Morning view, looking out over the Rhone valley from Haute Nendaz.
When things go wrong, I just think: It’s part of the journey.
-Kenny Wallace
Continued from before…
I’m on my way to Geneva via Copenhagen, Denmark, and Phyllis is soon to be on a plane to Geneva via Reykjavik, Iceland. We got our tickets at different times and are taking different airlines and routes. I have a longer layover in Copenhagen, some 5 hours, so Phyllis will have to wait for me in Geneva for around an hour and a half before I can get there. At least, that’s the plan…
Sometime after getting to Copenhagen (at around 7:30 AM local, 1:30 AM Boston time) I get a text from Phyllis. Her flight was delayed leaving Boston and she got into Reykjavik too late to make her connecting flight to Geneva. The next flight for Geneva doesn’t leave until tomorrow, so she has to change airlines, go to Copenhagen and then on to Geneva. Unfortunately, she will not be getting into Copenhagen until after I leave. More delays.
I get into Geneva at around 2:00 PM and have to wait for Phyllis for seven hours. When she finally arrives, it’s just before nine PM. Fortunately, she doesn’t have to go through customs, as she’s coming from Denmark (both Switzerland and Denmark are Schengen countries, so customs is simplified). I say fortunately because the last train from the airport is leaving in minutes. We rush to the train station, a few hundred yards from the airport, and do our best to buy the necessary tickets.
The ticket office is closed, but there are ticket machines. The machines will not take paper money (of which we have ample), but only take coins and credit cards. US credit cards are supposed to work just fine, but we can’t figure out how to make ours work and we can’t get the tickets. We rush to the train and find some conductors. Using what French I can muster, I speak with them and discover that they don’t know anything about the vagaries of the machines. They go on about their business and, since the train is leaving imminently, we board without tickets. All we can do is hope we can get it all figured out at the next station, where we have to change trains anyway. Worst case scenario, if we are asked to, we can buy tickets after we board the train, but we would have to pay quite a bit more.
We get off the train at the main station in Geneva, a few minutes from the airport, and go to the machines. We still can’t make them work. A nice lady sees our angst, helps us out and, finally, we are ready to go. We board the train for Sion, about 2 hours down the tracks, and we’re off. Now we just have to figure out how to get from Sion to where we’re going, my brother’s Chalet in Haute Nendaz. That’s about a 45-minute bus ride up some very steep mountains, but the last bus leaves at 9:05 and we aren’t going to get to Sion until almost midnight. I’m on the phone with my brother and my nephew and they arrange for an Uber to meet us at the train station. It’s going to cost us 80 Swiss Francs (about 90 USD) but that’s cheaper than a hotel for the night.
Finally, at around 11:30 PM, we arrive in Sion and the Uber guy is waiting for us. We’re off, over the Rhone River and up the steep, two-lane, serpentine road that takes us up into the ethereal heights of the Alps. The driver doesn’t speak English, so I get to exercise my French as we talk about where he lives (near Sion), if he skis (for the past 4 or so years) and how things are kind of slow this time of year. He makes sure I have texted my brother and family because they have phoned him three times and seem nervous. It’s not long and we’re in the little village of Haute Nendaz.
Man, things are dark this time of night up here. I can only make out what I can see within the headlight beams and, although I’ve been here a couple of times before, it’s hard to get oriented. I did give the Uber guy my brother’s address for his GPS, so we won’t get completely lost, but it’s often the case that a GPS will only locate where you are approximately when you’re surrounded by rocky crags out in the boonies.
Finally, sometime after midnight, we meet my brother and nephew, get the key for the place where Phyllis and I are staying (about ¼ mile down the mountain from my brother’s chalet) and Phyllis and I open the door to a most welcome sight – two beds made up for immediate slumber. We’ve been travelling for a bit more than 36 hours and laying my tired body down and totally relaxing my muscles never felt better.
Getting here was not at all straightforward, but looking back on the trip, now that the angst of uncertainty is done, what happened just added to the adventure of it all. And that’s the raison d’etre of the whole trip, after all.
As I close my eyes and relax into the sweet oblivion of sleep, my last thoughts are of Waldo. The twentieth century is a true marvel in many ways. I remember many trips in the past where it wasn’t possible, but now I can call the place where he’s staying on my cell phone. I commit to calling as soon as I can. It will have to be tomorrow afternoon (I have to wait until then because of the 6-hour time difference), but call them I will.
I sure hope he’s okay.
We’re in the mountains now (finally)!
What I’m leaving behind (sigh).
Trials are never permanent. They are there to teach you, strengthen you, motivate you and help guide you in life.
-Rubyanne
Travel time has arrived! Waldo and I got up early, I put his stuff together, and dropped him off at the house of the young man who will be watching him. Waldo seemed happy enough, but confused as to what was going on. I reassured him as best I could and said goodbye. Half an hour later, I was back home and doing some last-minute packing. Phyllis has decided to go as well, but she decided to go too late to get a ticket on the same plane. We’ll be leaving Boston within a few hours of each other, then meeting up in Geneva. I have a couple of hours before I have to leave for the airport.
