No GPS Coordinates No Pics Hiking in Miaoli

My eyes still sloped towards the earth. My eyes sloped with conviction from the previous weekend.  

And so on, and so on.

As I sat last weekend, with the back of the rocks digging into my spine, the dirt attached in between my socks and my shoes, my shoes wet, and smelling like a concoction of stinky tofu & river sweat, I did not wish for a rest.

I did not wish for a bar. I did not even wish for a cold Taiwan beer.

The waterfall gushed from 20 meters ahead.

Now, the events of the previous week pass by without much thought.

The student who didn’t sing Heads & Shoulders Knees & Toes like I asked him to, didn’t seem to bother me as much.

The pride I felt, of Danny the former hellion who never used to speak, having to be told he was singing B-I-N-G-O too loudly didn’t seem to matter

The dry rocks can make your ankles twist with every step. The ankles and the knees only twist to a point of slight awkwardness. They never twist more than they should. At least, we hope.

The valley extended further than a pair of binoculars that only Donald Trump could buy.

The green trees covered my sight, with leaves green enough to color the tree-bark green.

Adventure lies ahead certainly. 

Adventure shall lie ahead no matter where I go. 

 Is it China? Is it Dubai? Is it Taitung?

Some of the girls I have dated since coming to Taiwan that I actually enjoyed their company flash before my mind.

The most important sound came from 20 meters above.

The water gushed down hard enough that you can’t hear a conversation.

What do you really need to talk about that badly anyway when you are in nature? 

Do you need to find out that badly how many countries your hiking mates have been too? Do you need to know how many years they have been in Taiwan?

Do I really need to make the joke again that I only go on vacation to the Philippines because I like midgets?

I can remember sitting at my desk in Mesa, AZ, spinning the corporate cog wheel wondering if I would ever get to see a waterfall.

I can remember another of my corporate cog wheel cellmates plastering a sticky note across her forehead without even knowing it. 

I hope she is reading this.

Four years later, waterfalls are everywhere I look. Dare I say, sometimes they even bore me.

I often miss that feeling of not having been in the mountains often enough.

The feeling feels like you have never had peace and relaxation in your life, and suddenly you have just smoked a fat Bob Marley.

For almost one year, waterfalls and mountains have filled my weekends

With China, Dubai, or maybe even Ecuador on the horizon, I often think about when I thought a big adventure was to go to Puerto Vallarta,Mexico.

Puerto Vallarta offers about as much adventure as a new haircut for a man.

This last weekend, the water froze my feet, even though I didn’t stick my feet in the water purposefully. 

That rush of ice cold river water never hit above my waist. I did not have the balls to sink myself in there.

The group of 20 year old kids coming down the valley from a deep canyon fascinated one of our trip mates.  

The blue skies never released their blue in Miaoli last weekend, just like the lush green scenery never released its green.

The 20 year old kids all had ropes, harnesses and other canyoneering equipment.  Apparently, they came from one of Taichung’s university climbing clubs while returning from higher ground than us on a two day trip.

Mountains, and water spark fear on this island. They offer immense danger, and should be treated with respect. Adventurous youngsters contribute to a reduction in this fear.

Our trip mate spoke to them like native English speakers. The kids seemed to at least get the gist of what he said.

The greener than green trees felt like they should be preparing for the upcoming winter by taking a rest on the fast arriving winter floor.

The amount of heat from the sun told us that the leaves would not only skip the winter rest on the ground, that they also would skip the fall change of colors.

Colors don’t ever change much from the green in the jungle.  Temperatures don’t change that much either.

The racket of the jungle’s song took a brief rest as well.

The two days of scrambling over rocks tested our creativity in many tight spots.  

The 50 year old ,drunk at 7 a.m. Aboriginal lady, next to our camp-site kissed me faster than I could duck.  

Asses went up the rocks first in many of spots.  Asses also went first in many of spots while climbing down.

In the moments of silence, my mind flashed to what adventure lies ahead.  If I made the commitment to work my hands like they should be able to,  I think I could maybe build my own trail some day.

My heart mainly calls for Colorado.  

I even have the name of a Tibetan child I would like to adopt picked out. I call him Omar. I often fantasize about him buying his first can of beer at 17 years old for his 20 year old soon to be girlfriend.

The timing does not yet seem right.

Then, my car doors open. 

Intuition to change the world falls to intuition to get a coffee from 7-11 and get the hell home so I can lay on my couch and stare at my phone again.