Muskrat Hate

It's funny how the smallest mistake can turn a fun hike into a hike from hell. That's exactly what happened on this hike. It was a simple overnighter in the San Gabriele Mountains. the weather was pleasant and the route quite easy. What could ruin a hike like that?

My choice of hiking companions was the start of events. There were six of us on this trek. One of those friends had a bit of a sadistic streak. He was normally a nice guy, but there were occasions when he enjoyed tormenting someone. It was always mild but irritating. I had been on many hikes with him when the temperature soared and water was scarce. As we hiked, he would make comments like Wouldn't it be great if there was a fountain of ice cold Seven Up right there? It's not the sort of thing you want to think about when it's hot and you're short of water!

If you were a little bit miserable, he could find a way to increase that feeling. That's what happened on this trip. I made the mistake of mentioning how much I loathed Captain and Tennille. From that point on, the hike became a living hell.

You wouldn't think any human being would know the lyrics to every single song ever performed by Captain and Tennille, but he did. He proceeded to prove that point to me over and over and over for the duration of the trip! The number of times he sang Muskrat Love alone must have reached triple digits. What the hell is a Muskrat anyway?

Forty-eight hours isn't a long time for a hike but there must have been some sort of time warping that occurred on this trip. I'm sure the two days somehow turned into a week. The trip never seemed to end and neither did his catalog of Captain and Tennille songs. It was like the Chinese Water Torture. It just went on and on. You'd think his voice would give out but it never did. It was spooky!

As we hiked, I became preoccupied with choosing the best place to dispose of his body along the way. If it wasn't for the four witnesses also on the hike, I might well have given in to my impulse. Even with them, it might be worth trying. After all, they would testify that it was justifiable homicide!

Eventually, we all made it back from the trip. My forty-eight hours in hell were finally over with no lasting effects. None, that is, unless you count curling up in a ball screaming anytime I hear Muskrat Love on the radio!