Walking with Waldo

Current state of the construction at the beginning of the rail trail.

Progress is man’s ability to complicate simplicity.

-Thor Heyerdahl

The temperature is somewhere in the mid-forties when Waldo and I start out on our trek today.  The sky is overcast, but the air is dry and there is little wind blowing.  I’m wearing a light jacket under my rain jacket and I have on a knit wool ski hat that I pull down over my ears.  Waldo and I pass others on the trail, including those with dogs and even a few bicycles.  Bicycles in late December!  But then, this is shaping up to be the warmest December in 150,000 years…

We’ve had to find new places to park our car for the past few weeks because of all the construction that’s going on.  The commercial residential housing complex that’s being built at the beginning of the rail-trail hasn’t affected where we park.  What it’s replacing are a number of old buildings that had no public parking.  Across the street from there, though, is where we used to park.  One day, as we arrived, people were fencing it in.  I asked what was up, but they didn’t know.  Now, it’s all been dug up.  There’s no sign, yet, that they’re going to put a building up there, so maybe it’ll be a future parking lot, who knows.  For now, though, we can’t park there.

It turns out there’s a parking lot, owned by the city, that is about an eighth of a mile from the start of the trail, but right next to it.  We parked there, for a week or so, then, one day, there was a fence all the way around it with gates that were closed.  After a few days, there were some men there and I asked them what was up.  They said the city was repaving it and putting in some lights.   I suspect there is more to it than that, though, because now there are some cement culverts and other structures, lying above ground, that suggest there is underground construction of some sort that is planned too.  Anyway, that’s one more spot where we can’t park.

There is another lot, also right next to the trail, about a quarter-mile from the start, that the city has designated as rail-trail parking and that’s where we park for now and the foreseeable future.  It is winter, after all, and although there is no snow yet, there will be and then it will be difficult to dig holes.  So I expect we’re stuck with what we’ve got until spring.  It’s no big deal, really.  We just start a quarter-mile from the start, backtrack to the start and then turn around and continue down the trail like we always do.  Waldo was a bit confused at first, but he’s a fast learner and he now knows where we’re going and it’s part of our routine.

Then, a couple days ago, we’re walking down the trail and as we get to the open field that overlooks Fort Meadow Reservoir, I see a man putting up a fence around it.  This fence is clearly temporary; the posts don’t go into the ground, they sit on platforms, of sorts, that rest on top of the ground.  The field is a big grass-and-weed-overgrown landfill, closed well before Waldo and I arrived, and the fence runs about an eighth of a mile alongside the trail.  I ask the guy what’s up and he says someone is going to turn the area into a park of some kind.  He didn’t know any of the details, like who was doing it, so, maybe, he was just feeding me a line to shut me up, I don’t know.  Today, I see a piece of heavy equipment chopping up the trees that border the field and turning them into saw-dust.  A nice park is a good thing, I guess, but I hate seeing all the trees being destroyed.

Right next to the landfill is the area of forest that a company from Texas wanted to turn into another commercial residential complex.  For now, that project has been put on hold because the residents around the area were opposed to it.  It is zoned for industrial use and the city council would not rezone it so they could build what they wanted.  They can still build something that fit the zoning it now has, so there’s no guarantee that the forest will be safe, but I can hope.

Meanwhile, the construction at the beginning of the trail has progressed quite a bit.  There is a completed five-story parking structure at the back of the lot and cement pillars are now poking up skyward where the rest of the building will be.  By spring, I expect most of the bones and outer walls will be finished and, at the rate things are going, the place may be open by next summer.  I’m no luddite, but I sure wish that the universe would leave my little patch of nature alone.  But, alas, it seems it is not to be.

For now, I walk the walk and enjoy the birdsong and trees, take in the peace and quiet of relatively untouched nature and hope for the best.  Waldo trots along as if oblivious to the coming changes and lives in the moment without fear of what the future has to offer.

We enjoy what we’ve got, while we have it.

The fence at Fort Meadow Reservoir.

Sigh. It’s going to be a while before we can be back here.

Stercus accidit.

(Shit happens)

-David Hume

About four days ago, I was walking down the stairs at our apartment building, taking the dog out for doggy business.  I was midflight, Waldo was down a flight in front of me, when I misstepped, hyperextending my right ankle.  Down I went, falling against the wall, then on to the landing.  My immediate thought was, “Damn!  No rail-trail today.”   Once on the floor, I did a quick systems check.  Yep, my ankle hurt.  It was the same injury, done in the same way, as two years ago, only this time, not nearly as painful.  Waldo stopped his progress toward the door and the great beyond, turned and looked at me and waited.  With some wincing, I stood and put weight on the foot.  Not a whole lot worse.  A wave of nausea and sweating flowed over me and then subsided.  I took a step.  I could hobble.  Waldo could see that I was upright and moving, so he continued on his way.  That’s about as much sympathy as I get.  Anyway, we carried on, just a lot more slowly than usual, and did the doggy duty.

