I’m in the middle of reading a paperback called “One with the Light,” which chronicles “authentic near-death experiences that changed lives and revealed the Beyond.”

It’s been collecting dust on the bookshelf for years, so I figured this would be a good time to dust it off.

Little did I know that I would be experiencing my own “near-death” experience after being only one-third of the way through it...

This past Saturday, of course, was Independence Day, that festive holiday where we celebrate our freedoms and privileges.

And please be aware that this coming Friday is my 48th birthday, not yet a national holiday, but one worth noting in the grand scheme of a jumbled, aging mess also known as “My Life.”

These above factors triangulated themselves Saturday when it was decided that we would take an independent day trip to Fossil Creek, a recreational area just outside the small burg of Strawberry north of Payson and Pine.

According to Northern Arizona University, Fossil Creek is a unique stream that flows from a complex of springs 14 miles to the Verde River. It’s known for its travertine pools.

For about the past century much of its flow was diverted to the Child-Irving Hydroelectric Facility by APS, but that changed in 2005 when the utility decommissioned the power plant and returned full flows to the creek.

U.S. Forest Service and other outdoor-type officials are in the process of restoring the creek to its natural habitat, just recently tearing down a small dam used for the power plant.

Fossil Creek is definitely worth the effort, but just don’t leave your common sense in Fountain Hills, like I did Saturday. I didn’t see any fossils during our hike, but I almost became one.

It is a four-mile hike down to the creek, and obviously it’s a four-mile hike back up to the trailhead and parking lot.

There is a shady swimming hole – complete with tree rope for jumping into the creek – and a bit further down there are some waterfalls and other swimming holes and a cave. My 14-year-old son, Zac, and his buddy Tyler had a blast.

Me?

I was thirsty and already kicking myself for bringing no snacks and not enough water.

By the time we decided to head up the slope, it was in the middle of the afternoon with the temperature above 90 degrees and that trail looking awfully unforgiving to an aging editor who definitely wasn’t anywhere close to being in hiking shape.

Yikes.

I knew I was in trouble when little kids were passing me on the way up, staring at the old guy slumped on the ground coveting shade and begging for water or even a Coors Light.

As I moved from de-hydration into heat exhaustion, I was floating through this dark tunnel that had a bright light at the end of it.

My parched mouth, clammy skin and cramps gave way to a dreamy sensation as St. Peter bent over me, shaking me awake.

“It’s not your time yet,” he told me. “You have to go back and tell everyone not to be as stupid as you were. Don’t cross washes during the monsoon, and always take plenty of liquids with you while hiking.”

“Dad, Dad, wake up.” It was my son Zac, who had gone ahead to the car to retrieve water and grapes, coming to my rescue. “You were dreaming.”

Dreaming? More like a self-induced nightmare.