A Quest in a Mist

The moon was full, a front was quickly moving in as it struck midnight. I couldn't tell the thick atmosphere apart from the smoke of our cheap cigars as Chad and I sat upon the summit of Old Rag. The winds whipped over our heads, below us was swirling fog, in a seemingly endless abyss. Entranced by the mist and in a moment of tranquility I thought "damn this is the last thing I thought I'd be doing today when I woke up this morning". I live for these times. Two and a half hours earlier I was in my townhouse eating dinner after an hour long workout at the gym. The phone rang. Chad said he was on his way to Old Rag to track down some climbing gear he had left at the top of the PACT wall. So I woofed down the rest of my baked salmon and roasted Brussels sprouts. Jumped in the RSX and went through the gears with a fury. Beating Chad to Flint Hill, I grabbed a hard cider at the Griffin. He pulled up and we hurled towards the mountains' base. The hike was surreal. Darting through the mist, weaving over the terrain. We got to the top in one hour with no flashlights.