When I met Dave, he seemed to have only one speed. Snail. He sauntered as if he had not a care in the world. Still today, in stores, around the neighborhood, he is always dragging behind. But get him on a trail and it’s a whole different story. He’s like lightning. I am the one following him now, usually about 2-3 car lengths behind. Not by design but for preservation. Slow and steady am I as Dave leads the way. I am eating his dust. I don’t know where he’s found such pep but he has and it doesn’t seem to be going away any time soon.

I have voluntarily relinquished any real role in planning our hikes; Dave plans most of them (hence, Desolation Peak – that was all him!). He reads about each of the trails and talks to the Park Rangers and usually offers up some options. I go along willingly with his suggestions but it does not stop me from whining. Mostly just to be a brat; leftovers from my prepubescent days. Mostly. But then, he is getting a little crazy lately. When we arrived in Canyonlands National Park, we had hiked 8 of the last 9 days. I was pooped! As usual, he read over the park paper and told me that there were no short hikes in the park; he said most of them were 10 miles or more round-trip. I responded with a “How can that be?”. I mean, that would significantly cut down the number of folks visiting this park, right. He reaffirmed it was true and off we went on the Murphy Loop trail: 10.8 miles with a 1,400-foot elevation change. We hiked down (and back up, of course) a rock face (called a ‘wash’), through the desert, to a bluff that overlooked the Colorado River. We walked for 5 hours. It just so happened that I was fueled with some angry thoughts that kept me moving rather quickly on this trail but that is not a typical day for me. Anyway, when we returned to the RV, I looked at the paper and noticed there were plenty of other hikes in the ‘easy’ or ‘moderate’ section that were less than 10 miles. When I brought this to his attention, he said we were beyond those now. “Five miles is for beginners – that’s like taking a walk for us”, he replies. Huh, someone forgot to tell my legs that! He won’t even look at the moderate hikes any longer; he goes straight to the ‘strenuous’ section to choose our hikes. He has high expectations for us.

And so, the second day in Canyonlands was no exception. He chose the Confluence Overlook trail – ten miles that involved some delicate foot balancing and several butt slides on rock slopes. I told him we need to mix in some moderate hikes; that we cannot keep up this pace. He reminded me of the couple we ran into in Grand Tetons National Park back in July. They were also on a year journey that began in January so when we met them they were six months in. We met them on the trail and hiked together to stave off the grizzlies. We eventually reached an intersection where we were turning for the 6-mile trek and they were turning for the 14-mile trek. They smiled as we parted and said it was the same for them when they started – it took them time to work up to 14 miles. Dave says: “That’s where we’re at now, Laur, 10-12 miles is nothing for us now”. Is he out of his *bleeping* mind? I could literally hear my knees screeching and my feet were aching. My legs were so tired I started missing my step. I couldn’t wait to be done. I was cursing him! That’s when I officially crowned him “The Trail Sergeant”. But, unlike Sergeants in the military, this one doesn’t get in your face and call you a wimp. He uses flattery (“You’re like a hiking God”; “Your calves are getting bigger”) and reminders of prior hikes (“You climbed down the Grand Canyon with a 25-pound pack on your back”; “You blazed through the 11-mile hike yesterday”) and he constantly cheers me on (“You’re doing great, Hon”; “Nice job”). He offers me a hand to get up a steep incline. He watches to make sure I don’t slide down a steep slope. He saves his water so there is more for me. He waits for me when I fall behind. He keeps me moving even when I’m ready to give up. And, he reminds me that in spite of all my bitching, this is exactly where I want to be. He’s right.

Truth be told, I really don’t mind. I mean, 5 miles would be nice once in a while so my hip and feet, and, oh, my knees can recuperate.  But I do like the challenge and I want to be out in the park, not just standing on the edge. When we do these hikes, especially the longer ones, we are often either the only two on the trail or among very few others. It’s sometimes like we have the whole park to ourselves (or, at least, that part or section of it). It’s a treat to be away from the crowds (the tourists, we call them). We get to enjoy the solitude and peacefulness that hiking in nature brings. We hear the birds, smell the flowers, feel the wind. We are seeing things we otherwise wouldn’t see if we weren’t hiking 10 miles. And that’s the point. So, I’ll continue to follow The Trail Sergeant where he leads me. And, I’ll probably keep complaining along the way.