Earth Day is for Pussies Like Me.

Yesterday was Earth Day and by chance I did something natural. Every Sunday we can manage it, the Geordies (two brothers from Tyneside who came to the Southland via Medicine Hat, Alberta) and I trek up some hill in one of the various mountain ranges surrounding LA. Brother M couldn't make it so Brother G and I set out alone. We thought, "well it's just the two of us, let's do something a little more strenuous than normal." So we did.

We meet at 7 at Brother G's building downtown. I wait for him in the garage by his vehicle because on this day Brother G's big German Shepherd isn't coming along and if I were to show my face he would know his owner was off to the woods without him and he'd tear the place to shreds. In fact, Brother G has put all his hiking equipment in the car the day before so the dog doesn't figure it out. Clever dogs, German Shepherds.

Despite the fact that we plan on reaching an altitude of 10,500 ft or so, neither of us looked at the weather or really thought too much about what we should bring. Of course, even though this is a mere 45 minutes east of Los Angeles and it's April 22nd it is snowing at the trail head and we both are wearing shorts. Brother G's short pants are a respectable number made out of some sweat-wicking, moisture-repelling fabric; mine are a pair of ancient, Ralph Lauren tennis skivvies that might have been considered a bit too high-on-the-thigh back when the Celtics were winning championships. I'll admit that I do this intentionally; I try to channel an Austrian exchange counselor from 1986 named Rudi who had the short-shorts, the mullet, the mustache - really the total package. I can't grow a mustache and I'm receding from the front, so no mullet either; all I got is the short-shorts. Maybe one Sunday I'll wear a wig. I'm digressing. The point is, we are not prepared for the weather but I'm from New England and he's from the North of England, so we say "F it" and start walking.

At about 7,000 ft there's a lodge. There's also the unloading area for a chairlift, which explains why this lodge has a chef and some hot coffee if you want it. There's a guy there named Larry who writes reviews for hiking and mountaineering products for those types of magazines. He spent the night at the summit. He looks like Albert Brooks. He makes me feel like a pussy because he spent the night at the summit and he looks like Albert Brooks. He's a nice guy and he's got killer gear. I can't help notice he has cramp-ons strapped to his pack and for the first time I think about abandoning the rest of the hike. Truth be told, the altitude has already taken a toll on Brother G and I feel a little under-dressed.

But I'm from New England and he's from the North of England so we put on all the layers we have, including my LeTigre windbreaker, and press on.

Within 15 minutes Brother G has to stop pretty frequently to keep his breath - the altitude is really effecting him. My lungs feel great but I fear I'll get frostbite if I don't keep moving quickly; we decide to split up. Apart from the two of us there is one Japanese man about 30 yards in front of us, taking three steps then resting, three steps then resting. I pass him in no time. I keep moving and moving, until I look back and Brother G and the Japanese man are out of sight. I figure I'll just persevere since the snow is now two feet deep and sticking to the trail is just a matter of following the footprints, or to be precise placing my bare leg into a line of deep holes, left by Larry.

20 minutes later I am about a quarter mile into a section of the hike called the Devil's Backbone. It is a series of ridges between peaks with severe drop-offs on both sides. The wind whipping past me is probably in the 40-50 mph range, there's snow everywhere, and I'm not only wearing shorts, I'm wearing all white. The snot is flowing freely and my hands are shoved deep into my pockets. I keep going.

Finally I think about it too much and realize, even though the summit is just about 300 feet away, that it is very likely I will lose my footing, or get dizzy from the altitude, or get to the summit and head back the wrong way, or something equally as catastrophic will occur, so I turn around. Damn you Larry! I really feel like a pussy now; that guy slept up there.

I don't run into the Japanese guy for 15 minutes or so. He says, "your friend. No." I take this to mean Brother G turned back, as I figured he would. I follow the footprints in the snow back to a wider section and then start running. I hate hiking down hill. I always run when I can. With all the snow it is actually a blast. In a half hour or so I am back at the lodge to find Brother G sitting with a plate of pancakes and a cup of hot chocolate. I eat a pancake.

The 3.5 - 4 mile trek back down to the car is uneventful. It's not that steep so I don't feel the need to run. It was a pretty good Earth Day, though we didn't discover it was Earth day until we heard someone mention it on the radio driving home.