Today, walking is painful, but not too bad.  What bothers me the most is that the ankle is stiff and if I try to bend it, it hurts more.  Not unbearably so, mind you, but I worry that doing too much will make the recovery time longer and, dammit, we need to get back to the rail-trail.  At home, I elevate the foot and wait for it to heal (the pain and swelling aren’t so bad that I need to use ice or wrap it).  When we go out, I walk stiff-legged on the injured side and make do as best I can.  Waldo adjusts his pace as well, or rather, he trots back and forth in front of me, doing S turns.  He burns off his energy as best he can, while being tethered to a not-so-moveable object.  Sorry, buddy, you are not going to like the next few days and maybe weeks.  But there is little choice.

The weather has been a little chilly, with highs in the low 40s and lows in the high 20s, but it’s been dry.  As one day morphs into the next, I’ve become more depressed.  Not significantly so, but I can feel it.  I’m attached to being out in nature, walking with Waldo, and I miss it.  Waldo seems to take it all in stride.  He’s a happy puppy and that doesn’t change.  He does romp a little more vigorously than usual, but he doesn’t exhibit any bad-dog behavior, like chewing on stuff that he shouldn’t.  He seems to live in the moment; he just has more energy to vent than normal, in that moment.

Life throws all kinds of things at us that we don’t intend.  With a little thought, you can usually trace out a causal chain of events that explains how things happen, but that does little to allow us to control it.  It’s up to us to decide how we’re going to respond to what life offers us.  Me, I try to put some thought to it, put my shoulder to the boulder and push it on uphill.  In this case, I walk as necessary to see that Waldo gets to relieve himself, then try to judge how my ankle is reacting and decide how far to go the next day.  I’ve decided to try to walk one to two miles tomorrow, wearing my hiking boots.  Day after tomorrow, I’ll assess how my ankle is doing, then decide how far to push it from there.  The spirit is demanding, but the goddammed old-age flesh is frustratingly weak.

Waldo has a different approach.  It’s all hell-bent-for-leather and do as much as he can.  When his legs were sore after his vaccinations, he hobbled around, favoring them, but pushed it as hard as he could.  He didn’t try to limit how much he was going to do.  He was continuing on as long as I let him.  He’s a lot younger than I am, though, and can get away with it.  I’ve learned, the hard way, that I can no longer do that.  If I try, I’ll pay a steep price.  Dammit.  All I can do is push the damn rock up the hill judiciously.

I’m also frustrated by the fact that Phyllis and I only have 5 more legs of the Bay Circuit Trail to do before we get to the end.  I was hoping we could at least get closer before the first significant snowfall.  Now that doesn’t look so probable at all.  Sigh.

But Waldo and I are still out there, trying.

I’d be more than happy with a wet day.

Nice sunny day, Waldo is himself.

We go through the good, the bad and the ugly all together.

-Emily Robinson

It’s cold today.  The feel-like temp is around 28℉.  It’s overcast again, but no precipitation and the wind is minimal.  Still, I’m wearing rain pants, to help hold in the warmth, and my parka.  Waldo seems comfortable enough and is eager to go walking.  I can’t help but wonder how warm his fur is.  When it’s cold, I keep a close watch on him for any signs that he’s uncomfortable.  I watch for shivering and any tendency to stop and go back, for example.  But he continues on, relishing being outdoors.  I also judge how comfortable he is in the cold by watching him on his balcony.  He can come in and go out as he pleases, yet, in these temperatures, he stays outside and only comes in when he needs to be taken downstairs to relieve himself.  Our human ancestors must have watched furry animals and had similar observations because they killed animals, stole their fur and survived just fine in the cold.

I’m also watching Waldo today because he was a little lame yesterday after his yearly vet exam.  He’s a really smart dog, which means he’s complicated.  He has a really good heart and is very friendly and loving.  But, he has his boundaries.  Like the balcony.  He’s decided that’s his territory and he doesn’t like me out there.  I go there and he yells at me, leaving me no doubt whatsoever that he doesn’t think I should be there.  He’s consolable and, after a bit, he accepts it, be he doesn’t like it.

Last year, he decided he didn’t want the vet to mess with him.  In the past, he was startled by stuff like getting a shot, but otherwise put up with it.  Last year, he wouldn’t let the vet examine him at all.  He wouldn’t let him look in his ears or look at his teeth.  Nope, he was having none of it.  He didn’t tolerate a muzzle and I had to reschedule the visit so I could premedicate him with some trazadone pills.  That didn’t work either, so the vet ended up giving him a shot that put him completely to sleep.  Giving him that shot was fun, let me tell you.

So, this year, we planned on going the shot route.  Waldo came into the vet’s office, happy and wagging his tail, eager to meet everybody.  Then we went into the exam room and his demeanor changed completely.  But we planned for this.  I sat in a chair placed so the vet could get to his butt.  I held onto his collar tight and reassured him as best I could.  A vet tech held a blanket over his face so he couldn’t see what the vet was doing.  As soon as the vet touched his butt, though, even before he gave the shot, Waldo went ballistic.  He snarled and writhed, letting everyone know that what was going down just wasn’t acceptable.  I held on tight and in just a few seconds, the job was done, the blanket was removed and I released my hold.  Poor thing was obviously frightened.  I petted him, talked calmly and softly to him and he quieted down after a bit.  A few minutes later and he was out.  Problem solved.  I wish I had some of that stuff to give when I worked in the ER.

