The Smokies

Ah, the Smoky Mountains. Beautiful, right? Not necessarily. After sloshing through the mud for four hours during a downpour, it's beauty starts to fade. A lot.
When me and my family went on a vacation in Tennessee, we decided we had to hike the Smokies.
When we got out of the car, hiked up our backpacks, and loaded my little brother into his stroller, it started to drizzle. "A little rain never hurt anyone!" my dad said. "I'm sure it'll just blow right through."
It didn't.
Actually, it got worse. Much, much worse.
As we trudged through the torrential rain, thunder ominously rumbled above us and I started to wonder if I thought this through enough. Dad was having a hard time maneuvering my little brother's stroller around the roots, rocks, and mud puddles and up the steep cliff. He eventually had to abandon the stroller and carry my little brother on his shoulders. The sign at the beginning of our hike assured us that the trail was family-friendly.
It wasn't.
The sign also had said that the trip would be about an two and a half miles. We should be done soon, I thought, checking my watch.
We weren't.
Apparently, the sign had meant two and a half miles each way, not two and a half miles round-trip.
Well, I thought, draining my water bottle, At least there's supposed to be a waterfall at the end. That'll make this whole trip worth it.
It didn't.
I expected the waterfall to look something like this

...rather than this.

So we made our way back to the car, clothes plastered to our skin and soaked to the bone.
"How was it?" asked my cousin, when we got back to our rental house.
"I just spent the last four hours hiking through the mud, for five miles, up a mountain." I mumbled. "How do you think it was?"