Hike of Inspiration

One of my best experiences in my life was when I hiked straight up the mountain near my house with one of my friends. This occurred in 9th grade. We were simply walking home from the bus, and looked at the mountain, and decided to climb straight up it. We took his dog as well, and no water or anything. (As a side note, it would be good to know that my friends and I are not the type to usually choose to do anything active with our time, but rather, to sit and watch movies or read books and the like). The climb was arduous, but the view fantastic. We reached a large ledge near the pinnacle of the peak, and sat down. It was a great moment for reflection and contemplation. The hike down was very treacherous, as the mountain is very steep, and covered with shaky slate as its base. I'm still shocked at how well his dog was able to manage the climb. We returned home tired and dirty, and oh so very thirsty.
Well, today, I decided I needed another such hike for inspiration, but decided I would simply walk up through the nice trail that goes through the middle of the two peaks, up toward the much taller peak behind them. When I approached the gate to the trail, however, there was a sign that said, "Trail closed to all users. Violations Punished." An odd sign, due to its use of the word 'users' and the past tense, 'violations punished,' as if it had already happened. Nonetheless, it was clear that they did not want to have me on the trail. Recalling the adventure of so many years previous, I decided to climb straight up the mountain again. After all, the trail is closed, but they can't very well close a mountain, now can they?
I was really enjoying my climb, but getting fairly tired, when I stepped on a rock with my left foot in an odd position, and something very peculiar happened. The knee just popped right out of joint: it looked bizarre and it freaked me out. Luckily, it popped back in as I moved it about, and it wasn't in a great deal of pain. However, when I tried to bend the knee, there was a bit of pain. Nothing fantastic, but enough to keep me from wanting to put any weight on it. I was up on the side of a mountain, in a rather precarious position, as I began to slide my way slowly back down, trying not to bend my left leg. I finally reached a flatter portion where there was a small trail, and took that the rest of the way, limping only slightly as I hoped to 'walk it off,' as my father was so often prone to teach during little league. The trail joined up with the 'off-limits' trail, from which I proceeded to head back home. I wasn't spotted by anyone, and my violation went unpunished.
Despite the knee mishap, I rank the hike as a stunning success (assuming that my leg has not suffered permanent damage, of which I am still uncertain). I was able to see a spectacular view that I had long forgotten. It is quite wonderful to look to the left and see springville in the expanse to the south. Look out and see Utah Lake in its widespread gloriousness from afar. Look to the right and see the campus of learning that is BYU. And look down to see my very own street, and my very own house, from a much different perspective. I really needed to get away from all of that.
Also, I was once again taught the lesson of dependence (this is the lesson that I have been taught more than any other, I think). When up on the mountain, I was all alone. I wished I had someone to help me get down when my leg was not of use to me ... however, I made it down on my own, it just took extra struggle. I wasn't worried at all, though, as it was not what would be classified as a serious problem. It was just meant to teach me a lesson, not put my life in danger.
I brought my book of Pushkin poems along with me on the hike, to read when I got to the top. I never reached the top, due to the leg problem, but I did sit down when I got tired and read a few verses. This poem struck me as incredibly apt and well-crafted, and I'm glad to have come across it at this time:

I loved you, and that love, to die refusing,
May still - who knows! - be smouldering in my breast.
Be not you pained - believe me, of my choosing
I'd never have you troubled nor yet distressed.
I loved you mutely, hopelessly and truly,
With shy yet fervent tenderness aglow;
Mine was a jealous passion and unruly. . .
May Heaven grant another love you so!

- Aleksander Sergeyevich Pushkin, 1829.