Waldo’s exam was perfectly normal and he got some vaccine shots.  After the exam, the vet gave him a reversing agent and, within ten minutes, he jumped to his feet and was ready to get the hell out of Dodge.

After we got home, he was still a little groggy, so we spent the morning napping.  I thought we might be able to go for our walk later in the afternoon, but he developed a limp on the side where he got his shots.  It obviously bothered him, but not too much.  I figured he was sore from the vaccine.  I get muscle aches and pains after I get vaccines, so he probably was just suffering from that.  I decided to put off the rail-trail walk until today.  When we went out to pee and poop around the complex, he was a bit gimpy, but okay.  His behavior was a little off and I couldn’t tell if it was after-effects of the anesthesia or if he was mad at me.

Today, I haven’t noticed any limping at all and he’s acting like his same old self.  He’s giving me lots of attention, getting in my way as I try to put on my boots, and doing his best to get me to play.  So, we’re back out here on the rail trail.  He cavorts and I watch.  Everything is back to normal.

Yesterday was just another speed bump in the road of life.

My old friend, the English ivy tree.

The Weston Portion of the Mass Central Rail Trail.

There’s some end at last for the man who follows a path; mere rambling is interminable.

-Seneca the Elder

Today, Waldo and I are walking with Phyllis on the portion of the Mass Central Rail Trail that starts in Wayland and goes 5 miles east through Weston to I-495.  We don’t have enough time to do the next part of the Bay Circuit Trail because it’s an hour south of us and we don’t have an extra 2 hours to spend driving that.  Within the next 2 years, this portion of the Mass Central Rail Trail is supposed to be extended 7.5 miles to the west, all the way to Hudson, to the northern terminus of the southern part of the Assabet River Rail Trail.  Right now, it’s under construction – Eversource is burying a power cable under it.  When they’re done, another crew will come by and pave it.  Phyllis and I bushwacked most of the route a couple years ago, when it was still choked with small trees and weeds.  Though we’re eager to go it again, for today, we’ll head east from Wayland.

Phyllis is carrying 22 pounds of lead weights in a pack.  She wants to find out how uncomfortable it would be to carry a pack weighing between 25 and 35 pounds.  There’s a one week hike she would like to go on in Florida next spring that requires that she carry that much weight.  She’s not sure if she can do it, so she’s conservatively trying out 22 pounds to see what it would be like.  Old age sucks.

We begin at 8 AM and the temperature is cool, in the high 30s to mid-40s.  There’s not much of a breeze and the sky is overcast.  The path starts next to a mall’s parking lot and it consists of hardpacked sand.  It runs under high-tension power lines hung from erector-set towers.  The trail is straight and the going flat – no hills at all.  After an eighth of a mile or so, the trail is paved.  I’ve mentioned before that I’m not a big fan of trails that run under powerlines, but this one isn’t bad at all.  There is deep forest to each side, not very far from the tarmac, and the weeds are under control.  Multiple dirt trails cross the paved trail and disappear into the trees.  There is a portion of the Bay Circuit Trail that runs into this trail and follows it west into Wayland.  That’s a part that we’ve already walked.

Phyllis and I talk about a number of things, flow of conscious stuff.  She is profoundly affected by the death of Lee, her husband, but she doesn’t dwell on it and I don’t bring it up.  Everyone grieves in their own way and I let Phyllis take the lead on that.  Instead, we talk about what’s going on in the world, the virtues of having a plant-based diet and basically anything that comes to mind.  We do talk a bit about how and when we’re going to finish the Bay Circuit Trail, but, for the moment, the details of much if that is yet to be determined.  The weather is uncertain and Phyllis needs some time for other things right now.

Waldo’s out front, doing his Waldo thing, sniffing and exploring what nature has to offer.  This is a fairly popular trail, so we pass bicycles and other people walking – a few with dogs.  I have to watch Waldo a little bit because, although he is friendly, he’s a bit overeager and, with his OCD, doesn’t respect other dogs’ boundaries.  He’ll poke his nose in their faces and sometimes elicits a growl and a snap from the other dog.  I’ll let them meet, then pull Waldo back when that happens.  He, apparently, doesn’t know what “NO” means in doggese.  Still, he’s an easy dog to walk with.  All I have to do is redirect him down the trail and he’s going again, with a “whatever” attitude, as if nothing happened.

At the eastern end of today’s trek is an old rusty railroad bridge.  Some uninspired fool put a hurricane fence across the trail on each side, probably spouting something about safety, but that didn’t last long.  Someone else came shortly thereafter, cut a hole in the fences and put down wooden planks over the railroad ties so bicycles could be ridden over the bridge.  Hey!  You don’t mess with the rail trail crowd!  In England and Wales, there are right to ramble laws that protect the freedom to roam across 3 million acres of heath, mountain, moor and downland, no matter who owns it (there are restrictions – you can’t interfere with operations on the land, like farming, you can’t leave a mess and others).  Maybe we need something like that in this country.

