Boy, did I get my wish.

Jon and I ransacked the internet and discovered several awesome looking trails- ones that went past glaciers and boasted spectacular mountain views. We were dead-set on the Carbon Glacier Trail, which was about 7 miles long and would take about 4 or 5 hours to hike. Unfortunately, we lacked a high-clearance vehicle to get us there (which, if you've seen it, is not my car considering it is so big and heavy it barely clears speedbumps). Dad didn't trust me with his brand new Ford F150, so we were forced to find an alternate trail.

While the way we found our trail might seem inconsequential and boring, it is pertinant that you understand we WERE planning this hike well. We WERE planning it, so the adventure that results is not due to any carelessness on our part.

Jon's dad, a total nature buff, came to our rescue and offered up directions to a trail he described as a beautiful loop through the Cascade Mountain Range, following the crystal clear waters of the Snoqualmie River. At the Middle Fork of the river, we parked the car and packed our bags. We meandered on to a big, arching bridge that gave us an amazing view both up and down-river. Tall evergreens framed the quick-flowing waters and white rapids. We paused to admire the beauty before heading across the river and up to the trail. Our directions from this point were simple: Follow the trail for about 5 miles until reaching a second bridge, which crosses back over the river. Continue a little bit further until the trail intersects with a road, which, if we follow back down the river, will take us directly to the parking lot and our car.

Simple directions...well...we'll see.

We started off fine. The forest was dense, a view people in other states must only dream of. It was a movie set for ancient times- times before the earth had been dozed and slathered in concrete. The river bubbled to our left, and the mossy ground made soft thumping sounds to the beat of our steps. To our left stood a large slate bluff, capped by tall trees and dewy moss. The skies were a crystal clear blue, even though weather forecasts had promised showers.

The surrounding visions and our surging hike uphill reminded me of The Lord of the Rings and days when people walked everywhere because there were no cars or planes. I felt a bit nostalgic, and liked the idea of pretending we were on our own little journey, back in a distant time, striving to reach home or to save the world from Sauron. (Hey, your mind wanders when you're stuck walking for hours on end, okay?) We talked about how quiet it was and it reminded me of how Aragorn is able to hear the Orcs speed up just by listening to the ground. It made sense- he could hear them because the world was more quiet. I could hear each and every footstep Jon made, and as I was walking behind him, could also see each and every time he slipped on a rock, root, leaf, plain old dirt, or his other foot.

As we padded onward, I began to feel a sense of peace, which immediately gave me the urge to babble incessantly. At first, I resisted, thinking I would spoil the solemnitude for Jon, but then something got us talking and we never stopped again. We discussed my aversion to politics and the people in Berkeley who have been protesting anything and everything for years. This led to talk of Russia and China and whether communism had ever really existed there.

As we chatted, the trail wound us through the thick brush. It would tease us with glimpses of the river before yanking us back and uphill, toward the bluff. The trees were covered with a million varieties of moss, each greener than the next. Jon and I joked that they looked like the home of the Keebler Elves, but I didn't see any.

Out in front of me, Jon was breaking the wind and heading us up the trail. As a result, he was constantly ensnared by members of an entire army of spiders. They lined our path on both sides, catching any part of us that dared peek out of the two foot trail. Sometimes, Jon could see them land on his arm, and he'd jump a foot high and hurriedly brush them off. Sometimes, he would get close enough for me to see the scores of spiderwebs that covered his backpack, forming silken layers. Sometimes, the mouthpiece of his CamelBack drinking hose would brush against his arm and he'd jump and scream like a little girl, much to my amusement.

Several hours passed, and we began looking in earnest for the bridge that would take us across the river. Yet, every time we neared the river, instead of crossing, it veered back toward the mountain again through a series of steep switchbacks. After still more hours passed, we really became worried. If we didn't turn back now, we would not make it back to the car before dark, and wandering through the thick underbrush in the middle of the night with only one flashlight and thousands of bears did not seem appealing.

But, the stubborn hiker in us refused to turn back. We wanted to find the bridge, determined to make the complete hike. And fortunately, just as we were thinking our stubborn sides be damned, there it was. Granted, it crossed over a waterfall, but rivers have to start somewhere, right? So we parked on the bridge and had lunch. Surging below us, the water ran deep, over rocks so huge they seemed ominous and alive. I kept picturing them being there since the mountain range was created, having formed and rested here on this hill ever since those plates crashed into each other. We watched the water in silent awe and ate our granola bars and bananas. Mosquitos bit me on each shoulder, leaving me with symmetrical bites. Jon threw part of his banana into the water to see if it would splash. (Your guess is as good as mine.)

After a quick rest, we continued along the trail, expecting the road back to the parking lot to meet up with us soon. Then, just ahead there was a clearing, and we shrieked in joy until we realized it was the river again- the same river we'd been walking along the whole time. We still hadn't crossed the right bridge.

Our shoulders sank and worry started to wedge its way into our hearts, but we plowed on. We were confident that the directions we'd been given were correct, and that they would eventually lead us to the right place.

