It was 25 years to the day I was born. By some stroke of luck, I had my birthday free from work for the first time in… forever… or since I started working… or maybe just since the last two years. The only downfall of this dream scenario was that in 2008 my birthday fell on a Wednesday. Hardly a day for others to come out and play. I had a single meeting tying me to the following day. With a day and half off it seemed to be the perfect opportunity to get the heck out of town for the night.
The plan: I’d head to Duluth for the night. Stop at some state parks along the drive. Stay in a kickass hotel. And I’d go it alone.
I went through the proper protocols. Single living always makes me feel like I should tell another human being when I am venturing out alone. I call ma. I don’t really know what my Wisconsin mother could really do, but somehow I know that it’s the kind of information that Mother’s are privy to.
I tell her my birthday plans. Mom’s DANGER-DANGER-dar beeped into life immediately. “Mary, you know it’s bow hunting season,” she warns. “Actually ma, it’s gun hunting season here.” Then I added, perhaps stupidly, “And they just lowered the killing age to ten.” I probably should have kept that one to myself. The frantic beeping was drowning out my own thinking.
Now, Mom is nervous, which makes me consider the threat. I know hunting isn’t permitted on state ground, but I also know that bullets don't just stop cold at territorial borders.
My second attempt at explaining my birthday plans fell to the ears of the stage hands at work. The same grizzly men that are overly protective of me. They’ve done their share of hunting and have their number of stories. After some pushing back and forth, I end up promising I will wear blaze orange.
Really?
Blaze orange isn’t a flattering color. I don’t have any blaze orange in my wardrobe. But I know where I can find some...
The stock pile of t-shirts from festivals my work puts on was picked over. Luckily for me extra extra large and obnoxious orange aren’t hot commodities. Perfect. Sorta. My brain was still grappling with, “I’m going to wear this?” I knew that it’s November weather and for the purpose it was serving (the not-getting-shot-at purpose), the giant size would fit snugly over my winter jacket.
And voila!
We have embarrassment.
I’m starting out my birthday as a humongous orange mass! A nickelodeon blob!
I actually doubted whether I could commit to the ridiculous nature of this, despite the sensibility of it all. I walked away from my van without my orange initially. I hiked down a hill and looked to the other side of the river. The non-state side of the river. God Dammit. I promised. About face.
I head back uphill and pulled the biggest shirt I have ever owned on, inside out, over my Columbia jacket. I would have been fine existing as an orange blob in my solitude. It was when I crossed paths with people donning their brown flannel and black Carhartts that turned my face a shade resembling my attire. Sometimes, I felt the urge to apologize to them. I don’t know what for. Mostly, I wanted to blurt, “My mom made me.” In reality, each time I could barely muster eye contact and felt their smirk against my skin.
It was not all for naught. I did hear some popping along my hike. I told myself they were trees falling in the forest. Lead trees exploding with a sudden burst of energy … that brought comfort.
That first stop was Banning State Park. A park that’s overlooked and underappreciated. I had never heard of it. The terrain carried some of my favorite things – water front, ruins, and rock face. The photo I am painting (still in process) was taken here, among others.
A few hours spent in the flurries and I was north bound again to Duluth. Driving towards the whirlpool suite I booked for half price at a water park resort.
I’m good at treating myself.
The water park was birthday embarrassment – round two.
My thinking while packing:
I am going to a water park alone. No one to impress. I’ll bring the more sensible one piece Speedo. That way I don’t have to do the nipple check that bikini water play requires.
This was the reality of the situation:
I am hit with humidity when I open the doors. Like entering a bar, I quickly sweep the location and survey my options. Searching for a comfortable place to put myself. I realize the huge room is divided in two. One side for the under 4 years old group and the other for the others. Without a youngster, I can hardly justify sitting under the raining daisy. As much as it may tempt me.
My territory has been reduced to half. The non-baby side houses a lazy river, a couple giant tube slides, and a rock-formation-waterfall-hot-tub of sorts. I commit to a location – the lazy river. Just as a bar, I’m finally settled in my location and can finally take in the people around me.
Shit. This is awkward.
I’m sitting in a tube in two feet of water. Flat chested and nerded out in my Speedo. And I keep circling past these college age dudes posing as life guards. I suppose they really are life guards, but for most of us... in an emergency, we can just stand up. I’m circling, in my black tube … not having a frolicky exchange with friends. Not splashing and laughing. Not telling jokes. Just circling. Flat chested. On one of my rounds I consider the slide. I decide I couldn’t bear being caught by the dude below.
There isn’t even a regular swimming pool here. Were I able to do laps, this would be a lot less weird. I head for the hot-tub, where the other young people and parents have paired up. Somehow I became the creepy dude with the hairy chest that just sits in the whirlpool and looks at everyone else, or worse, closes his eyes! I couldn’t take it anymore. I gave up and thought the whirlpool in my room, a glass of wine and free cable sounded a hell of a lot better than this. I couldn’t stop laughing at myself. At how fun this idea was supposed to be and how not fun those moments turn out.
I woke up to a beautiful sunrise over Lake Superior. Stopped at Amazing Grace Bakery & Café, then started south. I had to walk into a work meeting at three o'clock. I had plenty of time to stop at one more park along the way. I get off the highway and steer towards Interstate Park. The park is divided by Hwy 8, just off the heart of Taylor’s Falls. It’s a beautiful park, butting right up against civilization. All the bathrooms and outhouses were closed for the winter. Seclusion was out of the question, I had a choice to make… I ended up crouching mid-hike, and as I peed I watched the stop lights change from green to yellow to red.
Happy Birthday to me!
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