Stupidest Humans

When I got to the top of the hill, I turned to him and said, “We are the people that you read about in the paper. You know that, right?” I threw the word “paper” in for dramatic effect, knowing full well that most of us, sadly, read news on small screens.

The day was simply gorgeous in the Flint Hills. Big round clouds in crisp blue skies. Of course the hills were green with all the rain. Flowers were blooming at all heights within the tall grass. We were past the hottest part of the day, but it was not cool at 93-degrees.

   

My day had started back in Kansas City. I went to work early and worked only a half day, having packed the car for my overnight trip with an umbrella and rubber boots. I had been invited by this friend to experience a symphony in the Flint Hills of Kansas and had read every word of the “Suggestions For Your Visit” he had passed along. Rain had been expected, and a “longer than average walk through the tall grass” to find a place for my folding chair was outlined.

I stood at the top of the hill, catching my breath, looking at the friend who had invited me for the music. After mentioning the paper and our place in it, I started laughing and continued my reasons as to why.

  – We were two small business owners – me technically a co-owner – with, at minimum, 40 people relying on us for paychecks.

 – Poor shoe choices were made on both of our parts for a 2.7-mile hike.

 – I was in blue jeans to protect my legs from the tall grass at the symphony. Now they were a cotton albatross around my waist as I poured sweat.

 – I went on pointing out more of my stupidity and made mention of my black T-shirt, which was now blacker where my brassiere wasn’t working to hold me up.

 – We had already seen one snake slither across our path, which we were sticking diligently to as the map at the trailhead had prescribed.

 – We were armed with only my car key fob and two cellular phones.

 – There had been one very large bumble-type bee hovering near the flowers we both stopped to admire at the bottom of the hill.

– There had been hundreds of other smaller bumble-type bees who really wanted nothing to do with us, but what if?

“We wanted out of town and out of the car so badly, we got this far – with probably another two miles to go – and we don’t even have water! Stupid.” His expression, and laughter, made me realize he saw my points. He admitted to “schvitzing,” which I quickly pointed out was a pretty word for the circle forming on the back of his shirt.

I was going to let him have his schvitz while I was momentarily drowning. But there was a breeze, so I was able to live freely in the knowledge that salt crystals would form soon so I would be less wet.

At around this point, a very fit woman ran up the hill and by us rather swiftly. Her fitted racing bra, compression shorts, and cross country style running shoes – all black – gave me hope that I would look that good when I took my jeans off in another quarter mile. I had on a black shirt! I had on black underwear! We would not be twinsies, however, because I had on white Stan Smith tennis shoes and dangle earrings. As she was slowly turning into a bit of a show-off in my mind, I realized she clearly had been here before and possibly was a Girl Scout because she had a water bottle in her hand. I couldn’t really pretend to like her all that much as my breathing returned to normal.

Rest assured, I never took my clothes off on the trail – if for no other reason than I didn’t have sunscreen, which I had added to the list my friend was laughing at. I was still pushing why we were the stupidest people on the planet right then.

“I want to go on record right now that I am not an old woman, and I never will be, but here’s how the long, gorgeous, slow descent is going to go on my part: If you need to walk ahead of me, please do, but I will not fall down on this lovely gravel. Need I remind you that we have no Band-Aids or anti-bacterial ANYTHING in the car? I will be taking my time on the descent and will make good time on the flatter parts.” Something like that spilled at him through my laughter as we started along the top of that gorgeous hilltop.

Parts of the rest of our trail were visible from this magnificent vantage point. It all looked lovely, and, in time, it was. We are good friends, and the conversations and the quiet as we walked were equally embraced. It was during a quiet part, where the trail was a wee bit wider, that I saw in my peripheral vision a flicker of white in the brush to my left. I turned instantly and a gorgeous deer came clearly into focus. In mere seconds, it turned its face away from me. The white inside the ears was instantly gone, and it disappeared from easy vision, but only in moving down the gully did it truly disappear.

I laughed so deeply on that hilltop. I cracked myself up and made another human laugh. It was a catharsis that felt amazing after weeks that can seem long and too serious and at the same time too short and joyful. To share uncontrollable laughter with a friend is pretty fantastic. I recommend it highly.

I had alluded part way through the hike that I might need to use the Porta Potty near the trailhead. When we finally arrived there an hour later, I was asked, as I moved right past it and towards the car, “Didn’t you need to go?”

“Oh, no. I just went ahead and emptied my bladder through every single pore on my body.”

When we arrived in Abilene for dinner, I retired to the restroom before entering the dining room to check for salt stains on my shirt. Vanity was rearing her ugly head. I did find a few salt crystals on my neck. None were on my shirt, but I did find the culprit that had caused the odd sound I had heard against my seat belt for many miles on the interstate.

I had heard a crunching type sound. Not so much OF the car but IN the car. It was up near my left ear, where the seat belt comes out of the pillar between the windows of the car. It bugged me for a while, but I finally forgot about it. My companion might have closed his eyes for a few minutes, and I was enjoying the quiet drive into the setting sun.

In the mirror of the restaurant restroom I saw it. Crust. A crust had formed at the end of my hair. Kind of in a clump, of sorts. As if hair spray had been completely tested with several gallons of sweat and wind. It did a magnificent job of collecting the residual salt and keeping my hair pretty much in place.

I looked at myself in the mirror and was thankful for cheap hairspray. And laughter. And friendship. And for being allowed to make marginally bad decisions and live to write about them.

photo credits: The top photo belongs to my friend. The other three are mine.

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