The Ragged Peak saddle, Yosemite
The stone path from San Damiano to Assisi
Memorable uphill walks naturally segue into memorable downhill walks. Ages ago my brother, Jay, and I were walking downhill from Nevada Falls in Yosemite. Primed, adolescent and full of sinewy goodness, we allowed gravity to propel us downhill at a remarkable clip. In the reverse direction, innumerable hikers puffed and strained and grunted their way uphill like poorly oiled locomotives.
One boy, a rotund, ney, a Rubinesque fellow in his mid teens with a pink, sweaty face lacquered up with sunscreen, stopped his ascent when he saw us approaching. He placed his hands on his knees and gasped imploringly in measured fashion:
"How...far...to...Nevada?"
Obviously, he was referring to the falls. However, Jay, not missing a beat and not altering his stride, replied matter-of-factly: "About 150 miles" as if the boy were referring to the state of Nevada.
The boy stared vacantly, uncertain what to make of Jay's quip. We simply continued our downhill journey, enjoying the tumbling cataracts carving through the rocky canyon beneath the trail. Moments later, though, Jay looked at me over his shoulder and smiled wryly.
"Nice one." I said.
When we reached Happy Isles I asked Jay if he thought the boy ever made it to Nevada.
"No," Jay answered. "No, I don't think so."
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