After closing up the cabin per Colleen’s instructions (“After closing the toilet lid, be sure not to forget to put this rock on top of it.”), we headed out with our packs considerably lighter than the day before since we had consumed most of the food we’d carried up.Five minutes after we were back on the trail, I slipped on a wet rock. My fall was cushioned by the tall grass. I wasn’t hurt, but I was lying on my back, my head was pointing down hill, I had a twenty-five pound pack strapped to my back, and my feet were in the air. I looked like an overturned turtle. The girls thought this was pretty funny.
Half way down the mountain, Colleen’s promise came to fruition: we were overcome not by one but three old Chinese guys –shirts off, backpacks on- jogging down the mountain. I suddenly felt very out of shape. A few minutes later when we finally arrived at the head of the trail, there sitting at the picnic pavilion were our three hardcore old-timers eating the sandwiches from their backpacks.
With the exception of my giggle-inducing slip, we’d made it up and down the mountain without incident. As we were taking the last few steps of our 10,000-step journey, Elise twisted her ankle -slightly. Fighting back the tears, she managed to hobble across the street to the bus stop.
No sooner had we set down our packs to wait in the shade of the bus stop, than our three Chinese speed hikers –with shirts on- approached us having obviously witnessed the mini-drama of the barely-twisted ankle. As the oldest of the three men dug around in his backpack, he asked if he could apply some ointment. Sure. So Elise peeled off her sock and shoe, and sat down right there on the sidewalk so this stranger could apply red flower oil (at first we thought he said rat flower oil!). After he rubbed the ointment in, he firmly held Elise’s ankle in his hands for several minutes to create warmth. As I watched Elise sit there, her foot being cradled by this sixty-plus year old Chinese hiker/healer, I almost wished that I had twisted my ankle. I felt like saying, hey, I’ve got this kink in my left shoulder, have you got anything in that bag for me, medicine man? But our bus arrived and it was time to part ways.
In the back of my mind, I was hoping that we would bump into all-night party dude, so we could tell him all about our exploits up and down the mountain. But in a city of seven million, that was too much to ask.
While the guide books are filled with some great suggestions (Hong Kong Disney, here we come), I am thankful for a memorable experience that was a little more serendipitous. It came about because we befriended a colleague, were willing to commit ourselves to the unknown, and because of my bad habit of saying “How about next weekend?” whenever someone tosses a token invitation our way.
After ascending 1,500 vertical feet and spending the night on a wind-swept mountain top, I fear that the rest of our time in Hong Kong will be all down hill. But I’m guessing Hong Kong’s got a few more pleasant surprises awaiting us.
I can only hope so.
-Jack
Considering that less than six weeks ago I could barely negotiate a single flight of stairs, I am very thankful for the recovery my body has made.
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