“Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I
took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” – Robert Frost
“Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I
did not have my GPS with me, and that explains why I was late to dinner.” –
Mike Taylor
I’m so glad to be alive. This same time
yesterday I strongly suspected I wouldn’t be. I figured I’d be feeding turkey
vultures and coyotes. As in, I would be the main course.
Like Thoreau, “I went to the woods
because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of
life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach…” Well, no. Really, I
went to the woods because I had some work to finish and figured even hiking
through the woods is better than working. Also, I had accumulated about 600,439
calories on Thanksgiving and they were crying out to be burned.
Fortunately, there’s a very nice and (it
turns out) very large state-owned
nature preserve/campground only a few minutes’ drive from my front door. I hike
there all the time, usually just a mile or two.
The terrain is fairly demanding in some
areas, easier in others, so I can tailor my walk to my mood and energy level,
which is determined largely on whether I had Mexican food the night before.
I hadn’t, so I decided to try a new
route, one I’d never hiked before. I was thinking just a quick stroll, a mile
or so, then right back to work. Honest.
Walking staff in hand, I plunged
unafraid into the trackless wilderness. Okay, there were tracks. And a trail.
And little signs every couple hundred yards marking said trail. And arrows
pointing the way. Basically, everything but traffic lights.
The point is, I was plunging unafraid.
The first mile went by too quickly. For
late November, the weather was amazing; mid-fifties, slightly overcast sky, gentle
breeze. I decided one mile might as well be two, since I was here anyway. Two
became three.
I came to a fork in the well-marked
trail; to the left, the trail continued on, wide and well-marked; to the right,
it was little more than a foot path, half buried beneath a heavy blanket of
fallen oak leaves. Remembering the Frost quote cited in the opening of this
column, I veered right. Adventure is my middle name.
The path meandered first east, then
west, growing narrower and more obscure as I hiked along. I lost the path, then
found it again. Then lost it again. Being the savvy woodsman I am, I figured I’d
just keep going the same direction until I encountered another path. I mean,
this was a state park, for crying out
loud! Not a real trackless
wilderness.
I’d left my Brainiac phone in the car,
but my almost-as-smart watch was telling me I’d walked over four miles already.
Sadly, without my phone to provide it information, my watch isn’t particularly
good at determining my location. It stinks at this job, in fact.
Eventually, I stumbled upon a trail, but
not one made for humans. The deer, apparently, need no signs or arrows to
figure out where they are. But a trail is a trail. I followed it.
A gun went off, nearby. It was then I remembered
it’s deer hunting season. Deep in the woods, dressed in a brown leather jacket,
tan baseball cap, grey jeans. I couldn’t have looked more like a deer if I’d hot-glued
antlers to my head.
Better still, it was getting dark. The only thing more fun than being lost in the woods is being lost in the
woods after dark. A half-hour later, I was. Since I hadn’t planned for a
nocturnal excursion, I had no flashlight with me.
I considered stopping long enough to
carve my Last Will & Testament into a piece of birch bark, but then
realized I don’t have that much stuff anyone will want after I’m dead.
I’m writing this, so obviously I
eventually found a trail, which lead to a larger trail, which lead to a road,
which lead to my car, which lead to a Mexican restaurant that serves beer.
The next time two roads diverge in a
wood, I will be taking the one with pavement.
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