Off the Beaten Path

My husband recently celebrated his birthday, cementing the fact that for a few months, he is in fact older than me. He decided, like most of us, that working on his birthday constituted cruel and unusual punishment, and therefore, he took the day off, sticking it to the man. Since he is self-employed, he is just sticking it to himself, whatever it is, but a day off every once and again is a good thing, or so I have heard. I asked him what he wanted to do with his special day, and he decided he wanted to go hiking with me. The kids would be in school, and we would have a few hours to enjoy nature and each other’s company. Why the fuck not? I thought, and agreed to the plan.

Of course, I had to alter it just a bit to satisfy my own needs for the day. After all, it was a Monday, the stay-at-home mom’s Saturday, and while I wanted him to enjoy his special day, I didn’t want to give up mine. So I gently encouraged him to sleep in so I could do one class at the gym before our date with the great outdoors began. I left him snoozing happily, drove the girls to school, and sweat my ass off in combat class, trying my best to not hit like a girl. I returned home by 10am, just in time to freshen my water bottle and slide into the passenger seat of my husband’s car.

We drove to Paris Mountain State Park, paid our admission fee sanctimoniously, as state budget cuts have done away with gate attendants, and headed towards the parking lot near our favorite trail head. I know there are plenty of other trails in the park, but we always come to this spot, where the reservoir is, and sort of meander until we decide we have had enough. Generally speaking, that means an hour of hiking, enough to work up a dewy sweat and feel like we deserve whatever crap we decide on for lunch. I was still full of energy and endorphins following my combat class, so we hustled our way along the trail, past the water feature, over rocks and tree roots and muddy patches, until we got to where the trail splits.

One direction headed toward the former fire tower; the other direction headed towards another loop that would mean a good two hours of hiking on an unfamiliar trail. My husband checked the GPS on his smart phone and decided the fire tower trail was the way to go, so we scampered off in that direction, reaching the ruins in little time. I was starting to get hungry, and we had finished most of our water bottle, when his phone rang.

There is something odd about having a phone conversation in the middle of the woods, especially by the remains of what was once a fairly isolated ranger post. But it was his birthday, and the call was from one of his oldest friends, and so my husband began chatting, catching up, accepting birthday wishes, making plans, that sort of thing. Feeling a bit bored, I texted for entertainment on my dumb phone, walking along behind him, as he was deep in discussion about finances or futures or whatever I was no longer listening to.

We followed what we thought was the trail. A few trees had fallen down over the pathway, which I thought was odd, since this was hardly an isolated or unused park. We stepped over logs, found more forks, tried to decide right or left, and continued walking until it was perfectly clear that we were not only no longer on the fire tower trail, we were not on any trail at all.

I was so certain we weren’t on a trail anymore because we appeared to be in someone’s back yard. We weren’t on anyone’s actual lawn, but a row of large custom-built houses were well within walking distance. I doubted we were still in the park. More likely, it was neighborhood easement property, the buffer between those yards we espied and state owned grounds. I stopped texting, my husband ended his phone call, and we looked at each other. We were lost.

I didn’t want to ruin my husband’s birthday by freaking out on him, but seriously, we had been hiking for an hour and a half, after I had already exercised for a good hour. It was lunchtime, I had to be in the car pool line in less than two hours with snacks and piano books, and we had no fucking idea where we were. Let me rephrase that. I had no fucking idea where we were.

My husband had an inkling, and, as you may recall, GPS on his phone, which he may have forgotten to consult while chatting but now was free to use. Only reception, you know, is not always what you would like it to be while in a remote part of the park, off the trail. He attempted to access the trail maps on the park’s website, but who had that kind of time to wait for a download? Instead, he oriented himself, a skill I do not possess, and we began walking in what he felt was the right direction. I can’t say I didn’t believe him, only that I had no fucking idea which was the right direction, so I did what he told me to do.

I didn’t want to yell at him, because why was it only his fault that we were lost? Oh wait; he was the one with the GPS. Well, I didn’t want to yell at him because it was his birthday. So I cried silently to myself as I stumbled behind him, imagining every worst case scenario my overactive mind could produce. We were out of water. We had no food. He had a general idea of where our car was, but I had no fucking idea. And we had an hour to get there before my carpool deadline. Clearly, that plan of a smugly indulgent post-hike lunch was out of the question. I only hoped we would not have to resort to cannibalism.

I imagined one of us falling off the mountain. I imagined us wandering around until dark, our children waiting solemnly at their schools, wondering why Mom didn't pick them up when all the other mommies picked up their children. I imagined who would raise them if we were never found alive.

Despite my worst fears, my husband successfully steered us back to a trail, way off from where we thought we were or meant to be. We had a good hour to go until we would reach our car in the parking lot. That jovial mood we begin our hike with morphed into all the joy of the Bataan death march as we worked our way along the trail back to the main road, which we then followed back to the parking lot. My legs shook for the last half hour. Combat and getting lost during a hike do not mix. My husband knew I used what little strength I had left to not lose it, and for that, he was truly grateful.

We made it home in time for me to grab raw food out of the fridge, shove it in my mouth, and chewing it while in the shower. I got in the car pool line with all the necessary items a mere ten minutes before the school bell rang and the afternoon activities began. Meanwhile, my husband enjoyed his quiet afternoon at home alone, relaxing after a long birthday hike.

Next year, I am suggesting a movie.