Table Mountain Hike, Capetown
05/29/10
Tessa´s car leapt forward with the force of a mounting buffalo on an unsuspecting sheep (aka the love making moves of my friend Phil from New Zealand), followed by violent shudders. Then stalled. With my head slammed against the front seat, I looked over at Boxie-boo who held a firm grip on both front seats to avoid headbutting the gear shift. We were alongside a row of parked cars on the road below Table Mountain, a viewpoint attainable to see across Capetown by either hiking or taking an expensive cable car ride.
“I guess we´ll park here!” Tessa joked, having stalled and turned her 2007 Volkswagon into a bucking bull. The drive included: 5,000-RPM clutch-burning starts, stalling multiple times, driving on the wrong side of the road, near hitting a parked car, and lastly, driving on the highway at 20 km/h when she had trouble finding the wrong gear, while cars passed seeming lightning fast.
Looking down a steep cliff with no railings, I offered to parallel park for her. She thankfully obliged. The two German boys seemed post-pee relaxed and looked at me with an appreciation normally reserved for snitzel. I felt about as confident in her parking as I would be suggesting that a penis pump would make a great wedding present.
Our hike started the way all our hikes began on this trip - I took the time to think about how incredibly attractive my readers are. Especially you. Don´t be shy. Go ahead and shake what the good lord gave you. Now shout “Bingo bang bang!” at least twice. It feels good. Trust me.
The hike did not.
With each step on properly placed logs and trying not to fall on sections of the trail covered in piles of rocks, I heard the shriek in my brain from every single soul sent to hell for playing with themselves. Instead of shushing them, my headache medicine decided to start a band with the shriekers. Their band was called “I Hate My Weiner.” After a night of drinking, even the Germans looked less interested in their snitzels. I pulled ahead of the group in case I followed through with my urge to put my head in a hole and scream downwards into hell. Your band sucks! After all, the possible bentover event had the potential for a loss of clothing, which would have made everyone uncomfortable…except the shriekers, as I suppose that action would have made me the next lead singer.
The view (above) made up for the hungover effort.
We reached a point about halfway up, just below a straight, sharp rock face that overlooked Capetown, the ocean and distant mountains. The white homes dotted towards the blue water covered in pencil thin lines of breaking surf, a wrinkling coastline. One dark green mountain in particular seemed to be reaching towards the ocean. I was relaxed and calm, even the band´s music began to fade. My only confusion resulted from not knowing where to pee.
We continued walking against the face of Table Mountain, its sheer, almost proud, stern posture. The mountain seemed to have its own expressions, changing from glum overhanging bulging rocks, to angered corners of sharpened stone black with dampness and dripping water. I could not help but be amazed by the dark brown plants, looking like fire-burnt pine cones turned into darkened sunflowers.
Unfortunately, Boxie-boo´s ankle - which suffered a stress fracture before we left Canada - became sore after ascending a steep staircase of rocks wrapped in metal chains. She wanted to head back on her own, but I, of course, went with her, where we waited for the others at the bottom.
With bright eyes and a pendolous underlip, Boxie-boo convinced the group of us to head to the Capetown Waterfront for dinner. The giant boardwalk was World Cup ready with many bands and street performers. Our waterfront meals were so good, I found myself singing “Bingo bang bang!” three times, the result of eating a massive plate of ribs for dinner.
That´s all for now.
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