We had packed lunch for the day and set out to get some exercise and sun exposure in the 70 degrees, hoping the rain would stay at bay and that the park wouldn't be too crowded. It wasn't and we set off on a few of the routes leading across a canyon ridge to a cave (never found), and looping back around to the ruins of a 50-foot-tall-or-so damn that had buckled under the relentless pressure of its captor seventy years ago. And then as we were heading back on the three-mile route to our car, the snake.

It's not really a big deal, I mean, rattlesnakes are everywhere in Colorado, but I was six freakin' inches away from the damn thing and came away unscathed. I'm getting ahead of myself, though. So, there I was, rather exhausted after the previous three miles of dusty trail and boulder hopping, and frozen in mid-step, six inches away from reptile-crushing fate (which would no doubt entail some kind of poisonous fang-sinking fate for myself), and the reaction was instant: an expansion of my ribcage and a slow, sort of relaxed intake of breath, as everything seemed to slow and I froze, Trinity-like, mid-step.

I felt Mike collide with my back and, seeing what had stopped me, wrap his thick arm around my chest to pull me back as the two-foot-long, yellow rattler recoiled and began to shake its signature tail, suddenly as though it too required a moment to remember its lines. A few things flashed through my head as all this was occurring:

• "Cool! A snake!"
• "Wait 'til Mike gets a load of this!"
• "Wait... Oh shit! A snake!"
• "Hm, this forward momentum is not a good thing."
• "Foot on snake = snake bite."
• "I'm going to die."
• Envisioning Mike cutting into my ankle and sucking furiously.
• "Oh wait, that doesn't work."
• "How far it is from here to the hospital?"
• "Shit, did I wear clean underwear today?"

And more, all processed in a matter of half a second. Once at a safe distance, we watched as the critter slithered into the budding brush, heaving heavy sighs of relief and proceeding to tip-toe around the occupied section of trail. On the trail again, my reflections grew more romantic as the adrenaline retreated and it occurred to me that when people say time slows and your life flashes before your eyes in dangerous situations, perhaps it's not time that slows down, but your brain that speeds up. Maybe this increased mental capacity accompanying the rush with brushing death is even what addicts so many people to "extreme" activities like skydiving and safaris. Then again, the majority of people I know who enjoy these activities are also fans of binge drinking and the company of Mary Jane; increased mental capacity would probably appeal to them about as much as an Rotary club meeting. I predict the next big thing will be whatever can deliver the punch without jumping out of a plane, hunting wildebeest in Africa or the occasional run in with a rattlesnake. Then again, maybe nothing really is better than the real thing.

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