Strength does not come from physical capacity.  It comes from an indomitable will.

— Mahatma Ghandi

 

The Midstate Trail lay fallow (at least from our feet being planted there) all summer.  Now we’re in a relative cool spell where Waldo and I can find a 3-hour period that isn’t too hot to trek on its hilly, root-and-rock filled, meandering paths.  An added bonus: Phyllis has found a window of opportunity in her busy schedule and she’s coming with us!  The plan is to start where we left off, just outside of Rutland, MA, and continue southish for 6 miles to a place where we can leave our car, north and east of Spencer, MA.

We meet at the dropoff point and take Phyllis’s car back to where we start.  The temperature is in the mid-60s, the sky is mostly clear and the ground is dry.  Our pantlegs are tucked into our socks and our exposed skin is lathered in insect repellant.  We cross Rte 122 and take up the dirt path that plunges deep into woods.  The trail is mildly hilly, rough, filled with the expected roots and rocks, narrow and recognizable mainly from the crushed leaves underfoot.  Off trail is also full of leaves, but they are, more or less, intact.  The usual oaks, maples and birches, with occasional white pine, here and there, surround us on all sides.  They are all small-bole trees, less than 100 years old.  Weeds of various kinds grow high next to and, all too often, over where we have to walk.  Waldo is loving the near-bushwhacking and is up ahead at the extreme front end of his leash, pulling us eagerly forward.

It’s been a long while since Phyllis has joined us and she hasn’t been doing a lot of walking.  She’s also complaining of a little knee pain, which, she says, happens to her sometimes.  This makes the going a little slower than what Waldo and I are used to, but it gives Phyllis and I lots of time to talk.  We have texted and talked over the phone this summer, but now we are each other’s captive audience and we use the time to fill in the details of what’s been going on.

Phyllis took a canoe trip up into Canada and spent a couple of weeks camping on the shores of Reindeer Lake.  There are no roads into the area and they had to fly in on a float plane.  Unfortunately, that was also near where all the fires were burning in the middle of Canada.  They could see the smoke in the sky, but they were never in any great danger and had a great time.  She also fills me in on how things are going with her new boyfriend – things are going well in that department.  Of course, I tell her about what’s been happening with Waldo and me, most of which you know if you’ve been following this blog.  Anyway, my attention is split between our conversation and keeping an eye on my footing and I haven’t been on the lookout for trail markers.

The trail is well marked with the plastic Midstate yellow triangles at places where they’re needed.  Even so, after a couple of miles, I look down at the AllTrails map on my phone and see that we have, somehow, wandered off trail.  We will have to backtrack a good ways to get to the place where we went astray.

“Oops,” I tell Phyllis.  “We wandered off trail a bit.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“I’m sure.”

“How far?”

“A ways.”  That’s always a satisfying answer to that question, isn’t it?

We turn around and have to hike back a good 3/8 of a mile to get back on trail.  Sigh.  This is something that has happened to us a lot in the past and is bothersome only because it adds to the total distance (in this case ¾ of a mile).  But Phyllis is having a bit of a hard time and the added distance is not welcome.  Still, she’s a good sport and takes the bit in her teeth and doesn’t whine about it.  We find where we erred and it’s clearly marked.  Oops.

Up and down some more small hills and we come to a large pond.  I’m surprised (but pleased), because there is no low-lying swampy area nearby.  The entire hike has been in dense woods, something that is unusual, but welcome.  There is some evidence, and a sign here and there, of logging going on, something that we don’t like, of course.  A walk in the woods is just not the same if you cut down some of the trees.

After the expected, “How far do we have yet to go?” with the only acceptable response, regardless of the true distance, “A mile or two,” and we are at the Waldo-car.  We passed no one on this leg of the trail.  A bit sweaty and fatigued, we settle into the car seats and head back to Phyllis’s car.

“I’m sore and my knee hurts more, but I’m awfully glad we did this,” says Phyllis.

“And we are so happy to have you back with us,” I say.  “I just hope that your knee heals enough so we can do this again, without making it worse.”

“I’ll be fine, but I am going on another trip next Friday…”

“Of course, you are.  But there’ll be other opportunities to walk with Waldo and me in the woods.  There always are.”

“Until next time, then,” says Phyllis.

“Until next time,” I reply.

Waldo wags his tail.

Phyllis gets into her car and heads home.  Waldo and I head back to balcony and recliner.  Another 6 miles (6.75 with the added detour), with 551 feet of elevation gain, toward our ultimate goal.  It did take us 4 hrs and 5 min, which is a long time for the distance we walked, but the company was excellent.

Now I have to plan out our next leg of the journey.

