A few summers ago, I went camping with a friend of mine, and her two parents. It was every bit as fun for us - until we made the most unforgettable memory.
This was the first time I had been camping with them, but it wasn't the last. I hadn't ever been to this lake before, either. Every morning we would wake up to blueberry muffin mix pancakes and milk followed by fishing for hours. After the first day, we had to make a trip into the nearest town, and hit up Wal Mart for something to qualm my sunburn from the sun reflecting off the lake. After our morning fishing trip, Kayla and I would spend a bit of time at the cleaning station goofing off while her parents cut the filets off the assortment of blue gill, catfish, and shellcrackers, which would later be battered and fried up for dinner that evening. But first, we'd get back to the campsite, and snack a bit for lunch. Then we'd decide to take our bikes and ride them over to the shop and look around, then swing on the tiny campground playground. Once we chatted and were tired of swinging. We'd mount our bikes again and take off through the winding roads that lead to places like loading docks, other areas of the campground, a stage, and the swimming area. We would sing and laugh and talk while we rode our bikes, weaving everywhere through the numerous speed bumps, avoiding walkers and the rare truck hauling a boat or new campers. Once we either tired of riding, got far enough, or were thirsty, we would turn our bikes and ride on back to the campsite: where we would bask in the freezing air conditioning of the camper, snack on small cans of Pringles Barbecue chips, and guzzle down Pepsi and water. Oh, I remember my favorite place to ride our bikes was to the right of our campsite, passed the bath houses, and the swimming area and up this winding and talk hill. It was so much fun to ride up and down that monster of a hill.
This was so many summers ago, I can't hardly remember how long we were there or anything like that. But there is one thing I will absolutely never forget. Something that rattled our brains one early afternoon. It was probably from the heat, and how tired we were and that our water was all gone. Kentucky summers are brutally hot and we were over-joyed to have access to a camper with air-conditioning. But we weren't at the campsite. Even being shaded by the dozens of trees didn't help how hot, out-of-breath, and tired were we: they did nothing to shield us from the sun's attacks.
We told my friends parents that we were going out to ride our bikes around the campground for awhile, and they said they'd be back at the campsite, but might head out for Wal Mart a little later on, just in case we weren't back before they left. So, we got some water bottles, attached them to our bikes, and rode off in the direction of the Outpost campground store. We stopped to swing a bit to cool off from the heat, feeling the wind brushing us on the swings. Once we cooled down a bit, we rode passed the store and went on to the stage area, and she showed me some bike and walking trails that looped around the stage. We knew to keep track of our directions, in case we got further than we wanted, and decided to turn back, instead of continuing forward. We took mostly lefts, since we entered on the right side of the stage, and expected to exit on the left side of the stage. The trail was easy and mostly flat. And before we knew it, we exitted the left side of the stage. We wanted to do it again, so we tried the trail and tried other trails, too. Then we had the bright idea to take the trail, but do the opposite of what we normally take. At first, we were having a blast: the trail was a little longer, which we had anticipated, the trees were dense around us, but not dense enough to hide the stage from view. But we rode deeper on the trail. After awhile, we realized we hadn't had to turn anymore, we couldn't see the stage, and we thought we would have been back around, which we weren't. Then we came to a fallen tree, or something. I remember Kayla going first, getting off her bike and carrying it over.. But as I was about to go, she told me she had seen a snake, so we avoided it by hurrying across and riding away. We continued on for quite awhile, and we had lost track of time just talking.
