Escaping the Rain

Do not be angry with the rain; it simply does not know how to fall upwards.

― Vladimir Nabokov

Yesterday morning I was unexpectedly woken up at about 7:00am.  I was staying at a KOA in LaSalle, Illinois, right outside of Starved Rock State Park.  Multiple websites that I had looked at gave glowing descriptions of the park, claiming it had fantastic hiking trails that went through caverns, past waterfalls, and through groves of trees.  I was looking forward to exploring the park but apparently it did not want to be explored.   As I said, I was woken up quite abruptly on the morning I was planning to go hiking—by a nearly deafening boom.  I sat up quickly and heard rain knocking violently on the roof of my van, as if it were a dog desperately begging to be let in.  As I rubbed my eyes I saw a bright flash of light pry through the cracks in my curtains and it was followed almost immediately by another blast of sound that I could practically feel.  There was not even half a second between the flash of lightning and the crack of the thunder, which meant that a storm was literally right on top of me.  I pulled back the edge of the curtain to try to get a glimpse of the sky and all I could see was dark gray that looked as if it were only a couple feet above me.  The clouds were solid and flat and gloomy and heavy and would give no hint of perspective of how high or how far away they were.  I scanned across the campground and it was awash in small rivers flowing through the sections of ground that had any bit of incline to them and then forming miniature lakes in the flat areas.  In California I know my friends and family are begging for rain to ease the drought, and here I was cursing it for cancelling my adventures.  Good or evil sometimes lie only in perspective, I suppose. 

I could see the forest and the trees on the trail

As I lay in bed I mulled over my options of what to do.  I thought that perhaps I could wait it out a bit and see if it started to lighten up; if it did I could still go explore what sounded like a fantastic park.  Plus, the waterfalls might be even more magnificent with this burst of new water. I told myself I’d check the weather forecast and if it looked like it would clear up, I’d stay, otherwise I’d find somewhere else to go explore.  I got my computer out, started Firefox and put “weather.com” into the location bar.  The little rainbow wheel sat spinning around for nearly a minute before a message popped up that said there was no Internet connection.  Apparently the storm had knocked out the KOA’s network.  Well, that settled it.  I’d just have to go find a Starbucks where I could get a coffee and a data connection to research where I’d head next.   I packed up my van, headed out, and found the familiar mermaid in the green circle not more than 10 minutes away.  A little bit of caffeine and thirty minutes of Google helped me to located Backbone State Park in Iowa, only 3 hours away.  The description said there was 21 miles of hiking trails, a small lake, interesting geography, and that it was on Iowa’s State Park Bike Route.  Even better, the weather was predicted to be clear and sunny for several days.  It sounded like it would be a good substitute for Starved Rock, so off I went.

This bridge isn't over troubled waters

As I got nearer to the park, I started recognizing the roads I was traveling on.  I realized that I had passed right by this same park several weeks ago after I left Pike’s Peak State Park in Iowa.  I thought of how strange it was that I had been traveling a random pattern across the whole country and just happened to make it back to a place I had already been.  It’s not like I was traveling on a large, significant interstate, either.  I was on a small, 2-lane highway that slowed down to 35mph at every small bump of a town that it passed through.  Iowa had become my crossing point for this trip; it was the center of a large sideways “X” that I’ve made across the country.  I suppose that now I can say I’m truly on my way back home as I’m crossing the path I took on my way out. 

I arrived at the campground in Backbone State Park at about 2:00pm so I had plenty of time left to get in a good hike.   I quickly got my campsite setup, put on my trail shoes that I bought in Washington, grabbed a bottle of water and set out for the trails.   I started off on a trail that went around the west side of the lake.  It was given the creative name of “West Lake Trail.”   It was about 3 miles long and started off mostly flat with a few gentle up and down slopes, and it passed through a forest that was thick with cedar trees and had a lush undergrowth of something that looked like some variety of wild ivy (I really wish I knew more about different types of plants!).  As I progressed along the trail, the trees gradually diminished and were replaced by tall grasses that hissed as the breeze brushed over them.  Occasionally I’d catch sight of small critters scurrying into the dense grass that lined the trail as I approached:  rabbits, mice, little birds, and even a fox at one point.  Twice, deer darted across the trail and startled me. The West Lake Trail opened up into a campground and picnic area when it reached the north end of the lake. 