 

Variety is the very spice of life, that gives it all its flavor.

— William Cowper

 

The Bruce Freeman Trail (the finished, paved part) runs a little over 21.25 miles pretty much due south from Lowell to Sudbury, Mass.  Waldo and I have walked the whole thing (including the unpaved, unfinished part that continues into Framingham) in the past, some sections more than once.  In earlier incarnations, the trail was the Framingham and Lowell Railroad, operated in its later years by Conrail.  The last train to travel on it down to Sudbury was in 2000.  The last pieces of the railroad to carry a train anywhere was in 2006 to 2008.  The first part of the Bruce Freeman trail opened in 2009.  Just this last year, the piece from Concord to Sudbury opened to the public, although many (including us) used it before that.

Today is a clear sunny day with temps in the high 60s and it seems like a good time to revisit the trail and see how the southern portion has changed since its completion.  We start at the South Sudbury Train Station, at the spot where the Bruce Freeman crosses the Mass Central Rail Trail, and head north.  Weeds have had a good year and grow up and over the tarmac, making it look narrower than it is.  Places where white paint on the pavement once read, “ROAD XING,” now read, “OAD XIN.”  The trail runs in a straight line north for as far as I can see.

For the first half-mile or so, we’re walking in the back yards of commercial buildings off to our right.  One thing that is new is that several signs have been put up that provide a history of the place.  One of the signs explains why there are light signals (old, rusting and no longer functional) in the middle of nowhere, next to what once was the railroad.  It takes a long time for a big heavy train to slow down, so these signals were put up a mile from an intersection to warn the engineers if they needed to slow down before they got there.  Other than historical signs like that, little else has changed since we were last out here.

We cross over a street and walk beside a very large commercial nursery to our left.  It belongs to the Cavicchio family and used to be their family farm.  The story goes that Henry Ford came into the area and wanted to build an assembly plant nearby, but the family refused to sell their water rights out of fear that the plant would pollute the water.  Because of that, and other reasons, the plant was never built.  Even so, Ford did leave an imprint on the area, but that’s another story for another time.  After the nursery, we’re deep in forest green.

Waldo is having a good time.  I swear he enjoys going to new places as much as I do.  His gait is totally normal and he’s lost in the plethora of sensory input that bathes him.  He has a propensity to want to trek off onto any dirt paths (of which there are a few, wandering off whither, I don’t know) that veer off from our paved path.  When he isn’t doing that, he’s prancing in the weeds just to the side of the tarmac.  I swear the dog loves to bushwhack.  Fortunately, there is no burdock around and only a very little ticktrefoil.

There aren’t too many people out here – it is midmorning and midweek, after all.  We pass a few joggers and a few people walking their dogs, but there seems to be more bicyclists out here than what we normally see on the Assebet Trail.  The Bruce Freeman does run through the town of Concord, a couple of miles further north, which is a ritzy part of the state, and Sudbury itself is known to have a lot of money.  Perhaps that means that the percentage of people who enjoy being outdoors is skewed a bit in favor of bicycles, I don’t know.

As we penetrate further and further northward into the woods, the nature of the plants growing off-trail changes.  At first, the trees are mostly deciduous, mainly oaks.  A bit further along and the trees are mainly white pine.  Where we’re walking, the trees were almost all cut down over a hundred years ago, to clear the ground for farming and grazing.  By 1850, the land was pretty much stripped of trees.  Then things opened up out west, where the land was better suited for farming, and people moved on, leaving the land a chance to recover.  Today, the forest has returned and the farmer’s fields, with few exceptions, are gone.  The trees there are, though, are mostly younger than 50 and very few are older than 100 (you can tell by the diameter of their trunks).

After just over 3 miles, we turn around and head back to the car.  The temperature is increasing into the low 70s and Waldo’s tongue is starting to loll out and flop around.  I should have brought his water along, but I didn’t.  I failed to take into consideration that, whereas the air temperature may be on the cool side, the sun beating down from a clear sky will make things hotter.

About 1.5 miles from the car, I notice a water fountain next to the trail that I didn’t see on the way out.  The thing that grabbed my attention was that it has a specially designed piece for filling water bottles.  I’ve never seen anything like that before.  Then I look down and, right next to the ground, there’s a basin sporting the same kind of faucet as on water fountains built for humans.  But the basin is way too low for any people to be able to use, even a young child.  It is, however, placed perfectly for a dog to lap up his fill.  “Waldo, want some water?” I ask.

Waldo immediately goes to the basin and paws at it, apparently also recognizing what it is for.  I push a button, water flows into the basin, and Waldo slakes his thirst.  There really is a lot of money out here if someone has gone to effort to provide a doggy water fountain for thirsty canines on this rail trail in the middle of the woods.