On the other side of the bridge, the trail is dirt and continues on, wandering east until it hits a busy highway.  Within a few miles, there’s another portion of the trail that goes on toward Boston, but we can’t go there today.  We turn around and head back.

Once we finish the 10 miles and we’re back at the cars, my back feels pretty good.  The lower part is a little stiff, but it’s nothing like what I suffered a few weeks ago.  Phyllis says her hips and feet hurt more than normal and that the experience has convinced her she doesn’t want to carry more than the 22 pounds.  Waldo is as active as ever, but curls up and chills, with eyes half-closed, on the passenger seat.  I can almost hear an “aaaah” coming from him.  “Another day and another walk,” I tell him and we head back home to drink water, eat lunch and chillax —  Waldo on his balcony and me on my recliner.

Life is good…

The end of the trail.

Long wintery shadows are not so beckoning this time of year…

Nostalgia is a file that removes the rough edges from the good old days.

-Doug Larson

A cold wind blows into my parka hood, inflating it slightly, numbing the skin on my face.  I’m wearing a ski cap pulled down over my ears, so it doesn’t chill them, even though the air is stirring there.  My nose is running a bit and my fingers are getting just a bit achy, but not unbearably.  Bringing my leather gloves was a good idea.  Just the same, I put one hand in a pocket to keep it cozy, so I can change hands if the one holding Waldo’s leash needs a warmup.  The wind was forecast, with temps just below 30℉, so I’m wearing rain pants to keep the heat in.  I’ve gotten pretty good at judging what to wear, based on what my cellphone says.

Man, life has changed with the advent of technology.  If I had been told fifty years ago that today, I would be carrying a computer in my shirt pocket that is much more powerful than the one NASA used in the Appollo lunar lander, I would have said it was pure science fiction.  Electronic chip manufacturing was making good strides at miniaturization in the 1970’s, but how could you possibly make a battery small enough to fit in your pocket and still have enough power to make the thing run for more than five minutes?  Walkie-talkies, at that time, had batteries nine inches long, a good two-thirds of the length of the entire radio.  Computers that had more than rudimentary computational abilities filled large rooms.  And, of course, there was no such thing as the internet, let alone the ability to draw data from it in any kind of volume or speed.  Compared to today, I had to live my life by the seat of my pants.  I had to show up with a variety of clothes, sample what was happening at the moment, look at the sky, guess what was coming and decide what to wear and what to leave behind in the car.

I remember flying a single-engine Cessna over the outback in Australia in 1985.  At that time, there was no radio communication and no radio navigational aids out in the hinterlands.  Navigation was all dead reckoning – you picked a compass course to fly, noted your airspeed and the time you were in the air, then calculated where you were supposed to be.  Sounds simple enough.

However, compasses aren’t so accurate and, after flying for several hours, you can’t be sure you haven’t wandered off course enough that you’re lost.  Forecast winds (that you got by phone before you took off) weren’t perfect (still aren’t) and that can contribute to the problem too, because you can be blown off course.  In a part of the world with landmarks to follow, it’s a bit easier because you have something to check against your maps.  But flying in the outback is like flying over a table top.  Everything is so flat and dry — no lakes or large rivers or mountains, and there are no real roads.  You understand, I wasn’t afraid of getting lost, that can be a great adventure by itself.  I just really didn’t want to run out of fuel before I got to where I was going – it’s too easy to bend airplanes that way.  In the end, I found a way to navigate in the outback without getting lost, but it took some skill.

These days, you hit a “direct-to” button on your GPS and a purple line comes up on a computer screen.  There’s a little white airplane icon too and you just keep the little plane on the purple line and you can’t get lost.  You can even get on the internet (by satellite, if need be), look at a radar map of your area and watch the weather change in almost real-time.  It’s all so — cheating!

Sigh, life used to be so much more an adventure than it is now.  I know people who travel in strange cities with two cellphones so that if they lose one, or it goes pfffft, they still have a backup and they can download a map to help them get to where they’re going.  I remember being in Madrid years ago, trying to get from the airport to a train station, and not speaking a word of Spanish.  I had to be real creative with hand signals, pointing and gesturing to get people to help me get to where I was going.  It was great fun.

Waldo lives life without all the gizmos, of course.  He has his sable birthday suit, a sensitive nose and an enduring sense of exploration.  He also has an adaptable nature and a seemingly endless ability to find joy everywhere.  Right now, he’s biting at the leash, trying to get me to play tug-of-war.  In a bit, he’ll be batting at my feet with a front paw, or jabbing at my leg with a stick, trying to get me to play some game that’s more like Calvinball than it’s not.  He’s not worrying about the weather, how cold it is, or how wet it might become.  And he’s sure not thinking about not getting lost.

Maybe I should leave my gadgets home sometimes and just be in the moment too.

Stick season is almost over, Waldo. You’d better find them before they’re buried in snow.

Hiking along the dikes.

Walking is the best possible exercise.  Habituate yourself to walk very far.

