Over the course of my trip to the Adirondacks, in Upstate New York I am growing to realize that the best moments are those far from planned. One can plan every detail, attempt to schedule every minute, but it’s when the plan diverts to the unexpected that I find the greatest jumps for joy. 

This week my friend Julia, and I went on a pedal powered four-seated steel welded “vehicle” which is designed to ride atop the old railroad tracks just out of Thendara, New York. About half of a mile in, loud claps thundered the sky and we had to seek refuge in the bordering foliage. To our luck, there was a series of abandoned train cars aside the tracks that could provide us coverage from the falling rain. 

There was a shattered window that allowed us to see inside the main compartment, and of course I was set on finding a way in. Our door was locked by a skeleton key, but on the opposite side, the door was bashed in so I reentered the storm, skipped along the gravel to the opening. Inside were old beat up cushions for chairs, shards of broken glass, and a newspaper rather dated (with no printed date) that must have been upwards of 20 years old.

Looking through the car I travelled through time to when this train would have been in use. I became a riding passenger waving out the window, giving my farewell to those I would be departing.

After the yelling clouds settled, the excitement hardly did. As we were trying to fasten ourselves back to the bike, Julia awoke a swarm of wasps from an underground nest below the tracks. The wasps came out in panicked hordes, and Julia and I pedaled as hard as we possibly could only to look back and see her uncle nearly being dragged behind as he tried to pull the brake and her grandma running and shouting attempting to catch the runaway bike. Eventually we did stop and give everyone proper time to board the “vehicle,” but unfortunately, we were left with some casualties. Julia did get stung through her campfire socks.

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The following day, we were up bright and early to begin our morning hike up Stillwater Trail in the Adirondacks. The hike itself was steep and twisted, which gave way for some intense heavy-breathing. I suppose I am more out of shape than I thought. Since we started early, we had the entire trail to ourselves and the natural world around us. At the top was a tin fire tower that rose far above the tips of the trees which granted us views as far as our own eyes can see. There was a US flag tangled along its pole coming off the fire tower which Julia untwisted as we sang the US national anthem. To our great surprise, we must have channeled American-ness and summoned the flight of two bald eagles overhead. It was a very patriotic moment I must say. 

We also took a leap of faith jumping about 10 feet off of a large boulder into the tumbling rapids down below. Yet again, I failed to hold my breath (I should probably work on that). I challenged the fierce stomach drop I had looking over the cliff by taking the leap. I proved to myself that my instincts are often over precautious and challenging them makes living all the more exhilarating and worthwhile. 

I can confidently say that none of my stories above were a part of any plan. 

Of course my words lack the strength to truly convey the spectacle of these experiences, but the magic is alive in every line in every letter. The adventure hardly is made by the plans we create, but are formulated from the steps we take away from the beaten path— a step up from the obvious take— living in the single moment of now with a bundle full of curiosity. It’s the moments in between the plans that make the memories.