The doggy now rewatered, we continue on our way and are soon back at the car.  It has been a very pleasant walk.  We’ll have to come out here more often.

But, first, we have to finish the Midstate Trail.

 

 

Wandering re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the universe.

— Anatole France

 

Continued from before…

As we head back toward the Lotus Blossom, I’m thinking about those “Do Not Enter” signs.  They make me a little angry.  The railroad bed goes nowhere that is dangerous to either the walker nor the people who control the right of way.  Why should anyone be allowed to prevent another’s urge to wander down there?  I know I’m not alone in this.

In the early 20^th century in Britain, people who wanted to escape city life and wander in the country, but who were prevented from doing so by wealthy land owners, organized and lobbied Parliament.  They organized large protest hikes that crossed boundaries, physical and legal, and brought the issue to public attention.  They argued that land owners shouldn’t have the right to prevent them from walking on the land as long as they don’t interfere with business, like farming, or damage the property.

In 1935, the Ramblers Association was created and Parliament was forced to respond.  For decades, regulations were generated that opened up the land for more public access.  In the 1980s, the Ramblers pressed Parliament and, in 2000, the Countryside and Rights of Way Act 2000 was passed into law.  It granted public access to mountains, moors and heaths in England and Wales.  In Scotland, the Land Reform Act 2003 codified universal access.

The Countryside and Rights of Way Act gives the general public the right to wander across other people’s land as long as it is wilderness (excluding developed land, gardens and some otherwise designated exceptions – buildings, courtyards and gardens, land within 20 meters of a dwelling or building with livestock, land used for active mineral workings, quarries, aerodromes and railways, golf courses and racecourses, plowed or planted land within the last year and military firing ranges and land under the Ministry of Defence byelaws).  One is allowed to wander freely across open country or common land as long as you follow the Countryside Code (such as keeping dogs under control and closing gates).

Yes!  Down with NIMBY(Not In My Back Yard)ism!  Long live the right to wander freely!  But this is America and we have… issues.  Sigh.

Once we pass the restaurant, the trail continues into Hudson as straight as a laser pointer.  In less than a mile, we come across the spot where the Bruce Freeman Trail, also a rail trail, crosses the Mass central Rail Trail.  Someone has built a large stone circle at the intersection, on top of which are the old rails where the two railroads crossed in an X.  The developed part of the Bruce Freeman Trail stops here, although there are plans for it to eventually go on into Framingham.

Continuing on, we pass through forest on both sides, with some commercial buildings and a few homes appearing here and there, once in a great while, off through the trees.  NIMBYs lost a court battle to prevent the construction of the trail through here, but there are many “No Trespassing” signs posted nearby on tree trunks, bearing witness to continued ill feelings among the landed gentry.  I know, from previous walks, there is more lowland swamp further down the way, but we turn around and head back to the car after going only 2 more miles from the restaurant.  That completes our 6-mile, self-imposed, distance.

It’s been a nice walk, excluding the damned ticktrefoil (yet one more floral enemy we have to contend with).  We passed one other person doing the doggy duty and some joggers.  Several bicycles passed us by; 4 had large panniers (saddle bags) and other bags attached.  “Where you going?” I asked.

“Montreal!” they gaily replied, as they whizzed by.

God bless them.  Damn!  That’s some 320 miles away.  It is really nice to see people out here walking, jogging and biking, using the land the way God intended.

Soon, we’re back at the car and heading home.  Now I have to look forward to brushing all the ticktrefoil seed pods out of Waldo’s fur.  That’s going to take a while.

Then, at last, I can retreat to my recliner and rest some weary muscles.

 

 

You have to try different things, meet different people, and travel to new places to grow.

— Kunal Kapoor

 

Today, I decided Waldo and I would mix it up a bit.  There is a portion of the Mass Central Rail Trail, newly paved, that runs from Sudbury to Hudson, about 7.5 miles.  We have walked it before, including when it was choked with weeds.  The last time we were out here, a bit over a year ago, construction was still going on and the path was compacted dirt with spots that had large muddy puddles.  The trail crosses Rte 20 in Sudbury, near the Lotus Blossom Restaurant, and whenever I pass by there, I look both ways to see how the construction is coming along.  From what I can tell, it has been finished for the better part of the last year.

We park at the Lotus Blossom, cross Rte 20 and head east.  It’s only 1.1 miles to the eastern end of this section of the rail trail, so the plan is to turn around there, then head west past the restaurant and go until we’ve gone far enough that we will have gone 6 miles by the time we turn around again and get back to the car.  The temps are in the low to mid 60s, the air is a bit muggy, the sky is completely overcast and there is next to no wind.

