The Weather Vs Our Hero

Day: 175

With the combined effort of the entire Cape Horn storm front and enough water to raise the Ark out of those obscure Russian mountains The Weather has crashed down on our Hero.  Armed only with his Boy Scout wits, his Olympiad puddle dodging skills, and the second worst tent ever made (the first being the old army tent I was force to sleep in through a East Coast hurricane for 10 days in 1993);our hero awakens to the once soothing sound of rain on his tent. The sound is no longer soothing as a small stream has took up residence next to his head whilst he slept.  Trying to decide his next play against this formidable Nemesis, he decides to duck out of his tent for a quick piss in the woods.

Slightly relieved, even before the impending doom that is his fate, he looks to the sky and curses in futility.

“Fuck”

Choices must be made quickly; make for the water or the road. The road is longer but won’t inflict the pain upon our shrinking funds, the water is a weapon of the enemy but has a boat and hot coffee… Where to turn? With no Choose Your Adventure readers to make decisions for him, he turns to page 109 on his own, rolls his drenched-muddy-tent, throws his last remaining dry clothes in a shopping bag, slings it all on his back, and sets off to use his puddle dodging skills to there best.  His shoes last 30 minutes before the trail has become a river, his sweater makes it 15 more before it is thoroughly soaked from dripping bushes that slapped their wet leaves against him with a vengeance.

Then there’s a woman; every story has a woman.  On the trail ahead she is taking part in the battle against the same enemy as the Hero.  Quickly joining forces, moral improves.  Stories of their own struggles are shared, bring relief that each one is not alone. The battle is far from over; shoes are overflowing with liquid, squishing with every movement; bones are chilled with the strongest weapon of The Weather, sliding down slopes covered in mud, and the backs are aching with the weight extra water that is saturating everything they own.

But alas, on the horizon the dock is in sight. only a short ways to go and victory would be ours. sort of.

Soon the Hero’s were greeted with a warm cup of coffee and a welcome only due those returning from vicious battle. Yet it was only a reprieve, and they knew it, the day would involve a struggle to fight with other champions for a seat on the only boat away from this horrendous power.  Then spend the rest of the day on a bus filled with similarly soaked victims, breathing that stench of people who haven’t bathed in days and are now soaked to the bone, shivering, in want of being anywhere but where they are.

Our Hero has made another narrow escape this day, possibly because the Weather did not realize the weakness of the pinkish-white flesh of our Hero to the hole in the ozone layer and the combined effort of the Andean sun, thus never unleashing it’s ultimate weapon on this rugged adventurer. The day ends as it should, with a glass of wine, a hot meal and a shower.