Three hours had passed since I stepped off the plane at DTW
Airport in Detroit. My dad met me at the
arrivals, I dropped him off at work in his car, drove across the state of Michigan,
and was now arriving in my college town of Kalamazoo. This town holds a lot of fond memories for me,
having spent four years here attending Western Michigan University. I was thrilled to be back, but I would not be
catching up with old friends or drinking at Waldo’s, Monaco Bay, or any of the
local watering holes that I used to frequent as a college student. I was here to embark on a solo one-day trail
running adventure along the Kal-Haven Trail.
The route is thirty-three and a half miles long, starts in Kalamazoo,
and would lead me through back country woods, farmland, and several small towns,
eventually dumping me out in South Haven, a small resort town on Michigan’s
west coast. During my years as a college
student, I wasn’t much of a runner and I had no idea that this trail even
existed. I discovered it a couple of
months prior while surfing the internet one night. The trail runs parallel to a now defunct
railroad route that used to serve Kalamazoo and South Haven, and is a popular
destination for hikers and cyclists, along with snowmobilers during the winter. After doing more research, I decided that I
needed to go back and run this trail at some point. By doing so, I could explore this rural area
of Michigan in a way that I had never done before. The time had come. It was Easter/Passover weekend, and I would
be spending four days in my hometown catching up with family and observing the
holidays. It was Friday, and everyone
was working, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to realize this
Kal-Haven Trail adventure that I had been looking forward to for so long.
I soon arrived at the trailhead parking lot and began
changing my clothes in the car. My dad
had planned for his girlfriend to pick him up from work, allowing me to borrow
his car during the day. My plan was to
get started as early as possible, and upon arrival in South Haven, call an Uber
or cab to take me back to my car in the trailhead parking lot in
Kalamazoo. I would then drive back to my
Dad’s house, a little over two hours away.
In the days leading up to the run, I had planned everything very
thoroughly, checking in with park officials to see how the trail conditions
were, and confirming that there were cab companies in South Haven. I estimated that it would take me roughly seven
hours to complete the run, so I was hoping to be back to my dad’s house around
8:00 PM that night. I made my final
preparations and went through my mental checklist; phone, wallet, keys, food,
water. I stashed my wallet, keys, and
some fruit in my pack, filled up my internal camelback with water, and carried
another disposable water bottle in my hand.
My dad had been nothing but supportive of my adventure and took the
liberty of purchasing some fruit and water for me to take along. When I opened the car door, a rush of frigid
air blew in, giving me chills. It was
late March in Michigan, very early in the Spring, and the air was much colder
than what I was used to in Southern California.
I stepped outside and admired the surroundings as I stretched. The parking lot was surrounded by woods, and
an old train car rested on the ground, marking the beginning of the trail. To the side of it were some signs and an
outhouse style bathroom shack. The cold
morning air felt good, and I took some deep, refreshing breaths as I walked
towards the trail, threw my pack on, and started running. The path was composed entirely of crushed
limestone with leafless trees lining the path, as I headed through the
woods. I looked to my left and could see
a small lake through the trees at the bottom of the drop off. The sky was partly sunny with some thin high
clouds shielding some of the sunlight and the temperature was around thirty-eight
degrees. Owing to its geographic
location and proximity to lakes, Michigan isn’t known for having cooperative
weather, but today, the weather gods were in a good mood, and it seemed to be
cooperating perfectly. The path traveled
almost completely in a straight line through the woods for miles and I could
see very far along the way. I was now
running parallel to a remote country road about a hundred feet to my right,
separated by a wall of trees. Occasionally,
I would see a sign along the path indicating that there was a driveway up
ahead. I would then come upon a driveway
that formed at the road to my right, cut through the trees and across the
trail, and extended to my left through the woods to a cozy house. I saw several of these houses along this
section of the trail and thought about how cool it must be living here. Sure, it was out in the middle of nowhere,
but if I lived here, I’d go trail running, hiking, cycling, cross country
skiing, snowmobiling, and anything else you could do on this trail every damn
day! I continued to run, focusing on my surroundings,
and taking it all in. The trail
intersected with several roads as I made my way through the woods and
farmland. Periodically, someone would be
driving by as I passed through the intersection, and I’d give them a wave or a
nod. Having spent most of my life in
Michigan, this land was familiar to me, but seeing it all up close and
personal, on foot, at six miles an hour was euphoric.
Throughout my entire childhood, all I wanted to do was leave
this place. I had a lot of great
friends, and I loved my family dearly, but I knew I belonged in California. When I was young, my family and I traveled to
the Los Angeles area to visit family and every time we arrived back home, I
missed California immensely. During my
childhood, I spent a lot of time with my mother’s side of the family, which
included two uncles, three aunts, one guy cousin, four girl cousins, and my
aunts and uncles who married into the family.
