Having turned my arms into wet noodles through the judicious use of kayak paddles and an inability to understand which way the tides pull, but having failed to do any permanent damage to my physical being, I decided to step it up a notch (no pun intended) for the my last week of freedom and do a day hike in Franconia Notch. Now, just to clarify, I wouldn't consider myself a hiker. I bought hiking boots last year, because my honeymoon contained a "hike around this volcano, and don't fall in" component, and I was told hiking boots are kind of important in accomplishing that goal. Aside from that, though, my last real hike was up Mt. Washington, and I was 18 at the time. I also remember being very depressed when we got to the top then, drenched in sweat, ready to collapse, only to see a parking lot full of people getting out of their cars and running around to stretch their legs after that grueling (for their cars) climb up the mountain. Totally anti-climactic.

As a firm believer in "using my whole ass" (in other words not half-assing it), I picked a trail that was labeled a strenuous hike, between 8 and 10 miles long, with an elevation change of roughly 3,600ft. There's a hut maintained by the Appalachian Mountain Club about 4 miles in, then you can hike for another mile, turn around at the top of the peak you get to and hike back down (total 10 miles). The hut even has running water and the neo-hippies are said to be friendly in the summer months, unlike bears, who, I am told, are never friendly.

It being a weekday, the trail was mostly empty, but we did manage to meet some very interesting (and immensely friendly) people along the way. A guy and his dog Yoda (panting heavily and cursing all his fur, but nevertheless very happy), gave us valuable advice about scenic overlooks. We were wowed by the woman, looking to be in her fifties, who ran past us up the mountain. The AMC members at the hut even offered us leftover breakfast items gratis, for which I thank them, though I doubt they will ever see this (not exactly an internet hotspot, that hut).

Due to a missed left turn, we ended up hiking down about 1/8 of a mile before we realized that the trail that continued on for a mile was in the other direction. Refusing to hike back up, we decided that 8 miles was enough for our first real hike this summer and hiked down to the car. A familiar feeling enveloped me when we got there. Exhausted, with leg muscles I didn't even know I had cramping up, we noticed a sign we hadn't seen on the way up. This sign informed us that the hut we just hiked to and back was 3 miles away, not 4. Just like that, we were robbed of 2 miles of distance. Choosing not to dwell on it, we congratulated ourselves on the successful completion of the hike and headed for the car.

Never before have I looked at the clutch pedal in any car with as much disdain as I did just then.