-Thomas Jefferson

Today, Waldo, Phyllis and I are walking the next leg of the Bay Circuit Trail.  It’s been two weeks since our last walk (Phyllis has been busy) and it’s good to be back at it.  We’re going from where we left off in Easton and heading east(ish) to East Bridgewater, about 13 miles down the road.  The terrain is flat and most of where we need to go is on streets and back roads.  That worries me a little, because of Waldo, but I keep him on a short leash when the traffic is fast or heavy and he tolerates it well.  We’ve been walking together for almost five years and thousands of miles and he knows I’ll let him wander with more freedom when I think it’s safe.  He just plods along next to me, without pulling or lunging, and bides his time.

It’s cold out today and I’m wearing my parka, leather gloves and knit ski cap.  Phyllis is similarly dressed and Waldo, of course, is wearing his sable birthday suit and seems quite comfortable.  I think Waldo prefers these temperatures – he has more of a spring in his step and is more eager to get out and go.  The sky is clear, with only a slight breeze, and the ground is dry.   What’s not to like?

The land here is level and easy-going.  We’re getting close to the coast, so most of the hills are behind us to the west.  The streets have no sidewalks and we walk along on the roads’ shoulders.  Waldo keeps to the outside of the painted solid white line that defines the edge of the road as if he knows he’s supposed to.  I don’t how he learned that, I didn’t put any effort into teaching him, he just seems to know.  Still, he doesn’t pay that much attention to the traffic and is prone to do a “squirrel!” detour, or the equivalent.  I keep him close.

There are houses we pass on our way, but they’re mostly organized randomly, rather than in a burb-like grid.  Here and there, we pass a few businesses, mostly convenience stores, pizza joints and the like.  It’s definitely country, despite the fact we’re only thirty miles or so from Boston.  Urban sprawl is headed this way, though.  It’s close enough to the big city for people to commute and cheap enough for them to afford buying a home (if you happen to one of the 65% of us that can afford to try to own a home).  It isn’t the farmland it once was.  Somewhere, not too far away to the south, are cranberry bogs, but we don’t see any as we wend our way east.  There are a lot of trees, now stick figures of what they were a few months ago, and lots of tawny leaves lay on the ground.  Here and there are some open fields and there are shriveled remnants of weeds everywhere.  The streets, for the most part, don’t follow a straight course and none head exactly where we’re going, so we go from one to another by turning first right and then left and so on.

After a couple of hours, the trail veers off to the right under some high-tension power lines.  A paved road rolls along underneath huge erector-set towers and, if I listen for it, I can hear the sputtering of electricity as it leaks around the insulators.  I know from experience that the sound gets louder and you can even smell ozone, when it’s humid out.  But today, I don’t hear anything unless I pay attention.  Further on, the road turns to dry compressed earth, except where someone has dumped rocks to fill in the low places where it would otherwise get muddy.  The rocks, too big to be called gravel, makes the going a little uncertain, but it’s not too bad if I pay attention to where I’m walking.  The nearby land has been cleared of trees and is rife with the seasonal remains of what was waist-high weeds.

After two miles or so, we’re back on the streets.  Then, another couple of miles, and we turn left onto some dikes that penetrate into swampy lowlands.  We’re surrounded by hibernating trees and our footfalls are cushioned by a carpet of dried leaves.  The going is level and walking is easy.  Off to either side, the land drops off steeply to wetlands and creeks.  Not many critters out and about this time of year.  Waldo is happy that I can let him wander off at the end of the leash and he has no problem following the trail.  Neither do Phyllis and I.  We can walk along without having to pay close attention and not worry about wandering off-trail.  We talk about all kinds of things of such import that I can’t remember the subject of any of it.  What we talk about is not the point anyway.  The value is in the company, not the verbiage.

Soon, we’re back on the streets and after another couple of miles, the official trail just stops.  The map shows a gap in the trail (not the streets) and there are no markers showing which streets to follow.  Why, I don’t know.  There are perfectly good streets that connect both ends of the gap that are just like all the other streets we have to follow to get from one woodland trail to another.  It’s curious.

And then we’re back to the car, about half way between the ends of the gap.  Waldo curls up on the passenger seat, the spot in the car that he owns, and I plop some weary muscles behind the steering wheel.  Feels damn good!  No real pain, like the previous few jaunts, though.  Just a little low-back stiffness and some achy muscles a bit further up.  Phyllis sits in the back and says she too is tired.  We head back to where we left her car.

There are only five or six more legs to do (depending on how far we decide to go on each) and we will have come to the end of the trail.  I’m not sure if we can finish before the weather (snow) makes it undesirable to walk in the woods, but maybe we can finish before spring.   It’s getting close to the time when we need to start thinking of where we’re going next.  Phyllis and I each have a few ideas.

Waldo, he’ll go anywhere.

Marker on bridge confirms we’re on the trail.

What’s left of the homeless camp.

Our prime purpose in this life is to help others and if you can’t help them. At least don’t hurt them.

-Dalai Lama

It’s a bit chilly out today.  The temp is 46℉, with a feel-like temp of 42℉ or less.  The cloud cover is broken, with only an occasional flash of sunshine.  The wind is light, around 7 miles an hour, just enough to make the temperature seem even lower than it is, without being blustering.  The ground is dry, the morning frost is gone.  This is Waldo weather, for sure.  He bounds out into the lead, tail wagging, happy to be out here walking and exploring.  I, in my rainsuit over light jacket, gloves and knit ski cap, fall in behind him.  We’re soon at a good pace and I put my body on autopilot.

