The storms and tornado sirens ended last evening around 11:00 after a day of disgruntled weather. No funnels hit here. I’m not feeling thankful as much as I am feeling lucky.
Later this morning the road trip to PA begins. Tomorrow morning three days of Michaux mountain biking begins.
I never tire of riding there.
It’s home for me. My uncle had a cabin in Caledonia. Growing up, we–mom, dad, bro and sis, aunts, uncles, and cousins–would all go there and spend a weekend walking the forest roads and trails, cooking, relaxing, playing games and biking. Imagine the freedom a kid surely feels when set free to wander the woods and streams behind a cabin all day long. We’d return, my cousins and me, to the little cabin hours later, dirty-bodied, bug-bitten, and occasionally bloodied in search of food and sometimes, healing.
Family picnics by the Conococheague, swimming in Laurel Lake, AT backpacking and sharing love are Michaux memories from adolescence through early adulthood. My first mtb adventure there was in 1994 on Bender, Huckleberry, Fuzzy, Grave, Logsled and a few other nameless trails. I went solo on a rigid campus bike, with a fanny pack wrapped around my waste that contained a patch kit, tire levers and some granola bars. Hydration was a water bottle in a cage.
This time around, I hope to find some of the new stuff Michaux is offering, and in between the fore casted storminess, hopefully I’ll get to sleep on one of her ridges. I’ll be dirty for sure, and probably bloodied a little, but I have faith that being there will be all the healing I’ll need.
Reblogged this on James Murren.