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Category: walking

Hybrid Walks

Hybrid Walks

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Here in the suburbs we have few bears, and no lions or tigers.  But we do have automobiles.

This morning, lured on by the buoyancy of the air and the radiance of the light, I turned right on a narrow road and (staying off it for the most part) made a dash on foot to the safety of a path. I was happy when I tucked into my usual route, because the road is hilly and cars travel fast along it.

On the way home, I thought about the walkability quotient of my neighborhood and how greatly it has improved since I’ve come to know the shortcuts and the cut-throughs, many of them woodland trails. 

The best routes around here are the hybrid walks, part paved, part pounded. They are the safest ways, and in some cases the only ways, to get where you’re going. 

 

Follow the Yellow-Flower Road

Follow the Yellow-Flower Road

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This is what happens when I walk. I can be thinking some perfectly sane and responsible thoughts and then a scene like this will trigger the ear worm. For the rest of the walk, I hear the high-pitched voices: “Follow the yellow brick road. Follow the yellow brick road.”

Only I substitute “flower” for brick.

Because, really, isn’t that what you think when you see these bright buttercups, so plentiful this year? Maybe not. But if it’s folly, it’s a folly that flows from a flower, so all is forgiven.

I did follow the yellow-flower road, and it gave me a good workout. 

Plodding

Plodding

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Over the weekend, I broke in a pair of hiking boots, my first ever. Though I’ve hiked plenty, I’ve always hiked in running shoes, which is pretty much what hiking boots look like these days. 

The clerk who helped me said that as long as I stay in the eastern half of the United States and don’t carry more than 15 pounds, I could get away with what he called trail runners. Trail runners look exactly like running shoes, so I passed on them. If I’m finally going to spring for a pair of hiking boots, I reasoned, I want them to resemble the real article at least slightly, meaning bulky, brown and many-laced.

The ones I finally settled on (and I mean finally — I tried on six pairs) look sturdier than tennis shoes but less daunting than I originally imagined. The difference lies in the gait they enforce. One is not fleet of foot in a pair of hiking boots; one plods. But plodding isn’t so bad, I’ve discovered.

Hold Onto Your Hood

Hold Onto Your Hood

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The wind that made beach combing and cycling harder than they needed to be last week in Chincoteague seems to have followed us home. For the last couple of days there have been gusts up to 40 or 45 miles per hour. 

I decided to take a walk anyway, because I was driving past the W&OD and thought I’d give it a whirl. A whirlwind was more like it. 

The breeze blustered, it careened, it nearly knocked me off my feet. And while my hat was fairly secure, my hood was anything but, especially when I was walking into the wind. It blew it right off my head. At times it took both hands on the hood to keep it from flying back.

Luckily, a hood is usually attached to a coat whereas a hat is not. Which makes the phrase “hold onto your hood” … somewhat nonsensical. 

(“Who has seen the wind?” The ripples in this sand dune prove it was there.)

Beach Bling

Beach Bling

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Water, wind, sand and sky.  From these basic elements flow the beauty of a beach. It doesn’t need anything else. But like a little black dress set off to perfection with a single strand of pearls, even simplicity can be enhanced with a little bling.

I’ve seen beach art before, but never so much of it. On a hike this week we came across scores of tree trunks decorated with whelks, conches, cockle shells — and a few feathers for good measure.

The shell trees made us smile. They invited us to contribute, which we did. They sum up the beach attitude: relax, create, enjoy. 

One Beach, Indivisible

One Beach, Indivisible

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A hike yesterday through the refuge backcountry, so far in fact, that the Maryland state line was less than five miles away. 

I’ve always thought it would be fun to trek from one state to another, a feat fairly easily accomplished here, since the Assateague National Seashore includes parts of Virginia and Maryland. 

But yesterday’s walk stopped short of that, circled around and back to what I love most — the beach. 

An Endorsement

An Endorsement

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A few weeks ago, in a rush of gratitude, I emailed a stranger whose maps I had recently accessed online. It’s thanks to his map that I’ve been exploring the paths in a woods not far from here, the one where I finally found the Northwest Passage. 

I wasn’t expecting to hear anything back from the man, but I did want him to know how much I’ve been appreciating his maps and commentary, what a difference they’ve made for me.

Late yesterday, I heard from him. He’s 88 years old and doesn’t check his email as often as he used to, he said. But he credits all the walking he’s done with being alive now.

Quite an endorsement for walking in the suburbs. Or for walking anywhere. 

Welcome Wreath

Welcome Wreath

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I began to spot them in the forest a few days ago, although from the looks of it they’d been there for a while. The wreaths seem homemade, maybe fashioned from local boughs. 

This one is special though, decorated as it is with an eagle feather. 

Welcome back, the wreath says. Welcome back to the eagles, more common in these parts than they used to be.

Welcome back to the foxes, who prowl and hunt and make their home.

Welcome back to the walkers, including this one. 

A Mind of Its Own

A Mind of Its Own

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It’s been a while since I studied a topographical map. I’ve had to refamiliarize myself with those little squiggly lines. The closer they are together, I remember, the greater the elevation. 

Sometimes there’s a little number there to help. In the case of my terrain it’s a little number in more ways than one, something in the 300 range, as in 367 feet above sea level. 

But even 367 can be felt in the legs on the way up — and on the way down. It’s a good reminder that the land has a texture and a contour. That it has a mind of its own. 

Suburban Passage

Suburban Passage

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Once again, I’m on a mission, this time to find a passage through the Crabtree Park woods to a street called Foxclove. From there it’s a short walk to a Reston trail. 

Having struck out on finding it from my end, yesterday I drove to Foxclove and tried it from the other direction. I reached at least one point I recognized from earlier hikes, enough so that I think I can find my way back there another time. 

Once I have this figured out I’ll be able to walk from my house to the trail system I usually must drive to reach. It’s not exactly the Northwest Passage, but it’s something.