We’re not quite ¾ of a mile on our way and I see a woman standing still, staring off the trail into the woods.  At her feet are a number of bags and a pile of what can only be described as “stuff.”  Things like plastic bins holding hammers and screwdrivers, a grocery cart, a bicycle with no back wheel — you know, stuff.  “What are you looking at?” I ask as I approach.

“My husband and I noticed some people camping in the trees,” she answers.  “You can see it from here, now that the leaves are gone.  Some homeless people were living there.  We called the police and now the city is removing what they left behind.”  That seemed rather heartless and entitled, but I let it slide.  As I came up next to her, I turned where she was looking and saw three people carrying more stuff to add to the pile next to us.  In the distance, down a small hill I could see more of the same.  It was far enough away that the camp would have been hidden in the greenery, when there was some.  At my feet, I saw a well-worn path that led in that direction.  I had noticed it before, but assumed it was just a hiking trail that I wasn’t aware of.  That’s not like me.  I’m usually curious enough to pursue an inkling of something unusual.  But in this case, I let it slide and missed an opportunity to learn something interesting.  Not now though.

The woman continued on down the trail and I entered into conversation with one of the three people decamping the site.  These people work for the City of Marlborough Conservancy and were given the job of cleanup.  It turns out, there were two homeless people living down there – I don’t know for how long, but it must have been at least weeks.  The land belongs to the City of Marlborough and the homeless people were told they couldn’t stay there, they had to leave.  The people I talked to didn’t know where they went, but they are gone.  Apparently, there was another couple of people living a little further into the woods.  They were on private property and had to leave as well.

I’ve seen homelessness quite often in the past.  It’s not unusual to see the homeless in the ER when they need medical attention.  They have no money for healthcare, so there’s nowhere else they can go.  One third of the homeless have mental health issues, so we used to see them also when it was deemed they weren’t safe on the street and people, usually the police, didn’t know what else to do with them except send them to the ER.  We would get psychiatry and social work involved and some resolution was arrived at, but it was always just a band-aid and temporary.

I am disgusted and embarrassed that my country can’t deal with this growing problem in an effective and humane way.  We are the richest and most powerful country in the world and still, we have one of the biggest problems with homelessness.  This is true even when compared to more impoverished countries.  We have a homeless population per night of over 500,000 and it’s growing every year.  The overall odds of experiencing homelessness during some part of a year are about 1 in 200.  1 in 200.  Our society is broken.

And that says nothing about people who are housed, but have no hope of ever owning their own home.  Housing has become so expensive that many will never be able to afford to own a home.  35% of us rent, and yet rent in many states, including here, is more than a mortgage!  Is the American dream dead?

I shake my head in bewilderment and continue on down the trail behind Waldo.  At least we have a warm place to sleep and enough to eat.  But still, I wish there was more I could for those who have neither.  I sigh.

I am grateful that Waldo and I are doing okay.

Some of the things left behind by the homeless campers.

Nice fall day on the rail-trail.

Autumn wins you best by this, its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.

-Robert Browning

It’s getting cold out now, at least for the next few days, with lows in the low 30s and highs in the low 40s.  That’s nothing that will stop Waldo and me from walking, but it does change how I dress.  With temps in the 40s, I can be very comfortable wearing rain pants and rain jacket over a light jacket.  If it gets much colder than that, I need to wear my parka.  Waldo and I wait until the warmest time of day, which is around 1 PM, but we can’t wait too long because the sun sets at 4:30 these days.  Even at its highest point in the sky, the sun is low enough at this latitude, at this time of year, to cast long shadows.  Winter is not far away.

The Emmy birds are now all gone — none answer my calls and I hear none talking amongst themselves.   There are still a few birds around, but not nearly as many as in the summer.  With the leaves in the trees gone, what birds there are can more easily be seen.  I’ve seen blue jays, crows, and a few sparrows, but not much else.  Things have gotten pretty quiet.  Although I’ve found ticks on Waldo, there aren’t any buzzing insects flying around disturbing the peace.   I don’t miss the mosquitoes at all…

The Japanese knotweed is all shriveled and vanishing down to its stalks sticking just a few inches above the ground.  The common burdock with is nasty balls of burrs are all gone and the moss and liverwort, although still present, doesn’t look as thick and fluffy as it did a month ago.  The garlic mustard is still around, as is the autumn olive, and of course, the English ivy tree is as green as ever.  Wild grape vines and poison ivy have chucked it in for the season, along with the orange jewelweed.  The leaves of the oaks and maples that still cling to their branches have all turned brown and the only trees that are still green are the white pines.

The air is chill and still, at least today, and city noises, normally cushioned by all the foliage, can be heard on the rail-trail.  The thrum of gasoline and diesel engines and the rasp of tires on asphalt can be easily heard even when their machines can’t be seen.  What a difference from the Bay Circuit Trail from two days ago!  As Waldo and I walk along, I feel much more a part of the city than I did there.