Not an hour passed after that and I got a phone call from Waldo’s sitter. Waldo went outside the sitter’s house and started digging a hole. The guy tried to stop him and Waldo nipped him. He no longer felt comfortable watching Waldo after that, so I jumped back in the car to go pick the dog up. The bite was superficial and the guy was good enough not to make a big deal about it. But now I have to find a place for Waldo, last minute, with only three hours before I have to leave for the airport, one week before the fourth of July.
I panicked! I called Phyllis and both my daughters and we started calling every dog boarding place we could find, veterinarians and anyone else we could think of. If I can’t find a place for Waldo, I can’t go! Finally, after making well over thirty unsuccessful phone calls apiece, we found a place that could take him. It’s not a person’s home, but they do guarantee three to four hours of activity a day. Not ideal, but, I hope, good enough because we could find no other alternatives.
I grab my stuff and Waldo and get in my daughter’s car. The plan is to pick up Phyllis, then drop off Waldo on the way to the airport. Following the GPS, we make it to the “Pooch Hotel.” Phyllis and my daughter stay in the car and I take Waldo inside. I let the people in the “Hotel” know what’s been going on and they indeed do have a spot for him to stay for two weeks. Waldo gives me an uncertain, what’s-going-on? look and seems anxious. They lead him away and I’m back outside in the car. Angst plagues me. Am I doing the right thing? Do I have a choice, other than cancelling the trip and losing a lot of money? People are depending on me too, including Phyllis. Not going is not an option. All things considered, right or wrong, this was the best choice we could come up with on such short notice.
Off we go to the airport. Travelling is always an anxious-producing activity for me because I worry about Waldo. This trip is even worse because I have no experience with the Pooch Hotel. I’m pretty sure he’ll be okay, or I wouldn’t leave him with them. Yet, the unknown leaves me with a sense of doubt and hesitancy. Sigh. It’s only for two weeks, I keep telling myself. Waldo’s going to get a lot of attention and treats when I get back, for sure.
We get to the airport and, as I’m walking in the door, I realize that I don’t have my jacket with me. I usually bring one for the plane, no matter the season, because it can get a little chilly. I put my passport in one of the pockets so I would be sure to have it with me… Damn! No jacket, no passport and I can’t go! I run back out the door and stop my daughter just a she’s pulling away. I know where my coat is, but, unfortunately, it is at least a two hour round trip (probably more given the time of day) and there’s no way she can get to where my jacket is, get the thing, and return before the airline desk closes.
So, we call my son-in-law (her husband). He is going to go by my place, get my jacket and bring it to me (something a little over an hour trip). Unfortunately, he doesn’t have my apartment building key, my daughter does. He can get into the apartment once he’s inside the building because it has an electronic key, but he needs a physical key to get into the building. So, the plan is, he will go to my apartment building and punch buttons on the intercom outside the door until someone lets him in. He will then get in my apartment and get my jacket. This, he succeeds in, and soon, he’s on his way to the airport.
I follow his progress on my phone and go out to the road where he will need to drive up so I can grab the coat and get to the airline desk ASAP. It’s kind of a weird place to stand, so a State Policeman comes up and wants to know what I’m doing. He understands, somehow keeps from laughing, and leaves me to my devices. Eventually, my son-in-law drives up, I grab my coat through the passenger side window and I rush up to the airline desk, with 15 minutes to spare.
Dropping off my checked luggage, I make it to security. I have TSA Precheck, so that’s relatively uneventful and I’m soon on the plane and on my way to Copenhagen, Denmark. After a 5-hour layover there, I will then have a 2-hour flight to Geneva where I will meet Phyllis. After that, we will take the train to Sion and then a bus to where we’re staying in Haute Nendaz. I do my best to relax, although I’m still worried about Waldo. Things seem to finally be on automatic pilot.
Hah! I should have known better.
To be continued…
Who I’m going to see – My brother, sister-in-law, my nephew, his wife, Phyllis and myself.
I do love the golden-hued early morning sunlight.
To travel is to live.
-Hans Christian Anderson
A heat wave is forecast to be coming through New England with temperatures approaching 100℉. Fortunately, the lows are still going to be in the low 70s, so, if we get up early enough, we’ll still be able to get our walk in before it gets too hot. After that, there are supposed to be some thunderstorms for a few days. That’s the way things usually go here in the summer. We get hot humid air for a few days, then a cold front comes through and lifts that moistness up where it condenses into clouds and thunderstorms. It keeps things green.
I don’t think things are as wet this summer, at least so far, as they were last year. I notice that the liverwort alongside the trail is not as prolific as it was then and the Japanese clover at my daughter’s house isn’t as robust. There don’t seem to be as many ferns around either. I remember last year that the rails on the fences were green with algae and I haven’t seen that yet. Only a few flowers have been planted at the Covid garden and the poison ivy has only started to overgrow the English ivy on the ivy tree. It’s amazing to me how much things change from one year to another, if I just pay attention.
