3 asses on a mountain

I have blisters the size of 50-cent pieces on my heels.

I have pain spiking through my shins as if a civil war doc sawed through 'em and the shmuck forgot the shot of whiskey and wood bit so I wouldn't turn my tongue into chewing gum.

My hips, or more specifically, my upper ass muscles, feel like somebody just tightened down a C-clamp, effectively shutting off my pooper.

My back is a sheet of hurt because Wife thought through every possible contigency and added the equipment to my pack. So, if we were horned by a rhino, I could treat such a wound. My back thanks you, Wife.

And, to answer my Dear ol' Ma's question when her, Wife and Lil' Sis retrieved our weary and broken bodies from the mountain's base - would you do it again? - I can only say "oh, hell yes!"

From green fields of leafy ferns that just appeared in the middle of a pine forest to boulder-strewn hills that covered a mountain to the ever-present smell of pine, we soaked it all up with every step.

I'd give y'all a taste with some pics here, but unforseen tech issues have up-jumped my tin can-and-string setup at the Compound, so when we setup the viewables I'll post 'em posthaste (and if I can, I'll make 'em scratch-and-sniff pics [although, don't scratch on the last person in our marching line, you'll definitely get a non-pine scent][Rule No. 1 SnapShot and I learned from Sports Geek - the experienced hiker of the bunch - if the butt's a-talkin', you go to the ass-end of the line]):

I'm not sure what the best part of the trek was, the sandwich at that peak or the beer at the bottom thanks to Dear ol' Ma and Wife - they really thought of everything.

We trudged more than 13 miles in just about 8-1/2 hours and somehow escaped rabid deer attacks and a half-dozen rolled ankles. The latter is a miracle. After watching Sports Geek trudge up and down the mountain, stepping on the sides of his shoes so much I thought he should take his hiking boots to a shoe maker and have them refitted with the traction moved to the outside. Of course, after I considered that I begin a series of ankle rolls myself. First, the left (the "good" side) followed by the right. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. After a while, I gave up looking for the mysterious Basselope, and concentrated on where I'd let each foot fall (that didn't stop the ankles from twisting and turning, rolling and wrenching). If I didn't watch my step, I was sure I'd roll it bad enough that I'd lose my balance and tumble down the mountain. I'm sure it would have been an easier route, but the thought of corn-holing myself on a pinecone at the bottom curbed that idea.

It didn't take long for the three of us - Sports Geek, SnapShot and myself - to begin drafting our next trek, though. So, once off the hill, and in the safe confines of La Cassita restaurant in Idyllwild (where they serve THE BEST Miller Genuine Draft bottles this side of Milwaukee. They are oh so cold, and always taste great after huffing it up one side of a mountain and down the other), we tentatively planned for Mount Humphries in Arizona.

That's if the blisters the size of Rhode Island decide to heal.

And the ankle pain subsides.

And the butt ache goes away.

And if my back can carry another 20 or so pounds of shark repellent.

So, maybe in May ... 2010 ... I'll be ready.