Yesterday morning, for fun, I went to the moon. The part of the moon that is devoid of air or vegetation and consists of razor sharp beds of lava next to steep cliffs and the occasional blow hole. The views were outstanding, but fleeting, as it was not wise to take your eyes off the trail for a second. Images of a tricompartmental ankle fracture were greatly enhanced by the knowledge that we were far from help of any sort, including any kind of cell signal. We plodded, scrambled, grunted and bravely picked our way through this barren and alien landscape, pausing to sip water and trying to sight out the tiny white rocks that were meant to mark safe passage through the craters. After a few false starts and more than one observation that we were probably lost, someone remarked that probably the locals rerouted the white rocks to enjoy the sight of watching sweaty, frustrated haoles try and find their way out.
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| This is what hot and tired looks like |
On some hikes in life, there is a mid-way point where you know that turning back is no longer feasible, but the thought of going forward is equally daunting. That's where I found myself, and that's where my family rescued me when they realized that the weakest link was about to lose it. With the helpful and strong hands of my brother and my husband, and the encouragement and inspiration of my daughter and Peter, we at last slid down the final cliff and arrived at pretty little Hoapili Beach - a crescent-shaped oasis that somehow escaped the lava flow some 250 years ago. Dave immediately stripped out of his soaking wet clothes and dove into the water, while the rest of us sat on rocks and allowed strength and stability to return to our aching limbs. And for my pulse rate to drop to under 200.
The return trip, on the King's Highway, seemed effortless in comparison. This ancient lava road still commanded careful placement of our feet, but no leaps of faith or alpine scaling or bungie jumping was required, no Hail Mary's, not a single Ativan. It was hot, made hotter by the reflection of the sun off the black lava beds, and by the time we sighted the parking lot some 90 minutes later, we were all propelled by a single powerful image - a 20 ounce, ice-rimmed, golden mug of beer.
Believe me when I tell you, that refreshing and restorative reward was almost (ALMOST) worth the effort required to earn it.
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| Lisa and Peter, triumphant |
Today is being spent nursing my wounds (scraped calf and bruised ego) but tonight - the long-waiting luau at the Grand Wailea. Bring on those grass skirts and Mai Tai's, and hold the lava cake, please!
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