at long last, a slew of photos.
YOU KNOW YOU WANNA CLICK!!!
shi*load of fotos loading...
My sweet friend Angie had informed me that we were going to trek on a "fun hiking journey", so blissfully I smiled and thought of the lovely ways I could don a huge orange hat, wear super short shorts, and prance through the wilderness. The night before the hike she corrected herself, "It's 5 miles," to which, after a long hesitation, I replied, "That's okay. That's arduous, but we can definitely take that...yea." The location for our "fun" hiking journey was the Azusa mountain trail called "Bridge to Nowhere", a bridge supportedly constructed in the utmost random place, merely to create jobs and employment.
On the car ride there, my hand dreamily tucked under my chin and eyes turned toward the window, I announced, "I've never gone on a 5-mile-hike before."
A guy in front of me turned around, mouth agog, "It's 11 miles."
"Yea. You’re really funny."
Eyes dead serious, "It's 5 ½ miles to the Bridge and 5 ½ miles back."
I don't remember what I said after that but I am sure it is not PG-rated. We eventually arrived, slathered on sunscreen, checked our water supply, and ventured out. It is important to note I did not necessarily assent to the hike at this point, but rather I wordlessly followed the rest of the girls.
Those SEVEN hours of hiking were the most physically rigorous seven hours spent in my life. Seven hours of trudging through serrated terrain with turbid river-water-soaked shoes, dizzingly hot weather, and glazed vision. 7 AM to 4 PM of what seemed to me, pure hell.
That is Jane.
I assumed there would be a plenitude of picturesque and august scenes for my camera to seize, but it turned out to be quite the contrary. The weather was scorching hot, and a majority of the hike was composed of ugly, arid, and grotesque rocks littering weedy brambles and yellow grasses. Grays, blacks, yellows, browns, sepias, olives were the hues of a cynical artist’s palette- leaving the vibrancies of crimsons, greens, and violets to pine in the imagination.
view from the base of a mountain.
Furthermore, vision was a curse when, at one point, our tight bodies were pressed furiously against the granite mountain walls on a precariously skinny path overlooking steep cliffs, on which, a slip on loose rocks could result in plummet to river waters hundreds of feet below. We crossed at least 15 rivers, whose currents reached thigh-high and soaked our shoes for hours afterwards with sogginess and pebbles.
The pebbles. Decently sized pebbles were lodged in my soles throughout the entire duration of the 7-hour-hike and felt like teeth ripping into my feet as I walked and leapt from rocks.
destination; reached.
After 3 ½ hours later we finally reached the Bridge to Nowhere. The Bridge itself is exactly the blasé, unsightly edifice its name implies, I will not waste any more words enumerating mundane details about it. However, we spied a mountain bambi trotting with his lover, and I snapped a few photos of them.
the mountain bambi.
eugh is all I can say to this one.
After reaching the ugly bridge we climbed further down rocky brambles and cliffs (ha, I exaggerate here, and only here) to the much-rumored oasis underneath. It was a quiet, small place with a moderate rapids and cascades, and we sat on the boulders and ate lunch, watching the scenery. I dunked my swollen feet in deliciously cold water.
cascades:
and then we headed back.
3 ½ hours later we finished the 11 miles. By the end I could not walk. Each of my feet felt like they were split in two by a huge train-track spike, right down the middle, and twisting with each trod.
aftermath : My left knee was busted, both my feet were slaughtered (I have semi-flat feet. yes. ouch is an understatement.) And despite my constant efforts to drink water, fumbling with the bottle cap and keeping my eyes glued to the rocky terrain beneath my feet, I became dehydrated and my body went into nausea. There was no food in my stomach, so the car had to pull over while I attempted very unsuccessfully at vomiting, and only dry-heaved for a few minutes. Subsequently the next two days my gait was gracefully embellished with a dragging left foot and a limping right foot.
And today, a week later, my left foot still hurts :(
Was it worth it?
Eh, I could lie and say "ABSOLUTELY YES", but candidly speaking I still don't know.
Two more final ones. One of my pretty friend Angie, and one of me. It is how I naturally look of course, sweating profusely after 5 miles, hair disheveled, body a bloody mess, and formerly pallid face a decaying black visage. (+1 & +2)
