When I was little, “adventure” was a bad word in my house. It was the word my mom used to make bad situations seem better. For example, having snakes in the well, and having the pipes freeze, those were some great adventures. Or when we were between houses, every place we stayed was an adventure. It didn’t take long for me to catch on, and I still don’t like the word.
Seeing as I am a legal adult now, I have a good house that I have been living in for seven years with no real problems, I’ve decided I should get over my fear of the word, and try to be a more adventurous person. Here’s how that went:
I got home this afternoon, put on a warm jacket and some boots, grabbed my camera and tripod, bought an iced coffee, and headed to the river where I swim in the Summer to see if I can get any interesting pictures. Well, it turns out that road isn’t plowed in the Winter, and there’s nowhere for me to pull over to walk down, so I have to keep driving. I’m headed to a ski mountain now, so the road is busy with impatient tourists tailgating me as I look for a place to turn around. I found a side road and thought “maybe there’s somewhere I can pull over up here where there aren’t so many cars and get a picture of the mountains or something.” Apparently there are just a lot of trees and vacation homes with questionably plowed hilly driveways. So, again, I look for a place to turn around (maybe I should mention that there is a rather steep hill on either side of the road, as if someone just carved the road out of the side of a mountain.) I eventually found a spot (where I made a five point turn in a minivan that was kind of terrifying) and my aunt called me. Twice. (I still don’t know what she wanted, actually, maybe I should call her back.)
So, anyways, I get back to the main road and remember a hiking trail just a little further in the other direction, and think that I should just go there, since I have already made it this far. I get there and see it is packed, mainly with cross-country skiers and those people who walk but use ski poles (I’ll never understand that). Then there’s me, sliding around in my leather boots with a camera around my neck. However, I did take some pictures there, including this one. As I’m leaving, there’s a car pulled over for no apparent reason filled with rather sketchy looking guys a few years older than me on the side of the road right by where I have to pull out. I’m afraid they’re going to hit me, to be honest, but they don’t, and as soon as I leave, they drive the other way.
So, there, my adventure is done. I play some music loudly and sing even louder, proud of myself for figuring something out and (hopefully) getting a picture I can post to my blog, going the same speed as the car in front of me. 57 according to the officer who pulled me over.
Yes, I got pulled over for speeding and not having my car inspected. Thank you, snow storm, for happening the day I was supposed to get that done. I didn’t get a ticket, thankfully, but my hands still haven’t stopped shaking.
Needless to say, I have yet to get over my fear of “adventure.”