By Matthew E. Milliken
MEMwrites.wordpress.com
April 26, 2021
After I got my second Covid-19 vaccination and was released from my observation period…
Wait. Actually, a quick story about that.
I sat down in a chair in the observation room. A young woman was sitting to my right when I arrived. She was still sitting there when they called my name to release me. Dunno what that was about.
OK, back to the post:
After I got my second Covid-19 vaccination and was released from my observation period, I walked back to my car and sat down in the driver’s seat. I’d previously toyed with the thought of driving over to Caffe Driade, ordering some tea and a pastry, and relaxing on one of the spacious outdoor patios.
It was certainly a perfect day for it — clear skies, no breeze, temperature in the low 70s. And I love hanging out at coffee shops; I used to do it all the time.
It’s an activity that Covid-19 put an end to, of course. Only once since what I think of as the start of the U.S. pandemic back in March 2020 have I done anything close to hanging out at a coffee shop.
Oh, about that one time…
On the morning of Friday, Oct. 30, I ordered tea and a pastry at Cocoa Cinnamon, which at the time had no seating inside or outside the establishment. I went around the corner to Parts and Labor, a restaurant with a very large patio. A few women were sitting and chatting without masks at one table, but it was otherwise unoccupied. I sat about 25 feet away from them and lowered my mask to sip tea. I pulled out my laptop and looked up information on some of the state and local candidates who appeared on my ballot. (If memory serves, I saved the pastries to enjoy later at home.) After I’d absorbed all the details that I thought I’d find useful, I went to cast my ballot.
Anyway, back to the post:
After I got my second Covid-19 vaccination and was released from my observation period, I walked back to my car and sat down in the driver’s seat. I’d previously toyed with the thought of driving over to Caffe Driade, ordering some tea and a pastry, and relaxing on one of the spacious outdoor patios.
But then I thought better of it. Maybe I’d be able to get a table 10 or 20 feet away from someone else, but maybe I wouldn’t. The risk didn’t seem worth it.
So I stayed in my car in the Friday Center parking lot and browsed some web pages. Maybe there was a nice hike I could do nearby? Chapel Hill has a lot of walking and bicycling paths, including the excellent Bolin Creek Trail. However, I’ve walked that trail before. I searched for something that might be (a) closer to my current location and (b) new to me.
As it turns out, the Friday Center is a short distance from the Mason Farm Biological Reserve, one of the properties overseen by the university’s North Carolina Botanical Garden. You had to apply for a permit to visit, but that could be done online. Seconds after I submitted a complete application, I received the permit by email.
I drove through some parking lots, made my way to Raleigh Road, a.k.a. North Carolina 54, turned left and took a quick left onto Finley Golf Course Road. I’d been on this road before. The western side of its northern stretch is lined by the headquarters of UNC Chapel Hill’s athletics department as well as that of the North Carolina High School Athletic Association. If you continue, you come to the entrance to the golf course.
I went right past that entrance, because in perusing the Botanical Garden website and eyeing the Google Maps directions on my phone, I hadn’t noticed that the route to the preserve involved driving through the golf course parking lot. The navigation function on my phone quickly called my attention to this fact, however. I reversed course by driving through an empty gravel lot outside the Mason Farm Wastewater Treatment Plant, returned to the golf course and headed in.
I’ve found in some cases that the map app on my phone isn’t always great at explaining where to go, and this proved to be the case once I was on the golf course. (My not realizing that I had to go in was more on me than the app.) But I got through the lot, located the turnoff that led to the preserve and pulled onto the gravel surface. Success…?
Not quite. After driving about two-thirds of the way down the road, I discovered that reaching the location marked on my maps as a parking lot required crossing several inches of standing water. Instead of turning south and trying to ford Morgan Creek, I kept on going east. But this route ended in a closed gate.
I went back the way I’d come. When I reached to the intersection that led to the stream, I decided to try the only remaining option that I hadn’t yet attempted: I turned to the north, drove up a short hill, and came to a fence. Was this a sort of overflow parking lot? There were marks on the ground that made me think people did occasionally park there. Good enough!
I turned off the engine, brought a clipboard, a sheet of paper and a pen to hand, and began copying the email I’d received from the Botanical Garden. I was supposed to print out the email and leave it on my dashboard when visiting the preserve, but I figured a handwritten copy ought to be good enough.
When I finished copying the text, I looked up and noticed that a police SUV was sitting behind me.
I rolled down my window, figuring it was better to do that than get out of my car. (As mentioned on this blog six years ago, a scene in Quentin Tarantino’s 1992 breakout movie Reservoir Dogs has helped make me mildly paranoid about traffic stops.) The police officer pulled up and told me that he’d been driving through and had noticed my car and thought it was unusual to see one on this side of the bridge. (Bridge? I thought.) I asked if it was OK to park here and he said it was and that was pretty much the end of the conversation. He pulled away and headed back toward the access road leading to the golf course.
I got out of the car, fished my hat from the back seat and started walking away from my vehicle before I realized that my phone was still snug in its cradle, which attaches to a dashboard ventilator. After retrieving it, I caught a glimpse of the police SUV. The officer had just finished driving through the washed-out road. His vehicle was pulling out of the creek and into the usual parking area.
I walked in that direction. The water wasn’t quite as deep as I’d imagined — just two or three inches. It was still, so walking through would just be a matter of getting my shoes and the bottoms of my pants wet. I put the idea aside for the moment.
Instead, I headed east for the closed gate, thinking that maybe it led to some walking trails. But when I reached it, there was no sign that visitors were welcome to proceed past that spot on foot. I turned around and began walking back toward the golf course.
Long story slightly less long, I basically realized that access to virtually all of the preserve’s walking trails required getting to the parking lot, and I was neither willing to walk nor drive across the creek. I confirmed my realization many hours later while taking a more thorough look at the Botanical Garden website. (It turns out that the stream crossing, which I could see involved a short paved section, is described as “a low overflow bridge.”)
I went back to my car after having walked about a mile and a half. This visit had turned into a minor fiasco. Perhaps there was somewhere else I could go to have a nice long stroll in Chapel Hill?
I looked at my phone again and decided to drive a short distance to what turned out to be another Botanical Garden property, Battle Park, a forested crescent nestled between residential streets east of the university campus. After parking on Sandy Creek Trail, toward the middle of the crescent, I walked west for a mile or so. Then I headed back, pausing to explore a few side paths.
When I reached to the spur leading to Sandy Creek Trail, I continued onward for a nice long walk to the north. I ultimately got to the eastern part of Bolin Creek Trail before reversing course for one last time.
When all was said and done, I’d rambled just shy of seven miles through Battle Park and along connected trails. When I got back to my car, I was hot and tired and hungry. It was nearly 3 p.m., and I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.
I didn’t care, though. I’d gotten my exercise in for the day, and I felt great!
MEMwrites 
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