Just on the other side of Rte 20 is a small, wooden B&M (Boston and Maine) Railroad section house, the only one known to still exist in New England, built circa 1890.  The trail is now asphalt and it takes a shallow turn to the left into a heavily wooded area.  Here and there, there are newly built wooden fences.  There is even a place where the railing has been taken out by a fallen tree, now cut up, with its pieces cast aside of the trail.  There are two signs erected that give a bit of the history of the railroad and the surrounding wetlands.

Waldo is genuinely happy about being out here and he trots out to his usual place at the front end of the leash.  The trees are all small bore and I see none that have been there for more than 100 years.  Lush green weeds grow up close to the tarmac and seem quite healthy from the heat and rain we’ve gotten this year.

Waldo loves to walk in the weeds, I think he misses bushwhacking, and purposely goes close enough that he rubs his head and side up against them.  We haven’t gone a half-mile and I look down to see his right side covered in panicledleaf ticktrefoil seed pods.  The plant grows about 3 or 4 feet tall and, at this time of year, has long strings of triangular burs, that look like tiny green rip saw teeth, dangling tenuously on thin delicate stems.  The seed pods have little hairs that reach out and grab your clothing, or fur, with the slightest touch.  There’s so much of it stuck in Waldo’s fur that it looks like he’s in camouflage.  It even covers his face.  Sigh.  Soon, he is biting at his fur, trying to dislodge the stuff.  There’s not much I can do to help until we get back home, to a brush, so we continue on.

The trail skirts by a swampy area, off to our right, that we can see through the trees.  It is now a conservation area, but was once a site for many mills.  The mills used the river that feeds the wetlands for power, but are all now gone.

Further along, we pass by an old signal light, in the middle of nowhere (God knows what it was signaling), that I remember from previous visits out here.  It is now turned into a rusted vine trellis.  Off to our left, surrounded by new-growth trees, is an old car, rusted and stripped to its bones.  There is no obvious way it could have been driven in there through the trees.  It must have been sitting there for decades, given how big the trees are.

We pass a man walking his dog, a toy golden doodle.  I tell him, “This is Waldo.  He’s in camouflage.”

He gives me a knowing look.  “You’ve got your work cut out for you,” he says.

“I know,” I say, sighing.  “I know.”

We continue to the eastern end of the trail, where it meets s street in a T intersection, as per plan.  On the other side of the street, the railroad bed continues, but there are two poles, one on each side, holding signs that have large red circles bearing a white bar in the middle.  Around the circle is the message, “Do Not Enter.”  There is a well -trodden footpath that runs between them that makes it clear that people do not take this seriously.  Waldo and I have been down there at least three times and never had an issue.  It’s unclear who put them there, or why.  I would certainly ignore them, but we turn around and head back west.

To be continued…

 

 

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.

 

 

Fall seven times, get up eight.

— Japanese proverb

 

Waldo’s limp is improving and now subtle, but still present.  He’s soon to be 8 years old, 55 in Waldo years, and, as I can attest through personal experience, is old enough to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous age aches and pains.  His limp is now so subtle that I have to look carefully to see it.  It bothers me that it’s still present, after around 8 weeks, but it is, albeit slowly, getting better.  I’ve been in contact with Waldo’s vet and I’ve decided, for now, to increase his exercise, by increasing the distance we walk, and see if his condition continues to improve, or worsens.

We’ve taken some time off from our long walks due to the heat and Waldo’s limp.  But with an improving gait, he is also having an increased desire to romp and exercise.  On the short walks we go on, he pulls at the leash, pokes me with sticks to tempt me to play tug-of-war and chases after any soccer ball the local kids leave out on the grass.  Cabin fever in the middle of the summer is not pretty.  The temperature has now fallen adequately, for a long enough period of time, that we can walk 6 miles on the rail trail in the mornings.  So I’ve decided to go back to the rail trail, walk our usual 6-mile route, and see how it goes.

It’s just after 8 AM when we start.  The ground is dry, the weeds are tall, thick and green and I hear an occasional Emmy-bird calling somewhere off trail from its catbird seat.  Waldo charges up front at the end of his leash and is eager to go.  He’s pulling, which is encouraging, because that requires his driving himself (and me) forward with both hind legs.  It’s not long, though, and he remembers that, oh yeah, damn, there be bikes in these here woods.  He stops, turns to the rear every minute or so, then continues on.  There are no bikes, yet, but he knows, from experience, there likely will be.  His gait is otherwise normal, as far as I can tell.

