A Walk in the Woods
This birthday adventure went terribly wrong, and still became a fond memory
Jane was my best friend in college, and still is. Downstate at school, she was always at my side. She lived next door to me, was in the same department, and was occasionally in the same classes. We ate together, played together, partied together, and practically lived together.
We also shared June birthdays, only five days apart, and as we’ve aged into mid-life, I’ve often enjoyed pointing out that she’s older than I.
In the summer of 1988, I didn’t go home when classes ended. I stayed in town and worked for the university. She was there too because she was a “townie” — those kids who grew up in the college town and went to the university.
This was the summer we were turning 21. Finally! No more asking our older friends to buy our booze! We could walk into the bar or the liquor store and do it ourselves.
For Jane’s birthday I wanted to do something memorable and out of the ordinary. I decided these Midwestern kids, who were going to school in the middle of corn fields, were going on a hike in the woods!
Somehow in the world before the internet and Google, I was able to discover there was a state park just a little way outside of town, and I suggested we go explore it that evening after work.
Like some kind of oasis in the midst of the corn tassels, this park was several square miles of dense forest, with an easy hiking trail that meandered through. Neither of us had ever been there or even knew it existed, so it felt like a real treat.
We parked in a small lot, where there were only a few other cars, and headed towards a path. There was no signage or information about the paths, with maps or lengths, but this was central Illinois. It had to be simple.
There seemed to be two entrances. Which one to take? Does it matter? They’re two ends of the same thing, right? Off we go!
The path was well maintained and had no forks that split off. It curved one way, then another, and the trees and foliage were dense. We felt very alone in this green paradise, and it was a gorgeous early summer evening. My goal of finding a unique experience felt like it had been accomplished. Little did I know that the adventure had yet to begin.
After a short while we could see the end of the path in the distance, and I recall one of us remarking that this was good timing, because the sun was starting to set, and the tree canopy was beginning to make things dark in there. We’d head back to town and meet our friends for beers on the deck.
We emerged from the magical forest to discover we weren’t back in the parking lot. We were not in any parking lot. We were on the side of a road, and across the street was a farm.
“Where the fuck are we?” was all that went through my head. But I didn’t say it.
Obviously, we had come out somewhere else, and that path that we thought (assumed) would return us to our original point didn’t exist. So now what? We stood there for a moment dismayed and confused.
Surely, we’re just around the corner from the parking lot?
But there was no corner in sight.
Well, we couldn’t have gone too far off the mark. Maybe if we wander down the road this way — or is it that way? — we’ll realize where we are?
Or, you know what? Maybe we just turn around and retrace our steps?!
But no. We had been “hiking” for over a half hour, the sun was starting to set and very soon it would certainly be pitch black in there. Retracing our steps, we quickly decided, was not an option.
Let’s start walking and we’ll figure things out.
The strange thing for me was that I usually have a very good sense of direction, which I’ve always chalked up to genetics (my mother did too) and growing up in Chicago, which is built on a grid. It has one of the most grid-like, organized street layouts of any city in the world. There when you know where the lake is (it’s almost always east) everything else falls into place. So, with every turn you know which direction you’re heading.
Of course, I had never been to this state park before, and didn’t bother to orient myself to where east or any other direction was when we started out, and hadn’t tracked all our twists and turns inside.
I was shit lost. I was clueless. I had no idea where we were or which direction to move to bring us closer to our car.
Of course, I was keeping my fears to myself. I certainly wasn’t going to ruin Jane’s birthday by not only getting her lost at dusk, but also by not appearing confident that I’d get us home. No, I was going to remain cool, calm, and collected.
We started walking, hoping to come across anything that might help.
This feeling of being lost was completely new. It wasn’t the same as getting turned around in a new city or a big shopping mall or having taken the wrong highway exit. There was a permanence to this. A sort of void. A kind of emptiness. We were truly lost.
At first, we didn’t acknowledge our feelings. We had been walking for about twenty minutes, completely alone, without having seen another person or car on the road.
Finally, I turned to Jane and said, “You know, I keep thinking how this sucks, we should just go home — but that’s the problem isn’t it?!”, laughing a bit and hesitantly alluding to the stomach-turning dread and fear that were simmering within me. She laughed and admitted she was thinking the same thing.
While the sun was setting further, and the shadows were growing, we came upon a farmhouse with a few lights on inside. Surely these nice folks would be home and could point us in the right direction.
We knocked on the door but got no answer and didn’t see or hear movement inside. In the back there were a couple of barking dogs. We walked around the house, thinking someone is outside. Now we could hear music. Loud, hard rock music. The kind of music that meant someone was drinking, smoking pot, and having a great time.
Somewhere the dogs were chained up in the yard, but we couldn’t see them because of all the shadows, and our appearance around the corner certainly didn’t make them settle down. We knew they weren’t wagging their tales, and we stopped in our tracks. Behind the house was one of those pull-behind campers, which was the source of the partying, and the all the lights were on inside it.
The sun was really setting now, and things were starting to feel desperate. Yet for both of us our next step was an easy decision.
Get the FUCK out of there.
We weren’t about to trust whoever that was, or their dogs, and if we found one house, surely, we’ll find another, right?
We got back to the road and moved on.
About five minutes later, we saw headlights coming up behind us. This was the first car we had seen since emerging from the trees. We knew this was an opportunity, so we stepped closer to the edge the road and faced their direction, waving our arms trying to get them stop.
A young couple in an old pickup slowed to a crawl and the woman in the passenger seat rolled down the window. They actually weren’t much older than us.
“You two ok?” the guy behind the wheel asked.
Somehow, we decided to let Jane do the talking, maybe because she could look more vulnerable or trusting.
“We were at the state park and were walking through a path in the woods and we came out in the wrong spot along this road and we have no idea where we are and we really need to get back to our car and we’re wondering if you could point us in the right direction?”
The two of them looked at each other. This may not have been the first time they came across a couple of college kids lost out here.
“The park entrance closes soon, but you’re not going to make it walking. We can give you a ride to your car. Get in.”
What a relief! I hadn’t even hoped for a ride, just directions, but a ride seemed great.
The woman in the passenger seat seemed a bit nervous about this, and when she opened the door we discovered she was about 8 months pregnant. She hefted herself sideways on the bench seat of this tiny cab to make room for us.
I got in first, and Jane climbed in and sat on my lap, just barely getting the door closed. It was a tight squeeze. I felt awkward, but just looked at the pregnant woman and smiled, trying to give a strong impression that we meant no harm. I kept my mouth shut during the 10-minute drive back to the park. A place I’m certain we’d have never found on our own.
Once back to my car — the only car left in the lot — we hopped out and thanked them for their help. They both smiled and wished us well. We drove out of the park with only a few minutes to spare before the metal gates would’ve blocked the road until morning.
Five days later when my birthday arrived, we vowed to stay in town. Jane took me to a Mexican restaurant where we had margaritas, and it was as much adventure as I wanted.
We’ve celebrated our birthdays together most of the summers since, but to this day, we’ll fondly recall that memorable birthday trip. We laugh about it now, but acknowledge it wasn’t funny in the moment, and it’s the only time either of us experienced what it really feels like to be lost.
