What a gorgeous day it was — a perfect invitation for a rigorous walk. The mere thought of a hike on a glorious Maine day energized us in our journey from Maryland to Cape Elizabeth. After suffering through an early June onslaught of heat and humidity, to hike through pristine Maine woods near our adopted summer home was the ultimate indulgence.

“Are you ready, Rick?” shouted my wife, Judy, a Portland native, a hiking enthusiast, but a nature novice. I, on the other hand, exclaimed, “Of course, I’m ready; why wouldn’t I be?” After all, I’m originally from Minnesota (downplaying my equally limited hiking experience or, for that matter, any raw exposure to the elements).

Off we went to the Winnick Trail Greenbelt in Cape Elizabeth, a favorite path. Having hiked the trail briefly last year and completed a menu of stretches for the elderly, we urban intrepids set out for a spectacular journey under a canopy of trees and amazing fauna.

Mentally, I was all in, Practically, as it turned out, I was painfully ill-prepared. Starting with my attire; I went with my default ragged, supremely comfortable shorts. Bug repellent and water never crossed either my mind or Judy’s. We were energized and enthralled by the surrounding beauty as we began our hike.

Judy, an inveterate explorer, led the way. I dutifully followed. Faced with our first fork in the trail, we went right, independent of any map indication. We completed the first loop and were ready for the blue and white diamonds on the longer trail. Immersed in engaging chatter and surrounded by the coveted beauty of the Maine woods, we clumped along, assured that we were on a longer loop that would return us to the parking lot.

After an hour, our energy and curiosity as explorers was beginning to flag. Nonetheless, Judy was undeterred. I, on the other hand, was starting to be consumed by annoying bites. Our first encounter with a hiker was encouraging. He knew the woods and with a broad gesture he pointed to the direction and trail that would lead us to our car. We welcomed that guidance and applauded our nonexistent risk management strategy.

The next encounter was with two runners. Uncertain of their location, they pulled up their trail tech GPS on their phone. We huddled together, learning where we were, but not where we needed to go. Still, we were consoled to have met another couple as confused as we were.

We trundled on for a brief additional hour. I faintly gave a shout-out to Judy that my knees were unhappy and that, maybe, we should admit defeat and crawl over a bed of poison ivy to a house visible in the distance. My beloved leader sensibly rejected the idea.

Soon, fit mother-daughter mountain bike riders were on our trail leading nowhere. They pulled out a hard copy map that clearly showed that we were miles from the parking lot. But Maggie, who was with her daughter, Norah, revived our hopes for a long life, saying, “I’ll just phone an acquaintance whom I know will be delighted to drive you to your car. Guess that friend is in France, but no worries, since another friend is around. Just continue straight on this trail for — not sure how long — and you’ll get to the road. Boy, I see that you have been devoured by mosquitos, but you’ll be fine.”

We made it to the road, greeted by Andreus’ smile, a water thermos and a pickup truck. Our journey officially ended with the first application of Benadryl and hydrocortisone.

As I reminisce on our experience, I look with pride on my leopard-spotted legs — a badge of courage. We’re readying ourselves for the next hike, this time with a different uniform, a thermos and a strong bug repellent.

Wonder what our ETA to our car will be this time.