There are several nice bike/walking trails on our area, until recently under utilized by us. Jon has started jogging a couple times a week (I only run if someone is chasing me), and I've vowed to take my bike out more often.
On Sunday Jon and I took Henry on a bike ride (Henry riding shotgun in the Burley) to a nature preserve we wanted to explore. The park preserve is several miles down the trail. We packed some snacks and ate those at the park, and Henry enjoyed the nature-themed playground (though we forbid him from the sun-baked metal slide, upon which one could sear a pig). The preserve itself is truly beautiful with its rolling hills and its meadows. It was about 16 miles roundtrip, and I didn't feel too exerted by it.
Inspired by Sunday's success, I set off happily this morning. I checked my trail map and decided to try a piece of it that I hadn't been on before -- one which Jon said was "a bit hilly." It did turn out to be a bit hilly. For a few minutes I worried that some concerned commuter would pull over and ask me if I was alright, as I puffed up the hills, crimson-faced, pedaling madly in gear number 1.
But no one stopped. They were too busy talking on their cell phones and gently bumping me off the road with the rear fenders of their white Acura SUVs (the iconic vehicle of this part of the world). This was in the road portion, before I found the trail connection. Blessed trail! Still hilly, but at least I found it...eventually. I worked hard at building momentum on the downside of one hill so that I could sail gracefully up the other side -- crying out "God! Argh!" through gritted teeth at the very steepest part of the incline. That was my method.
But then the trail ended again (WTF?), right by a busy county highway which I was forced to share with bumper-to-bumper semi-trucks. I forged on for a mile or so, and then came upon an entrance to the park preserve we visited on Sunday. Hurray!
Then I proceeded to ride around said park for an hour, trying to find the trail head. The first half hour was nice, riding by the picturesque lakeside and the people fishing and swimming (I envied them), stopping at a water fountain for a much-needed drink (I was under-provisioned), but eventually I realized that I was just making the same circles, passing the same damn fishers and swimmers and the same damn lovely country scenery.
I saw a park maintenance guy with his little golf cart and decided to ask him for directions. He was picking some weeds or something, listening to his iPod. So I yelled to him. "Excuse me, excuse me, EXCUSE ME!" No answer. Briefly considered throwing a rock at his head, but then settled on the polite approach and walked over to him. He told me, "Yeah, go over there, across this, through this parking lot, that's where all the trails connect, can't miss it."
Down I go on another trail, this time a flat, grassy trail running along the lake shore. Lovely spot, really. For bears, I mean. I thought about this as I rode. "I've always been scared of bears. They look so slow and lumbering, but they can really move. This is just the kind of area they'd like. Lots of bushes and all, kind of hidden. Wouldn't that be something -- mauled by a bear, two miles from my home, while riding my bike! My mother-in-law would read it in the paper -- she loves that kind of story...but I'm just being paranoid." At that moment I see bear tracks in the mud in front of me. And pedaled faster.
I never found the trail head. I ended up back at the park entrance, and stopped at the information hut to ask for directions (again). "The trail? The one that runs through Smallville? Oh, no, you can't get there from here." Great. Back out onto the highway, with the truckers and the SUVs. Five more minutes and my one-hour bike trip (which lasted two hours) was over. I was home: flushed, linguine-legged and exhausted.
Tomorrow, I'm going to do it all over again.
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