There is some scattered burdock just off the trail, fewer than a half dozen bushes, with tall, thick stalks budding large clumps of the godawful spikey balls.  They are still green, but, just the same, all too sticky for Waldo’s fine fur.  I stop and try to pull one up by the roots, which I’ve been successful at in the past, but to no avail.  Maybe I’ll come back with some gardening shears and cut ‘em down.  That won’t keep them from coming back in future years, they can grow from the roots left behind, but for this year and next (the burs are biennial), they won’t be a problem.  For now, I’ll just have to be on the lookout for ‘em and steer Waldo a good distance away.

We pass fellow denizens, some with dogs, some without, and a few joggers.  Many stop and say they’ve missed us and were worried about where we’d gone and why.  Some know that we often, when the weather is good, go elsewhere to walk, but they miss seeing us just the same.  I tell them about Waldo’s gimp and we share frustration at it being so hot for so long this summer.  I call the dogs by name and offer them treats, but I have no idea what the people’s names are.  It doesn’t seem relevant, somehow.  We’re all out here to enjoy nature, not socialize.  Everyone knows Waldo by name, though.

It’s not long and a bike approaches us from the rear.  I can tell, without looking, because Waldo starts walking sideways, off to my right and slightly ahead, with his eyes turned toward where we have just been.  The bike passes us and Waldo then continues on, eyes to the front, with frequent back glances.  If a bike approaches us from the front while Waldo’s attention is directed toward pee-mail, or some other doggy attraction, I’ll call out, “Bike!” and Waldo will jump — ears back, eyes forward and distraction forgotten.  He doesn’t bark or growl and never chases after them.  His tail isn’t tucked and his hackles are not up.  I don’t think he’s afraid of them, he just doesn’t like those fast movers out there without the appropriate guidance, from a well-bred border collie, as to where and how to be.  And from the rear?  No well-meaning sheep, even those on wheels, should ever be behind him.  Don’t they know they should be up front where he can share his wisdom and insight?

We soon come to our turnaround spot and head back to the car.  At no time has Waldo slowed, limped, or laid down for rest.  His gait has remained normal throughout the walk and has offered no complaint or hesitancy to continue.  And he has shown a great deal of appreciation to be, once more, out in the woods.  Even if there are a few errant two-wheeled sheep out there.

We get back to the car and Waldo jumps up onto the passenger seat without a glitch.  I now will watch him carefully at home, to see if the additional exercise makes his gait any different.  I know from personal experience that purely benign soreness and stiffness often follows extended exercise, so some is expected.  But if he is clearly worse, we’ll go see an orthopod.  If all goes well, though, we’ll be back out here after a day of rest.

For now, it’s back home to water, food and rest.

 

 

It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.

— Confucius

 

Waldo’s right hind leg is better, though not normal.  His gait is now normal and he pulls at the leash as he always has (which requires significant thrust from both of his hind legs).  But I know it still bothers him a little, because he sometimes doesn’t put full weight on it when he’s standing.  His vet and I decided to just watch him and advance his activity slowly, for now.  I’ve decided to take him back to the rail trail today and see how it goes.

The weather hasn’t been the best – high temps in the mid to high 80s, with high humidity, and some recent heavy rain.  Today, the forecast is for temps in the high 60s with a 20% chance of rain.  That usually means a light shower, not much more than a thick mist, but the one reliable part of the forecast is that the weather is unsettled.  So I decide to take along a rain jacket, just in case.  I don’t like taking an umbrella, because that would make both of my hands full – one with the umbrella and the other with dog.  I roll the jacket up and tie the sleeves around my waist so it’ll be there if I need it.

The temps are as advertised and the day is gray, as we start out.  The air has a fine mist and the tarmac is still damp from an earlier rain.  There is only a slight breeze.  Waldo charges up ahead to the end of the leash, obviously happy at being back here in the woods.  He visits the side of the trail and says hello to his friends, the bushes (both with a sniff and some watering).  His gait is normal and he’s tugging at the leash.

It’s interesting to see how the dominant species of weed changes with the weather.  In dryer years, there was a carpet of Japanese clover alongside the trail.  This year, I’ve seen almost none.  The Japanese knotweed, always present, doesn’t seem as thick and tall as usual.  There are only a couple of burdock plants with burs.  I don’t know if that’s due to the weather, or because I uprooted so much of it last year.  The plants that are there are tall, have many stems and are already blossoming with burs.  The burs are green, not all dried out and brown, like they get in the early fall, but they’re still quite sticky.  Waldo picks up 3 of the damn things by just walking within a foot of them.  It’s like they have a negative charge attracted to his positive charge.  I’m going to have to come back here with my weed puller and get rid of the cursed things sometime soon.  Thank God there aren’t many.