If you didn't look carefully,
you'd walk right over the
edge of these cliffs

I pulled out a little trail map I had picked up from the campground entrance, and found that there was another trail called the Six Pines Trail that began at the opposite side of the picnic area and curved around the north end of the lake.  I found the entrance to it and followed the ¾ mile length of it.  This one appeared almost as if it were in an entirely different area.  Rather than forest and grasses like the first trail I was on, this one was much rockier and climbed up the backs of some sheer limestone cliffs.  The steep, craggy edges of the cliffs peeked out from trees and crawling viney plants. They were pock-marked with holes and crevices and dusted with black lichens.  Streaks of browns, yellows, tans, and greys gave them a rich variation of color, almost like a sunset.  They reminded me of something I’d see in an Indiana Jones movie rather than in an Iowa park.  I almost expected that if I pulled aside some of the lush growth I’d find a giant carved statue of an ancient Aztec god or the entrance to some primitive tomb. 

The Six Pines Trail emptied out into another picnic area and I again checked the little trail map and saw that there was a cleverly named East Lake Trail that was about a half mile away.  I found the entrance to it and followed it about 2 ½ miles along the opposite side of the lake.  Again, it looked like it was in an entirely different geography than the first two.  This trail hugged the side of the lake and was covered with crushed limestone. It was a lot more manicured than the other two trails.  As I walked along it I could see into the clear water of the lake and could make out the dark, wiggly shadows of fish lazily wandering near the bottom.  Eventually I reached the end of it at a small beach area at the south end of the lake where several dozen people sat on a sandy beach and absorbed the warm sun.  There was a building that looked like a miniature stone castle, and inside the building there were kayaks and canoes for rent.  I walked through the beach and found the road that led back to my campground.  By the end of it all I had hiked just under 8 miles, and I felt like I had almost redeemed myself for my day of chocolate indulgence two days ago.

Hangin' on the East Side of the lake

This morning I woke up to the sun rather than to thunder and lightning.  It looked like such a fabulous day out that I figured I’d go for a bike ride through the park before finding my next destination.  I got my bike down from the rack and noticed it had a flat tire.  I pumped air into it, but as I pumped I heard it continuously sigh and remain flat.  The bummer part about it was that I had replaced the tube back at Jeckyll Island because it was flat then as well, and I didn’t have another spare.  I was looking forward to taking advantage of the nice weather to get in some exercise and to finish paying my sugar-loaded penance. I didn’t really want to go for another hike as I would be repeating most of the trails I did yesterday.  And then I remembered the little castle at the beach that rented kayaks, and decided that that would be the perfect exercise for the day. 

I wandered down to the beach, rented a green sit-on-top kayak for an hour, and set out paddling.  From my hikes the day before I knew that the lake was approximately 3 miles long, so I set out to make it to the opposite end.  While on the kayak I got a completely different look at the park:  seeing the forest, the grasses, and the hidden cliffs all from the middle of the lake.From the vantage point in the center of the water, the different areas seemed to meld together seamlessly and didn’t appear quite as diverse as when I was hiking through them.  I realized that perhaps it was because I was getting to look at the surrounding area as a whole rather than just bit by bit while hiking on the different trails.  It almost looked like I was in a different park.  I also got to see different animals. At one point I saw something that might have been a beaver swimming along the surface and then ducking into the muddy grass.  A couple of eagles swooped from the trees, and fish jumped at the surface of the water.   The best part about it was that since it was a Monday, I had the entire lake to myself.  In the period of an hour out paddling on the lake, I never saw another person. 

The lake was totally empty, practically inviting
me to paddle across it.

 

Despite the rain yesterday morning and the flat bicycle tire today, I still got a couple of good adventures out of the past few days and a lot of good exercise.  I feel like I’ve finally cancelled out my day of sweets, and I’m back in the good graces of health.  And that means that tomorrow I can hit up a fast food joint or two on my drive to my next destination, wherever that may be.