As we followed the river, our conversation began to meander from the intellectual topics we'd started with down what would be an horrific decline. We pondered what we would do if a bear sauntered over, intent on killing us (Grizzlies do it for fun, you know). Since neither of us knew what one is supposed to do, we discussed what we would probably do. Most of these scenarios involved Jon seeing the bear, pissing his pants, screaming like a little girl, and running off into the wilderness, leaving me laughing on the ground in front of said bear. We even talked about us blogging about that discussion, and how he would describe our horrific incident as the proudest moment of his life where he fearlessly and courageously defended me in the face of danger. We also talked about how I would post a blog in response declaring his story a lie, then tell the sordid truth of how he only saw a frog and THOUGHT it was a bear, before pissing his pants, screaming like a little girl, and running off into the wilderness.

After about 5 or 6 hours of hiking, and after we'd decided we would rather walk naked across the river and climb up to the road on the other side (leaving me to wonder if vaginas rescind when in freezing water just like testicles do), we came to our third bridge. Now let me remind you, we were only supposed to see two total.

By the end, we'll have seen five.

We rejoice (yet again), and stop to admire the river (yet again), which has gotten even wider and more daunting. After crossing, we proceed to climb straight up a giant hill for about 45 minutes (which was a load of fun) until finally...we see a sign, a clearing, some cars, and, thankfully, the road.

From here, Jon said, it's a straight shot back to the parking lot. It's a straight, smooth walk. The hard part is done. We should make it back before dark, and make it home in time to meet the people we had plans with that night.

What's the old adage about speaking too soon?

Yeah...straight shot back to the parking lot from here, my ass. Remember that whole adventure thing I was talking about? Well I got my wish. We walked down that road for eons. The world was considered and created in less time. It was getting dark, starting to rain, and the road was not only NOT straight, but it took us up and downhill, over and over again. We were exhausted. Jon complained that his heels were rubbed raw and his knee was about to give out. My feet were aching balls of fire, as my shoes were just a TAD bit too small for me. So, with every step, they rammed my toenails back into my feet, causing unbearable pain. My heels were rubbed raw as well, and every once in a while I would experience the fresh sting of a bursting blister, wincing as the fresh and sensitive skin rubbed against the hard leather ridges of my boots.

Hours dragged passed, and even though there was still no sign of the parking lot, we always knew it must be somewhere nearby. Around every corner, we believed it was just there, waiting for us. We even said it before every corner- so frequently that we started to consider it a jinx. We agreed to not say it anymore, hoping it would make the little leprechauns that kept moving the parking lot leave us the hell alone.

So we walked and walked and walked. We dreamed of getting into the car. The thought of taking off my boots and putting on sandals was orgasmic. Jon said he'd kiss the car as soon as he saw it- and would use tongue. Then we spent the next few minutes pondering how you could give a car head (I didn't like the tailpipe idea as I've always considered my car female).

Meanwhile, our conversation continued its decline into absurdity. We talked about our longest-running sexual fantasies, to favored positions and why men enjoy ejaculating all over women's breasts and faces so much.

As it got darker and darker, I started to discourage Jon from flagging down the next car that drove by and asking for a ride, arguing that it was probably a serial killer returning from dumping his latest body who was just thinking "Man, that's done, where am I going to get my next victims?" when Jon and I appear and ask for a ride. I mean, never ask for a ride or trust strangers when the place you're trying to flee could ever be described as "a great place to dump bodies" or "serial killer country." If you watch a lot of movies or lived in Washington during the Green River Killer era, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.

Then, as if to prove my point, we came upon a red car on the side of the road that had been COMPLETELY FLATTENED. Now, we're not in the middle of the dump or the junkyard, we're out in the middle of a mountain range, so question #1 is how did it get flattened in the first place. The second question came to me as I went to look at it and realized that it was covered, and I mean literally COVERED in bullet holes. There were even still bullets in the holes, and they were pretty big- probably 1/2 inch in diameter. Our eyes widened in fear of whatever hillbilly psycho was lurking around the corner, loading his gun, and we hightailed it out of there, going as fast as our mangled feet would allow.

But as it got darker, all of the scary things we'd talked about became a real possibility. It's dark, we can't see anything, and there are bears and cougars and who knows what else around. My eyes were wide as I constantly scanned the nearby brush, never wanting to walk too far away from the middle of the road, wishing I had one of Jon's knives and my maglite from the car.

Fortunately, we were bright enough to be semi-prepared. We had two flashlights, one of which was left on in Jon's backpack, and was of no use to us. The other only served to show us the few steps in front of us, but ruin our night-vision to anything outside that scope. Eventually, we just turned them off, thinking they were more of a homing beacon for nutties and psychos than any sort of help.

Still walking, it was pitch black by now, and luckily, not that cold. To our utter chagrin, the road took us far away from the river- so far we couldn't even hear its rushing waters anymore.

