I awoke at 6:30am and pulled on multiple ski worthy layers in preparation for my morning hike in the unseasonably cold 40 degree weather. For any one who has yet to discover the New Zealand based outerwear company, Iceberg, may I encourage you to hop online and buy yourself as many of these miracle wicking tops as your budget will allow. I donned my gloves and beanie (which in fact is more of a woolen gangsta rappa style beret), and grabbed my hiking sticks (yes i now bring my own and yes it impresses the other guests immeasurably) and made haste for the Double U Cafe. I noticed a new addition to the early morning breakfast menu, Alpine Muesli. Of course we are in the Sonoran Dessert and nowhere near Alpine country, and so I was curious as to what exactly made this particular Muesli offering Alpine-esque. The server who took my order had neither the faintest idea nor interest in the provenance of the name nor in my fashion forward hat.
After a hot cup of tea I joined the hiking group and our lead guide for the morning, Dusty. The Leki hiking sticks in my hand immediately set me apart from the other hikers and if that wasn't enough Dusty said how nice it was to see me again. We collected our packs and alighted the Ranch van but due to my urgent need for a final pit stop before leaving on the journey, i was stuck in the 4th row. This van positioning is problematic for two distinct reasons: first, i am hopelessly car sick; and second, all important ranch conversation is conducted in the first 2 rows. I opened my pack and removed the tupperware full of glorious trail snacks from it, and began unpacking the contents of the tupperware back into the pack while leaving the unnecessary weight of the tupperware in the van. Immediately heads from the front of the van were turning to see what I was up to and I did my best to pretend not to notice their stares. Soon several other guests began to copy my inspired snack ritual while other less daring guests who simply could not bear to part with their plastic containers began consolidating tupperwares with their friends, creating a more heavy tupperware for the "snack mule" which is both inconsiderate and foolish. But alas, I was too busy feeling nauseous from the lurching bus to point out the error of the strategy. So sick was I and so quickly that at the behest of another passenger with an enormous heart, Dusty pulled the van over and I was urged into the front passenger seat next to Dusty.
Within a few short minutes I was once again able to breathe with ease confident that my Alpine Muesli would remain one with my stomach. The trio of women in the second row began discussing the legendary group of Toronto women they had heard about who visit the Ranch each year in a pack and race up the hiking and biking trails with a vengeance. I turned to Dusty and asked non-challantly, "Are they talking about that nice group of ladies we hiked up Soldier with in May?" Dusty nodded. Now I had their attention. Jackie, the tall divorcee from Manhattan spoke first, "You hiked with them Lorna?"
"Yes," I replied cooly. "Dusty took us up Soldier Trail earlier this year." I replayed the hike in my mind and recalled gasping for air as we climbed and my trying desperately to keep up with those insane Canadian she-beasts without showing them my pain.
"Were they seriously intense? I mean we heard they are totally hard core and not exactly friendly," Jackie said.
"Oh, I wouldn't say they were unfriendly," although indeed they were completely unfriendly until they had been satisfied that i was not going to slow their sprinting pace down too significantly.
I continued the defense of the group, "They were just intent on keeping a pretty quick pace and worried about anyone who may not be able to keep up and slow them down," I began delicately tapping a hiking stick against my REI convertible hiking pant/shorts as I turned to Dusty, "Dusty remember that older woman who came on the hike, she was about 70, very tanned, and in great shape too?"
"Yup," Dusty said, "she stayed right up by my side the whole way and that's our toughest Level 5 hike."
"It sure is a pretty hike," I added, emphasizing my love of nature's vistas while the three girlfriends whispered nervously behind me.
"Dusty," Jackie asked, "this hike we're doing is just a Level 3 right?"
I had to stifle the smile that wanted to spread across my lips.
"Yup, just a 3 but a real nice one. Kinda short but you'll get some terrific views," he assured them.
We headed out on the trail and began our climb. Apart from the balance challenged guest who insisted on walking directly behind me so that every so often i was forced to duck for cover as she tottered in the loose gravel before falling forward, the hike was a pleasure. Back at the Ranch, I iced my knee and enjoyed some baked zucchini hot cakes in honor of today being the first day of Hannukah. Ordinarily one would enjoy potato pancakes deep fried in oil, but this is the Ranch. I saw the same elderly couple at lunch from yesterday and the wife (clearly feeling our friendship had attained a higher level of intimacy than i had imagined) told me in her sweet Atlanta accent that she was "gah-yassy, gah-yassy, gha-yassy" and then proceeded to ask me an important spa etiquette question: "What do y'all thenk I shud do eff I pah-yass gah-yass during my-eh meh-sauge darlin'?"
This is a serious question that any spa goer worth her mettle has contemplated on numerous occasions. I gave my honest opinion, "Well," I said, "if you really can't hold it in then you just need to laugh when it happens and move on with the treatment."
This seemed to satisfy her, although in truth i would fight to contain the offending toxins with all my strength to the point of endangering my life with the threat of spontaneous combustion of the colon, rather than simply releasing and trying to pass it off with a coquettish giggle.
After my mango sugar scrub and my rejuvenating facial, I grabbed a quick bite of rice pasta with turkey meatball marinara and a side of mashed cauliflower, and then made my way to the Creative Arts Center for a class in Introduction to Watercolor Painting. I am convinced that my finished masterpiece it is not a fair reflection on Jay's talent as an instructor. Please appreciate that i didn't have to share the painting with you but I am. And no I am not sure why my bird is wearing a blue chinchilla.
Tomorrow I may return to the beading class part 2, aptly entitled "The Bead Goes On" in the Ranch weekly activity brochure.
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