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Last week my wife and I went for a short day hike, but as the hike unfolded, it became apparent to me that she had orchestrated a plan that would leave me dead on the South Foose Creek trail.
Now, let me set the stage for this near death experience. My wife goes to the gym frequently and watches her diet. She is beautiful and buff! Me, not so much. I don't exercise and I eat all of the cookies, pie, and cake that she regularly bakes for me. On this particular day, she didn't take a pack, but she loaded her supplies into my pack, which I thought was plenty heavy. This was to be a fun little day hike, two miles out, two miles back, not much gain in elevation, be home in 2-3 hours.
So, off we went into the South Foose Creek drainage. I was carrying the pack, and glad to do so. We enjoyed the creek, the small waterfalls, and stopped often to photograph the wild flowers. She loves Colorado wild flowers.
After an hour hiking I thought it was time to turn around, but she wanted to continue until noon, another hour. OK, no problem and on we went. When noon came, we had gone really quite far up the drainage and we also knew that the views from the top, which is the Continental Divide, would be spectacular. She said, "We have come so far and it can't be much further, let's go just a bit more." OK, no problem. But now the trail became much steeper and I started falling behind. Oh, she would wait for me periodically, but just as I would catch up, she would take off again, giving me no rest. She did offer to carry the pack, but there are two things my big male ego won't allow me to say to my wife, "I'm tired, let's stop" and "Would you carry the backpack dear?"
We continued on. Soon I was really struggling. The wild flower sightings no longer held pleasure for me. She would point them out and I'm thinking, "I'm dying here and she's talking about wild flowers?" Then my vision started to fade. Anyone with altitude experience knows that hypoxia causes a loss of color vision. Then it occurred to me that the last mile of this hike had been, for me, in black and white. Suddenly, my nose started running profusely, like a faucet. The flow was so rapid, I thought, "This couldn't be simply a runny nose." Then I realized what was causing this nasal flow. "Sweet Jesus, I'm leaking cerebral spinal fluid! It had to be spinal fluid!" I silently began to panic.
Exhausted, I couldn't go on, so I ditched the pack beside the trail for the final one mile push to the top of the divide. With no pack, I was able to keep up for about 5 minutes and then started to lag behind again (or maybe she just picked up the pace).
Finally, she stopped and asked if I was OK. Broken with exhaustion and humility, I had to confess that I may not be able to make it. Then she gave me that "Oh, Man Up" look and headed up the trail. Following as best I could, it became apparent to me that this entire hike was a premeditated attempt to off me. She kept in shape and knew that I didn't. She knew I couldn't resist her artery clogging cookies and continually baked them for me. She knew I was on medication. She purposely didn't take her pack and put all of her supplies into mine, weighting me down. She knew I wouldn't let her carry the pack and I was not able to mutter the words, "I can't keep up with you, dear". And, she knew that she was the beneficiary of my life insurance policy. There I was, trudging along, trying to keep up, sweating, panting, blurred vision, losing precious spinal fluid and I realized that my wife of 29 years was maliciously attempting to hike me to death.
Somehow, I made it to the top of the Continental Divide. We enjoyed the fabulous views and she acted like nothing was wrong. We hiked down and went home.
A few days later, I asked her to proof read this story, mostly to note her response in an effort to assess my future safety. She read it and said, "Oh, whatever" and headed off to the kitchen to make....you guessed it....more cookies.
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