Exploring on Columbus Day

I would like to preface this by saying that NO ONE was to blame in this situation. Where some might see obstacles and suffering, others might see opportunity and celebration. And let's say if one WERE to assign blame, that blame would be distributed EQUALLY. Or at least 60/40. Or perhaps 70/30. Or 80/10/10 with that final ten percent blame being assigned to the negligent pastry shop who CURSED us by not having my requested white powder/white filling doughnut in supply. Naturally, I was flummoxed. I checked the name of the store. I glanced up at the flag blowing majestically in the breeze. "Is this NOT a doughnut shop?" I yelled across Deb into the drive-in speaker of my discontent. "Is this still America?" I shouted to the fates as I settled for my secondary doughnut selection. "Did you say a medium hot chocolate?" the disjointed voice that was the source of my disappointment DARED to ask. "NO I DID NOT," I bellowed, incensed by this rudimentary up-sale strategy. "I ordered a SMALL!" I whispered in Deb's ear as she clutched her steering wheel, "I hate her." I swiveled in my seat, pouting...brightening almost immediately. "Look, Deb...a trail!" Handing me my requested small hot chocolate, my friend assured me that our intended trail would be MUCH better. I giggle now. If only we had known.

It was Columbus Day and we had decided to resurrect our summer walking tradition. Deb, a native Mount Morrisan, decided to treat me to the famed Dam and Recreation Area. It was...in a word...delightful. We sat in a pavilion to enjoy our treats when I realized that I had selfishly taken a seat with optimal viewing. I apologized but Deb graciously waved me off, reassuring me that she'd been here before (when she was in the 3rd grade). Suddenly, the bright October sky was filled with flocks of migratory water fowl...captured and carried on air currents as they spiraled slowly down to the river. It was pure poetry. I described it to Deb in vivid detail. 

Having forgotten my mask, I waited outside as Deb ducked quickly into the Visitor Center. I investigated an unnecessary bridge situated in a traffic meridian, worried about the plight of the goldfish in the Visitor Center's decorative pool (With a little bit of foresight, the bridge could have been placed here) and then spotted a "Wildlife Trail" sign. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had been worried that our little adventure wasn't going to yield a very high step count. "I doubt we'll break 1,000 steps," I'd commented. I giggle now. If only we had known.

Deb erupted excitedly from the building. "You won't believe all that I've been through," she exclaimed, arms flapping. I stared at her, dumbfounded. "You've only been gone three minutes," I pointed out. I paused to review my own adventures in her absence and realized it was plausible. Since we'd both obviously been through a great deal in the last three minutes, I wasn't sure if we were ready to face the "Wildlife Trail." But in the great spirit of exploration, we decided to venture off into the great unknown.

With only our wits and yellow and blue splotches of paint to guide us, we set off. Deb may or may not have discovered a porcupine den but we were unconcerned as we felt we might be faster than the average quilled critter. It wasn't long before we entered a great meadow and I spotted a fox. With great stealth, Deb and I edged closer and closer to the clueless creature. "I thought they were supposed to be cunning," I whispered as we subtly snuck up on him. We took a picture and vanished before he even had an inkling of our presence.

We continued on our way, discussing poetry and world events...letting our hearts lead us. Before too long, we glimpsed a raccoon hidden in the shadows. Again, we inched along for the perfect shot...he never even moved a muscle as we took only a picture and left only a footprint. 

Resuming our walk, we noticed that our trail wound down through the forest. After we hand-fed a wild turkey, we noticed that the yellow paint splotches were arriving with much less regularity. "What is that noise?" I asked, delighted when Deb informed me that the sound originated from the local cannon factory. It had a symbolic symmetry that was pleasing as the originator of the Pledge of Allegiance was born in Mount Morris. Imagine my great dismay when she later corrected my misunderstanding. Canning factory. Not cannon factory.  Deb and I began to face the fact that our step-count was going to definitely break 1,000. "As long as we don't see the water tower, we should be okay," Deb reassured me. About twenty minutes later, we emerged into a small park clearing with a plethora of unnecessary bridges and a fountain. Rising imperially in the horizon, like a regal mountain, was a tall water tower. Oh. That was disappointing. Along with the fact that Deb didn't let me walk across every single bridge in the park. Something about conserving steps.

"I think we need to head back the way we came," Deb said. I scoffed. What did she know? Just because

she was raised in this area and I had spent maybe a sum total of two hours in this town...I decided to take charge. Our lives were at stake, after all. "Wouldn't it be better to walk along the road? It would be flatter (I giggle now. If only we had known.)." If Deb decided to accept this idiotic proposal, that's on her. 

What can I say? We were desperate. 

The rest of the walk was a blur. We experienced many highs and lows. A plastic swan perched up on a tall tree branch was a high. I took a picture to add to my thematic collection of cardboard animals that we'd seen today on the Wildlife Trail. We spotted a roadside puffball and sacrificed our dwindling number of remaining steps to investigate only to realize that it was a delipidated soccer ball. The passage that Deb declared as our road to redemption sported a "No Outlet" sign so we were forced to backtrack some. We discussed several scenarios that might induce a passing vehicle to stop and help us. We were past the point in our lives where showing a little leg was out. With enough notice, I could drop to the ground in a dramatic faint and Deb would fan me but me head-down in a ditch being dragged out by my ankles seemed more logistically plausible. Our morals took a hit as we began to consider a life of crime. We spotted a wheelbarrow. We could take turns pushing one another. Then we came upon a wheeled garbage bin that we could stuff ourselves into. A clueless landscaper guilelessly weed-whacked while we scoped out his roadside truck for keys. We were down but not out. We were determined. The wind was at our back. Lo...though we had suffered high winds...had been battered by severe storms...we were alone...afraid...and hungry (Those doughnuts had been HOURS ago)...we were uncertain of our path but stepped confidently towards our future. 

And then we were there.

At an intersection decorated with a sign announcing the presence of the Visitor's Center. Deb took a poignant picture of me hugging the sign and then solemnly told me that she suspected the intersected road was our "No Outlet" road. I was too tired to care.

I perused the park map before we got to the car and felt insane giggles bubbling up inside me. I pointed out the "You are here" section to Deb and then maniacally traced our dotted line path OFF the right-hand side of the map...OFF THE MAP...before we reappeared, Marauder's Map-style, back onto the left-hand side of the map. 

Also slightly-insane, Deb reset the odometer and we re-traced our trail of tears. Turns out the "No Outlet" road may have shaved some of the steps off our journey of self-discovery. "Some steps?" Deb blurted, somewhat imbalanced, "Some. Steps? It would have shaved off, like, 3/4s of our steps."

No matter. We survived and had come out on the other side, stronger and better people. Bent and broken. Bruised. Unable to walk or stand up straight. But INSIDE...stronger and better. We had forged our own way. Deb was the Meriwether Lewis to my Clark Griswold. We WENT OFF the freakin' map!

12,500 steps, 2 Pepsis, and a couple of Snickers bars later, we were home. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but it looked different. Brighter. Fresher. While our pain may have become more intense and concentrated, our world had suddenly become much bigger. Just goes to show...you never know.