Inevitably, we noticed it wasn't circling back, but we knew it had to end, because it was definitely a man-made trail. It wasn't wide enough for more than two bikes and definitely not suitable for a four wheeler or anything like that. We kept going forward, choosing to avoid another run-in with the snake back the way we had come. The sun began to blare down on us, despite the shade from the enormously tall trees surrounding us. We rode further, hoping for an end, another person, another trail - something. But we found nothing as we rode. The sweltering heat forced me to take periods where I stood next to my bike, pushing it by the handlebars. We were hopeless, thirsty, hot, and sweaty. We were desperate to find any sign to an end of the trail, anything at all - and then we saw him. He was either walking, or running, or something - I can't hardly remember.. But as he passed us we were determined to learn where he had come from. He informed us that not too much farther, the trail came to a gravel road with a sign on it. We were reluctant to pedal further; however, we used all of our remaining strength, and our new found hope to slam the pedals down and force our bikes to skid on the dirt path around the winding corners and passed all of the trees. We put so much distance behind us, we began to question the hiker-guy, until we saw a break in the trees. We giggled and screamed out for civilization, so elated and joyful. But when we came to the road, we saw nothing. We looked in both directions, and for what seemed like miles of straight gravel road, there was nothing. No cars, no people, nothing. We began to walk in one direction and eventually saw a sign. Don't ask me what it said, I can't remember it at all. But we kept going in that same direction, walking along, pushing our bikes and alternating to riding slowly sometimes. We were incredibly tired from all the heat and from the over-exertion to escape the woods. We were beat. The day had taken its toll on us and we were on the brink of breaking down. We begged and pleaded for something to come by, to let us know where we were. At that point we could only assume we were miles from the stage, miles from the campground.
The crunch of gravel could barely be heard over our own tires scattering rocks and dust. Behind us came along a truck. What kind of truck, the color, and anything else I can't remember - but I do remember the man and two women who slowed down to a stop and took notice to how down-trodden we were. They offered to give us a ride and we could only look at each other - mentally examining our situation and the decision that had to be made. The man hopped out and helped us load our bikes into his truck bed. The two women helped us into the back seat. We were frightened beyond belief, but we were extremely thankful. The blonde and brunette women were asking us all kinds of questions.. It was only so much for us to reply with stiffened answers. Through the toils of the day, along with our loss of hope, and our despairing thirst had made us quasi-delirious and fully terrified. So many things were going through our heads, it was all we could do to answer their questions. The blonde went out of her way to prove to us that they had good intentions and only wanted to help, but a shroud of distrust loomed. These people were strangers who picked us up, who knows where, and are taking us who knows where.. They both explained their relation, and how the brunette was married to the driver, and how the blonde had kids. She even showed us pictures and told us how old they were and how they would feel if we were their kids. Slowly, we were disarmed, little-by-little. I mostly remember the blonde showing us a brown bag that she pulled a Mountain Dew from. She offered it to us, pointing out that the piece of plastic is still attached to the cap and that no one had opened or drank from it. Immediately, Kayla accepted it and we took turns drinking from it. I also remember the taste of blood in my mouth, as I tried to hold back tears. The pressure of the day was getting to me. I knew I had to be strong, but I noticed Kayla tearing up and I remember I wanted so badly for this all to be over. For us to be home...
The entire ride wasn't long. I tried so hard to concentrate on their questions. What happened? Where are you from? Do you remember what campground you are staying at? What's the name? Our minds drew a blank. They drove us a little further, until we noticed a familiar information center we had stopped at before. They took us all inside and we asked the person behind the counter questions and we narrowed down the possible campgrounds. I may not have remembered that day, but I do remember now, that we were staying at Hillman Ferry. Which turned out, the entrance was down the road from the information center. Our hearts lightened at the sight of the check-in box to our campground, which was a real short walk from our campsite. We pointed it to them, and we got out, noticing that her parents must have gone off to the store, after all. Almost immediately after, they left, and we went into the camper and decided that there was no possible way we could tell anyone what had happened to us that day. That anyone that we would tell (namely, our parents) would never let us go back.
That experience only made us stronger, and never made us not want to go back to the campground. In fact, we went back that very next summer. But we avoided the trails, period. We joked about it for a long time, as we grew more comfortable about it. In retrospect, I wouldn't take anything back. That experience made me who I am today. What made that experience even more memorable was that I was with my best friend and I wasn't alone.
