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Doug’s face at that moment twisted into an expression of a very particular fear. It wasn’t the creeping dread awakened by a shadow at the door, nor the oppressive settling of a weighty comprehension, nor the steeling of the gut that precedes a fated appointment. It was the panic felt when, in the space of a breath, your confident footing slips and you suddenly speed downhill towards icy waters. In that short spell when you see control still within your reach, before you realize that you perceive only its afterimage and that it has, in fact, already left the state, you too would grimace in an involuntary and ineffectual attempt to maintain your poise. Not unlike poor Douglas. That’s not a metaphor—Doug really was about to fall chest-first into a lake. Well, it is a metaphor, but I’ll come back to that. First, the story of how we got to that point. The story begins a week before fall break of my senior year at Grinnell College. There were four of us in a rowdy band of misfits and troublemakers—Abby, Scott, the aforementioned Doug, and me. On weekends we put on our party pants and set out to paint the town red, but we always asked nicely first and then made double-triple-sure it was really okay and then usually got cold feet on the whole ordeal and settled down with Netflix and muffins. Suffice to say that I had found where I belonged. Anywho, a few days prior to our autumn recess we were struck with the realization that our time together was quickly drawing to a close, and we resolved to make the most of it with a road trip. Abby had a car and Doug and I had open schedules, but unfortunately Scott had interviews to process for his capstone and would be unable to join us (he would on a later venture—but that’s a story for another time). As midterms entered their final days we hurriedly assembled the skeleton of an itinerary—we would drive to the stunning Apostle Islands in northern Wisconsin and bask in their beauty for three or four days before coming back. Fast forward to Friday—classes end, the three of us pile into Abby’s VW Bug (named Delilah), and off we set for Wisconsin. The drive up there was long. It was largely uneventful, although I do have strong memories of speeding down a rural Wisconsin highway after midnight, a heavy fog blanketing skeletal trees, blasting T-Swift’s Out of the Woods and reflecting on the appropriateness of the tune. Finally, though, around two in the morning, we pulled into our tiny roadside motel. We had arrived and were ready for a weekend of kayaking and enjoying the natural splendor of Lake Superior. In the morning we stretched our limbs, clambered back into Delilah, and carted over to the small town of Bayfield to begin our adventure. At this moment we discovered just why you plan these trips more than three days in advance—we had happened to arrive on the very day that the Apostle Islands shut down for the winter. Ten hours of travel in a crammed car and the main attraction was closed for business. We stared blankly at the sign for a good fifteen minutes, unsure how to proceed. Somewhat surprisingly, we weren’t all that disappointed; one of the advantages about such short-term planning, I guess, is that you don’t have time to get invested in any particular activity. After a short discussion we decided to make the best of it and explore this charming lakeside hamlet. As we wandered the twisting streets, basking in the October glow, Abby was struck with a divine revelation that would define our trip; although the Islands may be out of our reach, we could make our own fun with that best of crowdsourced scavenger hunts--geocaching (link to a short description). There were a couple geocaches in Bayfield and, since they’re usually hidden around notable locations, seeking them out was a good way to see the sights. First we tramped down to the water’s edge and, when we found the tiny capsule, reveled in our cleverness and eagerly added our names to the list of finders rolled up inside. The second geocache led us to a beautiful trestle bridge, an adventure which turned into a romp through the woods. We spent the afternoon strolling past gorgeous houses and golden trees and after that, we were sold. The Apostle Islands may have closed, but geocaches are always open. We opted to take a longer, slower route on our return trip, following a chain of geocaches back to Grinnell. There’s such joy and charm in small-town America. Next time you find yourself with spare time and a full tank on your travels, I recommend taking the scenic route. So this is how I found myself perched on a tiny dock at the bottom of a steep hill, Doug’s terrified face hurtling towards me. I caught him before he plunged into the lake, and in that split-second experience I see a reflection of our entire trip. We were so sure upon departure about what we would do, our foolish lack of itinerary no match for our unbridled enthusiasm. And in one instant our dream was shattered, the entire purpose of the journey snatched away, and we saw the trip descending into disaster. But we trusted in each other, we looked out for each other, and rather than ending in catastrophe it transformed into one of the most joyous experiences of my life. It’s not about where you end up; it’s about who you take with you. It’s about being open to change. When you wake up early to enjoy the day’s first light creeping over the lake and find that instead the sun is rising behind a dilapidated glass factory, it’s about laughing it off and cherishing the experience you now share. It’s about pulling off onto a rural access road in spontaneous pursuit of a small pond in the middle of the woods, testing your trailblazing prowess and accepting wet socks as a fair trade. Each snag, every misstep, becomes part of the story, an opportunity to create a new memory with those you love. Doug’s fear was fleeting; the memories, however, are here to stay.
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