Jon started praying to God, even though he's never been particularly religious, promising to never ask for another thing as long as he lived if God would just give us the parking lot right now. We joked about how Jon was forsaking his prayers for the first-born son he'd have who would probably end up with cancer, leaving his wife to wonder why her husband wasn't praying for their child. But nevertheless, we wanted that parking lot.

By this time we were exhausted, sweat-soaked, and our feet were in total pain. And we were still walking, with no end in sight. The conversation turned to questions of "what celebrity would you sleep with if you were gay?" And "if you could sleep with one straight celebrity for one night, who would it be?" My vote was Salma Hayek or Peta Wilson and either Brad Pitt or Jude Law. Jon apparently likes the pretty boys and voted for Paul Walker. I can't remember his female choice.

We came upon a clearing on the right side of the road, and I was ecstatic to see a truck parked there. But as we approached the truck, we realized it was not our parking lot. I felt really freaked out because the truck looked so...hillbilly-ish. I just kept picturing those crazy guys in Wrong Turn or the inbreeders that lived in the house in the boonies in X-Files who kept their mom (who had no arms or legs and apparently lived on some sort of modified skateboard) under the bed.

So we turned around and walked some more. Jon must have sensed that I was getting freaked out, picturing serial killers at any turn, because he told me to give him a hug to see if it would make me feel better. All I can say is I am sure as hell glad I wasn't wandering around the Cascades alone in the middle of the night.

Further down the road, we caught a glimpse of a light and relief surged through my veins. It was probably a light in the parking lot! But no, it was just a family out camping along the river. Jon asked them how far to the trailhead and they said 1/4 mile. Woohoo! We were close!

So we kept walking until we came to a bridge (bridge number 4). It was closed off to vehicles and from what little I COULD see, led into a mysterious black tunnel. Great. A sign on the other side of the river said "Taylor River Trailhead." Taylor River? This is where I got really pissed off. Taylor River? Where in the FUCK had the Snoqualmie River gone? When did we lose it? And were we following the wrong river the whole time?

We got out Jon's map, which told us where Taylor River was, but neglected to tell us where the parking lot was, where the Middle Fork trail was (the one we were originally on) or where we were at that exact moment. It showed us a plethora of squiggly lines, but nothing was labeled that could tell me which little line we were standing on.

In a scene straight out of Blair Witch Project, we tried to walk into the dark and mysterious tunnel, but it was really shady and so we just stopped and turned back, thinking we'd rather just chance backtracking the wrong direction and bother the people for some more specific directions. Namely, where in the hell are we and where is my goddamned car?

We sat on the bridge for a little bit and read the map. I stared at it and stared at it and decided that if we had to spend the night and try this all in the daylight, the map was being used as kindling.

Deciding against this, we found our way back to the people, and, thankfully, they knew their way around the woods. It turned out we had passed a turn to a bridge about a mile back. A turn? The directions didn't mention a turn? And what fucking bridge?

Welcome to bridge 5. Remember how there were only supposed to be 2?

Luckily, the father offered to drive us to our car and we graciously accepted. At first, he was intimidating. He was really skinny and had a deep, gravelly voice that sent shivers down my spine. But this was all offset by the very normal looking kid, dog, and wife that made up his entourage. I felt that he was on guard because we were strangers in the middle of the night and thus tried to put him at ease by standing in the light and babbling like a harmless idiotic female. The other guy offered us a beer, which really sounded heavenly at the moment except for my more pressing desire to get the hell out of there. I wanted no further delays.

So we ambled along in his truck, making idle and slightly uncomfortable conversation, watching in awe as we backtracked about a mile, turned where we had seen that scary hillbilly truck, crossed a bridge, followed the road another mile, and sailed into the parking lot. Hallelujah! I have never hugged my car so hard before.

So we made it. We drove for about an hour over a bumpy, pot-holed road to get home, and saw a big fox on the way, but I didn't care. A big old grizzly toting an AK-47 could have come out of the woods, followed by a serial killer, hillbilly, cougar, and 5000 spiders and it wouldn't have mattered because I was in the car. I love my car.

We made it home a little after midnight. It was pouring down rain. I was in so much pain- sore, tired, my feet were no longer toes and skin and bones and muscles- they were just blazing, aching bundles of pain. I was starving but I didn't have the energy to cook. I grabbed a granola bar and two big bottles of water, which I downed immediately, before passing out for about 12 hours.

It's days later, and there are giant holes in the backs of my feet, on my toes, and huge blisters under my toenails. Earlier today I used a knife to drill a hole through the nail so this brownish, Iced-Tea colored liquid could ooze out. I told Jon about it and he almost barfed.

Final count? Jon looked at a better map and calculated that we'd hiked over 30 miles total, most of it uphill.

So I got my adventure. Ask and ye shall receive. It will take some time before I go back out hiking, mostly to make sure I'm healed and to get some better shoes. All in all though, it was a thrilling time, and one hell of a great story!

(For Jon's version of the story, which I have not read at the time of writing this, go here.)