It’s finally happened. The heat and humidity that have been making me lazy are gone. It was 45 degrees here in Maine this morning, and the sticky wet thickness in the air went vamoose.
I want to move again. Before breakfast, and not yet 6 AM, I am out the door and trekking down through the acreage of newly mowed fields around my house to re-establish an overgrown trail.
I placed myself on a fitness program this year to average an hour a day, walking fast or riding hard, almost exclusively in the woods here on the Maine coast.
The forest in part of town is riddled with ancient roads and snowmobile trails.
In cases when these places are used when there is snow, foot powered passage during the summer and fall seasons is relatively possible.
For the past two weeks, I have been clearing trees and brush from a mountain biking loop that is now up 10 miles long. Just to be clear, that’s 10 miles from rolling our my garage and back in.
It is over superb woodland, granite ledges, through wild blueberry fields, beside ancient spreading oaks and maples, with the chance to hop off the bike at then end and take a dip in one of couple of crystal clear ponds.
It won’t last. The light is already dying.