As a woman who hikes alone, I have a theory about creepy people in the woods. If I鈥檓 hiking on a trail where I can expect to see people every few minutes, that鈥檚 mugging density. Someone might take my wallet or my gorp, but overall, I鈥檒l be OK. If I can expect to see people once or twice an hour, that鈥檚 murder density鈥攊t鈥檚 the worst option. And if I鈥檓 in serious wilderness, completely alone, that鈥檚 bestie density. I see someone else, and we鈥檙e like, Hey, another human! Then we鈥檙e instant besties, at least for the few minutes until we part ways and never see each other again.
Normally, I spend my time in bestie-density nature. I don鈥檛 expect to see people at all, so when I do, it鈥檚 a pleasant surprise. But lately I鈥檝e been living in the Chicago suburbs due to family illness, and the density is making me lose my mind. I鈥檓 not used to being around people everywhere, all the time. I asked a (lovely, suburban) friend how far I鈥檇 have to walk before I could pee behind a bush without getting arrested鈥攏ot that that鈥檚 a particular goal of mine, but it鈥檚 indicative, you know? He said worriedly, 鈥淚 don鈥檛 think it鈥檚 ever legal to pee outside.鈥 Which just goes to show the kind of crowd I鈥檓 hanging out with.
Not to mention that family illness comes with the kind of stress that makes me want to walk straight into the woods and stay all day (or longer). Which I can normally do from my front door in the Northwoods, but I haven鈥檛 been back in six months.
So I decided to make the best of the situation, and I gave myself a mission: walk straight out of the front door of the suburban house where I鈥檓 living and keep walking all day, until I found adventure or felt better鈥攚hichever came first.
9 A.M.
The morning started warm, breezy. I passed a goose on the sidewalk, looking for food in a crack, and I thought, man, we鈥檙e both lost. Which is how I鈥檝e been feeling whenever I see wild animals lately, and as a sentiment, sure, it鈥檚 self-satisfyingly melodramatic, but that doesn鈥檛 mean it鈥檚 not true.
The roads were quiet: a few bikers mostly, and I followed them past a storage facility and a kidney care center toward a river I鈥檇 seen on a map. I like following rivers in the woods; maybe I鈥檇 like it here, too.
It turns out there was a bike path along the river, and a couple preteen boys fishing, which pleased me (kids outside!), plus an older guy with a fanny pack who caught鈥攚hile I watched鈥攁 13 inch carp. The best fishing around here, he told me, was anywhere the landowners might call the cops on you鈥攑articularly golf courses. 鈥淵ou can eat one golf course fish every few months before you start to glow in the dark,鈥 he advised.
11 A.M.
A few miles up-river, there must have been a foot race, because suddenly the path was covered in chalk-scrawled encouragements. YOU GYATT THIS! The sidewalk told me. I鈥橫 PROUD OF YOU! You know what? I thought. I鈥檓 proud of me, too. This sidewalk wasn鈥檛 all wrong. It was getting hot out, so I swung through a gas station for an icee, which I drank in a park, then followed a footpath that opened onto a total idyll of bright and lazy river.
Just through the trees, cars zoomed by鈥攂ut they had no idea about this perfect, hidden pool. If I jumped in the dirty river, would I glow in the dark, too? I slurped my icee and considered.
2:45 P.M.
I walked four more miles, passing through a charming downtown riverwalk that ended abruptly in an overgrown bush. A path extended past the end of the road, so I followed it, creeping through a chain link fence and some dense buckeye before finding a series of clearings behind apartments. At some point, pushing through neck-high grasses on a path that had dwindled to hopes and vibes, I realized two things simultaneously.
One: The grasses were full of stinging nettles, and my arms and legs were starting to hurt.
And two: The only way out, short of pushing back through the nettles, was by cutting through the yard of a house where I鈥檇 recently picked up a shelf from Facebook Marketplace, which belonged to a woman whose number was still in my phone. If you, an innocent suburbanite, found a self-proclaimed lost hiker in your backyard, would you feel better if you鈥檇 never seen them before, or if you鈥檇 met them exactly once, online, and given them your home address?
There was no way around it, I realized: at this particular place and time, the creepy person in the woods was me.
As I considered my options, something hissed right beside me, and I practically screamed. A goose ran at me鈥攁nd stumbling back, I saw why. Here at the river鈥檚 edge, tangled in buckeye and nettles, she鈥檇 made a shady nest. Four goslings twisted their downy necks to stare at me hard. This goose wasn鈥檛 lost鈥攏ot at all. She was right where her family needed her.
I backed away through the nettles, then retraced my steps to downtown. Across the river, kids were shouting and laughing, and as I wandered (creepily) out of the trees I saw they were at a pool, which looked damn good after a sticky, nettle-stung day in the heat.
I couldn鈥檛 disappear into the woods to cure my stress, but I could Uber home to get my swim suit, drive back, and enjoy a margarita after swimming a few laps. It wasn鈥檛 quite the same鈥攂ut it wasn鈥檛 half bad, either.