June 11, 2002.
Hiking Blood Mountain

We hiked Blood Mountain this weekend. It was beautiful. Here are some photos.

	My fearless companions on the leafy trail. Tom and José and Nikolle (although you can't see Nikolle at all here). It is very satisfying to enjoy the outdoors with people who have great respect for it.
	Really, Tom does not "hike" so much as he "scampers up rocks like a mountain goat." This is the picture I had of him for most of the day. I was panting. He was not.
	José is really into birds, so he brought a field guide along. He kept calling certain birds "bad boys," which really cracked me up. Example: [gesturing carelessly toward tufted woodpecker image] "Yeah, we got loads of these bad boys in our backyard. They keep me up at night."
	You know how when you've really been working hard, pushing yourself physically, and then you finally stop, and you have something to eat, and it tastes soooo good? Nikolle brought two loaves of crusty bread along with her. We tore into it with our hands. Never before in the history of man has bread tasted so exquisite.
	The truth is, I feel like a fraud when I visit the forest. It's hard to describe. Every step reminds me how very little I truly appreciate the natural world. I feel like the forest sees through me. It knows I work in the city and swear at bad drivers and choke down sloppy food on my lunch break at my desk. It knows I am not gentle enough with myself or with other people. It knows. (I began the morning by digging my painfully pristine hiking boots out of their shoebox and blowing off the thin layer of dust that had settled on them. Sheesh. Fraud.)
	We spotted plenty of woodland creatures and other beings with exoskeletons on the way. Here, Tom tickles a crunchy millipede which actually was several inches longer than this photo would suggest.
	After the hike we went back to the parking area and sacked out on a patch of clover. We were near a lake where children splashed and shrieked. A dragonfly buzzed over and landed on José's bare toe. We were all extremely amazed by this and took about 5000 digital photos of the event. It seemed a positive omen.
	The Car That Fits In Your Pocket This is nothing more than a vainglorious moment for me to revel in the fact that I got to drive a Mini on Sunday.
	Friends, if I could have slipped this car into my pocket and stolen it, I would have. It handles like a dream. Very forgiving stick shift (thank God, as the owners of the vehicle were also in the car) and a smart little responsiveness. Utterly. Charming.
	Everything inside is cheerful and round. The stick shift is like a little silver orb. Just look at the dials. Do they not make you feel like you somehow accidentally slipped into a town square in Zurich on your way to pick up your drycleaning? Thank you, Gabe and Sheila, for letting me borrow it. And, um, anytime you feel like giving your car a little vacation, let me know. We tooled around and listened to Louis Philippe. The sun shone. I felt like it was in a commercial. Surprisingly, it was a very, very good feeling.