Wild Azalea Trail (WAT), of tears
- Sugar Freak
- Mar 16
- 6 min read
The ole crew decided to hike the Wild Azalea Trail (WAT) which is located in Southwest Alexandria, Louisiana. The plan was to start at the foot of the trail in Woodsworth, hike halfway, camp and head north to the Valentine Lake trail head. Now, before I go any farther, I need to bring up one itsy bitsy point – this trail is marked “Easy” on the Hikrr App - I beg to differ, you fibbers! @Hikrr, side note: These ratings need to be revised to account for keyboard cowboys and other soft handed latte lappers – just saying!
Day 1
We got off to a nice canter, almost skipping through the first mile – there were smiles all around and our spirits did abound in joy at the prospects of beautiful Azaleas dotting our path, maybe adorning our very paths with petals in recognition of the valiant regal troop. Alas, the carpet before us was that of the last winter’s victims – dead or dying pine needles and brush that crackled in defiance at each step. Don’t be fooled, whilst a downcast face was met by a brown dying blur, an uplifting of the chin was met with a crisp blue sky punctuated with wisps of cotton candy here and there – making up for the dull landscape. To blunt the dullness, these three travelers chanced upon a sleight of hand for the mind – taking selfies at every half mile marker. We had definitely hacked this trail – so we thought. The sandwiches previously stashed in the backpacks were the true hero’s at the halfway point. That’s around the time I felt a familiar twinge in the old right knee. Alas, WAT had begun her mockery of this man, challenging and toying with me as I attempted to stoically defy the uneven terrain that had discovered my yet to be broken-in hiking boots. She took it upon herself to tame these wild stallions that cradled my feet and like a wild terrier tugging on a toy, went about her duty in earnest. Out the corner of my eye, I saw beads of sweat begin to dot my companions faces. We all bore the pain in resolute silence, breaking it with occasional manufactured smiles at the half mile markers that begun to play hide and seek as we steadfastly sought them out. The fabric of space had become elastic, adding minutes to each triumphant discovery of these dull metallic plaques without which I am convinced we would have become wild with anxiety at the thought of being prisoners to the trail.
Nine miles in, it dawned on me that there’s a difference between trail miles and city miles. The glutes were screaming, the right knee was in agony and the left knee had decided to join in solidarity. And WAT, well WAT had turned up the heat – the inclines and declines were ever so steeper. I started caressing the thought in my mind – was this all a mistake? Impossible! I had 3 half marathons under my belt, how was a puny little hike going to break me? I steeled myself for the coming Armageddon. Ahead, I heard hiker #2 convince WAT that they were the best of friends and that mercy was required to soothe the burning legs – WAT is deaf to these sort of bribes, she turned the screws even tighter. Man makes plans, but the Lord directs his steps (Proverbs 16:9). The Lord did direct us to this path of contrition! Mile marker 10, the old hips joined in on the fray, as though the collusion between my knees was not sufficient. Burn! Burn! Burn! Was the refrain at each step as I plodded on, thinking to myself, “has age finally caught up with me??” I was too afraid to linger on that thought, I chose to toy with the thoughts of s’mores and a nice long swig at the stashed bottle of water at Twin Bridges Road.
The dark thoughts that were slowly taking over were punctured by shrieks of delight, hiker #1 confirmed the proximity to the stashed treasure, a quickening of the step was inevitable, I had to flee the grip of WAT before she closed around me like a Venus fly trap! Oh, what a glorious sight our stash of grub was when we turned the corner and it peered at us in what seemed like bewilderment at our arrival! I tore into my bags and quenched my thirst with barbaric fervor. My feet or should I say, every fiber in my feet was shrieking at me in pain and disgust for the torture I had subjected them. No solace was sought, I was at fault.
We sluggishly made camp and enthusiastically prepared our rations. The s’mores were a treat but were no match for the aching this almost half centenarian was experiencing. It was a joyous moment when I slid into the threadbare sleeping bag. And that was it – a moment. This bag was not made for the uneven, twiggy ground on which I lay. No amount of rotisserie turns could bring solace to the bruised hips and thighs. The damp cold air around us completed the full measure WAT had measured out for us for daring to sloth around in her belly unprepared. I had never been so glad to see morning peep through the tent fabric – free at last! Free from WAT and her evil schemes!
Civilization!!
We were all famished by morning break, the ole city posse needed their tubs of lard and hanks of meat. Only IHOP could meet those demands at this time of the day. No disappointments here, the omelets, pancakes and hash were on-point. My daily quota of cholesterol had been met, all was well in the world! Next, the caffeine addiction had to be assuaged – hiker #2 had scouted out Tamp and Grind on 4th street in downtown Alexandria. T&G was a cozy little place broken up into nooks and crannies for her guests to discover and claim. The highlight for me was the spot in what appears to have been a repurposed fashion show window – if you don’t mind being a spectacle. Another fun section was the poet’s corner for all those burgeoning poets that seek inspiration as they sip on their beverage of choice. Sadly, I was underwhelmed by the cortado that I had set my mind on in the dark, cold and damp forest the night before. It had only one note – a bitterness that matched the lactic acid assaults I had felt the day before and which still lingered and were accentuated at each unnatural posture I assumed. I left feeling broken and tamed, the universe was indeed conspiring and this time, I was its lowly target. The darkness was briefly broken by the bright murals painted on the abandoned build right across the Tamp and Grind. However, I have resolved to re-visit T&G for an encore.
All is not lost!
I resolved not to leave Alexandria full of bitterness and resentment, so we headed on to Sweet Delta Bakery and Coffee Shop (SD, as I affectionately refer to it) Oh Sweet Delta! What a reprieve you were! Walking into SD, you get a refreshing and brisk hug by the bright and airy feel that contrasts the tight embrace of T&D.
The walls were adorned with a Louisiana-themed mural bringing the brightness on 4th street right into the building. The seating area is free of clutter, a small coffee table to your right with an appropriately sized cozy sofa to match, small Smith Corona typewriter in toe. Right at the helm of the establishment was the north star – a bright neon
sign heralding and announcing your arrival to Sweet Delta!
The enchantment didn’t subside at these extraneous trimmings – a slight lowering of the gaze was met with the most irresistible array of cookies and pastries galore, daring you to resist!
If you happened to break the spell and wander to the menu, you are met with a blackboard bursting with all manner of colors, announcing the creamy beverages at your mercy – cotton candy frappe, sweet latte, iced caramel macchiato. By now I expect that you are revving that engine to come prove me wrong! Hold your horses! It’s a nice 3 hour drive, and you earn SD only after escaping the jaws of WAT!
Naturally, I had to speak to the owner to ensure that no sorcery was at play – there was none, just blood, sweat and tears to get this establishment in top notch shape.
I settled for the Grizzly latte and flopped into the caress of the sofa, slowly letting go of the bitterness.
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