Some things remain the same, though. The Japanese knotweed stands as high and the grass is just as green. The oaks, sumacs, black walnuts, trees of heaven and aspens are all fully greened out in their leafage. The flying bugs and mosquitoes are just as bothersome (requiring me to douse exposed skin with bug repellant). The birds are as vociferous as ever (I saw two owls the other day) and the squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits are plentiful and active (I saw a family of deer and a raccoon crossing the rail-trail today). Nature seems to like to riff ripples of variations over her baseline display of magical wonder, maybe just to keep us interested.
Other things are not changing very fast. They’re still pushing the dirt around at the landfill near Fort Meadow Reservoir where there is supposed to be a future park. I can’t see any reason, yet, to believe that grass will be growing there any time soon; maybe by fall? The construction at the beginning of the trail is creeping along. It now stands four stories high, but the outside is still nothing but plywood. I would think the thing will be built in a few months, but who knows?
Throughout all this, I’m distracted by my trip to Switzerland. I’m leaving in a few days and will be gone for just over fourteen days. I am subconsciously trying to cement in memory what the place is like so I can see how much has changed when I return. It will be interesting to see change happen over a period of a couple of weeks as opposed to every day.
I can’t help but second-guess myself as to why I’m going. I won’t be doing anything different there than here, except the plane trip to get there and the train rides while there. I’ll be walking and looking and wondering just like I do here. I’ll be treading on Mother Earth, and although the geography, fauna and flora will be a bit different, it’s not all that different. I’ll be exploring different history, architecture and ways of doing things, and I’ll be speaking a different language. But people are just people, with the same needs and desires and all those differences are just a variation on a theme. I think the reason I go to all the expense of traveling is that I crave the stimulation that the difference engenders, although it’s not that earthshaking.
And, of course, there’s Waldo. I’ve found a good place for him to stay, next to a lake with lots of wooded trails to wander down. The fellow who will be taking care of him has his own dog and will take them out for walks several times a day. Waldo won’t be going on any 6 mile walks, but given the heat, that may not be such a bad thing anyway. I am sure Waldo will be well taken care of at Waldo Camp. I just wish he could tell me about it when we get back together.
I will be talking his ear off on my return.
I am so going to miss Waldo…
Who’s back there?
Discoveries, is not “Eureka!” (I found it!) but “That’s funny…”
-Isaac Asimov
The days cooled off a bit and Waldo and I are walking out on the rail-trail in mid to high sixties weather. Those temperatures are well within the Waldo operating range. Even so, he still glances behind us every few seconds as we head out. It can’t be that he’s doing it because he’s too hot and wants to go home. It must be that he’s leery of bicycles coming up from behind us. I do know that he doesn’t like it when they do. I don’t like it much myself, but, for some reason, he has now developed a real concern about it. It’s not like his tail is tucked, or anything like that. He’s just vigilant. When a bike, or bikes, do come from behind us, he goes off to the side of the trail and sits down. I never trained him to do that and I certainly don’t discourage him from doing it now. He has just developed the habit on his own.
The thing I find most curious about it is that he is constantly looking behind us, even when there is nothing there. Granted, some bicyclists insist on pushing their vehicles to the limit and come up on us fast. Sometimes at around thirty miles an hour. Nothing happened to make Waldo suddenly so wary (I would know because I’m with him 24/7), but he is. Maybe it’s because he knows from experience that bikes will more than likely be there? I sure wish I could speak Waldo as well as I do French, and that’s a pretty low bar, but I don’t. The important thing is, he is okay.
I think what’s going on here is that Waldo has detected a pattern. Warm days of spring, when there’s no precipitation, means that it’s likely there will be bikes on the trail. I don’t think the fine details of how the number of bikes increases on the weekend matters to him, but I do think his understanding makes room for some variation. There are days, usually midweek, when we don’t meet any bikes at the beginning of the trail and he seems to relax his vigilance a bit. He is a smart dog.
Now, if he were human, he might count the number of bikes on each day, note the day of the week, the time of day, the weather and maybe some other variables, then look for a more detailed pattern. If a pattern were noticed, then he might look for a mathematical formula that produces the same variation of the number of bikes, given the variables involved. He could then formulate a theory and test it against observation. Having a theory, confirmed through observation, he might then extrapolate to estimate, on any given day, just how many bikes he is likely to confront on our walks. He would then have a better idea as to how vigilant to be.
That is how human science is done. But, of course, doggie science isn’t concerned with that level of detail. Warm day, morning, no rain = an increased need to watch out for bikes coming up from behind, is plenty good enough. Confirmed by meeting at least one bike near the beginning of our walk, and his behavior is set for the rest of the walk. I think the difference on the return trip is that he has more the attitude of “Damn the bikes, full speed ahead! I wanna go home and chill.”
