Winding down the smooth asphalt descent into the experiential wilderness, bike clipped to my trunk, I decided to go a little farther into the depth this time around. Engine grinding up the hills I have entered Bent Creek, established in 1925. This is an experiential forest encompassing 6,000 acres of the Pisgah National Forest, studying the growth of planted oaks and hardwoods. I thought my phone and I needed some space but forgot that was my only way to take pictures so sadly you will not be able to see it. Driving down here on a sunny weekend means cars lined up with bikes and slobbery puppies jumping out trunks and moms running after their little toddlers wobbling into the woods.

These trees here are on display like a mannequin in a clothing store. All observed, watched, but by scientific eyes. This is an experiment anyways, roots held and nurtured by man’s hand. Pulling up into the parking lot, I felt like I was showing up late to a party. Hikers and bikers clad in 2014 festival t-shirts and farm-to-feet wool socks unloading their precious cargo (puppies, babies, and bikes.) The highway drone has dulled to a faint woosh. Only heard if you listen for it, a faint engine roar reminding me I’m not allowed to forget I’m an animal of the concrete jungle.

I noticed Colorado, Utah, and New Hampshire license plates and asked the Colorado guy with a faded orange beard and gray tights under black mesh shorts what he was doing out here and he said simply “just hitting up some trails.” I realized he was looking at me expectantly, being the semi-native with a Virginia license plate, I quickly summed up the only trail I’ve loyally ridden the past year or so. Seeming satisfied with that piece of information he pedaled away. Everyone’s just trying to get a piece of life out here. Clipping into my bike I headed down a flat gravel path as well, rocks churning and gurgling beneath my wheels, hoping to discover new trails without getting too lost.

Feeling a little less like a roaming pedestrian on their day off and more like a scientific investigator, I jumped off my bike when I noticed a curious silver glint 10 feet off the path. As if strapping on my chem lab goggles I discerned the fence of metal to be purposeful, not left out here to fend for itself but could not figure out why. I then I realized I was surrounded by about 5-10 year old oak trees, same height, same species, equal distancing. This doesn’t seem like natural primary succession, but whatever floats these rangers boats I guess.

Wandering through the baby oaks my foot slips into a modest creek. I watch our liquid life flow in casual canorous curls through the slimy decomposing leaf bed. It is February yet I smell awakening. The magnetic pull of hydrogen bonds glide my arms across their cool filmy surface. My limbs, feeling like branches, dance on it’s tension. Sterile skin sliding off onto the banks and eddies, my arms now crawl with microorganisms and mud. Relieved not to be hiding from my roots behind closed doors, my pores open and seep out my purest essence. This is a classic North Carolina woods, naked trees spaced out on top of a thick layer of brown leaves, churning with chipper squirrels, laced with creeks that used to carry creepy crawlers but now glint with aluminum. I sure am filled with romanticism for the natural but where would I be without it?
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Hours later I arrived back at my car, shooting out of a steep trail coincidentally right where I parked, feeling proud of my navigation skills I put my bike back on the car, feeling wild and drenched in bloody cuts and mud from “accidentally” falling into the mud. I laugh at the beauty of it all.

The road in here abruptly lead out to blaring civilization and with that….the urge to shower.