Hiking Bribe Sandwich

For the last few days, Mark has been wanting to go up Spencer's Butte or Mt. Pisgah, but hasn't had enough umph to do so.  This was sad because being in the woods and hiking rejuvenates Mark.   I decided that if The Family went, Mark would be more likely to go.  I enlisted the help of The Child.  This required some negotiation.

Me:  "Mark's been wanting to hike, and I think if we all go, he'll be more likely to."

The Child:  "Oh... Kay..."

Me:  "So Saturday, we should all get up first thing in the morning and climb up Spencer's Butte."

TC:  "Uh -- but what about videos?"

Me:  "We'll start early so we get back early and you can still Saturday binge watch your regular allotment."

TC:  "Can't you go without me?"

Me:  "Bud, Mark's been kind of bummed about not hiking, and I could use your support helping him.

TC: "..."

Me:  "I'll pack a breakfast."

TC (eyes lighting up):  "We can stop at McDonald's and get a McMuffin?"

Me (trying not to roll my eyes or make hacking noises):  "Ugh.  No.  Um.  I'll make you a McMuffin at home and we can eat it up on top."

TC: "You'll make it with 'Merican cheese?"

Me:  "Yes."

TC:  "And those sausage links."

Me:  "I can get some sausages."

TC:  "No, they need to be those little sausage things they put on the side."

Me:  "How about I chop up the bacon and put it into the eggs?  With cream cheese.

TC: "Bacon?  (clearly tempted)  Maybe I could do a bait-and-switch.  You could say, 'Come on Mark, we're going,' and I could get into the car, and then I could slip out the back and into the house and you guys could go without me."

Me:  "If you don't go on the hike, there's no McMuffin.  Come on, bud, this is to get Mark into the woods.

TC (resigned):  "Okay."

* * *

Saturday morning I roused myself from bed, started the water for Mark's coffee (and my tea), and fired up the stove top.  The crescent moon shone about twenty degrees away from Saturn (alas, their conjunction the day before was clouded over).  

Luckily, we live near a meat market, so I had some Canadian Bacon slices and some American Cheese.  It wasn't the original bacon plan, but I vaguely remember ham or something being layered in the original breakfast sandwich, and -- more importantly -- the folks at the meat market had suggested Canadian Bacon when I told them I was making a Hiking Bribe Sandwich.  I tried pouring the scrambled egg-and-cream-cheese into a round cookie cutter to make a kind egg patty, but the the egg either seeped out of the bottom or adhered to cutter, so I just scrambled the eggs as best as I could and kept things as thick as possible.  Once everything was cooked, I assembled the sandwiches and wrapped them up in waxed paper for that cheap-fast-food presentation.

I packed sandwiches, fruit, beverages, and my camera, and -- amid accusations of being an autocrat -- got everyone into the car.   I want to say we got to the parking lot at 8.  It was mostly empty, which was nice, as on pleasant Saturdays Spencer Butte is a popular destination (editor's note: borne out by a friend later).   Someone chose the Steep Route up the west side of the butte, and we got a round of cardio in climbing up to the top.  

At first, The Child ranged in front of us, but we overtook him about two-thirds of the way up.  The ferns on the lower slope were still flattened by last month's foot of snow.  Farther along, uprooted Douglas firs and ponderosa pines lay fallen on the ground or smashed against still standing trees.  Chainsawed segments had been rolled off of the path.   I'd worked up a sweat climbing the shaded side of the butte, and as my head popped up out of the shade, I discovered we'd been climbing in the lee of the butte, too.

Low clouds loomed in the distance surrounding the northern part of the valley, and trees in the meadows between Spencer Butte and Mt. Pisgah cast long shadows through the fog.  Mt. Jefferson poked up through the haze, and the Three Sisters huddled together in the gauze on the horizon.  Saturn and the stars were gone, but the crescent moon sailed the southern sky.

The brisk wind helped unfurl the ground cover, and we needed to anchor the leading edge to keep it from bunching up.  The Child foraged through the insulated bag and ripped into a sandwich.  I poured myself some tea.  Mark bit into a marshmallow-chocolate-chip-mint treat I'd bought, laughed, and said it tasted like the mint toothpaste he hates.  The Child gave the sandwich a rating of 10.  I passed out cloth napkins with a sense of smug accomplishment.  It wasn't exactly a Martha Stewart picnic, but as I sipped my tea, in my head I heard peppy, make-over show music playing.