A WALK IN THE PARK

“A Walk in the Park”

Happened last summer.  Can't imagine I'll get her to accompany me again this year...

As is our custom, my daughter and I make a list of all of the things we want to accomplish during our summer days away from school.  One such thing was walking at the park.  We went to Peace Valley today and after feeding ourselves at a picnic table, we felt equipped for the task at hand.

The surface of Lake Galena was gleaming gorgeously in the sunshine.  “Ab, do you think it would be possible to walk all the way around this lake?”  She glanced left and right.  Her optimistic “probably” was all the encouragement I needed.  However, I noticed her feet.  She was wearing some fashionable flat gel shoes.  The pattern reminds me of an oriole nest, intricate and beautiful.  But not particularly wise for walking.  “Can you walk in those shoes?”  She assured me that they were intensely comfortable, practically her favorite walking pair.  Though I held doubt on this point, we started toward the dam. 

Spirits were high, the sun was shining, the breeze at the top of the dam was energizing.  We can totally do this. The path was wide and flat.  How hard could it possibly be?   Forging ahead with confidence, we talked, we joked, we sang, we appreciated the waterfowl, and stooped to scratch the necks of passing dogs. 

The dam now behind us, we found ourselves on the opposite side of the lake.  It was like an adventure, really.  Things we’d never seen.  A lot of the path would be shaded.  It was entirely possible that this would be a lovely, albeit extended stroll.

Things were going well despite Aubrey’s announcement which sounded something like, “maybe I don’t feel like walking around the entire lake….”  I told her that turning around at that point seemed like cheating and so we continued on.  We passed a boat rental building (who knew you could rent paddleboats for Lake Galena?) and stuck with following the nice paved pathway. 

Quite unexpectedly, the pathway began turning toward the parking area instead of skirting the lake.  That seemed odd, but I was confident that the path would return to the edge of the water as I’d imagined. 

Unfortunately I’d imagined wrong.  We were out of paved path.  We were out of trails period.  It was quite abrupt-this shunting out onto a road (complete with traffic.)  I tried to remain optimistic.  I thought that perhaps there would be just a short distance before we’d find the next parking lot and the next path to connect us with our expected route.  It was at about that point my heretofore agreeable daughter began making accusations.  Things like we’ll be lost out here forever, and eventually some astute suggestions like, can’t we just turn around and go back the way we’ve come?

Still in exploration-mode, I was not swayed.  “Think of all the new things we will see if we go this way instead!”  I don’t know why I was so intent on the original course; but I could not see the wisdom in giving up so early on our quest to encircle the lake.  Aubrey was unhappy with my decision and began to grumble about her lack of iced tea, her sore feet, and her complete inability to even catch a small view of the now lost lake. 

The journey became old pretty quickly.  Walking on a road with cars zooming by.  Wondering if we’d ever find our way back to the park.  Speculating about whether there would be a way to cross the lake if and when we did….

Since Aubrey was carrying the cell phone on her shorts, she soon dialed Jim to complain about the maltreatment her mother was handing out.  He looked at a map online and determined that by that point in our expedition, we had traveled maybe 2/3rds the length of the lake.  Hearing that, I was encouraged that the end of the lake would certainly involve some kind of fanfare, or at least a parking area to lead us back to the water.  We pressed on.

Soon the road ended and we found ourselves back on a rather lovely shaded trail.  Things were definitely looking up.  Consoled that we were on the right track to find the Nature Center and Bird Blind, the spring returned to our steps and we again began to appreciate the nature around us.  A young buck, standing only about 10 feet away was so enamored with the wild raspberries he was eating, he didn’t even flinch when we stopped right in front of him to stare.  There were cheers of joy when we found the bridge across to the Nature Center.  A place where we had been so many times before.  Two snakes did nothing to discourage us- they were after all discovered at a safe distance.  We found a water fountain, visited the birds in the blind (who left in mass exodus when we sat on the creaky bench to watch) and we picked up a trail map to navigate our safe return to the car.

It should be said that before we celebrated our success at reaching the bridge, two additional phone calls had been made.  The first was to my son Isaac.  I wrongly imagined that he would be pleased as punch to rescue two damsels in distress and that it would just make his day to drive us to our car.  He was otherwise occupied with less chivalrous tasks.  The second call was to my mother.  I was certain I could coerce her to join us at the bird blind and then convince her to drive us to our car at the other end of the park.  She was unfortunately on her way to the veterinarian with her cat.   

I took a quick peek at the map, and still intent on my delusion that a beautiful paved path encircled the lake, we found a trail called the ‘Lake Walk’ on our map.  It looked pretty close to the water and seemed to continue (via some less defined stripes on the map) toward the main part of the park.  We naively passed over the known route (via New Galena Road) for this new and more exhilarating continuation of our adventure. 

At first it seemed like a good plan.  The path was wide and grass covered.  Lovely, really.  An alarming incident of Aubrey stepping carefully over a log, only to realize the log was slithering away was a slight speed bump in our otherwise calm and somehow once again enjoyable trek.  We both paid more attention to our feet thereafter.  The course was wide and dry.  An occasional inviting bench adorned the side of the path.  Almost before I could respond to Aubrey’s encouraging words, “I like this trail even better than the one before…” we came upon a fork in the road.  To continue right, it seemed that we would be eventually going back toward the Center.  So we stayed left, still hoping (in my foolish optimism) to skirt the lake.  The trail began to shrink.  Soon there was barely a place to put one foot in front of the other.  Foliage began to encroach.  My ankles were being tickled by assorted greens.  I have a strong aversion to poison ivy and am frequently repeating my contact dermatitis mantra to anyone daring to near the devious plant and who will listen to my sage advice.  I spend a lot of my time applying anti-itch creams and lotions to plagued children who got too close to those nasty plants. 

