-----
Stardate 1.41 Chief Leisure Officer SpankyBackhand coming to you live from the poolside holodeck;
Musing that it was nigh on 3 years ago to this day that I decided hiking was anaethema to my very soul, Jorge slowly rubs a mixture of guava, opium, cormorant guano, and willow bark extract into my stumps, and the ensuing ticklish phantom-pleasures remind me of that humorless foot-plagued time in my distant past, whereupon I was forced to cross the Alps as one of Hannibal's elephants. It had started as a bizarre idea of connections, a traipse between dwellings, a purported challenging yet rewarding jaunt next to a few scenic mountains, with the eventual goals of coronary artery plaque regression, sweat excretion, cheese mastery, the reenactment of the second Punic war, and renewed familial connections.
Sadly, what was to be a a three hour tour, turned into a many month trial of woe and weeping, of human depravity and cannibalism, of bizarre hair coloring and insect-comparable pack lofting accomplishment, and the true facts of the disappearance of all my fellow hikers is a story I could not reveal to the jury or the press until recent zloty advances were confirmed. My feet never recovered from the insults received upon said trip, and my amputations must be ministered too still daily or else my sleep is plagued with the nightmares of centipedes. I remember fondly the historic chinese practice of foot binding, I see comfort in Mr.Martin's cruel shoes, I scoff at Dr.Scholls, as all these are but a footnote to the macerated hamburger that remained after my second set of boots was tossed into the bay at Montreux, CH. The amputations have been made into stylish footstools and here is a link to a picture of them: http://www.rubylane.com/shops/decatiquestudios/item/TEFS
I awaken from this now familiar recurrent dream, to find myself lying upon the 1200 thread count sheets in our Junior Suite in the Montreux Palace Hotel, a member of the Fairmont Group of World Class Hotels, in a rafflish mood. My sweat has created a shroud of Turin lookalike on the sheets, that annoyingly will not befuddle biblical historians for decades, as once again, I neglected puncturing my wrists and ankles prior to reclining. I request yet another foot rub from Sally, and she saint-like usually complies. She works miracles upon my tired feet and will be canonized for this soon if the Pope is allowed to answer his own mail. It's this planet's original religious quandary - which will serve the long-distance hiker better?~ Let the feet develop callouses or keep them supple with unguents and creams? We have opted for the latter approach and every Drogerie is scoured for new products to aid in foot resurrection. Contains salicylic acid? Good. Contains salicylic acid and urea? Be
tter. Contains thrice-blessed, nun-approved, human-derived, antigravity-enhanced, liposomal aided dermis-scouring talcum chips in a base of dicocoyl pentaerythrital distearyl citrate? Intriguing! New sandals? How old school. Having moved up through the footwear ranks, from private 3rd class flip flop, to lieutenant soft leather evening loafers, to commodore rollerblade, to brigadier mountaineering crampon, I have finally reached the four-star, many-birded fleet admiral level of the long distance hiking shoe set - the full wooden clog applied to the salved foot with cheese-derived superglue! No more will you hear me complain of tired dogs my friends, for I have graduated, and I look forward with relish to tonight's promenade along the waterfront to show off my natty new foot bling!
Speaking of progress, it was recently brought to my attention by an inanimate objet d'torture in the wellness center, that my gradual weight loss has suffered a reverse in directional trend. Thus, cheese must be relegated to an "off the boat" level of culinary participation. I ululate, as now in French-speaking Switzerland, the food has reached new heights of decadence. The cheese in its' many varieagated and pungent forms, has made me realize that up till now, I was consuming cardboard and sawdust in a yellow paste base. My eyes and nose have been opened, but my mouth must remain shut against it's natural inclination, to this most sublime of pleasures. I consumed mostly waxy fruit for breakfast today, and will order a purgative for dinner. I expect to return home in an emaciated state that rivals the transformation of Tom Hanks in Castaway. Look closely for me Waldo, as I will be difficult to spot. This new found dietary restriction might have dire consequences for future hiking efforts ie. the dreaded Bonk. Take pity and drag me a distance along the path, should you find me collapsed in your way, upon the route between Montreux and Chamonix. However, look closely - my medic alert bracelet specifically forbids cheese rescusitation.
Orlando's Rule of hiking # 467 A palanquin is a perfectly acceptable form of footwear
