Cadence

You know it's said that if you want to see a country, walk it. And this is what we like to do. Walrus goes nuts if you call us ramblers. We are not ramblers. They tend to stroll along, we definitely don't stroll. Sometimes it feels like we are out on manuvers or a march, especially when our backpacks are loaded down with everything but the kitchen sink. Every single time, the mutt, whom I have dubbed as the Mad Hatter for this journal, becomes a real pain in the ass. The only time it's fun when he pulls on his lead is when we are going uphill, which is a lot of the time, I might add.

So Sunday, being the first really beautiful Sunday that we could get away in such a long time, we decided to take a walk. Yes, I know, there have been one or two other Sundays like this one this Spring, if even nicer. Don't even remind Walrus of them, that will drive him nuts too. However, those Sundays had to do with flooring, or lack of it, and having to lay the new floor. Of course, if he had done this job over the winter season; well, we won't go there, will we.

Anyway Saturday afternoon, before the fiasco of Saturday night, we got out our books and maps of various walks and got down to business zeroing in on where exactly we would go the next day. We decided on a moderate 8 and 3/4 mile march, uh walk.

We seemed to be walking all day, when I asked Walrus approximately how many miles had we gone.
"Two."
"You sure? It sure seems longer than that."
"Two."
"How many more we got to go?"
"Almost seven."
"Damn. Maybe we shudda taken a shorter walk; you know, like a five miler or something."
"I'm not feeling any pain. Maybe you are outta shape."

Bugger.

So after walking through countless apple groves; seeing an enormous amount of "stunning" scenery; walking up several steep hills, only to walk down again (which by-the-way, as a side note: I find rather pointless don't you?); eating lunch; wading through muddy patches; having to pee in the middle of nowhere; getting stung by neddles, we finally got back to where we started. And I have to honestly admit, my favorite part is when we can see that lovely car in the carpark. I feel like a horse heading back to the barn. My sore, tired feet literally dance all the way back, knowing that soon I will be taking those bloody hiking boots off.

Ahhh, pure bliss.

This Sunday, we are planning on going again. We'll get out the books and maps on Saturday; Walrus will plot out our march, uh walk. We will fix lunches and various other treats. Pack up the all weather gear for wind, rain, etc. And Walrus swears that that damn mutt will not be going again - ever. The Mad Hatter will stay home, and Walrus says he doesn't care how the mutt feels about that, because he is just a pain in the ass all the way. This of course, is coming from a man who knows all the birds around in our area, most of the plants, and won't even kill a bug in the house. Now me, on the other hand, is another story (on bugs that is). You enter my domaine, consider yourself dead meat. Anyway, so Mad Hatter is to stay home from now on. And Walrus doesn't give a damn how the mutt feels, let him pout, he says.

Uh huh. The mutt is coming. As sure as my feet will be killing me next time. For if Walrus's marches, uh walks, can be a pain in the feet for me, then Mad Hatter can be his pain in his ass.

Life wouldn't be the same without Mad Hatter, or for Walrus, for that matter.