Now that I think about it, it could be argued that the real intelligence of human beings is that we are really, really good at detecting and defining patterns. All of science can be thought of as pattern recognition. We assign numerical values to objects of observation, collect data and look for patterns in the data. Our real genius is in being able to define mathematical functions that reproduce a pattern in the numbers that corresponds to the patterns of what we observe. That’s why mathematics is the language of science. Armed with those functions, we can then predict what is likely to happen. Having that foresight, we can engineer huge passenger jets, rockets into deep space and foresee the coming debacle of global warming.
Some believe that science searches for truth. It doesn’t. If truth is what you want, you need to look into philosophy, or religion. Science doesn’t ever reveal truth. It tells you what, when, and to what extent something is likely to happen. Scientific models, like the atom, protons, electrons, neutrons and so on, are not meant to be the truth, just a useful way of thinking about reality that helps in the formulation of accurate patterns.
Waldo science is much simpler than that. He can just get enough of a vague idea of the patterns that happen to get a gut feeling of what might happen, and then pay attention in case it does. He doesn’t need to build planes, or rockets, or worry about global warming. All that is our bailiwick.
All he needs is a nice walk out in the woods without being bothered by a bicycle.
Damn the bicycles, let’s go!
Waldo is nervous about what’s behind him.
Did you know that there are over 300 words for ‘love’ in canine?
-Gabrielle Zevin
There are a few hot days now. The forecast is for temps in the high seventies today, so Waldo and I are walking the rail trail in the morning, when it is still in the high sixties to low seventies. It’s hard to predict how hot it will feel for a given temperature. Humidity, the amount of wind and the presence of direct sunlight, all play a role. It’s going to rain tomorrow, and maybe for the next few days, so we don’t want to miss a nice, even if a little warm, day to walk.
We park in our usual spot and Waldo seems somewhat reluctant to leave the car. I don’t force him and, with just a little encouragement, he’s soon prancing down the trail, sniffing his way along. But he’s still acting strange. He lags behind me, instead of going out front to the end of the leash. He sometimes does that when there are bicycles coming up behind us – he doesn’t like bikes that do that. I turn to look, but there’s nothing there. I tug on the leash and force him to walk beside me or in front of me. He is stopping, turning his head and looking behind us, every few seconds. I look back that way and see nothing, not even another person. It’s strange.
I watch Waldo’s body language carefully. He does not seem to be in any distress. He’s not laying down in the shade, his tail is not tucked between his legs. He seems perky enough and doesn’t unduly resist the tug on his leash. He just seems preoccupied, wary without being anxious. I’m sure he’s hot, hell, I am, but he doesn’t seem to be distressed about it. I offer him treats and he comes right up to me, sits and eagerly accepts what’s offered. I offer him water and he rejects it, pushing his water bottle away with his nose. His stools are normal and the amount he urinates hasn’t changed. ‘Tis a puzzle. Maybe he’s just not in the mood. I know I’m like that sometimes.
He continues to behave a bit oddly all the way to our turnaround point. On the way, we pass people and people with other dogs and he is as eager as ever to stop and say hello with vigor. He does go off to the side of the trail and sniffs around, but not for long, then turns again and looks behind him. I frequently turn and look back where we’ve been as well. Maybe he knows something I don’t. But I can’t see anything that would elicit that behavior.
We get to the turnaround point, reverse our course, and Waldo goes back to the front end of the leash and tugs with a purpose. This dog wants to get back to the car. It’s hot, but he’s not seeking out the shade or laying down to rest. He’s panting with his tongue limply protruding and flopping around, but it is dripping with saliva. He just goes out front and pulls gently on the leash to encourage me to “come on!” Waldo is on a mission.
I’ve seen him behave this way when the temps get up to around 78℉, but I also remember him as a puppy walking in 87℉. That’s clearly too hot for him and I won’t expose him to that again, but the maximum temperature we have during our walk is only 75℉. Is his reluctance due to the temperature? It is sunny, but radiation heating should bother me more than him. He has a coat of fur to keep the sun’s direct heat off his skin; I just have clothes that cover a part of my body. There’s a slight breeze blowing and the humidity isn’t all that high. I continue to worry over it as we get back to the car.
Once in the car, Waldo curls up and settles down. I open up the windows and set the environmental control to 68℉. Soon, we are both basking in the wafting cool air from the AC vents. Waldo lays his head down on the console between us and seems more content.
Once home, Waldo makes a beeline to his water bowl and sucks down an appreciable amount. He then goes out to his throne over his dogdom and stays there, in the sun, apparently unconcerned with the heat. I can’t get my head around it.
I guess the next thing to try is to leave earlier in the day, when it’s cooler, to see if that makes him any more comfortable. Fortunately, the next few days are forecast to be cooler and intermittently wetter, so we won’t have to get up predawn.
Balancing getting Waldo out for enough exercise while doing it in weather that’s not too hot for him just might be a problem. He is getting older (he will be 6 on August 25, about 45 in people years), so that might be playing a role. Global warming is making things hotter and hotter every year (our forecast is for unusually high temps and wet weather this year). I am going to have to brush him more often and get rid of some of his winter coat, for sure. Maybe I should consider going on shorter walks more often, that add up to the same daily distance? Something to think about.
