Posts Tagged ‘wrong turns’
Directionally Challenged
For all of the effort I have put into striving for optimal health, mind-body-spirit, there remains one frailty that I have yet to address. I am prone to getting turned around so that I don’t know which way to go when faced with a decision about direction. This was demonstrated anew yesterday while out on a bike ride that I intended to be a simple loop.
I started at the red dot in the image above and rode with the wind due east on Twin Lake Road. That took me to County Road A, where I turned right and rode south to Chief River Road. After a right turn there, I pedaled west until I reached Tiger Cat Road. Another right turn there and I looped around to McClaine Road. That should have led to a right turn again to bring me back to Twin Lake Road, but I confidently made a left turn and rode south in the opposite direction from what I thought I was doing.
A couple of things clued me in to the situation playing out. It was taking longer than I thought it should to get back to Twin Lake Rd, and then the road made those two right-angle turns that I thought were wrong. When I came to the intersection with the south end of Tiger Cat Road, I knew I’d made a mistake, but I still couldn’t shake the perception that I was looking north.
I tried using my shadow to clarify, but the sun was too high, and the shadow was not helping to confirm my suspicion. I pulled out my phone to look at the map to reorient my brain. From the spot where I had stopped, I could have continued south to County Road B, but I really didn’t want to ride that more heavily trafficked road. Instead, I turned around and backtracked to get back to where I intended to be and then finished my ride, thoroughly resigned to having freshly confirmed my tendency for my sense of direction getting flipped.
It bothers me that I didn’t hesitate for a second when I made that wrong turn to the south. It felt completely correct to me.
Right up until it didn’t.
A guy could get a reputation for repeatedly doing things like that, and deservedly so.
The moral of this story? If you are ever on a bike ride with me (or a car trip, or walking indoors somewhere and coming back out again), don’t let me lead unless you enjoy putting on extra miles.
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Underground Conversations
After listening to a Radiolab podcast Cyndie turned on while we were eating breakfast (From Tree to Shining Tree) about the complex web of fungi and tree roots underground, I decided to head out for a bike ride yesterday. I chose a route that retraced the last leg of the great 60-mile ride from Minneapolis to Beldenville that my friend, Paul Keiski and I planned in recognition of our 60th birthdays.
That last section always haunts me for the wrong turn I made that moved our 60-mile ride closer to a 70-mile one. I have a history of confusing my orientation and choosing turns that are 180° in the wrong direction. The right turn I made on that fateful day almost four years ago makes absolutely no sense. It was really hot and I was very fatigued but that turn should have been entirely obvious.
Every time I have ridden those roads since that day, I take great pleasure in making the correct turn without a moment of hesitation. Yesterday, I rode 32 miles of country roads past farms with freshly mowed grass, an occasional horse, and a lot of lounging cows. I spotted multiple patches of flowering trillium and a lot of trees with newly sprouted leaves.
There is so much happening in the plant world right now, I began to wonder about how many underground conversations must be occurring throughout the incredible network of roots and fungi in the dirt. How much energy must be traveling up all the countless number of tree branches during this phase when buds open and leaves emerge?
Our forests are starting to look like forests again.
Seeing all the leaves pop out tells me the network of underground communication must be functioning well in our woods. I’m particularly thrilled that the maple tree we transplanted to the center of the labyrinth (after our first three attempts failed) appears to have made the necessary underground connections to thrive.
I can’t imagine what those conversations must have been like. We plopped that tree into the ground in a location that isolated it from any other existing trees. At least, that’s the way it looked from above ground. Down in the dirt, I’m guessing there were more tentacles of growing roots and fungi than one might expect. Thank goodness for that if that’s what it took for this one to survive the trauma of being moved.
Thinking about this makes me want to take as much care to nurture our forest floor as I direct toward the trees above.
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Relative Something 