My inner mountain goat is grounded indefinitely

So, I've lived in Orem since I was five, with short hiatuses (hiati?) for mission and college, but I had never, never been to the summit of good old Timp. I figured it was about time to rectify this situation. I wanted to do it last summer, but it didn't work out. At the last minute this week, I decided Saturday was as good a day as any, the only problem being little time to recruit a hiking buddy. But I'm sick to death of not doing things because I'd have to do them alone. I'm old, all my friends have husbands and children who monopolize their time, and at this point in your life, unless you have a spouse (also known as the built-in date, and I don't want to hear about how hard it is to coordinate child care so you can use your built-in date. Waa. I would move mountains to go out with a man I liked even a little bit. You liked him enough to marry him, so quit whining, hire a babysitter, and go have fun together. Trust me, someone should be having fun on a date, and heaven knows it ain't me.) who is sort of obligated to coordinate schedules with you on a regular basis, it's kind of hard to get together, especially at the last minute. Like I said, I'm kind of pissy about not doing things I want to do unless I can wrangle someone into joining me, so I said to hell with it. I'm climbing Timp. Alone.

Which is cool, except for one thing. I struggle to follow a trail. I don't know what's wrong with me. I think of myself as a generally capable, reasonably bright kind of girl. I have a college degree, a career, a mortgage that gets paid on time every month. I can do hard things. Until I'm hiking, then I just can't seem to figure it out. I can't spot the cairns, or I totally miss switchbacks. How do you miss switchbacks? In fact, how do you miss the end of the trail? But that's another story for another day.

I referred to my hiking guru, bro-in-law Marden. His opinion was as follows: a sunny Saturday in September? There would be more than enough BYU students alone to keep me from getting lost, not to mention the boy scouts and mutual groups. All I had to do was get to the trailhead, and follow the other folks. He so does not understand the extent of my navigational disability.

So, I got up early this morning and drove to American Fork Canyon. Of course, the parking lot was filled. There is apparently some dirt road you can park on without getting ticketed, but I couldn't find it, so I asked the ranger guy where I could park. He said park on the turnouts on the road, or if there's nothing there, go park at the Salamander Flats campground, and take the Great Western Trail from there to the trailhead at Timpanooke. It's about a mile or so long, so it's an extra couple of miles on an already long hike, but what are you going to do. There were no spaces on the road, so it was off to the Salamander Flat parking lot. Remember, the sun has not come up yet, so I haven't really seen where I was going. I also figured there would be a sign that would say Great Western Trail. I was wrong. They number the dang trails, and ask me if I knew which number the trail that would take me to Timpanooke was. So I just took a trail that looked like it might be the one.

Luckily the sun was coming up by now. Unluckily, I was on the wrong trail. I started getting suspicious when I noticed about a mile into it that I was totally alone, and going in not quite the right direction. So, I turned around, found the right trail, and finally got to the trail head at Timpanooke. Mind you, at the trail head I had probably already gone 21/2 or 3 miles just to get there. But, no big deal. I started booking it up the trail, passing a couple of groups here and there in my efforts to make it a real workout and not just a friendly little stroll. (I've been lazy this week with the whole exercise thing, so I was feeling guilty.) All good. I got lost, but I recovered.

Somewhere along the trail, I got confused again, I think because there were a bunch of teenage girls resting at the switchback, so I didn't really see it and the rocks just kept going in the same directions. Luckily (but sort of humiliatingly) the teenage girls directed me. Disaster averted again. I got up to the saddle and the summit without incident, starting to feel the effects of my enthusiastic start nonetheless, but it was all good. So, my feet hurt. Big woop. I'm tougher than my feet. And it's a beautiful view. Breathtaking, and unnerving, but in a good way.

Coming down from the summit to the saddle, though, apparently my inner mountain goat took over. I missed another switchback. I had gone about a quarter of a mile along a very difficult route, when I realized the people who were right behind me were no longer right behind me, and the trail smelled suspiciously like livestock, and I was going in the wrong direction, AGAIN. Dang. I think I was on a portion of the mountain that is primarily used by goats. I sheepishly (get it? Sheepishly? Ha ha ha) turned around and found my way back to the people trail, where I'm sure the other folks were thinking something along the lines of "Has this chick been lobotomized? Does she NEED to be lobotomized?", but I just laughed and continued on. Third disaster averted.

Of course, I wasn't anywhere near done, yet. Just below the saddle is where the trail diverges into the Aspen Grove and Timpanooke sides. Of course, I attempted to take the Aspen Grove side. Then I realized I'd taken a wrong turn again. Well, the two old ladies who pointed out to me that I was heading toward Aspen Grove realized I'd taken a wrong turn again. Aaaaargh. I swear I'm not as stupid as this sounds. Or I hope I'm not as stupid as this sounds.

The rest of the way down was okay, except my feet were killing me (I hate rocky trails because they mess with your feet, but what's happy feet to rocks and mountains? Classic author reference? Anyone? Anyone?). And, I just have to interject here. College freshmen are idiots. Especially the girls. I'm sorry to say it, but oh my...can we possibly find more inane conversationalists? Luckily I had my iPod. If I had to listen to that any longer, I might have had to slit my own wrists. Plug me in, honey.

Anyway, back to the saga. After almost 9 hours of hiking (remember the extra miles before I got to Timpanooke? I was really, really feeling those at this point), all I wanted to do was get to my car, drink the rest of my water, and head in a hurry to a very hot shower. This time, I knew which trail to take-the Great Western Trail is #150. At the road, I hesitated...do I continue on this trail, which is supposed to hook up with the Salamander Flat campground, or just follow the paved road? I went with the trail for maybe a half a mile before I determined that perhaps trusting my own judgement was a mistake, and turned around to make it back to the road. That's another superfluous mile, mind you. I made it back to the road and started hoofing it. But Salamander Flats didn't show up when I thought it should, and I freaked out. In hindsight, I should have just kept going, seeing as I was maybe 200 feet away from the entrance, but I couldn't see the sign around the corner, and nothing was looking familiar. Of course it wouldn't, because it was dark when I drove there in the morning, but at this point I was too dang tired to think logically. So, panicked that I had missed it, or turned the wrong way onto the road, I turned around and walked back down looking for the entrance to Salamander Flats. When I got back to the entrance to Timpanooke campground, I was totally ready to cry, and of course, my cell phone got no reception. It did on the saddle, when I had no need for it. Aaaaargh! I was ready to call my brother and beg him to come pick me up at the Timpanooke campground. But I couldn't, so I turned around again, and headed back up the road, praying that a grizzly would appear, take a swipe at my head, eat my liver and put me out of my misery. The bear didn't appear, but about another mile up the road (and I mean that in the literal sense, as in after all this hoofing it out in the woods, I was on an incline, again), the entrance to Salamander Flats did, and I finally made it home.

I should be grateful, really. I can just imagine what a task it is for my guardian angels to keep me out of trouble on the trail. If it was all up to me, I would probably still be on trail 189(where does trail 189 go? I still have no idea), somewhere deep in the Uintah forest, wondering why in the name of all that is holy there weren't more folks on the trail, and where the dang book you sign at the summit is. It's probably good that winter will be here soon. I don't even try in the wintertime. And just for the record, I love hiking, even when I'm lost (which is most of the time).