We saw each other often, and we always spent holidays together. We were a typical Irish-American family who
loved to drink, eat, play games, and get into shenanigans at family
gatherings. Out of all the cousins, my
sister and I were the youngest. My cousin
Patrick, who is five months my senior, was, and still is the closest thing I
ever had to a brother. We grew up very
close and have a lot of great memories together. Patrick was a skilled hockey player, and also
played football all throughout high school.
Caitlin, his sister, was an excellent soccer player, and my other three
girl cousins, Jennie, Kelly, and Megan, were into a variety of sports,
especially volleyball. All three of them
were exceptionally gifted at the sport and maintain a legacy in their hometown
of Marysville that has yet to be surpassed.
And then, there was me. I
wouldn’t go as far to say that I was the family wierdo, but I definitely stood
out. My cousins also had a deep passion
for college sports, especially football and basketball. I was into skiing and snowboarding, rock
music, little league baseball, tennis, sailing, bike riding, and I was a hockey
fan. There was also a stretch of time
when I was into bowling, but I never found it as fulfilling as being
outside. Bowling was something to do on
weekend nights or on days when the weather was lousy. Yep, I was different alright. My cousins and I always got along well, and I
respected them for their accomplishments and athletic abilities. Still, I
always knew that I wanted more than to be trapped in Michigan’s borders for the
rest of my life. I held onto my
California dream throughout college and into my young adult years, knowing that
I would eventually make it if I kept trying.
That dream became reality, and I relocated to Los Angeles in March of
2012, where I’ve remained ever since. I’m
certainly glad that I’ve made a life for myself in California, but here I was
running on a desolate trail, smiling like a kid and having a blast in the very
place that I tried so hard to escape from for so long. I laughed to myself about the irony of my situation
as I pressed onward.
My thoughts shifted back to the present as I made my way
into the town of Gobles. The path
crossed a country road on the edge of town, where there was a picnic table
underneath a tiny pavilion off to the side of the trail. I ran over to it and sat down on top, resting
my feet on the bench. I had covered a
little over a half marathon’s distance and was feeling strong. As I sat there chomping down on a banana and
sipping water, I admired the surroundings.
There were a couple of stores and a restaurant on the road near the
trail along with the local water tower.
When I looked to my left, I saw a lady approaching. I did a double take when I saw that she was
walking several Bernese Mountain dogs.
As she walked closer, I counted five of them! Bernese Mountain dogs are a large breed and
here this lady was, walking five of them with minimal effort. After a quick break, I stood up, threw on my
pack, and resumed forward progress. The
next town I would be running through was Bloomindale, about four and a half
miles away. The route between Gobles and
Bloomindale traveled through more woods and farmland with several road
crossings, and I pulled into town about fifty minutes later. The path wove across a road through town with
several shops and restaurants lining the way.
I came to a small outpost with an outhouse restroom and a picnic table. When I stopped to relieve myself and refill
my camelback with water, I checked my phone and saw that I had gotten some
texts and Facebook messages from some family members asking me how the run was
going. I answered letting them know that
I was a little over halfway through and feeing great. I soon pressed on, leaving Bloomindale
behind. The next several miles were run
in more desolate areas with woods and swampy areas. The snow had melted, creating pools of water
along the sides of the trail like a moat.
I reeled in mile after mile, and eventually, the mile markers, which
were off to the side of the trail at every mile, hit single digits. I motored along through the countryside with
less than ten miles to go, letting my mind wander some more. Occasionally, I’d see a house or mobile home
off to the side of the trail. Some were
nice, others were downright comical, looking like they’d been through a
hurricane, with random junk scattered all over the yard and in the woods. When I reached the six-mile marker, it was
starting to seem like the trail would never end. South Haven was getting closer with each step,
but it felt like I’d never get there.
For the next few miles, I played cat and mouse with a family of four who
were riding bikes along the trail. They
would ride past me, stop to get snacks or use the restrooms, I would run past
them, then they’d pass me again. It
reminded me of when my parents used to take my sister and I on bike rides when
we were kids. We would ride around the
neighborhood, my parents in the lead, my sister and I following closely
behind. One time, we were riding back
home from my elementary school when I was about eight years old, and my sister
was five. I don’t know what I was
thinking but I decided to take a different route home, all by myself. I let my sister and parents ride away and I
made a turn down a random street, thinking I knew exactly where to go, but
really had no idea. I rode my bike
around for forty-five minutes, lost, trying to find the way back, but nothing
looked familiar. Then I noticed our
church at the end of the street, right in front of me, about two blocks
away. I knew how to get home from the
church, so I knew right then, I was safe.