We say hello to our old friends, the rock garden, the covid garden and the new park, as we walk by.  When we get close to the athletic field, I keep my eyes open for the beginnings of the 2 paths that lead off into the woods and thence to the Fort Meadow Reservoir and the Grove — places we explored not so long ago.  I do it just to reassure myself I can still find them; they’re not obvious and easily missed.  When they do show themselves, I consider wandering out thataway.  Not today.  Things are too damp and the going is likely to be muddy.

Waldo is still out front, pulling at the leash.  It’s like he knows he’s less likely to have to contend with any bicycles in this weather.  He misses these walks in the woods, as do I.  The birds are quiet, with only an occasional tweet from a northern cardinal, or a house sparrow, somewhere off in the distance.  The oaks, birches, maples, locusts and aspens are all fully leafed out and make the air itself feel green.  There are sensitive ferns and various species of moss about, but not so much as there has been in the past.  Maybe they prefer cooler times.

We pass a few people, some out walking their canine companions.  Bikes may avoid wet weather, but doggy duty knows no unwalkable weather.  There are a few joggers that pass us by too.  We say hi to the local denizens and I explain why it’s been so long since we’ve been out here.  They tell us that our absence was noted and that they’re glad nothing bad happened to us.

After we turn around, we are hit with the 20% rain.  I’m not sure what the other 80% is, but I’m definitely 100% wet.  It’s only a light drizzle, but it’s enough that my shirt is soaked in just a couple of minutes.  I untie my rain jacket and put it on.

The walk back to the car is uneventful and we pass a few, but not many, other intrepid folks who were also caught in the rain.  I’m pleased to see that, despite a 6-mile walk, Waldo’s gait remains normal.  We climb in the car and head home.  Tomorrow will tell me how Waldo is faring, after he’s had a chance to rest and get sore.

I sure hope that we’ll get back out here on a regular basis sometime soon.

 

 

The wise adapt themselves to circumstances as water molds itself to the pitcher.

— Chinese Proverb

 

After our last walk on the rail trail, Waldo developed a bit of a limp, favoring his right hind leg.  As far as I know, he hasn’t suffered any trauma.  He’s had sore legs before, for some reason, and not always with the same leg.  I never figured out why and, after resting awhile, the problem was resolved and he went back to his usual self.  This time seems a little worse than before.  He even has difficulty going upstairs, because it hurts him to put weight on it.  So, for the past few days, we’ve just hung out around the house and walked around the property for Waldo’s unwatering and depooping.

Today, he seems a little better, although his limp is not totally gone.  It’s also quite hot again, too hot for a full rail-trail walk.  The minimum temp for the day is in the low 70s and will increase rapidly from there.  So we’re going to Ghiloni Park (not even a mile away) for a shorter walk in the woods (about a mile).

Ghiloni Park is a city park designed for many activities.  There is a playground for little kids, with a splash pad next to that, so they can cool off in water sprayed from frogs, flowers and a touch sensitive pole. There are soccer and softball fields and a basketball court too.  And there are trails, some paved, others not, that wander through a deciduous forest of pine, oak, maple, black cherry and beech.  That, of course, is where we’re headed.

After parking the car, Waldo and I walk past large soccer fields and follow a paved walkway that leads into the forest.  The path isn’t as wide as the rail trail and the trees are closer to the path.  That makes it feel like our walk is ever so much more intimately involved with nature.  There are a few house sparrows that call out to us, and a northern cardinal or two, but, for the most part, the birds are quiet.  The trail leads up a low incline and, in the heat, I’m soon sweating and Waldo is panting.  He’s up at the forward end of the leash, since there are no bikes anywhere in sight, and exploring around in the bushes off the side of the path.  His tail is wagging and he is obviously enjoying himself.  I watch his hind legs, as he trots ahead, and he doesn’t seem to be favoring the right.

Going down the other side of the hill, we come to a fenced-off area.  The city of Marlborough created a dog park there, only a couple of years ago.  It’s empty – although we did pass a couple of other dogs on the trail, there are none inside the fence.  I don’t know why.  We’ve visited other dog parks elsewhere that aren’t as nice and are less convenient, yet actively used.  Maybe the word hasn’t yet gotten out that this park is here.  Because of Waldo’s leg, we don’t stop there today.

The paved trail now turns left and parallels a road that runs through the middle of the park.  On the other side of the road is a dirt path that dives deep into the forest.  It wanders around in a loop for a couple of miles then returns to the road.  Waldo and I have explored it before, but not today.  It’s just too hot.  We continue on our way, turning to the left, and end up back at the soccer fields.  I’m soaked in sweat and Waldo’s tongue lolls out limply, dripping saliva.  It’s time to end our journey and head back to home, water and AC.  The walk took us about a half-hour.

