What Is The Flower Of The Day Of The Dead Attempted Murder Hiking Fooses Creek

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Attempted Murder Hiking Fooses Creek

Last week my wife and I went on a short day hike, but as the hike progressed it became clear to me that she had hatched a plan to leave me dead on the South Foose Creek trail.

Let me set the stage for this near death experience. My wife often goes to the gym and watches her diet. It is beautiful and shiny! Me, not so much. I don’t exercise and I eat all the cookies, pies and cakes that she regularly bakes for me. This day she did not take a pack, but loaded her supplies into my pack, which I thought was rather heavy. This was supposed to be a fun little day hike, two miles out, two miles back, not much elevation gain, home in 2-3 hours.

So we went to the South Foose Creek drainage. I carried the pack and I’m glad I did. We enjoyed the stream, the small waterfalls and stopped often to take photos of the wildflowers. Loves the wildflowers of Colorado.

After an hour of hiking I thought it was time to turn around, but she wanted to continue until noon, another hour. OK, no problem and off we go. By noon we had gone quite far up the drain and also knew that the views from the top, which is the Continental Divide, would be spectacular. She said, “We’ve come so far and it can’t be much longer, let’s just go a little further.” OK no problem. But now the trail became much steeper and I started falling behind. Oh, occasionally she would wait for me, but as soon as I caught up with her, she would take off again, giving me no peace. She offered to carry the backpack, but there are two things my big male ego won’t let me say to my wife: “I’m tired, stop” and “Would you like to carry the backpack, honey?”

We continued on. Soon I was really struggling. I no longer had the pleasure of seeing wild flowers. She’d show them, and I’d think, “I’m dying here, and she’s talking about wild flowers?” Then my vision started to fade. Anyone with experience at altitude knows that hypoxia causes loss of color vision. Then it occurred to me that the last mile of this hike was black and white for me. Suddenly my nose started to run profusely, like from a faucet. The jet was so fast I thought, “This can’t just be a runny nose.” Then I realized what was causing this runny nose. “Sweet Jesus, I’m leaking cerebrospinal fluid! It must be spinal fluid!” I quietly started to panic.

Exhausted, I couldn’t go on, so I left my pack by the side of the trail for the final one-mile push to the top of the divide. Without a backpack, I managed to keep up for about 5 minutes, and then I started falling behind again (or maybe she just sped up).

She finally stopped and asked if I was okay. Crushed by exhaustion and humility, I had to admit that I might not make it. Then she gave me that “Oh man up there” look and started down the path. Following him as best I could, it became clear to me that this whole hike was a deliberate attempt to get me off. She was keeping fit and she knew I wasn’t. She knew I couldn’t resist her artery-clogging cookies, and she kept baking them for me. She knew I was on medication. She deliberately didn’t take her backpack and put all her supplies in mine, weighing me down. She knew I wasn’t going to let her carry the package and I couldn’t mutter the words, “I can’t keep up with you, dear.” And she knew she was the beneficiary of my life insurance policy. There I was, dragging myself, trying to keep up, sweating, panting, blurred vision, losing precious spinal fluid, and I realized that my wife of 29 years was maliciously trying to lead me to my death.

Somehow I managed to make it to the top of the continental divide. We enjoyed the fantastic views and she acted like everything was fine. We went down and went home.

A few days later, I asked her to check this story, mainly to record her response in an effort to gauge my future safety. She read it and said, “Oh, whatever” and headed into the kitchen to make…you guessed it…more cookies.

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