The title of this posting is what I came home to find on my computer last night.
There are several ... incidents from throughout my life that my family will never, ever let me live down. One is "freshens my breath!" Another is "Freshly squeezed Julie Juice." Another one is "Hey Julie, which way is North?" No matter how hard I try to purge them from memory, they remain in the archives of Bradshaw Family Incrimination Files. The third one on this list, the direction-related one, happened thirteen years ago! Thirteen years. Almost half my life. And my family talks about it like it happened yesterday. And when I say my family, I mean my Dad.
You see, this weekend I'm going to Pennsylvania to bike through Amish country with some friends. That's why Dad is concerned. Sort of. Mostly he's mocking me.
We've always been an athletic family. Heck, we have enough kids for 2 basketball teams plus substitutes. I grew up playing tennis, racquetball, basketball, dodge ball, butt's up, rode bikes constantly, rollerbladed, skateboarded, surfed...you get the idea. One year Dad decided to spend his bonus money and buy the family mountain bikes. We rode those suckers everywhere. There are so many great canyons in San Diego; it was heaven to ride, though a nightmare to drive sometimes. Well, one day during the summer Dad decided for family night we were going to drive to Tecelote Canyon (about 10 miles up the freeway) and bike through it to the fancy-pants mall in La Jolla: UTC. The ride should have taken us no more than 45 minutes. We were going to have ice cream in the food court, then ride back to the car and go home.
It was a nice thought.
My brothers are much faster (read: reckless) bikers than I am and my mom is a more cautious (read: slower) biker than I am. I knew the boys were going to take off and leave me, and I knew Dad was going to stay back with Mom, so I responsibly asked for a description of the trail so that I would have a better idea of where I was supposed to be going. The boys mentioned something about train tracks, some sort of ravine, and the mouth of the canyon. So, I made a mental note of it all and off we went. Of course, they were gone in an instant. I didn't mind - it was the story of my life with them. I started to mind, though, when I got to a fork in the road. Which way, which way? I chose left (I always choose left, which doesn't make much sense because I'm right-handed). Soon I was riding right along side some rail road tracks. Perfect, I thought, I'm right where I should be, because the boys had said something about railroad tracks. Soon, though, I realized that the bay had come into view, which was awfully near home. I stopped and waited for Mom and Dad to catch up to me. I waited and waited. Pretty soon there was a pretty high-pitched noise that started getting louder and louder. Before I knew it, the commuter train was screaming by me, three feet from me (I know, I was really dumb to be standing that close to the tracks, but honestly, I thought they were dead railroad tracks. There are a lot of those in San Diego). It was about then that I started to panic. I was definitely in the wrong place and the sun was starting to set.
I considered riding home from there, but then realized I had no keys and no way of telling my parents that's what I was doing, so I turned around and started riding back in the direction I had come, only when you take a fork in the road, things get a little sticky. I finally got myself out to surface roads and decided to try to get to UTC that way. I ended up on Balboa Avenue...oh dear. I didn't have my license yet so I didn't know my way around driving at all, especially not in that neck of the woods, but I knew enough to know I wasn't anywhere close to the mall. The only thing I could think about was how worried my parents were; I had been gone for over an hour.
I knew I was in real trouble when I pulled into a gas station and asked the attendant which way was UTC. "UTC?" he asked. "What that?" The language barrier made any helpful communication almost impossible. No cell phone, no idea where I was in relation to the mall, no map, no money, I finally started crying outside the gas station. A lady, thankfully, stopped and gave me directions. I was about an hour's ride away. I know, I know. I have no idea how I got that far off course. But I pedaled as fast as I could. I finally made it back to the family at the mouth of the canyon closest to the mall. My Dad had been patrolling the canyon entrances with the truck, my mom waiting at the end of the canyon (sick with worry of course) and my brothers thought it was awesome because when Mom and Dad realized I was missing, they had ordered them to ride as fast as they could back through the canyon to look for me. They came across a homeless man and asked him if he had seen me. When my brothers reported that the only guy in the canyon hadn't seen me, my parents were sure I had been kidnapped or had fallen down a cliff.
