The forest was pretty dense and even a bit dark in places, except where shafts of sunlight broke through like stage lighting, and all of us stopped in almost the exact same place to catch a ridiculous view of the ocean and coastline, which was about 200 feet below us. I couldn’t catch up with Erin, but I settled for coming alongside her husband Kevin, who is younger and fitter than I am, which I still considered a small victory. The trip was our idea, after all, and I think we both hoped we’d have some proper bonding time away from the office.
The trail seemed to be getting muddier and steeper as we went inland for a bit, which forced a kind of choreographed hopscotch, switching from walking side by side to squeezing into single file. We’ve known each other long enough that it’s totally comfortable going long stretches without talking. That might be my definition of true friendship.
The trail became more like a mud-covered luge course, twisting and turning in a distinctly downward direction. For some geological reason no one could explain to me, this coincided with the most extreme root systems seemingly rising out of the ground like angry, branchy ghosts. This definitely tested the stability and grip of my new Range Lows, and I was happy they passed the test. As is customary, I took all the credit for it.