When I arrived home, my parents were in a panic and on the phone with
the local police. Upon my arrival, they
told them I had just walked in, and hung up.
It was one of the few times in my life that I was both hugged and
scolded within thirty seconds.
Shortly after passing
the two-mile marker, I sat on a bench off to the side for a quick reprieve. The terrain was flat and relatively easy
compared to what I was used to running in California, so I was exhausted but
not too sore. When I pressed onward, I walked
along, sipping water frequently, and began running again once I hit the one-mile
marker. After crossing a wooden tunnel
bridge, I had a little less than a half mile to go. “Let’s get this bad boy done and get back to
Dad’s house” I said to myself out loud.
Five minutes later, I arrived at the trailhead in South Haven, throwing
my arms in the air and shouting out loud victoriously to myself. It took me a little over six and a half hours
to complete the trail and it was approaching 4:15 PM. After spending a few minutes marveling in the
experience, I took out my cell phone to find an Uber. The trailhead was in a park on the edge of town
with a boat harbor and a couple of high rise apartment buildings nearby. Per my phone, there were no Uber drivers
available in my location. Downtown South
Haven was about a mile away, so I walked in that direction, trying the app again. Still no Uber drivers. I was so in awe of my running adventure that
I wasn’t even worried about how I was going to get back to the car in
Kalamazoo. No problem! I knew there were a couple of cab companies
in South Haven from the research I had done earlier in the week. I dialed the first one, but the number was disconnected. When I dialed the second one, it sent me to
voicemail three times in a row. Not
good. My phone battery was getting low,
but I managed to pull up a website with a train and bus schedule. Nothing was leaving town until the next day,
so that wasn’t an option either. I wandered
around downtown wondering what to do next.
I was clad in running gear with no jacket, and it was started to get
very cold outside as the late afternoon sun began to lower in the sky. Finally, I decided to pop into the nearest
establishment to try to seek assistance; a Fifth Third bank. The staff was friendly and helpful, but after
calling the one Uber driver in town and the cab companies to no avail, I was
again unsure what to do. My phone was
nearly dead, and it wasn’t getting any earlier.
Finally, I asked if I could borrow their phone to call my dad. When he answered, he was happy to hear that I
had finished the trail safely. I explained
the situation, and told him that I would call my Stacey, my sister, to come get
me. It was Friday, but my dad had to go
into work for a few hours early the next morning for month end inventory and I
wanted him to get some rest. He exhaled
a long breath into the receiver. “I’ll
come get you” he said. He wasn’t angry,
but he wasn’t particularly thrilled that he was going be driving three hours
across the state to rescue his crazy son.
I thanked the bank staff for their hospitality and headed across the
street to a Dairy Queen. Despite the
troubling situation I was in, I was starving, and ordered some chicken strips,
fries, and a frozen treat. As I sat in a
booth enjoying my little tray of deep fried heaven, I texted my dad the address. I was hoping that I could hang out here for a
while and wouldn’t have to wait outside in the cold. Thankfully, the staff didn’t seem to mind
that there was a crazy runner loitering in their restaurant, and I spent the
next two and a half hours watching Spongebob on the restaurant TV, reminiscing on
the run, and laughing to myself about my debacle.
My dad finally arrived around 8:00 PM. When he pulled up in his girlfriend’s car, he
gave me a look as if to say, “good thing you’re my son, otherwise I’d be
ripping you to shreds”. “Get in the car,
knucklehead” he said. I, on the other hand,
was happy as a clam. “You’re the greatest
dad of all time!” I exclaimed as I hugged him.
We talked about my adventure during the ride and he dropped me off where
his car was parked in Kalamazoo at the trailhead. We drove home following each other on the
highway and made it home a couple of hours later. It had been quite a while since my dad needed
to come to my aid, but he had always been there for me when I was in a sticky
situation and this time was no different.
For this, I love and respect him deeply, and will always be grateful for
his help. There was no shortage of
teasing from my dad for the rest of the weekend about my little mishap, but all
in all, he didn’t seem to mind that he had to make the trip. Each time he teased me, my response always
was “I love you, dad!” which drew plenty of laughs from us and anyone else who
happened to be in the room. The rest of
the weekend was spent celebrating Easter and Passover and catching up with
family. It was a great weekend, and my
situation in South Haven made it one that I will never forget. Living in Los Angeles, I take a lot of things
for granted. Virtually anything I need
is a phone call away. Lesson learned;
this is not always the case, especially in a small town!
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