One of the crazy things that you do when in a new relationship is almost anything. I don’t mean the shit you do to impress someone. I’m talking about the stuff you do because you’ve never done it before…together. My lady, Kathy lives in the mountains of the Berkshires on the Massachusetts side. (The mountains are also in New York. Mountains general don’t read maps.) So, it is coming into tourist season there and every activity is opening up.
Now you might wonder what the hurry is for us to do anything. After all, she lives there. Currently, door to door is about an hour and three quarters. This is a tough commute when two people don’t want to be apart for a minute, let alone days at a time. So Kathy is moving, shockingly, to Connecticut.
Kathy is currently working Friday nights at a beautiful bed and breakfast in the Berkshires. I’d give them a plug, but the last thing the hotel or Kathy need are readers of this blog showing up and bothering them. So she continues there until the new job and move are in place.
Friday nights I spend with my good friend and WTIT DJ Johnnie Walker. He is rehabbing from hip surgery and lives with his sister in southeast Connecticut. This is the part of Connecticut that the rest of Connecticut calls New York. Johnnie grew up in West Hartford, as I did. He is an excellent cook. So Johnnie shops for a terrific meal and cooks and prepares it here on Fridays. We watch the game. We talk sports. We argue politics. He’s right. I’m left. No one wins. And then this past Saturday we got up, he left and I headed to the mountains. Kathy had a day plan.
We were to picnic by a stream and I should bring my swim suit. She knew exactly the best spot. There was a path that was an easy access down a hill to where we were to eat. Now, women say they know where they are going, but never do. Kathy drove and had this rather odd expression. “Here it is…no it isn’t” started. Convinced we were at this magical spot we grabbed out picnic gear and headed to this path. But, of course, we were still at a “no it isn’t spot” but Kathy acted as though it was all under control. She wearing her flip flops and I my boat shoes we descended down a cliff and by all rights we should not have lived. When we finally got to the stream, I was surprised to be alive. She started to find a spot as I stared at the woods. She asked what I was doing. I pointed out that we had forged a path where no man had gone before and if I didn’t remember the trees we would never find her car or be heard of again.
The picnic was great. Homemade sandwiches, chips, Diet Coke and Smirnoff. Things were looking up. Now it was time to go in the water. To say it was a bit early in the season wouldn’t do it justice. There might be colder water in the fucking Arctic, but in Massachusetts nowhere would have there been a shot. I didn’t need a swim suit. I needed a insulated diver’s suit. Kathy was saying something of it not being that bad when I think she realized that she was getting frost bite.
We headed to the tallest summit in Massachusetts. The spot is known as Greylock. The third picture was taken there. Kathy decided to do a U-turn on the curviest road in the state. If I hadn’t said “truck” I wouldn’t be writing this post. Now we drove to the summit. Kathy was busy pointing out all the scenic spots. But I lost it when she pointed to a vague area of the mountains and stated, “Trees.” No shit, Sherlock. Yes. So I pointed, “Mountain.” I said. Fortunately Kathy is a bit crazy but not insane. Okay, by being my lady you might think otherwise. Point taken. She didn’t think we should hike to the summit, we drove by all the hikers until she paid the $2 they charged at the summit’s lot. She noted what a great spot we got in a nearly full lot, right near the entrance.
There was “The Spike”. While it looked rather large, very interesting and fairly phallic, she stated that we didn’t have to climb it to the top. I fell badly in an accident in late February. I have three herniated discs in my neck. I am on heavy pain meds and may need an operation. I nodded, “No, we don’t need to climb it.” I also stated that I was really hurting and need to go. She understood and we headed back.
She said about five minutes into the return walk, “I know a shortcut to the parking lot.” So we headed off in another direction. It was a shortcut. And it was to the parking lot. However it was to the totally opposite end of the lot. When we got there we had increased the walk maybe three fold. I was laughing so hard I nearly fell down.
But of course, before we could actually go home and take that all important power nap before our dinner reservations we needed to stop by the sign that said how high we were. I haven’t been this high since perhaps college. All I wanted to do is lie down. Kathy insisted on a picture of me at the sign. I asked her to give me a “3-2-1…” before she snapped the shot. This was my pose. She got it. We left.
We made reservations at the inn’s restaurant where she works, for prime rib night. It was terrific. She introduced me to the owners who invited us for a cocktail with them after dinner. All in all, it was an enchanted day. But please don’t tell her I said so. I told her that between the frost bite of the river, the near fatality of the truck and her idea of a shortcut, she owed me BIG TIME. She mustn’t know that I had a terrific time. You might think that I’m head over feet for her. And you’d be very right. As John once sang, “I’m in love for the first time and you know it’s going to last. It’s a love that lasts forever, it’s a love that has no past.” Yep. Just don’t tell her, ‘kay?
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Same time. Same blog. No fucking mountains.