When we get home, Waldo is a bit reluctant to climb the stairs, but finally does so, although haltingly.  He drags his left foot a little, as he goes up a stair, because it hurts him to lift his body on his right leg high enough for his left leg to easily reach the next step.  I fear even this short walk might have made his leg worse.  But it has fed his soul so righteously.

Once inside the apartment, Waldo does a full body flop onto the floor, tongue fully extended, lying flattened out.  He will lap up a little water after he cools off a bit, but first, he has to get rid of some of the body heat he’s acquired.  There’s no better way for him to do that than to lay out so the floor can absorb what it can.  It is so much better at heat conduction than the air.  I settle into my recliner and turn on a tower fan to blow cool air onto my hot sweaty skin.  On days like this, even a short walk takes its toll.

Today is a Friday, so I decide to wait another couple of days.  If Waldo’s leg doesn’t get any better, I’m going to have to take him to the vet Monday.  Until then, we’ll just have to do shorter, but more frequent walks.

We do what we can do.

 

 

I regarded home as a place I left behind in order to come back to it afterward.

— Ernest Hemingway

 

Meanwhile, back on the rail trail…

The weather became hot as forecasted.  There were days when, if we got up at 5 or 6 AM, we were able to complete our usual jaunt before it got too bad.  On those days, it would have been possible to continue on the Midstate Trail, but that would have meant we’d have to get up well before dawn to do it.  Then there were a couple of strings of other days when the temperature never got low enough to even start a long walk anywhere nearby.  The last heat bubble had heat indexes as high as 104℉ that lasted for days.  And there were a few days of rain that we decided to avoid.

Today, the temperature is in the high 60s and we are out on the trail at 9 AM!  What a joy to be able to sleep in a bit without broiling in our own skins.  There is rain south of us, not even 30 miles away, heading east, but none here.  Just cloudy skies.  The ground is dry and people are out and about, enjoying a cool jaunt in Mother Nature.  Even the birds are up and singing.  My Merlin app hears two new species, a northern flicker and a chimney swift, as we start out.

Things are very green now.  The damned burdock is more prolific at the beginning of the trail and I keep a look out for their big broad leaves.  I do see some big leaves just off the tarmac, but I think they are mostly bitter dock, not burdock.  Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, because there’s a lot of it.  The two look a lot alike, except the bitter dock’s leaves are a bit longer and pointy at the end.  The proof will be when the burdock sprout their damn burrs, then I’ll know for sure what’s what.  I bought a weed puller you can use while standing up, to help me remove any burdock I find, but, if what I think is bitter dock is really burdock, I have a lot of work ahead of me.  I’ll have to wait until late summer to early fall, to know for sure.

The weather is good enough that there are a few bikes out on the path.  That means Waldo is spending a lot of time stopping and looking behind us, just to make sure we’re not surprised by any.  It also means that he spends a lot of time walking to my rear, then moving around me – always in a clockwise manner, of course.  When a bike does come from behind, he either starts walking sideways next to me, so he can keep an eye on it, or he lies down and waits for it to pass.  If one approaches from the front, he walks next to me, eyeing it suspiciously.  He has never charged after a bike, or barked at one.  Thank God.

We pass the spot where I raked the ground and tried to plant wildflowers, a year ago last spring.  What had been a thick carpet of dead, brown leaves and branches, is now a dense growth of healthy, live, green leaves.  Unfortunately, the leaves do not belong to any of the flowers I tried putting there.  They’re all jewelweed and greater celandine, both native to this area.  I guess clearing the ground provided the local species the chance to come in and take over and never gave the wildflowers a chance.  At least it’s not all Japanese knotweed, which is invading a lot of the ground next to the trail elsewhere.  Waldo doesn’t mind any of it – he’ll lift a leg on anything.

Near our turn-around point in Hudson, a well-known acquaintance of ours, with a dog, approaches us going the other way.  She is a transplanted Swede who has been here, with her husband, for decades.  They used to have a border collie companion, who they walked out here regularly.  The dog died, but, after a less than a year, they adopted another border collie puppy, named Loki.  Loki is about 5 months old now and full of insatiable border collie puppy energy.  He’s pulling at the leash, trying to jump on me and doing his best to get a playful response from Waldo.  Waldo lies down and patiently lets the puppy pounce on and paw at him and generally cause mayhem.  The dog is well named – Loki is a trickster god in Norse mythology, known for his ability to instigate chaos.  Seeing the two dogs next to each other, Loki at 5 months and Waldo at nearly 8 years, really brings home how much Waldo has changed.  7 and a half years ago, Waldo was Loki.  His age is showing.

