Around the Next Bend. . .

One of the character building experiences of growing up in our houses was hiking. Once Jak and I had been dating for a while, we discovered that both of our parental units (or more properly, our Mothers) have a strange disability when it comes to hiking. While our mothers are normally experts on directions and distances, when hiking all destinations were strangely "just around the next bend."
Now in Ma's defense, while hiking in the Grand Canyon this is strictly true, however, it doesn't really count if you can see the campsite a half mile away. . .across the canyon. Only hours later would one actually reach that fabled "around the next bend." There is no defending Mum, there is no mythical bend that shows, well anything at all. Bends therefore have grown to symbolize that intangible feeling that comes from hiking in the woods. Or more accurately, that "Damn it I am tired and hungry and have no freaking clue what we are doing out here!!"
Now that we hike on our own, we have found that the disability is genetic, as both of us have inherited it to a greater or lesser extent. Jak to a slightly greater extent, as while she can without fail find a 1 square foot sign in the middle of a land navigation course, simple things like trails can on occasion defeat my fearless adventurer. Nathan has inherited Ma's almost perfect sense of direction, as well as her inability to be truthful about the trail ahead.
I cannot simply blame genetics, as the German's continue to make rather asinine decisions in cartography that do not help matters. Contour intervals are mere suggestions, trail markers a rarely seen oddity, and who in God's name makes grid squares that are 1400 meters wide?
Despite this all, we managed to have a wonderful time hiking down in Garmisch this week. We were down for a Marriage Retreat (what are we retreating from?) with my company, which in our chaplain's eyes is best served by having at most 2 hours of seminar in the evening and giving us the days to destress and relax. For most that involved relaxing in the pool or seeing the sites, perhaps with a bit of shopping. We strapped on crampons and mountaineering boots and climbed one of the smaller Alps on a path that can only generously be considered a trail. It was wonderful and relaxing, and exactly what we needed. Tom wasn't the most happy to be left at home, but considering he gets worn out after half an hour of "Throw the Catnip Mouse and watch Tom run into the wall trying to get it" with Dad, it was probably best he stayed at home.