Someone left a walking staff at the trail head. I briefly considered bringing it along to tilt quixotically at my metaphoric windmills but concluded it would be detrimental towards climbing.
One of the switchbacks on the ascent.
Time to climb. Why o' why did I eat all those creme de menthe brownies this winter?
It is a multi-use area. I heard one gunshot but wasn't sure if it was in anger. Don't wear your brown Carhartt cycling jacket in here.
Bristol mountain's trails reminded me of several skunks' backs. You could probably grab your crud skis and hit some sweet spring corn snow. If you were willing to walk to the top.
In the top left of the horizon you might be able to make out Canandaigua Lake. Or this picture might remind you of a Rorschach test. Do you see the lake or an old woman eating a carrot? How does that make you feel?
After getting a bit lost on top of the hill my ride wanted to rest (yeah, right, my ride). In the background just above where the hill starts to slope downward is where we were.
They felt twice the weight when done. Some of the trails were more for boating and I was doing more pushing than riding to keep the trails from too much damage. I was out for almost four hours and only wiped out once. Plenty of deer, partridges, monster woodpeckers and even a skunk were keeping me company. I continued to hear a rooster crowing the entire ride and can only conclude it is a killer rooster and it was stalking me. I did not hear any banjo music in them there hills though.
2 comments:
That's our rooster
Post a Comment