After several hundred feet of this trail (and I use the term loosely) I was feeling grim.  Aubrey, also acutely aware that things were once again taking a downward turn, voiced my favorite quote of the day.  “People who do this for fun are stupid.”  I would have to agree. 

I could not blame Aubrey for feeling disheartened.  Because by this time, a huge blister had erupted on the heel of her foot.  She described it as ‘the size of Montana.’  I removed my small socks from inside my new sneakers and she put them on her battered feet.  It gave just a tiny bit more cushion, but was a major fashion faux pas with her dainty gel shoes. 

It didn’t take long for my bright white socks to become the color of the earth.  For the trails were not just tiny at that point, they were also increasingly squishy.  I told Aubrey to disregard the moisture and mud which was squeezing between her toes.  This was not hard for her since all of her energy was focused on trying to avoid stepping on the blistered heel and/or any additional snakes that happened to be passing by. 

The trails went from slim and unmanageable to completely unrecognizable.  Rocks were jutting out at unexpected angles.  The intruding vegetation had now completed invaded and obliterated any semblance of the former trail.  The moisture had advanced from occasional mud to Amazon-like conditions and we held on to long flowing grasses to keep from being sucked into the earth.  Clearly no one had been on this trail for months, maybe YEARS.  I was continually assaulted by spider webs, hung deftly between the trees to catch unsuspecting travelers.   

Attempting to look at the trail map did nothing to cheer me.  It appeared that we had somehow gone off the trail and ended up on some deer path.  We had passed Bambi and his mother just moments before.  That should have been our first clue.  At one point we somehow returned to a tree which had been painted to mark a trail.  There was room enough to move and the trail was climbing.  We were encouraged that we could now see where our feet were landing.  Coming to a small stream, I went first across a slick log to the other side.  Despite the treads on the bottom of my shoes, it was all I could do to keep from slipping.  Aubrey attempted to follow.  She was no sooner up on the log, I heard a shriek and discovered her with not one, but two feet solidly stuck in the muck below.  She was standing astride the log.  I held out my hand and tugged and attempted to remove her suctioned feet.  Moments later, the foot holes in the muck were still evident, which caused me to seize with insane laughter.  I tried to be sympathetic to her newly twisted ankle, but the appearance of her now mud-encased feet was too much for me.  It looked as though she were wearing wooden shoes with just the barest hint of sock sticking out.  It was hysterical. 

Aubrey was a trooper.  Within minutes she remarked that considering the circumstances, we were both remaining fairly cheerful.   Occasionally we would hear voices on the trail, giving us hope that we were not doomed to walk these godforsaken trails for the rest of our lives.  But somehow we didn’t come upon any people.  The trail took a downward turn once more, confirming my unhappy suspicion that we had once again managed to lose the trail we were attempting to follow on our map.  It was at this point something like climbing down a mountain.  Imagine me at the front.  I am wading in overgrown plants and muck.  My legs are being scraped by heaven knows what.  The bugs are biting.  I am walking, slowly, down the hill with both arms extended backward.  Aubrey is holding on to my hands as she follows her unreliable mother into the unknown.  She is beyond disgusted.  “Hey Mom, is this what you were talking about- NEW THINGS you wanted to see?!” 

And then something unimaginable.  Aubrey spots a creature.  A human creature.  On a bike.  Going at great speed and just about 50 feet above us in the ‘wilderness.’   “MOM!  How is that guy riding a bike in this?!”  And with that, it all became clear.  There was a paved path above us the entire time.  During most of our march we were about ¼ of a mile away from it.  Though at this particular juncture, it was near enough to bring clarity to an otherwise impossible situation.  As hikers go, we are completely pathetic.  The trail was on the map the entire time.  And it wasn’t called anything mysterious.  It was called ‘the bike and hike trail.’  I didn’t see it on the map because I was so insistent on skirting the lake.  The worst part of all is that it originated at the bird blind.  We were right there. 

It was tempting to run at breakneck speed up the hill through the forest until we came to the trail.  We were so relieved to find something paved, we nearly kissed the ground.  The only remaining calamity was one of fashion as Aubrey still had to walk back to the car (over 2 miles from this point) with her crazy foot attire.  She at one point attempted to remove the unsightly socks.  But the blister complained loudly so she threw caution to the wind and put them back on.  We walked partway in the lake, removing the mud from my new sneakers and cooling the blisters on Aubrey’s poor feet.  I tried to convince her to sit on a bench and wait for me to come and pick her up, but there was NO WAY she was going to let me out of her sight.  She was probably afraid I’d take a wrong turn on the way back to the car. 

And so, we have crossed one more bit of summer fun off of our calendar.  And we can now say we walked all the way around the lake.  We figure it was something like an 8 mile hike with all of our wrong turns.  Little things like an aluminum water bottle full of warm water and sun-baked seats in the waiting car are a beautiful thing to find at the end of the journey.  But the memory of Aubrey’s ‘wooden shoes’ will bring a smile to my face for the rest of my life.  And she is absolutely right.  People who hike in the bug-infested forest on barely visible trails for fun are just plain stupid.