Saturday Hikes: 1st Post, The Stone Door

Finally getting myself in regular hiking mode again. For the past
several months my schedule has been too erratic for hiking, but
now Im waking up like most people, early in the morning. Now
that Gary Hilton is behind bars, I guess I can breathe a bit easi-
er during my solo hiking adventures. It does take an individual
like him to make you realize just how vulnerable a position you
are in while hiking alone, with only a pocket knife or a stray rock
as a weapon. Im sure mugging and car theft are the primary
human dangers; plus the only good thing (depending on your
weltanschuang) about a pyschopathic murderer is that they
tend to be highly rare individuals. Incidently if you are mugged
here's a nice site for how to deal with the situation:

http://www.ominouscomma.com/archives/best-of-the-comma/not-get-mugged

So, anyway, Im hiking again, and my body feels like it's been
run over by a river barge again, which should lend to some
possibly interesting, and bloggable stories, who knows. Last
Saturday I went to the Savage Gulf Area, usually touted as
the mini-Grand Canyon, or the Grand Canyon of the Eastern
U.S. It was a beautiful, crisp, sunny day, temperatures ranging
from the 40s to the 50s, but felt warm with the bright sunshine
and the physical exertion. I had to take off my jacket, never
feeling cold after the first half mile or so.

There are five or six entry points to the Savage Gulf, and
I chose The Stone Door, having been there one other time
many years ago. I remembered to bring everything but the
camera. I did remember my dog. The weird thing about
the dog is, my grandmother has developed such a sick att-
achment to her-- it is rightfully my dad's dog first, then the
rest of us accordingly-- that she scowled at me for nearly
half a minute as I was leaving Saturday morning for my hike.
She was pissed I was taking the fucking dog on a hike! She's
in her mid- 80s now and getting battier by the day. She
spends her whole days moving piles of junk around the house,
old photographs, ancient newspaper, flotsam and jetsam of
a long and jobless domestic existence (Im sure Id get some
flack for that statement, if I had a readership!). There seems
to be no point to the endless reorganization. It's a weird mix
of nostalgia, dementia and OCD. She's constantly opening and
shutting dresser drawers in her bedroom, the room right
above mine. It's driving me mad, and the scary thing is, she
knows it. Our relationship has soured dramatically over the
years. And now that her mind is going, Im certain our prob-
lems will never be resolved, as was the case with me and my
mother. It's so much easier to shower unconditional love on
a dog, than it is a human. Hey, did I mention Im hiking again?