Goodbye, Martin

A few months ago, Ted invited Martin and me on a Search and Rescue night hike and mentioned climbing Pyramid's Peak in Tahoe via snowshoe. He said it was a 3 mile trip to the top and that we'd have to start on it early in the day. My mind immediately thought: Pssshh, little hike with snowshoes, no big deal. 4 hours tops. WRONG. So very wrong.

We had to find a date that was convenient for Martin, because the world revolves around his schedule of deserting his San Franciscan comrades for the sunkissed girls, Ed Hardy tees and endless traffic of L.A. We picked the day after Martin's goodbye party to embark, Ted smartly planning an afternoon departure to allow Martin some recovery from the debauchery and mayhem. Ted picked everyone up and we were off in his sweet Jeep, making decent time on the way up there, stopping for gas and snacks, and indulging in delusions about winning the lottery. Ted would quit his job and throw an "I'm Rich and You're Not" party for all his pals, I would pay off any debts and travel, and Martin wanted a be-diamonded ice axe. So delirious with our imaginary millions were we that we accidentally ventured into another state.

Upon arrival at Jen and Hanley's cabin, disrupting one of their roommates who surely wasn't expecting us to ruin the peacefulness of her wine and puppy cuddling, we dropped off our stuff, went "off-roading" and headed to Muha's cabin for some yummy grilled food, relaxing hot tubbing and Catch Phrase. After getting back, we organized our packs for the next day's adventure, then Ted and I reviewed logistics while Martin slept in the spider-riddled attic. I still had no idea what I was in for, even with Ted going over the topographical maps with me.

After McDonald's and the boys insisting on getting themselves Subway sandwiches, we were off. 9:40am we were all geared up and on our way, altitude around 5,500 ft. The starting leg was a scramble straight up a creek. I led the way for the first and only part of the trip. I stripped down to my tanktop within 15 minutes of starting--sad barometer of my physical condition that I was sweating so profusely I needed to be half-naked in the snow...

After strapping on our snowshoes, Ted noticed my hopeless incompetence at walking in them and took the lead. Martin followed and I brought up the rear, eternally thankful that the weight of two men ahead of me helped make a nice, already carved path. I lagged behind a good 30 feet, sneaking in breaks whenever I could. Martin stopped every 5 to 10 minutes to "take pictures" so I could catch up/ he could pretend he was waiting for me to catch up and get in a break himself. Ted patiently waited for us, like a parent watching a couple of hapless toddlers. The mountain kept going on and on, and was a vertical ascent as far as I was concerned. I learned to stop asking Ted our altitude because what seemed like 45 minutes would go by and he'd respond we'd covered all of a paltry 100 feet in elevation. Disheartened, limbs ready to mutiny for not having been prepared for such a trek, I'd lower my head and march on wondering when the misery would end.

The view was the only thing making the climb bearable. The higher we got, the more we could see. Distant snow covered mountain peaks rising majestically in the winter silence, punctuated only by our determined push through the snow. When we reached the final stretch and could actually see the peak, the elements turned against us. About 200 yards past the tree-line, the wind pursued us with a vengeance and the snow turned to ice. The only other sign of life were these creepy little flies, what sustained them was a mystery. Instead of continuing with our switchback pattern, we decided to face the mountain head-on and summit in a direct path. Never have I felt like the entire world was against me. The wind increased its relentless hounding of us, allowing 2 or 3 steps before you had to stop, brace and find hidden reserves of steel strength continue. I managed to get ahead of the boys for a little while, but my victory was short-lived, as Ted was determined not to let the slacker get to the top first. Every time I thought we were almost there, another peak would appear and I would cry a little to myself, convinced we had actually been transported to some cruel, barren part of the arctic or banished to Siberia. Ted and Martin jubilantly celebrated having mounted the peak while I was trying desperately to restore feeling to my blue fingers. Martin had inhaled his sandwich before Ted and I could even open our bags. Martin's bourbon provided a nice little warm spot in the belly and Ted's Coors was surprisingly refreshing. I happily enjoyed my lollipop, amazed with the stunning view and thinking proudly "Look what I did!" 9,897 feet. We were truly on top of the world!

The descent was mercifully less painstaking. Halfway down, the boys stopped to play with their ice axes, while I gladly welcomed the rest. For every 100 times Martin and I fell, Ted maybe slipped. I frequently gave up and slid down on my romp whenever possible. We finally made it back to the car, 9.5 hours later, sore, tired and quite pleased with ourselves. We stopped for snacks and Martin was kind enough to pick up some DayQuil for us all, as the two of us had developed some nasty, hacking cough and Ted had just gotten over one. We stopped in Davis for burritos and to let some of the traffic thin out. I reviewed what constitutes consent with them on the way back--their moms would be proud that they know the difference!

All in all, it was a great trip. Ted and Martin are definitely good people that I am delighted to call my friends. We're gonna miss Martin being here in San Francisco, but I'm sure the future will have many more such adventures in store.