Mei-Xing waved a yellow flag and Mr. Leung and I rejoined her flock. We were about to leave the low-slung walls of the Forbidden City to visit one of the wonders of the medieval world.
The Great Wall of China took two thousand years to build and is approximately thirty-one thousand miles long. In most tourist photos you see of this landmark, sightseeing visitors amble along a gently inclined section of the Great Wall that overlooks a beautiful mountainous terrain.
Just my luck — that particular area was currently closed and we were directed to an extremely steep path. The route included stairs that led straight up a virtual Mount Everest. Each stone step was over a foot high.
No problem, I thought. It'll be a pretty good workout and we'll get a hell of a view.
I began the ascent. Stone guardhouses were built at intervals along the hill. Other tourists mingled around them to take pictures and rest before either continuing upward or, more sensibly in my opinion, descending down to the gift shop and ice cream stand.
Peering up, it was impossible to see an end spot for our hike because the path meandered around many corners. During the walk I would think every guard station was the final one only to see another in the distance.
Mr. Leung, a bundle of energy, caught up to me at a rest stop and threw down a challenge to go higher.
Oh sure! I agreed.
And higher we went.
Leonard reached us, flush with the pep of a nineteen-year-old.
Higher? he laughed.
Well, sure, I puffed.
And higher we went.
Hey, how about some pictures? I suggested to the testosterone twins and we stopped at a guardhouse while I pulled out my camera. I looked over the wall, way, way down at the posse of wives awaiting our return.
Higher? Mr. Leung called out as he moved further up.
Um, sure...no problem, I answered with as much zeal as I could muster.
We climbed up the Great Wall of China for over an hour.
You know, fellas, of course I could keep going but I just wonder if Mei-Xing might be wanting us to come back to the bus.
They hemmed and hawed and finally agreed to return to the bottom.
And that was worse. The strain of ascending had turned my legs into Pick-Up Sticks, brittle and ready to snap apart. Gazing down the steep incline, my head swirled and I prayed I could reach the bottom without making a complete fool of myself. Maybe I could sit on my bum and slip down each tall step. My stomach roiled with the sensation that I was about to tumble and crash my way down to the base. Why did I agree to higher, higher, higher? What is wrong with me that I can't say no?
For three long days after our visit to the Great Wall I felt like I'd been beaten with a lead pipe.
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