"'Where were you when . . .?' is a common script"

Like the Kennedy assassination and the Twin Tower attacks, it's likely that the COVID-19 pandemic will become the "Where were you when ...?" question for a generation. I happened to be in Cumberland, Maryland, as a halfway meet-up for Scott and me. It was intended to be a low-key weekend, including drinks with an old friend, homemade dinners at our AirBnB (left), and some hijinks at the Hooley Pub Crawl (right). I fully expected an unexpected run-in with a former student would be the big surprise of the trip.

 

But by Saturday morning, announcements about scaling back the St. Patrick's Day party were made. For better or worse, we decided to still participate, although we kept our distance at most places, including Dig Deep Brewing Co. (left). But by the evening, it became apparent that perhaps we should take more precautions, so the next day, we put some real space between ourselves and the world by hiking the lakeside loop at Rocky Gap State Park (right). We finished the 5 miles at the casino contained in the park. Its slot machines were shockingly silent and its bars eerily empty. Employees told us they were being sent home soon. (Incidentally, I went on a hike and then to a casino on 9/11, too, which is weirdly coincidental for a person who dislikes casinos.) After one last drink in the wild, I headed back home, to DC, as well.

 

But not long after, upon deciding that holing up alone in my apartment in a shuttered city would probably not be best for my mental health, I headed to Ohio for the long lockdown haul. And with that decision began the now cliched phase called "the new normal," or as I like to call it, based on another trope topic: "What I Did on My Staycation." At first, we spent the short, cold days inside, throwing darts, playing online trivia, and counting the cars lined up for the DQ drive-thru (top left). On those only-in-Ohio surprise summer-like respites, we rushed to the local baseball field for some bocce competition (top right). We Zoomed into a Seder celebration (bottom left) but had a simple meal by tablelight for Easter (bottom right).

 

 

When the shutdown stir crazies set in, we set out on hikes. Our first foray was to Rockbridge State Nature Preserve because nearby Hocking Hills State Park was so inundated that it was made off-limits to visitors (top left). Another adjacent alternative were the nearly empty trails through Zaleski State Forest (top right). Sometimes, we stayed a little closer to home, enjoying the wildflowers at Stage's Pond State Nature Preserve (bottom left) or hunting for geocaches at Slate Run Metro Park (bottom right).

 

  

As the weather warmed, weekend hikes turned into daily walks, occasionally on the small trails near the Bergstresser/Dietz Covered Bridge, the last standing covered bridge in Franklin County. Running under this bridge is Little Walnut Creek, where we canoed twice when the water level was high enough (top left). Another weekend, we got into the flow at Darby Creek (top right), and a few times, we paddled into the middle of Hargus Lake to take a dip. One time, we got off the couch and out with SOFA (Southern Ohio Floaters Association) for an excursion at Paint Creek State Park (middle). At one point, we pulled out of the lake for lunch and a short hike up a creek (bottom left). Our destination was a small cave system, a veritable adult jungle gym complete with bats (bottom right).

 

 

Before we paddled, we pedaled, in Athens. We rode the trail from The Plains into town, so I could set eyes on my alma mater (top). On the way back, we stopped by a few trailside breweries to pick up some growlers, but not before I tried to get a refund on my mispent youth by visiting my former houses: one on Mill Street, where a big, friendly doggy now lives (bottom left), and another on Kern Street, where I long ago left my permanent mark on the sidewalk out front (bottom right).

 

For my birthday, we traded pedal power for horsepower for a trail ride near Athens, led by Uncle Buck's Riding Stable (top left). Despite my enthusiasm, I (and my butt) happily opted against the longer trip to Moonville Tunnel (top right). It was more than enough to just be out amid the tranquility of tall trees (bottom left). It's just too bad the stable's saloon wasn't open for business (bottom right), so there was no opportunity for some refreshment while we re-engaged our legs.  

 

 

Instead, we headed to horse-themed Rockmill Brewery, which previously was the location of our first post-lockdown outing (top left). The beer is great, but the setting is equally spectacular. Its property edges up against the Hocking River (top right), which flows down from the Rock Mill that gave the former farm its name. By a bend in the river sits a small chapel, which hosts weddings but is also the backdrop for a live music series (bottom left) that lets you bask in some tunes as the sun goes down (bottom right).

 

  

Most of the time we managed to spread out, but we made space for our bar trivia bubble (left). Due to an unfortunate series of events, we had to give up on our regular haunt. Luckily, the U.S. flagship of BrewDog is within walking distance, so we started heading there for trivia instead (right). (Don't be alarmed by the fire truck; the situation was taken care of and we safely returned to our suds.) So basically, besides hiking, canoeing, biking, and horseback riding, I used my vacation to earn free beer with random facts from my brain. Or in other words, to turn a new but now common phrase: I gained the "quarantine 15," just like everyone else. 

 

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Adams, Rebecca G., and Rosemary Blieszner. “Baby Boomer Friendships.” Generations: Journal of the American Society on Aging, vol. 22, no. 1, 1998, pp. 70–75. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/44875682. Accessed 18 May 2021.