For years I’ve wanted to go to a place called the “Hike Inn.” It’s a lodge of sorts, perched high atop a mountain in North Georgia. The reason I’ve wanted to go is the same reason I’ve never been: the only way to get to the Hike Inn is to hike in. Yes, one must hike through the woods for five “moderate” miles to get there.
I’m all show and no go when it comes to being woodsy or outdoorsy. I read about it and dream about it and think about it, but that’s as far as it goes. Hubby is exactly the same way. Except he doesn’t do the reading, dreaming or thinking.
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