I do want Waldo to have a good time while we’re out getting our exercise.
And he really doesn’t like the bikes.
Early morning walk.
Bliss is when you have surrendered your worldly self to your inner self.
-Tapan Ghosh
Moss, liver wort and grasses are now all very plump and green. The low-lying leafy plants, like garlic mustard, lesser celandine, hairy bittercress, and motherwort, are all sporting large leaves and some have flowered. The many ferns are unfurling their coiled-up branches. The smaller bushes, like autumn olive, Bradford pear, common milkweed and oriental bittersweet are already in their prime, sporting well developed leaves and some have flowers. The Japanese knotweed has large leaf-bearing stalks poking up from the well-established root systems of seasons passed. Even the larger, taller trees, like the oaks, maples, sumacs, black walnuts and so many others, are sporting yellowish to pale green leaflets in their upper branches. I’ve been watching as spring burgeons forth from the ground upwards – low lying plants maturing first in order to gain unshaded solar radiation before the taller plants can plunge them into shadowed darkness. It’s, literally, like watching grass grow, but taken in short snippets, then melded together into a memory-movie, the developing season can be compressed like time-lapse photography.
There are more animals out and about as well. Squirrels and rabbits run here and there, doing their seasonal romping and cavorting. I even saw a possum slowly waddling across tarmac this morning, crossing the road for why? The plethora of birdsong has increased in volume and repertoire, and I even heard one Emmy-bird the other day (they migrate and only show up here in late spring). On warmer days, with temps well into the seventies, bugs are out and buzz around, but not yet the annoying ones, like gnats and mosquitoes. I’m sure they’re out there, but, because Waldo and I stick, mostly, to the blacktop, I haven’t seen any ticks yet. Waldo likes to roll around in the fallen leaves and on the grass, as well as wander under the drooping leaves of weeds and bushes, so, in the past, I have often found ticks in his hair as I pet and scratch him. But I haven’t found any yet this season. Summer is not far away.
When I’m walking with Waldo, my mind time-shares these thoughts and observations with watching Waldo and enjoying (and sometimes being exasperated) seeing him entertain himself, but I also have other ideas floating around in my head. I just finished my second novel, Bikerman’s Quest, and all that is in there too. When doing the writing, my focus is up close and personal, making the whole thing work. Now that it’s done, I’m looking at it from a distance, encapsulating the story in my eternal search for meaning.
I got the idea for the story one night, about eight years ago, while driving home from work on my Super Glide Custom, Harley Davidson motorcycle. My mind wanders a bit at those times too. Motorcycle meditation, I call it. Anyway, I bumped into the question, “What would life be like if you had absolutely no needs?” Suppose everything else was the same, you don’t have any “superpowers,” but you don’t need to eat, drink, sleep, breathe or have any other needs? What if you were invulnerable and immortal as a consequence? What would such a human life be like? What would motivate you to do anything?
So, I formulated a plot that made such a thing plausible (with some suspended disbelief on the part of the reader) and let a story unfold to explore just these questions. I threw my main character into a maelstrom of conflict — fighting with the Russian Mob and taking them down, then trying, and failing to disarm a thermonuclear bomb (I do love a good action/adventure thriller), to test my thoughts about it all. I think anyone with an open mind will find it entertaining and thought-provoking. It contains not so much answers as thoughtful questions. Keep your eyes open here and on social media for the details when I find a publisher.
Anyway, I’m out here on the rail trail with Waldo, with all these thoughts and ideas echoing around in my mind, and it occurs to me. At this moment, in this place, I have no unmet needs. I can just let all that hurley-burley go and enjoy what is happening in the here-and-now. I can inhale the breath of life that Mother Nature wafts towards me and bathe in its awesome beauty. I can smile and laugh at Waldo doing his Waldo-thing, as he also lives in the moment. I can “watch” all the thoughts, ideas, impressions and reactions that bounce around in my skull, without getting wrapped up in any drama. I absolutely have no need to do anything about any of it.
At this time and place, I not only don’t have any unmet needs, or even desires, it’s also easy to imagine that I’m invulnerable, because I am invulnerable to what is likely to happen any time soon. It’s easy for me to have the mindset that I am immortal as well, at least in the sense that when I think of the foreseeable future, I am alive; I’m not about to cease to exist. That’s very liberating. I can just walk along, out here in the woods, with my good friend Waldo, and exhilarate in all that life has to offer and feel like I don’t have to do anything about anything.
Can there be a more meaningful existential definition of bliss?
Waldo’s in his own world…
Ther are places where you have to be careful what you say…
Whose woods these are I do not know.
I’m so happy that I’m here, though.
Sunlight bathes us in golden hue
And I can watch the green things grow.
