I’m sure you’ve all heard the poem by Robert Frost entitled, “The Road Not Taken.” If not, it’s a poem about how even though the road less traveled may be unpaved and scary, the benefits of taking the road are very rewarding. Figuratively, of course.
Well, today I took the road not taken. Literally. I thought I was going to die.
I was out with a friend at 92nd St park today. We walked around, through the park and down the trails. We reached a point that I remembered. There was a part of the road that went down back behind the library. On our third trip around the park (it was a fun trip), she has to go and I, feeling a little adventurous, decide to take the path that goes down to the apartments. Not knowing exactly where I am or how to get out, I make random guesses on turns and make it out. I realize I’m back near the 92nd street park (I don’t know why that surprised me).
From there, I go down 92nd street. I walk until I see a familiar neighborhood, and walk in. All the way to the very end. I see a view and decide to take a picture, posting it to Facebook.
I caption it, “Nice view. Also, I’m lost.”
Of course, I wasn’t really lost, but I was kind of just wandering around the neighborhood. I quickly get bored and make my way back to 92nd street.
When I get back, I decide that I want to go take the back trails to the library to see how long it takes. This is about 4:50. I walk along the route, along a familiar path, where I come to a 5-way fork. There’s a family hiking there, going in the opposite direction, coming from across the bridge on the right. I figure that they’re coming from around the library and choose to cross the bridge.
Big mistake.
It went along fine for a while, but I must have missed a turn somewhere because the width of the trail diminished rapidly. What was left of the trail became mud and fallen logs. I must have walked through five bogs. Not wanting to turn back, I press on foward for what seems like forever. The trail becomes narrow and steep, sloping downward to my left. I slip a great deal of times but never fall, but am still shaken to the point where I wonder if I’m going to make it out of the forest alive. But I keep pressing forth, following the stream, not wanting to turn back through the mud. About an hour and a half of climbing later, I see an opening with man-planted trees and a road with a large bend in it, sloping downward. I follow the road down, looking to see if there is a house that I could ask for a ride from, and I see a hint of red way off in the distance. “It can be a truck taillight,” I tell myself. I venture forth. This is what it was:
A wastewater facility. The address on the sign says I’m in Mukilteo, so I’m a bit relieved. I trace my steps back and continue up the winding hill and find myself in a neighborhood with a view.
There are a few people around but I’m too embarrased to ask for directions. The worst part is that there are more hills to climb. After what seems like forever, I find myself back on 92nd street, where the familiar neighborhood is.
And I’m pissed.
By this time, my legs and feet ache like crazy, and I’m limping. Still not wanting to stop, and having seen a water fountain in 92nd street park, I return to the park only to find a group of people from Kamiak and a water fountain that doesn’t work. I give up and continue my walk all the way to Champion. I arrive at 7:20.
Road not taken? There’s a reason.
Here’s my route:
Someone calculate how far I walked.
