Scofflaws

The sign was clear: Construction! Trail Closed. Violators will be prosecuted.

"Maybe we should turn around," Heidi suggested pragmatically.

"What construction?" I shrugged. The trail was a paved bike path through a sparse forest, and there was no construction in sight. True, there were no other hikers, either, a fact that struck us as odd when we parked at the trailhead.

We forged on, emerging into a vacant parking lot with beautiful new picnic pavilions and an empty visitors center. My trail app gave no indication we shouldn't continue.

"It's so weird," I said in a hushed voice, "and soooo nice." The facility was gorgeous. Bleached wood and glass all opened on a view of the woods and the reservoir beyond. We made our way down a wide path carpeted in pine needles that led to a new boardwalk. A little beyond was a dock with an empty boat rental office. The afternoon sun sparkled off the water.

"You're just going to keep going?" Heidi asked archly. "This place is giving me major creeper vibes."

I knew what she was talking about, but to me, it was so inviting. We walked to the end of the pier, reading the signage about water conservation and cleanliness. A shiny new pump stood by the railing, its spout emptying into a series of descending hammered copper sluiceways. I lifted the handle and pumped. A thin stream of water spilled into first trough and began its journey back to the reservoir. A hawk screamed above.

The solitary vibe of our visit was broken by the sound of voices. We looked south and saw some paddleboards and kayaks coming our way, then headed down the dock and back to the trail for the rest of our forbidden hike.