below like a throw net over a lush reef. Maui was as enchanted-looking in shades of green and turquoise as that first glimpse of Peter Pan’s Neverland when the clouds parted.
As I was getting out of the vehicle, a sharp breeze, thin and blue as skimmed milk, cut through my clothing. I dug out the parka I’d had enough presence of mind to pack that long-ago morning. I took a hit off my water bottle, ignoring the craving for a hit of vodka as well, and hoisted the backpack.
It was heavy. Very heavy. Probably thirty-five or forty pounds of heavy that I was ill prepared to carry a hundred yards, let alone six miles through sand. Oh well. Let the hell begin. I beeped the rental locked and began the trudge to the main road.
My new boots were technically the right size, but there was a telltale tightness in the toe box. Hopefully thinner socks, which I had, would take care of it. At the main road, I stuck my thumb out and was surprised by the feeling of vulnerability and rejection that swept over me as each vehicle passed me by. God, to be doing this at my age and stage of life—humiliating.
Hitchhiking was not an endeavor for the faint of heart or those with any other choices. I reminded myself I was not faint of heart, and I didn’t have
Similar Books
