Intuitive Guidance Reiki and psychic readings by Grow Green Girl.

Hikemaster, Bikemaster


I am not great at biking.

So I was slightly apprehensive when one of my best friends, Lisa, decided to visit me in the ‘burgh and said she’d bring her bike. “Um, cool!” I said with false enthusiasm, which she definitely detected because best friends know when you are totally bullshitting.

But Lisa is a legit fitness master, who does P90X and everything, and I am an easily persuaded person so together that equalled: bike ride.

I had some time to bide before the bike ride, though, as our other planned activity for that weekend was hiking at Ohiopyle. It was supposed to rain and we figured we’d rather hike than bike in the event of a downpour. We stopped at REI in the South Side Works because they were having an anniversary sale and I stocked up on a treat I’ve had on my wish list for awhile: my first pair of real hiking boots. Okay, so they were kids’ size Keens but I mean. They were $40 cheaper than the women’s version. Lisa observed my choice of the fuchsia over the black pair without comment.

Oh, also, I joined the REI co-op that day so now I’m totally one of the cool kids.


Naturally, the rain started more or less as I pulled the car into the parking lot at Ohiopyle.

We had picked a trail that was about 5.5 miles long and that boasted a “Scenic Landmark” about halfway through. We had a good system befitting our personalities: Lisa led the way with the trail map she’d sensibly downloaded on her phone before entering receptionless woods; and I followed behind, daydreaming and not paying attention to the colored trail markers like I was supposed to be doing.

It quickly became apparent that it had been raining earlier that day because: mud. So much mud. Like, mud-wrestling championship levels of mud.

The mud made the going slow and tedious, in that special way that only mud can. My Keens held up pretty well for awhile, but at some point they surrendered to the soaking squelchiness. Lisa’s old sneakers were long gone.

Finally, though, we made it to our Scenic Landmark.


It was one of those moments where you’re like “I am wet and cold and tired and this rock is not a safe lookout platform and OH SWEET LORD THE MAJESTY OF NATURE.”

Nothing beats a mountain view. Nothing.

After we took obligatory pictures, with Lisa questioning my need to take a picture of the deep crevasse between two boulders (it was artistic, okay?), we continued on.

By the time we hit our next stretch of trail it had started raining slightly harder. Not a downpour as such; just a sort of drizzle that was annoyingly persistent, like the Quicken Loans people who keep sending me emails about Brexit.

We did find a cool little pond, or maybe a super-sized puddle. Whatever, it was totally magical.


Suddenly the rain started falling harder, with no seeming inclination to stop any time soon. It was at this moment that the thought crossed my mind that it might have been a clever thing to have owned a rain jacket. “Why would I own a rain jacket?” said my dumb subconscious. The rain jacket went on the wish list of things to one day acquire.

By the time we got back to the end of the trail down by the river, we were soaked and muddy but got ourselves some coffee and got pumped for the rest of the evening. Once at home, over takeout dinner, we debated what bar we were going to hit up that evening, and then as one mind, we both put on pajamas and went immediately to sleep.

In comparison, our bike ride the next day was a cakewalk. We picked the Three Rivers Heritage Trail that goes along the South Side and it is ALL FLAT. And I RODE IT. Like A BOSS. All 8 miles.

So screw you, Squirrel Hill and your hills. All I needed was a flat surface in order to shine.



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