Pair of dirty underwear adjacent to trail has been guiding hikers, bikers for years

Wissahickon Valley Park, Philadelphia--The unusually warm late autumn afternoon was cooling off quickly as the sun had already began its decent in the post-daylight savings time sky. The long shadows an urgent reminder to pick up the pace as navigating these parts is difficult enough during daylight, not to mention the uncertainties of urban parks after dark.

Keeping an eye out for loose rock along the gently and sharp sloping trails of this valley requires a focus on the ground before you, which can allow the splendors, and, the not-so-splendid, of the park to sneak up on you. This happened to me over the weekend while hiking.

As I rounded a bend in the narrow, leaf-covered trail I quickly popped my head up for possible oncoming mountain bikers when I noticed a gray flag hanging from a low branch of a tree next to the trail. Some sort of marker or garbage I thought to myself as I approached the weathered piece of clothe.

It didn't take long to realize it was the latter. Wow! It was a pair of old, used men's underwear just dangling there, practically obstructing the walkway in the forest. I recoiled in disgust and felt chills up my back as I imagined what if I had made incidental contact with the beast.

This was truly unsanitary and as I searched for a stick on the ground to knock the briefs from its apparent longtime lodging, I had an idea: I could possibly send this item to someone as a practical joke with the upcoming holiday season just around the corner. Finally, a stick, and, to my relief, long enough that I did not have to come within 3 feet of the creature.

As I inched my way towards it and just before the stick was to make contact, a winded mountain biker, rounding the curve in the trail rather quickly, shouted with all the remaining wind he could muster.

"Nooooooo! Wait, no. Don't do it," screamed Dylan Rogers, a semi-pro mountain biker from Pottstown, PA, taking his weekly Saturday Wissahickon ride. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I was stunned. Really. At a complete loss as to what the problem was with trying to beautify a park. Although, a part of me thought he saw the plastic bag on the ground and wondered what I was up too. "I'm just clearing this garbage from ..."

"Dude, it's not garbage. That's a trail marker that has been here for years, providing guidance and direction to bikers, hikers and joggers in this vast park. Dude, drop the stick."

The Wissahickon section of Fairmount Park is over 1400 acres of wooded landscape crisscrossed by, what feels like, an endless number of trails. Apparently, trail markings, in any form, are welcomed by frequent park visitors.

"When I see the skid marks hanging on the side of the trail, I know it's time to make my own skid marks on the trail by slowing down and applying the brake. The underwear tells me there's a steep hill ahead. Something I might forget during an intense ride."

Rogers eventually apologized for his overreaction to my removal of the "marking," but I found that others in the park also relied on the drawers as their North Star.

"When I see the underwear I know to to take the right trail up ahead if I want to end up at the Valley Green Inn, where I usually park," said hiker Becky Schmidt, her ragged fanny pack stocked with energy bars, water and a copy of Eat, Pray, Love. "There are some days I look back at my hike and think, 'God, I'd have died out there if it wasn't for that glorious, beautiful pair of dirty underwear.'"

"Two years ago," said Sam Gasteau, 34, of Chestnut Hill, "I was lost. I mean, completely lost. I wandered around for nearly 48 hours and then I came upon the underwear. I knew exactly where I was. I don't care how they got there and I don't really want to know, but that dirty pair of skivvies saved my life."