Lay of the land...

Friday May 28, 2010

Notes – Medoc Trail Marathon

Left Greenville around 8 this morning for Medoc Mountain State Park. Had a great drive, felt good to be back on back roads and just empty mind driving. There can be a simple beauty to Eastern North Carolina. Okay, we live in a very flat and swampy part of the country, but at times the sun strikes a stand of pines and gestures with all sweeping grandeur that you are home. I’d rather drive with the windows down so that I may drink in the sounds and scents of Carolina. It was creeping toward hot, but a good hot.

Near 9:30 I pulled onto Medoc Park State Road and cruised by the ranger’s office and info center. One car was there, good, I would have the trail near to myself. That dream lasted a few more miles. Rounding the bend, I spied the very packed picnic area parking lot and nearly turned around. Everywhere I looked, kids. Halifax County, on a whim, decided to take their Fourth Grade Class on a field trip to… Medoc Mountain State Park.

Once I geared up I headed out to the trail and promptly bumped into 30 kids whooping and hollering and generally doing things kids are supposed to do. You know, the things we should do, except as adults we are taught protocols and proper behavior. Bull shit. Whoop and holler!

I did go the opposite way of the kids, I was on a mission to rediscover Medoc and learn the trails we would be using in October. Within fifty yards I had an equipment failure. As soon as my legs broke into a run, my right water bottle took flight from my belt and flew down the trail gathering dust, pine straw, and dirt. Shit, I breathed, stopped and fixed the mishap. Off again. Although I thought I hosed myself down completely with Backwoods Off, I apparently missed quite a few spots. The Deer Flies began biting harshly as I rounded the first corner. I ran.

Somewhere, half way into the first loop, my trail moniker reared itself in a defiantly nonfiction way. The trail divided, yet it seemed not to on the map, what to do. I picked a “Frostian” trail and ran along. This less travelled trail became apparent as a cut through, and not a real part of the loop. Wrong Way did it again and cut about one mile off of the course.


Out on the pavement I searched desperately for the trail head, kept running, and wandered back to the parking lot. Finding my Jeep, I reloaded water, ate a bar, adjusted my belt, and took off again down the wrong side of the loop. Hans Conried would have been very proud of my, I played Feldman like no other could on any given day.

Into the woods I headed, attacked all the while by biting flies. I ran to the bridge and headed up the summit. As I climbed higher the air felt better. I left the damp environs of the voracious Deer Fly for the relatively dry Summit Loop. How good it felt to be out of the reach of the Devil’s minions.

As I came down from the mountain, I heard the squall of one hundred young children at play, with an undertone of adult barking, and knew I was near home. I ran alongside the creek and burst into the picnic area where I was left unnoticed, and this was alright by me.