We say goodbye to Loki and our friend and finish our walk.  It was really good to be back here, on home ground, after our forced hiatus.  Now if global warming, El Niño and the weather gods will only abate the heat enough so we can continue to walk, even if it’s at dawn, until the cool of fall comes.

If not, we’ll do what we can.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s active logging going on here.

 

We don’t stop hiking because we get old – We grow old because we stop hiking.

— Finis Mitchel

 

Today is our last walk on the Midstate Trail for the season.  Starting tomorrow, and for the foreseeable future, the forecast is for temperatures well into the 80s and higher.  That precludes Waldo and my continuing until sometime in September, when it will be once again cool enough for us to finish this trek.  Until then, we’ll have to walk when, where and as we can in the coming heat.

Today, though, is a fine day for a walk in the woods.  The high temperature will be in the 60s, the winds are light, the sky cover scattered and the ground dry (except in places).  Christine once again drops us off where we start.  We’re at the Parker Cemetery, we’re we stopped 2 days ago, and we head south on Coldbrook Rd.  In less that ¼-mile, the trail heads off to our left into the woods and the 21^st century is left behind (except for my cell which I keep in my pocket until needed).   The trail is embedded in foliage – ferns, small bushes, weeds and new-growth deciduous trees.  It’s dense enough that Waldo, up ahead at his self-assigned position at the lead-end of the leash, is almost swallowed in green.

After less than a mile, we come across a large grassy field of grass.  On the left side of the trail are 2 granite benches, bearing the names of Rolf Larson and Bob Elms.  Rolf and Bob were 2 of the people responsible for the development of the Midstate Trail.  The granite slabs that comprise the benches are large and heavy.  The nearest road is almost ¼-mile away and I have no idea how those stones were brought here – it must have taken a lot of manual labor.  Aside from the grassy field, a small pond and some trees on its edge, there is not much of a view.  I have no idea why so much effort was expended to put the benches at this particular spot.  On the other side of the field, the trail is once again absorbed by the forest.

After around another mile, we come across a two-rutted dirt road, Pine Plain Rd, and continue down that.  Not far down the road is a sign that reads, Caution, Active Logging in Progress.  I don’t see many pines on either side of the road, and the oaks, maples and birch are all less that one-hundred years old (judging by the diameter of their trunks) and it doesn’t look to me like prime logging country, but that just shows my level of ignorance about such things.  After a half mile or so, we come across downed logs, trimmed and ready for transport, on the side of the road.  There is some heavy equipment off in the manmade field to our right, including a large chipper, but most of it, I can’t identify.  Just past the logs, we are met by a large semi, drawing a closed in trailer, that takes up most of the road.  Waldo and I step off the road and let him pass, waving as we do.  The trucker waves back and continues on his way.

Just past the place where we met the truck, the trail takes off to the left and heads into the bush.  After a short distance, we cross over a wooden walk that covers some swampy ground.  There are places on this trail that appear to be not much more than a path worn into the ground by passing boots.  And then there are other places, like here, where some not insignificant effort has been put in to maintain the path.

Not very far at all from the walkway, we cross the Mass Central Rail Trail.  This piece of the rail trail , Christine and I walked along a few years ago and I don’t recognize it.  I recognize the line on the map that represents it and I know we walked it, I just don’t remember the country or having crossed the Midstate Trail when we did.  But I know we did.  At the intersection is a stone bench with Midstate and Mass Central Rail Trail etched on its side and a granite pillar with Mass Central Rail Trail engraved on it.  Small world…  Much to Waldo’s dismay, there are a few bikes that pass us in the short time that we’re there.  We even pass a woman walking her dog.

A stone’s throw from the intersection is the large parking lot, just off Rte 122, where we left our car.  There is a porta potty where the trail meets the parking lot.  I’m pretty sure that it is there for those who use the Mass Central Rail Trail, because it is used more than the Midstate Trail.  Today’s walk: 5.45 miles in 2:42 and 412 feet of elevation gain.

I water Waldo and we get in the car to go home.  After having come so far, I’m feeling a little disappointed we won’t be able to continue for a few months.  I’m also feeling quite happy that we have been able to make it halfway before being forced to take a hiatus.  That was looking pretty doubtful while we were scrambling over the New Hampshire granite at the beginning of the hike.  Once fall comes, I’m pretty sure, now, we’ll be able to finish before the first flying flurries of winter.  For now, though, it’s home to my recliner and Waldo to his balcony.

I just have to figure out how to get any significant walking done, in the next couple of months, without baking in the heat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Central Mass Rail Trail.