In the woods, I feel safe, no one cares about my ways

Went on a mountain bike ride with E. this afternoon. Wow, who tore up the trails in Frick? All roots and no time. I think I need to head to Hartwood or North Park this weekend (or next week) to get my groove back. On the brighter side, it was good preparation for my Great Divide ride, but all things considered I doubt there are going to be too many similar riding situations. On the bigger scale, it raises to question our responsibility as riders to trail stewardship and the need to volunteer to fix the trails and keep these roots from being too exposed. Not only does it take some flow from the ride, it also can cause damage to the trees. If they are Japanese sugar maples, then no big deal I suppose since those are an invasive species, but I'm fairly confident a lot of the trees being dug up are native to this soil and we'd like to have them around. I guess this is my way of saying you can call me out to volunteer the next time you hear of a trail stewardship day happening in Frick Park.

In other news, however, we did see a young 6-pointer, fuzz still on his little whipper snapper antlers. Neither of us got a photo, but it was nice to just have a quiet moment on the trail, making eye contact with an animal some consider to be pests, but after almost 8 years living here, and having them in my back yard, I still consider to be beautiful and graceful creatures entitled to their own space and quietude.

Finally, here's a little confession: I assume we all see things. I see people stepping out into the highway when I'm driving at night, the faces of dead friends constantly haunt me in the otherwise empty stares of strangers, and I also see pull-up bars in just about every doorway or passage, whether or not there's one there. I love pull-up bars, and especially the ones in doorways. I also love doorways that don't have bars, but are just meaty enough to grab on and pull. It's not that I can do 50 pull-ups or anything, I think I just appreciate and try to emulate the idea that fitness is all around us, the ability to use our strengths and maintain our muscles. Our bar, for instance, is in between the living room and the kitchen. Sure, a lot of the time we just walk underneath it. But I also spend conversations simultaneously reaching for that additional chin-touch, or try to bang one or two out while also sneaking in an extra piece of chocolate. Why should fitness and leisure be mutually exclusive? So few things in life reasonably are.