The view across Fort Meadow Reservoir has lost its color and is beginning to resemble a three days’ growth of gray beard.  The lake edge boasted a riotous display of reds and oranges just a month ago and now is lined by spindly bland spicules of sleeping wood reaching skyward.  The lake itself is calm and still, waiting for the first frost.  No more the home of goose, duck or swan, it lays there like a mirror, unmoved by beast or fish.

The air, brisk and fresh, no longer has the fecund odor of living things.  It’s been replaced by a faint musty smell of plant decay and muddy bogs.  No longer carrying the fragrance of wild flowers, or fresh cut grass, it now hosts a warming whiff of burning wood from some nearby fireplace.

My skin, not so long ago drenched with dripping sweat, making my shirt cling to my armpits and my hair plaster to my brow, now bubbles up with goose bumps and tingles as cold air wafts across whatever is exposed.  Just two months ago, I would be relishing the cooling breath of a light breeze or the dousing coolness of some shade.  Now I subliminally brace myself against the icy stir of air and poise to shiver to gain some warmth.

Late fall is a time of transition.  It’s the interim between the heat of summer and the cold of winter.  It’s the hiatus when Mother Nature is holding her breath, having quelled the raucous furor of summer while preparing for the harsh stillness of winter.  It’s not a bad time of year, but it does have something of the ambience of an old man laying down in his deathbed — not yet dead, but no longer fully alive either.  The difference is, Mother Nature isn’t dying, just going to sleep for a while.  After a time in the purgatory of winter, she will be raised once again in the renaissance of spring.

I pray that man can find some way to keep himself from screwing up this eternal cycle.

Lots of leaves on the ground at the railroad cut.

At the start of our walk.

Pain is temporary.  It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place.  If I quit, however, it lasts forever.

-Lance Armstrong

48 hours after our last BCT walk and we’re at it again, starting from where we left off in Sharon.  I only had one day to rest, but Phyllis’s schedule is tight, the weather forecast is good and I can’t pass up the opportunity to put another leg of the trail behind us.  Our next opportunity won’t happen for two weeks, so I really want to go today.  As we start out, my low back is a little sore, but not bad.  My climbing muscles have no soreness at all.  I have high hopes that the walk will be, more or less, pain-free.  We have 11.5 miles to go to Easton.

The temp is about 40℉, with very little breeze.  The sky is overcast, so shadows are vague and ill-defined.  From the car, the path stretches out before us, broad and well-defined.  It looks like it might have once, and may still now, be used by cars.  There are no ruts to suggest that it has recently been used by motorized vehicles, though.  The trail is flat and, here and there in the low places, are muddy patches covered by leaves and pine needles.  In some of those spots, you can see the underlying quagmire and in others, not so much.  I misjudge one footfall and pull my boot out covered in black thick slime up over the top of my toes.  Waldo’s paws look about the same as my foot, but it won’t stick to them.  In an hour, his feet will be white again.  He has self-cleaning paws.  Wish I could say the same for my boots.  In several places, someone has put down wooden planks to avoid the mud.  In other places, we have to seek out the high ground, rocks and branches to avoid the sludge.

As we progress down the trail, we’re surrounded by white pines and no leaf-bearing trees.  In these places, the ground is covered by pine needles.  Then, further down the path, oaks and American beeches dominate and we’re walking on leaves.  In both, a pastel tan hides the almost black earth underneath.  The deciduous trees, while not yet totally naked, are well on their way to hibernation.  I can see farther through the woods than during late spring and summer, when so much is blocked by the greenery, but not all that far.  The trunks of the trees are packed tight enough together that line-of-sight is blocked within a short distance.  Most of the trees are new-growth, although we do see some pines that are about one hundred years old or so.

As we walk along, we pass a few people and dogs.  No bikes, though.  I suppose a mountain bike could go through here, but I see no tracks in the mud to suggest they have.  None of the people we pass are walking the entire BCT, they’re just locals out for a short walk in the woods.  We stop and chat with them and many say that one day, they would like to do the whole thing.  I feel like telling them to do it now – to wait until you’re old hurts.

Waldo is obviously really enjoying himself.  He romps up and down the trail, on occasion exploring the territory off to the sides.  Despite the fact there are thousands of sticks out here, he doesn’t pick up many.  I think he does that to treat anxiety, a sort of a security stick kind of thing.  But he’s too excited and happy to be out here to be anxious enough to need a stick.

Phyllis is an energizer bunny.  She uses walking poles and is cautious about the uneven slick ground.  That slows her down a little.  Otherwise, she just goes and goes and goes.  She has recently kept herself in good shape by doing a lot of bicycling.  It’s only been a week since she returned from a cycling tour in Normandy, France.  I cannot think of a better companion to be out here walking with.  The best part is she enjoys it as much as Waldo and I do.