After our reunion, we drove to get the promised ice cream. On the way home, as my legs were stiffening from my 2+ hour panicked bike ride, Dad asked me where exactly I had ended up before I turned around. I said, "Down by the bay." Everyone started laughing, some trying harder than others to cover it up. I defiantly asked what was so funny. One of the brothers said, "Julie, the bay is SOUTH!"
"And?" I replied.
"And, dork, UTC is NORTH!"
"I know that, nerd." (I'm not sure I actually knew that.)
"Then why did you bike SOUTH?"
"Because when we started I didn't know if we were north or south of the mall, quagmire."
"But when you saw the bay, didn't you think, maybe I should be going north?"
"Well, that would have been helpful, if I had known which way was north. Besides, I turned around eventually."
"Julie, the bay is to the WEST!! North is not hard to figure out from there."
"Well...I was LOST! And I never get to go camping with you guys anyway. You all get to go to Mt. Whitney and King's Canyon and I have to stay home. It's not my fault! Punks!" (For some reason at that point in my life, camping equalled direction education.)
Mom and Dad put the kabosh on the teasing at that moment, sensing I might start crying (it was the first time I became aware that maybe I should have been embarrassed by what had happened) and I considered the event mostly forgotten. No such luck.
The next morning, as Dad was getting ready to leave for work, I was still being teased by the brothers for the previous evening's escapade. When he walked into the room, he hushed the boys and walked over to me, I thought maybe to comfort me. Instead, he held out his hand and handed me something. It was a mini-compass on a keychain. I was speechless. He burst out laughing. "Don't get lost today, okay?" My brothers came up behind him and said, "Hey Julie! Which way is NORTH?!" And thirteen years later, it's like it happened yesterday. Periodically, when I'm home visiting and am leaving from there on a trip or taking a long car drive to visit a friend, Dad will disappear for a moment and return with a compass in hand, crying he's laughing so hard. One year for Christmas, years after the incident, he even wrapped one up for me all by himself. He got to laugh about that one all day long.
The only problem is, a compass does me no good if I have no idea how to use it.
Dear Daddy, I love you. I'll be safe this weekend, I promise. I at least know which direction is North. Thanks at least for that. ;) Love, Julie.
7 comments:
We were robbed Julie! Girl's camp is nothing like boy scouts, and maybe we would have been teased less, lost less, and yelled at less (me--not you) if someone had taken the time with us. :) Despite Neal being Mr. Scout man for so many years, he knows better than to say ANYTHING with regards to me and maps. He knows I won't drive with him if he does. :) Especially since he's recently gotten us lost. :)
Ok, so that FHE was so much fun. Brian and I were flying through the canyon. I've never made that ride as fast as I did that day. We even raced the train at one point. Maybe it was the same train that almost hit you. Anyway, that was one of the coolest adventures. You need to get lost this week so I can go riding to find you. I'll be in Philly this next week.
Oh, and bring your cell phone. It doesn't have north, but maybe you can call an Amish person and they can give you directions...
You've got to remember Julie, the funniest part. when you asked the guy at the gas station if you could see a map, he said "I sell you one for 3 dollars!" To our credit, we rode all around UTC and the canyon looking for you when we learned you were lost. We love you sis! Don't get lost this weekend. You might end up in an amish wilderness dying from gastrointestinal trouble that spontaneously makes a comeback... that would make us sad!
Gary
Dad just finished reading your blog. He is laughing so hard he is crying... THIRTEEN YEARS later.
Of course it was not funny at the time. It didn't help that when the homeless man was asked about whether he had seen you, we were told not to worry. That HE slept there every night and it was a safe canyon. Right...............
Have fun this weekend and Dad says if you get lost this weekend you will never live it down
...throughout eternity. HA HA
See what I mean?...They even remember details I've blocked out of my memory...I have a very bad feeling about this bike trip. I'm not kidding...
Growing up in Houston, there are no landmarks to learn by. So I never learned. My favorite part of "The Fugitive" is when the FBI scream into the walkie-talkies "He's at the north-east exit!" (or some exit). That's it, I think. I can never be in the FBI. I would have been wandering around that building for hours.
Oh Julie - that is such a great story! I can only imagine the RELIEF they felt when they found you again! And in your defense, when I lived in San Diego with all the canyons, hills, etc. etc. it was very difficult to know if you were pointed north or south!
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