Fifty Hour Holiday


On a whim, my parents drove out from Colorado to spend the weekend with me in South Lake Tahoe. I had planned to nero (hike less than 10 miles) into Tahoe on Saturday and nero out on Sunday, but instead I enjoyed a full zero with my parents on Sunday and then neroed out on Monday afternoon. Most town stops induce stress for me because I have more errands than I have time, so relaxing in town always falls behind the necessities, but Tahoe was different. My parents drove me around town to complete my errands, they took me out to eat numerous times, including an all you could eat Brazilian Barbecue restaurant. On Saturday my parents rented a jet ski for a hour, and my mom baked me a homemade chocolate chip cake. Miraculously, my mom found a great hotel even though most places in Tahoe were already booked for the beautiful summer weekend.  The weekend was perfect, but then it ended.

On Monday, after eating a large breakfast at the hotel and soaking in the jacuzzi, my parents drove me back to the trail. They hiked around Echo Lake with me before we went our separate ways. The farewell was difficult. I didn't want them to go, and I hoped the weekend would last just a little while longer. I knew after my parents left, the holiday would end, and I would have to face the dusty trail all alone once again.

The first few miles back on trail seemed to weigh me down, and the post-holiday blues set in. The fifty hour holiday seemed to last for only five. I loath when a joyful experience comes to an end whether it's a spontaneous weekend adventure, a beautiful wedding, or a wholesome dinner party. The post-holiday blues speaks to a deep desire that we all want more.  We long for the storybook ending which doesn't fade into the Monday morning doldrums.   

Part of me wanted to turn around and get into the homeward bound car. I fantasied about riding home in an air conditioned car, and after my arrival I would lounge on the couch for a full week before attempting to figure out what to do with my life. Deep down I knew that wasn't the story I wanted to tell, and so I pushed onward up the dusty trail. For the next few days whenever I came to the crest of the ridge where I could see the dark blue lake beneath me I'd instantly think back to the jet ski ride, the ice cream, the barbecue, and my loving parents.