Page 23 of Irresistible Silver Fox

Hanging out with Dave now comes with a pinch of trepidation. There is a secret begging to burst from me - my liaison with his darling daughter, Izzie. A secret that I fear might inadvertently slip out in a moment of chit-chat along the mountain trails.

With a sense of anticipation, I begin gathering my gear: sturdy hiking boots, supportive walking sticks, a water bottle to keep me hydrated, and a backpack for provisions. I methodically tick off each item in my mind, verifying my readiness for the upcoming hike.

The plan is to pick up Dave and then head to our beloved trail situated in the serene state forest. It is approximately a thirty-minute drive from us, but it feels like a place lost in time, where you could escape into the alluring wild, leaving the hustle and bustle of modern civilization far behind.

The minute I climb out of my pickup truck, the scent of the Trakson National Forest embraces me—fresh pine mixed with damp earth—a heady combination that fills my senses with nostalgia. I look up, and the sky is the kind of blue only Mother Nature could paint, decorating it with the occasional fluff of cloud as though She didn't want the expanse to feel lonely. After years of skyscrapers and smog in downtown Seattle, this is a sight for sore eyes.

Sunlight dapples through the towering Douglas Firs and Western Hemlocks as I step onto the trail. Their imposing silhouettes against the azure sky remind me of how small I truly am in the grand scheme of life. My heart pounds with a sense of adventure, of freedom—an unconstrained universe is laying open its arms to me.

Each step on the well-trodden path pushes me further into a beautiful solitude. Ferns brushing against my jeans, the occasional sound of a woodpecker in the distance, and the low hum of a creek somewhere nearby—it feels like I am intruding into an intimate conversation between the earth and sky.

The diversity of flora is interesting, but it layers the path with an errant root here and a rogue branch there. I have to be cautious, not wanting to sprain my ankle or worse on the very first day of my adventure. But it is worth it; the hidden gems I find along this path, wrapped in the greenest moss or hidden under the fallen pine needles, could easily be part of a tale spun by a Tolkien-like figure.

As I let my stressed shoulders relax, I soak in the silence that is both comforting and unnerving. In the midst of the concrete jungle, one longs for silence. Now, in the middle of such a serene wilderness, I can hear my own loud thoughts echoing back.

I loosen my grip on the map in my hand, take a deep lungful of the oxygen-rich air, and let the tranquility sink in. This is going to be an adventure, a journey into the depth of nature and myself. Closing my eyes for a moment, I unleash my final shreds of apprehension, committed to devouring every unfamiliar path, every unexpected bend.

As the man-made landscape gives way to the wilderness, my heart swells. I am here, in the heart of the Trakson National Forest, chasing solace, chasing dreams, chasing myself.

Dave and I trudge up the incline, our laughter bouncing off the thickets around us, echoing throughout the massive expanse of the forest. We pant heavily, the thin mountain air amplifying the burden on our overworked lungs.

"You sure about this, buddy?" Dave chuckles, shaking the map in his hand in a comically exaggerated manner. His muddy brown eyes glint with the mischief of our school days.

"I'm as sure as you are about the Yankees winning the World Series this year!" I playfully punch his shoulder, getting in a dig at our old baseball rivalry. Dave's guffaw echoes off the nearby cliffs as we press on.

We stumble over tricky footing where the ground underfoot turns from firm to flimsy without warning, and the combination of twisted roots, leaves, and small boulders make the journey a logistical puzzle. A few missteps, a slight tumbling down the hard patch that Dave instantly terms 'Slip n Slide,' and some heart-pounding close shaves - it all adds to the thrill.

"Remember when we thought running bases was hard?" Dave huffs, wiping sweat from his brow. His laugh is warm, dusted with the rugged grace that only years of friendship and intimate familiarity can bring.

"Or dealing with Coach Thompson's drills!" I chuckle. Those rigorous exercises were nothing compared to the wild unpredictability of the wilderness.

As our hike continues, the banter quiets down, replaced with the tranquil harmony of intertwined memories. From our shared dreams of becoming World Series heroes to the more recent ones of escaping to the tranquility of nature in the off seasons, we traversed the peaks and valleys of life. And just like this mountain, those challenges, too, had seemed insurmountable until we conquered them.

Our trek ends with the magnificent sight of the peak. We look out at the panorama of endless forest, colors playing peek-a-boo with the fading sunlight. It’s majestic, the kind of view we only dreamed of in those steamy locker rooms and glaring baseball fields. The gentle wind whispers secrets into our ears as the setting sun meets the horizon, giving way to the cool dusk.

Standing there, in the tranquility of the Trakson National Forest, we know we had found the off-season paradise we had longed for in those sweat-soaked jerseys and stadium cheers, a silent triumph echoing in our exhales blending perfectly with nature's lullaby.

Side by side, silent for once, we both know - that the dreams of two west coast boys had never fully left us and were, in their essence, still alive in two grown men relishing the peace atop a peak.

As we start our descent, the calmness was soon broken by our grousing about the increasingly rough terrain. Nature's comedy is woven into our dialogue.

“Just be glad we didn’t pack the tent,” Dave groans, stumbling slightly over an exposed root.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You falling for Mother Nature, huh?”

"No, the lady's gotta play hard to get once in a while," he retorts, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Unlike some people, I could mention..."

"Oh, I see how it is!" I bellow through my laughter. "Bringing up old flames on a mountain, really, Dave?"

"If the shoe fits," he shrugs, a smug smirk spreading across his lips.

We find a rhythm, throwing jibes and teasing each other like we were ten years old all over again. Recalling old high school heartbreaks, disastrous dates, and pranks pulled on unsuspecting teammates.

"Remember the time you convinced the rookie that a goat was our team's new pitching weapon?"

Dave erupted into laughter, "Oh man, the look on his face when we walked in with that goat. He nearly quit!"

"And then there was the girl from Indianapolis...what was her name?" I ponder, attempting to cast my memory back.

---