Halfway through and my low back starts hurting again.  It slowly worsens and I can tell it’s all sore muscles – but not the climbing muscles that hurt last time.  I guess I didn’t spend enough time resting and got back in the saddle a bit too soon.  About three miles from the end and my muscles are in spasm.  They’re so tight that I’m heeling well to starboard and can’t straighten up all the way.  It’s painful, but not overpoweringly so.  I carry on, slowly, and Waldo and Phyllis are patient with me.  They stop and take a rest when I find a convenient rock to sit on and stretch out my back.  Soon enough, we’re back to the car, I’m sitting in the seat and the pain is gone.  That means it’s muscles that hurt and not something else.  I just need to build up my strength by doing more of these walks and going up and down hills more often.

Our next leg is in two weeks, weather permitting.  We’ll be going 11.9 miles from Easton to East Bridgewater.  I have two weeks to prepare.  After that, we’ll only have five more legs to do before the end.  I’m not sure how many of those we’ll be able to finish before the first snow falls, but we’ll do what we can.  After we’re done?  Who knows.  But I’m not ready to hang up my boots yet.

And Waldo certainly isn’t.

I’m listing a bit to starboard toward the end of our walk.

Continued from last week…

There’s a trail here somewhere…

There are two fatal errors that keep great projects from coming to life:

1)Not finishing

2) Not starting

-Buddha Gautema

It is so nice to be able to spend some extended time with Phyllis again.  It would have been better if Christine could have joined us, a reunion of Waldo’s Walkers, but that’s not to be – at least not yet.  As we walk along, Waldo out on point, gleefully searching for the path we want to follow, Phyllis and I are catching up on all kinds of things.  We talk about Buddhism, a common interest, about her readjustment to being single since her husband, Lee, died, about my back pains, the current state of the war in Gaza and Israel, about a course she’s taking on anti-racism – basically anything and everything we can think of.  It’s wonderful to have a friend with whom you can discuss a bottomless pool of topics.  In the process, we leave Waldo to navigate where we need to go.  That, of course, is of questionable wisdom.

Soon, we find ourselves on a patch of ground, covered by dead leaves and pine needles, that doesn’t look much like a trail at all.  There is a group of people who maintain, in some sense, the Bay Circuit Trail and they provide an interactive map on the web that shows the trail and your GPS location.  Of course, that requires that you’re in a place that has adequate cellphone coverage.  I bring up the map and, sure enough, Waldo has taken us off-trail.  Phyllis and I shrug it off – this kind of thing happens almost every time we walk on the BCT.  The trail isn’t that well marked everywhere and we’re not always paying that much attention.  I use the map to get us back to the trail, but it’s not clear which way to go.  Of course, I choose the wrong way and we end up going in a loop.  We set off in the right direction and follow the map to be sure we stay on the trail.

In addition to needing to be in a place where there’s good cellphone coverage for this to work, you also have to have a cellphone battery that doesn’t die.  I have an external battery that I intended to bring for that very reason, but I forgot it.  So, once we’re back established on the trail, I turn off my phone and promise myself I’ll keep an eye out for where we’re going and watch for BCT markers.  Unfortunately, in some places where it looks like the trail branches off, we can’t find any markers.  I then turn on my phone again and follow the map.  This works until, distracted by conversation with Phyllis, I find we’re about to try to wade across a swamp.  I pull out the phone again and, yep, we’re off trail.  We bushwhack to where we need to be and continue on our way.

All in all, it’s a very pleasant fall walk.  The sun is out, the ground is pretty dry and the temperature is cool without being cold.  All the tan and yellow leaves and pine needles on the ground add to the autumn pastel colors, making where we go feel warm and welcoming.  There are places where we have to walk alongside streets and highways for a bit and we even have to stroll through the town of Walpole.  It’s a small town, with a population of 26, 383, and is close to Foxborough, where Gillette Stadium, home of the New England Patriots.  A quaint New England town, it’s like many that are out here in the hinterlands (18miles from Boston and 30 miles from Providence, RI).

My energy wanes a bit as the miles roll underfoot, but not so for Waldo.  He’s every bit as energetic as when we started and runs around at the front end of the leash, going this way and that, searching, forever searching, exploring what’s in front of him.  Ah, to be young…  Phyllis seems a bit tired too, but Waldo, he only has two speeds – on and off.

Eventually, we get back to the car – damn, it feels good to sit again.  My back is a little sore, but nothing like what it was before I got the cortisone shots.  It’s 3:35.  I start the car and drive around the building to the gate.  It’s closed and locked.  We look around and there’s no way out.  I call the police, tell them where we are and what’s going on and they say they’ll send someone around from the Water Department to let us out.  When a woman shows up, something like an hour later, she tells us they locked the gate at 3:30.  They didn’t know there was a car on the property and that we shouldn’t be where we parked anyway.  Whoops.  There is an unmarked widening in the driveway just outside the gate where visitors are supposed to park.  Well, damn.  It’s not like there are any signs around.  It all gets folded into the adventure of the day.  It keeps life interesting.

Phyllis, Waldo and I (and Christine if she can make it) plan on doing the next leg in four days.  We’re more than two-thirds of the way done with the BCT.  We probably won’t be able to finish before the first snow, but, unless something happens, we should be done in the spring.  Then we have to decide what trail to do next.

It’s really good to be back.

Waldo and Phyllis contemplating nature.