I am Queen of the World

I'm on a river roll.

Thursday morning, I walked down to Brown's Island and along the pipeline walkway, where the river level was noticeably low and entire areas around the pipeline were bone dry.

But the most unusual thing about the pipeline Thursday was that I was the sole person on it. That's never happened before.

Yesterday's light mist seemed like an ideal reason to walk down to the river again, only this time I was headed for Belle Isle.

Instead of my usual route behind Ethyl headquarters, I decided to take the steep Second Street connector, which I now know is officially called Brown's Island Way.

What surprised me was all the construction equipment and personnel grading the hill down to the Belle Isle parking lot. Surely they weren't adding more parking on that slope?

Nope, I asked the man who appeared to be in charge and he said it was for Folk Fest, where the stage will be in the parking lot and the hill will be for the audience. So now I knew.

Crossing the pedestrian bridge, I was greeted by all kinds of new graffiti on the path, including such bon mots as "Carpe diem" and everybody's new favorite, "YOLO."

Believe me, no one is a bigger proponent of "you only live once" than me, although not similarly inclined to scrawl it on park property.

People were scarce on Belle Isle, a shame given how beautiful a day it was, a landscape of silver and green punctuated with scores of birds feeding and frolicking in the river.

Eventually I settled on a rock, umbrella overhead, and within a matter of minutes, three young boys came scampering in front of me, their mother trailing behind and apologizing for them interrupting my quiet time.

I assured her I came to the river for sound, not silence.

The oldest of the boys, maybe 7 or 8 at most, mounted a rock jutting out over rushing water and shouted, "I am the king of the world!" to the river.

Water is power.

The climb back up Brown's Island Way was a calf-buster, but a worthy cap to a beautiful, gray morning.

So today I got up and over breakfast contemplated where I might want to walk today, coming to the conclusion that I wanted to go right back down to Belle Isle.

When I got to the connector, though, the construction site was quiet, the machinery frozen in place like a petrified machinery forest.

I took this as a sign to cut through the enormous dirt hill even though it was cordoned off.

I knew it was steep so I purposely started off slow but I hadn't taken into account yesterday's day and evening-long rain and once lost my footing, almost ending up taking a mud bath on the hill before miraculously righting my uncoordinated self and gingerly finishing the trek down.

Nothing like a little adrenaline rush after breakfast.

Over on the island, I encountered plenty of weekend warriors walking dogs, taking pictures and studying trail charts.

Spotting a guy with a camera way out on a rock with glorious proximity to the rushing water, I climbed out to join him.

Turns out he was positioned to take photos of the kayaks coming down the river so I also got a fabulous view of their arrival in jellybean-bright boats.

They seemed to be a seasoned bunch, making u-turns in the rapids and flipping their kayaks underwater and back up with ease.

Taking their time moving downriver, I followed them, enjoying the fragrant breeze in my face and tempted to shout my own water-inspired proclamation,

Staying on the rocks until I no longer could, I stepped over pools of water in the rocks and eventually climbed back up on the path.

Once I got to the pedestrian bridge, I looked over toward the Civil War P.O.W. sheds only to see a photo shoot going on with a pretty brunette in a red dress posing with her leg in the air.

Just another morning on Belle Isle.

Since I'd just endured the nearly vertical walk up Brown's Island Way yesterday, today I opted to come back through Oregon Hill, passing tourists at the overlook point, a cook taking a cigarette break behind Mama Zu and a yard sale next to Fine Foods (where there is anything but fine food).

Walking up Belvidere, I came upon three young guys panhandling on a corner.

One of the was sitting in the trash can, a goofy straw hat on his head, waving to cars while his buddies held up signs soliciting money.

Spotting me, he grinned and said, "Hi! I'm a real redneck. Can you spare some change?"

Holding up my keys, I said they were all I had with me. Grinning, he held up his hand. "Pretty girl like you? That's worth a high five."

What the hell? I gave him one.

"How about a hug?" he said, throwing his arm around my shoulder to pull me in and knocking his straw hat off in the process.

See what happens when you get pushy? I asked. "It was worth it!" he said, scooping up the hat and putting it back on his head without ever moving out of the trash can.

Just another morning in downtown VCU.

Sliding down mud hills and hugging men in trash cans. You only live once.