Out for our morning constitutional.
In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous.
— Aristotle
Waldo is still limping a tiny bit, but he’s slowly getting better, despite our increased level of exercise. We are now walking 6 miles every other day, interspersed with 3 miles on the other days. With a day off, every once in a while. He’s still eager to go and seems to walk quite normally when we’re out and about. It’s funny, he seems to favor his gimpy leg more after he’s been resting for a bit. But then I’m stiff and sore getting out of the car after a long walk. Anyway, Waldo seems no worse for the wear and we are continuing to increase our weekly mileage. Good thing – we’re going back to the Midstate Trail soon.
Today, it’s nice and cool, with temps in the mid-60s, as we start out for a 6-mile jaunt. The skies are blue and the sun is hot, it is still summer, but the subarboreal shade is pleasant. There are stretches, like next to the new park and the Assebet athletic field, where there are few trees, but most of our rail trail goes through forest and is quite sheltered from direct sunlight. In one place, there is a retaining wall that casts a narrow shadow on the tarmac. Waldo usually goes over to that side to get out of the sun, but I’m taller and all it does is shade my legs. The result is a short walk through radiant heat, with sweaty goosebumps, followed by sighing relief in the understory, accompanied by a chilling light breeze.
It’s just after 8 AM when we start, so most of the morning bird-chirping has subsided. I do hear an Emmy bird somewhere off in the brush, who responds to my calls, but doesn’t venture down from their catbird seat and I don’t see them. There is also a cry from a bluejay and, occasionally, some squirrel chatter, but little else. Ubiquitous city noise, like the sounds of passing cars and trucks, do filter through the foliage, but it is dampened down, so Mother Nature can be heard. There is not much in the way of insect buzzing and mosquitoes are blissfully absent. Earlier spraying by the city must be effective. We’ve certainly battled with the buggers in the past.
The browning of late summer has not yet started. Except for the godawful burdock. Their big spikey balls are all fully taupe now, and the stalks and leaves are wilting. Not long ago, I bought a standing weed-puller for the express purpose of ridding the trail of burdock. It had a long wooden pole, with a hefty cast metal device at one end, designed to grab weeds at their base and uproot them with a levered pull. A week or so ago, I brought it to the trail to see how well it worked. The hardwood pole cracked and broke, without dislodging the damn weed. Burdock: 1, Byron: 0. Time to retreat and restrategize.
As we walk along, we pass a few bicycles and people out for a stroll in nature. Some, we know and we share greetings, but little else. The exchange usually starts with a “Hello, Waldo!” and ends with a comment about the beautiful day. The trail has become a preferred place for people, like me, to exercise their doggy-duty. Those interlocutions usually last a bit longer and almost always involve treats and pats and pets for the dogs. Waldo is very familiar with my habits of canine socialization and patiently waits for me to finish my fraternizing, knowing full well that a treat will soon follow for him as well. It is rare for a dog kerfuffle to happen and when it does, it’s always the other dog whose hackles are raised and teeth are bared, at least at first. Afterwards, I ask Waldo what in the world it was that he said to the other dog, but he just gives me the Waldo equivalent of shrugged shoulders and walks on as if nothing important happened. He has a gentle soul.
We pass a younger woman (at this stage in my life, nearly everyone is younger), in her late 40s, I’m guessing (as dangerous a habit as that is), who we’ve talked to before. “I’m heading out to Spain soon,” she tells me.
“Ah,” I say, “the Camino trip. How far you going?”
“100 miles this time, then taking a break and doing another 100 miles later. After that, we’ll see.”
The entire Camino de Santiago is around 500 miles long, starting in southern France and ending at the Atlantic coast near the city of Santiago in northeastern Spain. “How many miles a day?” I ask.
“About 10,” she says.
Damn, that makes me jealous. “Well, you have a very good trip,” I say and we continue on our separate ways. I have long been tempted to do the Camino. The problem is, it is no easy nor cheap thing to do to get Waldo over there. Sigh.
I love the fact that there are so many people on the trail who also like to travel and go on adventures. I suppose there is a selection mechanism at work here.
Eventually, Waldo and I get back to the car. “Well, Waldo,” I say as I get in the car, “another day and another 6 miles.”
He lays down, curled up on the passenger seat, and rests his muzzle on the console between us.
Waldo is always on the lookout for bikes behind us.