Two sorts of trails
Wander with intent
And dance with the winds.
They’ll lead you down the trail
To a place where life transcends.
Feel the ground beneath your feet
As you twirl and whirl and swirl.
Move into unknown spaces,
See nature’s light unfurl.
Hear the heartbeat as it rumbles,
Feel the rhythm throbbing sweetly.
Smell the roses in their glory,
Pass the moments indiscreetly.
Go where the breezes take you,
Let your limits fall behind.
Be a whirlwind marching onward
Full of pureness unrefined.
Turn loose of what constrains you
As you enter what’s ahead.
Then marvel at where you’ve gone
And at the place your path has led.
Cruising down the trail,
With a tailwind at my back.
Got a bounce in my step,
And extra room in my pack.
No sweat on my brow,
Or cold fingertips.
My lungs are full of breath,
There’s a smile on my lips.
The Middle Fork’s just ahead,
In the valley down below.
I have a favorite campsite there,
Where the river’s got good flow.
No thought of rain,
We’re walking fast because we can.
The need to get there quickly,
Isn’t in the plan.
Once we’re there and the tent’s set up,
I’m gonna take a nap.
Then there’ll still be time for fishing,
And to sit around and yap.
Bugs and snow have gone away,
The Aspens turning gold.
I stop and drink right from a creek,
The water’s clear and cold.
I’m thankful that the air is fresh,
And sunshine warms my face,
Cause I remember those other times,
When such was not the case.
The sign said fifteen miles to go,
So I figured seven hours.
Now we’re almost there in three,
And that’s with looking at the flowers.
It’s true the trail I’m walking,
Is full of climbs and bends,
But I rejoice in the simple fact,
That this journey never ends.
The Forever Trail- etched into the stone
The Devil’s Staircase on the Meatgrinder
Old trails never die, they just get harder to see.
The names of the two trails do an excellent job of describing them in a few short words- The Puke Loop and The Meatgrinder. Their heydays of being a few open and pleasantly flowing pieces of path connecting extended sections of tight turns, horrendously steep climbs, and complicated descents have long passed. But the unfortunately angled roots, cactus, poorly placed rocks, and riding/hiking/trail running memories endure. More than just a few body scars remain on people to help tell something about what the two were like back in the day. And undoubtedly, some think of mountain biking the Puke Loop whenever they find themselves hugging a commode.
Continue reading “The Meatgrinder and the Puke Loop, A Few Years Later”
Like a ribbon,
That snakes from here,
Into thin air.
The natural trail.
Where does it lead?
Dirt, sand, gravel, and rocks.
They’re all a combination
Of individual grains
That rest against each other
And connect the first one,
To the last.
With plenty in between.
The whole of it
Can’t be seen
All at once, together,
And from start
It isn’t going somewhere.
A Long Bridge