-Riff on “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” by Robert Frost
There is one piece of the Bruce Freeman Rail Trail that Waldo and I have not yet walked. It’s about four miles long and runs from Concord to Sudbury, terminating where the railroad bed crosses the Mass Central Rail Trail. We could wait until Phyllis is available to join us, or we could walk this one last piece by ourselves and repeat the nine miles from Acton to Sudbury. We decide on the latter. Waldo does need his exercise and we’ve been spoiled by, at least occasionally, venturing out into new territory to get it done.
We park at the Lotus Blossom again and head west on the Mass Central Rail Trail. This will add about 0.6 miles to our roundtrip journey for a total of 8.6 miles. Not bad at all. The day is warm, with temps of 63℉ and the skies are sunny and clear. A light breeze makes it feel a bit coolish, but I get by in shirtsleeves just the same. Waldo leaves the car and hits the ground in eager anticipation of the trail to come.
The Mass Central Rail Trail is still incomplete where we start and has standing water trapped in deep ruts, but it’s all easy to negotiate. Waldo isn’t phased at all and has no problem plodding through the gook. I can avoid the worst of it without collecting too much mud between the waffles of my boot soles.
We cross Union Ave and I know the intersection of the two trails is nearby – somewhere. I’m on the lookout for a dumpster or garbage can so I can reposit Waldo’s deposit that I’m carrying. I find one and deviate from our path to get the job done, then rejoin the trail. After a half mile going further west, I know I’ve missed our goal and turn around. Sure enough, backtracking about a half mile, there it is. Pavement meets mud. I have no idea how I missed it, even if my attention was elsewhere, looking for a repository. That diversion will make todays walk 9.5 miles long, but that’s still well within parameters. It’s something we’re used to; we don’t get lost, we just wander a bit.
We turn north and in a short distance pass by a huge nursery – Carvicchio Greenhouses. Rows upon rows of small pots, holding some green plant or other, lay out in the sunlight, waiting to be planted somewhere else. The place has many acres and seems to offer a large variety of species. I’m told they supply landscapers with trees, bushes and flowers.
Less than a half-mile later, we’re crossing a bridge bounded on both sides by a chest high wooden rail fence. Between the fences is a hurricane gate chained to the wooden rails of the fence. There is a space between the gate and the fence for Waldo to easily pass, but not me. There are people on both sides of the gate walking and biking and I see no reason for the gate to be there. Waldo squeezes through the gap and I climb over the fence, go past the gate, then climb over the fence again on the other side of the gate. We recognize no obstacles – just speed bumps and go arounds. We continue on our way.
From now on, until we turn around at North Road, we are in deep forest. The oaks and maples are still just sticks without leaves, but there are plenty of white pines too. There are bushes with sprouted leaves and swaths of large green-leafed skunk cabbage or bitter dock (I can’t tell which) in the low swampy places. Birds are out and singing in the breeze, and even a few bugs, but no mosquitoes. I find it a happy place. Forests generally make me feel more peaceful and relaxed. I know I’m not alone in this. Some people have suggested that sense of well being is a consequence of species memory – it’s built into our DNA. Our long-ago arboreal ancestors would find standing trees a sanctuary, a safe place. It’s proposed that even once our ancestors went from tree to savannah, they still preferred to be near a copse of trees just in case they found themselves chased by a predator. Whatever the reason, I feel comforted being swaddled in a blanket of Mother Nature.
When we get back to the car, we’re tired. Even Waldo is anxious to get into the passenger seat and curl up. Of course, that won’t last long for him. Some water, dinner and a short rest and he’ll be ready to go again. Me, I’m done for the day.
But we’ve completed yet another trail.
The trail passes through some beautiful forests.
Footbridge over Route 20.
God Almighty Himself must have been hilarious when human beings so mingled iron and water and fire as to make a railroad train!
-Kurt Vonnegut
The first railroad in the US was built by the B&O in 1827. The first passenger railroad was started by the South Carolina and Canal in 1830. By the beginning of the Civil War, there were 200 railroads in the US, comprising some 30,000 miles of track. 21,000 miles of that track was laid in the North and the rest in the South. During the Civil War, the advantages of railroads became obvious – troops and strategic material could be shipped so much faster by rail than by any other means then available. In 1869, the transcontinental railroad was completed and a person could travel from Nebraska to California in 4 days. Before that, it took 6 months by wagon or 25 days by stagecoach. By 1916, the total length of track in the US grew to a peak of 254,000 miles (as a comparison, there are currently 157,724 miles of highway in the contental US). Railroads sprouted everywhere. All sizeable towns were connected by iron rails.
That rail travel spread so quickly and so ubiquitously is hardly surprising. I live in Marlborough and if I want to go to Boston, I have to travel some 32 miles. In the mid nineteenth century, my only travel options were by water (but there has to be a navigable waterway available – there isn’t) or overland, by foot or under some kind of animal power. That trip would take the better part of a day, or longer. By train, it would take something over an hour, depending how many stops there are in between. With the railroad, a day trip to Boston is possible. Without it, not so much.
