I was helping to recruit correctional officers for a minimum security facility — “helping” may be stretching it. In fact, I was just making sure the laptops used to fill out applications remained charged; my colleagues with the Department of Adult Corrections were doing the actual hiring. We were two hours into a four-hour Saturday shift and traffic had slowed. It seemed like a good time to slip out.

It was 10:30 in the morning, not a cloud in the sky and a temperature in the upper 60s; certainly not a day to be cooped up in a prison. My intent was to simply splash some sun in my face and step back inside. Then I happened to notice that the road I’d driven in on shortly turned to gravel. I love a gravel road.

I’d walked maybe 100 yards when something to the right caught my eye, something I love even more than a gravel road: a narrow opening into the woods. What a find, a find that would shortly lead to a mystery. 

The short path led to a slightly wider one that was lined on both sides by Disc Golf tee boxes. I stopped at No. 14, with a sign reading: “Par 13 / 215 yards.” I looked around: the clearest path in any direction, in this jumbled hardwood forest, was maybe 15 yards — maybe. In the span of 20 yards I saw three more Par 3s, all in the 200-yard range, all surrounded by trees. 

Huh.

I kept walking, picking up my pace, not sure whether I’d stumbled onto a private course on private land. In a quarter mile the path led back to the gravel road, which had taken a sharp right turn. On the other side of the road was a sign with an arrow: “Senior Center.” I’m a senior, I thought. I forged ahead. 

The path widened to a good 20 feet and began to resemble more of a trail,  Sure enough, I soon came to another sign with another arrow, this one proclaiming: “Nature Trail.” I’d gone from a gravel road, to a narrow opening in the woods, to, baffling disc golf course to, somehow, an actual trail that may or may not lead to a Senior Center. All because I felt the need for some quick fresh air, all because I wasn’t afraid to, literally, go off the beaten path.

In part what made this adventure possible was that I didn’t deny my need for an adventure, no matter how small. A simple breath of fresh air, that was all I wanted. I also gave into some honest self-awareness: Did my coworkers need me? No. Would they even miss me or realize I’d been gone for a half hour? Probably not. 

I also didn’t ignore the fact that I was overdue for an adventure, even a 30-minute one. And because I love taking the path less traveled — or not traveled at all — I wasn’t bound by the need for an actual trailhead to jump in. Following a trail, especially a well-worn one, you inherit the energy of those who’ve come before you. Vibes that aren’t necessarily bad, but aren’t entirely yours, either. As soon as you step into a layer of leaves, into soft earth, you are creating your own way. It’s a way you’ll never tire of because you’ll probably never pass this way again. It’s a true form of adventure, available to the common person in the modern, discovered, world.

Best of all? There’s a good chance you can find it right out your own back door. Even the back door of your office. 

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PostHikeScript

That “trail” I stumbled upon? It was indeed a trail, the 1.5-mile Orchard Lake Trail in Yanceyville. Turns out I’d hiked it a couple years ago, picking it up from behind Yoder’s Market on County Home Road. On that occasion it was mid-August and the trail was swathed in spider webs. I quickly turned back. But if you find yourself in Yanceyville, and it’s not summer, a nice trail to check out. Learn more here.

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