Adam had assumed we weren’t going to go on our Sunday hike, as the kids were at their dad’s house. “You’re going!” I barked on Saturday night, “That’s the whole point! 52 hikes! We have to go!!” Still I was surprised when I asked him what his plans for the day were, and our hike was on the docket. It was sunny and steamy out, and we both had long to-do lists in the wings. In deference to these factors I chose a “hike” close by, a five-minute drive to a trail in Dale Villa Park that begins behind a supper club and winds its way towards Lake McCarrons, a little known urban lake in Saint Paul.

The trailhead behind the supper club, with its sign for BOOYA leaned up against the back wall, should have been warning enough. And as we descended the paved trail into the woods, the fetid smell of rotting vegetation should also have caused me to turn around. But once we were level with the slew, the scent receded. And we breathed through our mouths. I was optimistic as we walked through the vaulted tunnel of tall oaks.

And then, it was over. The trail dumped us into a residential cul-de-sac, with an overlook which looked over the algae covered source of stink. It seemed to me we had only walked about 10 minutes. And though you might think that reaching the end of this not-so-great trail might have been a relief, I was disappointed. Because whatever it was I needed from a hike that day, I had not gotten it. Meanwhile Adam was enjoying the scenery and talking to me about the difficulty of reconciling the passionate spiritual engagement of theism with the detachment of non-theistic religions or atheism.

We decided to follow an asphalt path that circles Lake McCarrons, and allows you to look at the driveways and garages of large houses. The path leads you up a large hill. While trudging up the hill you might become crabby. Because the hippie insect spray and your sweat might be forming an amphibious film on your face and arms. Also, you might grow weary of existential conversation at this time. Next you might start walking about 5 steps ahead of your boyfriend, in classic pissed-off-bitch style. At least that’s what I did.

We walked past the Roseville Armory and many varieties of backyard fences to a major intersection which turned out to be Rice Street, which I found extremely depressing, as it epitomizes vulgar urban claptrap, especially at it’s north end. I turned walked quickly back towards the trail, Adam following, both of us knowing that silence was our friend. The only good thing that happened was meeting a very beautiful white Pyrenees Mountain Dog named Titan, who looked hotter than me.

I don’t even have a photo, so filled with ire I was. Adam said he found the trail “delightful” and that he loved knowing about little urban “secret gardens”, which made me hate the trail more. It almost prompted me to say something like Sorry Adam. Next Sunday will be better.

For our second hike we hit up the Tamarack Nature Center, and the trails in the prairies, woods and wetlands behind it. It was a nearly perfect day, sunny and breezy. The trails are lovely, but seem to be almost deliberately poorly marked. I’m not sure exactly what trails we took, or how long we walked.  We began to find “clues” scattered along the trail, leading us from place to place searching for what we imagined to be a treasure. The clues ran out, sadly and Ivan panicked about 45 minutes into the hike, thanks to two mosquito bites. But he did loved the Discovery Hollow play area afterwards. What a hidden gem this place is for parents of young children. We had a wonderful time.

We’ve endeavored to hike every Sunday. Our crew is composed of two middle-aged,  out-of-shape, well-intentioned adults Adam (49) and myself (41), and our healthy, reluctant charges, Veronica (11) and Ivan (8). With our particular combination of ability and initiative, we are well suited to the generally flat, unassuming geology that abounds in Minnesota.

The forecast, and the sky, teased us with the threat of rain all morning. We hemmed and hawed, and finally decided to take a chance a little after noon. We decided on a “no-electronics” rule for the less than one-hour car ride. Veronica read manga and Ivan talked, sang, and complained pretty much continuously for most of the ride. We arrived at Big Woods, Adam bought us a new state parks sticker, and we headed to the parking lot/trailhead to set out, but not before dousing ourselves in bug spray, as the ranger had warned us they were ‘bad’.

The trail was rambling and lovely, deeply forested and dappled in sunlight, and there were wild raspberries for the taking. However the experience will forever be remembered as “the hell hike” for the 80% humidity and bugs so thick we fairly sprinted through the woods. To keep Ivan interested we devised a treasure hunt game, wherein point values were awarded for seeing certain bits of nature. This naturally led to obsessive searching and lots of arguing over the point values of disparate items like “weird trees” and “giant mushrooms”. Points were deducted for getting bugs up your nose.

Naturally, Ivan won the game, as he scored 100 points for keeping Adam from stepping in a patch of poison ivy. After the hike we went into Northfield for iced coffees, Veronica went to her first Ragstock, and we mused about the absurdity of olive oil stores. We drove back the long way, not on purpose, and wound up in East Saint Paul at El Burrito Mercado, a worthy reward for our fledgling efforts. We all slept like babies.