So, in the late nineteenth to early twentieth century, there were railroads going everywhere. This was particularly true in the Northeast where the population density was greatest. Then along came the internal combustion engines, cars, trucks and highways. Railroads withered on the vine. Today, there are over 1,000 miles of abandoned railway lines in the state. Their right-of-ways, roadbeds and, often, their iron rails and cross ties, still exist and are owned by various entities. They lay fallow, doing little more than growing weeds, until people find other things to do with them. There are several groups in this country who are trying to revive them into recreational paths for bicycles, walkers, dog owners, roller skaters and any other kind of nonmotorized mobility. In 2023, in Massachusetts alone, there were at least 69 rail trails covering 347 miles.
Bruce Freeman was a Massachusetts State legislator who, in 1985 and 1986, proposed that a multi-use paved trail be laid down over a railroad be that runs from Lowell to Framingham. He died of cancer in 1986, and in 1989, the proposal was signed into law. The northern most part opened in 2018 and will be opened up to the Mass Central Rail Trail in Sudbury sometime in summer of this year. There is another section that runs into Framingham, but when this will be reclaimed is uncertain.
Waldo and I (sometimes with Christine and/or Phyllis) have walked all but the piece that runs from South Acton to Sudbury. I planned to walk that 9.2 mile stretch with Phyllis, but that’s been delayed. I still have to walk Waldo every day, so I decided to walk it with just the two of us. We can always do it again when Phyllis is ready. Because Waldo and I have only one car, and a round trip of 18.4 miles is a bit much, we park our car in South Acton and head toward Sudbury. The plan is to walk about 4.7 miles and then turn around. We can do the other half on another day.
The skies are sunny and mostly clear. The temperature is 70℉ and the winds are mostly light with occasional gusts to around 12 mph. There are a lot of people out here, as one might expect there to be, because of the weather and the fact that it’s a holiday – Patriot’s Day. We don’t go a mile and we come across a footbridge that passes over Route 2, a four laned highway. Shortly thereafter, we pass alongside the walls and under a guard tower of a medium security state prison. Not much further, we pass by the West Concord commuter rail train station. That train runs from Fitchburg to Boston and will not be a rail trail any time in the foreseeable future. Thereafter, we are enveloped by pine forest that surrounds many a pond. Not far from here is Waldon Pond, but we’ve already walked over thataway. This part of the path is much more appealing than the part that runs from Sudbury to Framingham.
We turn around at North Road, which is almost exactly 4.7 miles from where we started, and head back to the car. We passed dozens of walkers, a plethora of bikers and said hello to many a puppy. It’s been an absolutely gorgeous day for a walk. Traveling these rail trails is clearly a popular thing to do, and, if my experience is any judge, is becoming more and more popular since the lockdown.
Whoever first came up with the idea of reclaiming railroad right-of-ways for recreational use is a genius.
State prison wall and tower.
Seems like a good place for a dog park to me.
March’s weather ranged from parka temperatures, with frequent rain and occasional ice, to unzipped light jacket weather with sunshine that made me sweat. Waldo’s need for water has gone from none to eager to get in the house so he can lap down a half-bowl of the stuff. Soon, I’m going to have to start carrying his water bottles in my pack again.
Buds are now out on the tips of tree branches. Low-lying plants, like garlic mustard and bitter dock, wear full leaves, although they are still small. There is a pale green tinge to the sides of the trail from the nascent leaves bursting from buds on the branches of the bushes that grow there. The Japanese knotweed is a jumble of dead hollow and broken stalks, but soon they will be sprouting from their roots once again. Spring, although not fully sprung, is emerging. Even so, there is a forecast of “plowable amounts of snow” in a couple of days.
The construction along the Assebet River Rail Trail hasn’t changed much in the past few days. Cement pillars now have cement floors on their top two stories, but there are no walls yet. Windowed pressboard walls, one story high, zig-zag along the ground past the pillars, but they don’t yet have an external surface that will sustain New England’s weather. I wonder how they will be finished, but I’m going to have to wait to find out. Nothing is moving along very fast.
The piles of dirt at the soon-to-be public park, about a mile further down the path, are still being pushed around without any suggestion of what the final outcome will be like. The piles move around, grow and diminish, and change their consistency. Some are rocky hills bearing sticks and branches, while others are more like sand. Huge dump trucks haul the stuff around and deposit it here and there. There’s even a road roller (once known as a steam roller) that smooths down the path the trucks take. Curious.
Several of my fellow dog-walkers have shown some interest in asking the town to put in a dog park on these grounds. Seems like a perfect place for one. The area is quite large, with lots of room for a dog park, along with whatever else they may be planning on putting in there. So, I decided to call the town hall. I asked them, first, what they were planning on doing with the area. The woman I talked to said that it was going to be a large open public space without any athletic fields of any kind. My first reaction was, why did all the trees need to be cut down for that? But I held my tongue and asked instead about the dog park. She said there were no plans for one there, but to call back in a couple of months. Apparently, they’re thinking about putting one in somewhere else. She wouldn’t say where, just call back.
Today, as Waldo and I passed along the fence that encloses the piles of dirt, I noticed a man and a woman looking at the construction being done. We decided that all the earth-moving was necessary because there used to be a landfill there and they have to process the ground to make it safe. Maybe so. I then suggested that it would be a good idea to put in a dog park. The woman said that she was talking to the mayor the other day and there was a plan to put a dog park in somewhere in town, but she didn’t know where. Apparently, the mayor promised a dog park when he ran for election.
“You have the mayor’s ear?” I asked with some excitement.
“Well, yeah, I guess. Sort of,” she said.
”Well, tell him to put a dog park in here!” I said.
The woman promised to mention it the next time she talked to him. I have no idea what the connection is she has with the mayor and I wasn’t interested enough to ask. I just figured, whatever it was, there was an opportunity to offer a suggestion from a constituent. It would be very convenient for Waldo and I to stop by here, after our walks, for a little off-leash free-time romp. It would be pretty cheap to set up too. What do you need other than a gate and some hurricane fencing? I am considering starting a petition, but I’ll wait until I do call back, in a couple of months, to see what they have in mind.
Meanwhile, Waldo and I continue on our way.
Watching the snail-paced, but cosmic, changes along the rail trail.
Waldo likes to walk, but he needs a good place to romp off leash .
Building construction at the beginning of the rail trail.
A path is a prior interpretation of the best way to transit a landscape.
-Rebecca Solnit
March’s weather ranged from parka temperatures, with frequent rain and occasional ice, to unzipped light jacket weather with sunshine that made me sweat. Waldo’s need for water has gone from none to eager to get in the house so he can lap down a half-bowl of the stuff. Soon, I’m going to have to start carrying his water bottles in my pack again.
Buds are now out on the tips of tree branches. Low-lying plants, like garlic mustard and bitter dock, wear full leaves, although they are still small. There is a pale green tinge to the sides of the trail from the nascent leaves bursting from buds on the branches of the bushes that grow there. The Japanese knotweed is a jumble of dead hollow and broken stalks, but soon they will be sprouting from their roots once again. Spring, although not fully sprung, is emerging. Even so, there is a forecast of “plowable amounts of snow” in a couple of days.
The construction along the Assebet River Rail Trail hasn’t changed much in the past few days. Cement pillars now have cement floors on their top two stories, but there are no walls yet. Windowed pressboard walls, one story high, zig-zag along the ground past the pillars, but they don’t yet have an external surface that will sustain New England’s weather. I wonder how they will be finished, but I’m going to have to wait to find out. Nothing is moving along very fast.
The piles of dirt at the soon-to-be public park, about a mile further down the path, are still being pushed around without any suggestion of what the final outcome will be like. The piles move around, grow and diminish, and change their consistency. Some are rocky hills bearing sticks and branches, while others are more like sand. Huge dump trucks haul the stuff around and deposit it here and there. There’s even a road roller (once known as a steam roller) that smooths down the path the trucks take. Curious.
Several of my fellow dog-walkers have shown some interest in asking the town to put in a dog park on these grounds. Seems like a perfect place for one. The area is quite large, with lots of room for a dog park, along with whatever else they may be planning on putting in there. So, I decided to call the town hall. I asked them, first, what they were planning on doing with the area. The woman I talked to said that it was going to be a large open public space without any athletic fields of any kind. My first reaction was, why did all the trees need to be cut down for that? But I held my tongue and asked instead about the dog park. She said there were no plans for one there, but to call back in a couple of months. Apparently, they’re thinking about putting one in somewhere else. She wouldn’t say where, just call back.
Today, as Waldo and I passed along the fence that encloses the piles of dirt, I noticed a man and a woman looking at the construction being done. We decided that all the earth-moving was necessary because there used to be a landfill there and they have to process the ground to make it safe. Maybe so. I then suggested that it would be a good idea to put in a dog park. The woman said that she was talking to the mayor the other day and there was a plan to put a dog park in somewhere in town, but she didn’t know where. Apparently, the mayor promised a dog park when he ran for election.
“You have the mayor’s ear?” I asked with some excitement.
“Well, yeah, I guess. Sort of,” she said.
”Well, tell him to put a dog park in here!” I said.
The woman promised to mention it the next time she talked to him. I have no idea what the connection is she has with the mayor and I wasn’t interested enough to ask. I just figured, whatever it was, there was an opportunity to offer a suggestion from a constituent. It would be very convenient for Waldo and I to stop by here, after our walks, for a little off-leash free-time romp. It would be pretty cheap to set up too. What do you need other than a gate and some hurricane fencing? I am considering starting a petition, but I’ll wait until I do call back, in a couple of months, to see what they have in mind.
Meanwhile, Waldo and I continue on our way.
Watching the snail-paced, but cosmic, changes along the rail trail.
Pushing dirt around at the soon to be public park.