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February 7, 2016: The White Highway

Right now, our riding trails are hard and fast. The bicyclists who also use these trails recently groomed them. The snowmobilers didn’t groom these trails, but they are taking advantage of the bicyclists’ efforts. I call these straight and twisty-turny straightaways the white highway.

We humans make these connected pathways because we are listless creatures, always wanting to know what’s around the next bend. It’s too bad we are the way we are because paths become trails, which in time become roads. I would not be surprised that if in ten years’ time our white highways become black highways, busy thoroughfares that are most suited for those who like to travel at high speeds. And there is nothing

Alys, Raudi, and Tinni on the White Hwy

at all any of us can do to slow down the pace at which this or any other infrastructures come to be.

Pete and I are out on the white highway most days. We were out today because it’s what I call Stupor Bowl Sunday – the day in which most people, men and women, plunk themselves down in front of the box and watch The Game. If you are male, you’re obligated to hunker down with your buddies and watch the show. And if you are female you’re obligated to prepare snacks and a meal for your mate and his friends.

This is what I know about the Stupor Bowl. This is #50. The Carolina Panthers are playing some other team. Beyoncé (who I know only by name) is going to do something at half time. And there are going to be a lot of commercials. I know all this, and wish I knew less. Football, a very violent game, makes no sense to me at all. I also know that the number of football-related concussions is on the rise. Now I ask you, who’d want to watch a sport in which grown men repeatedly slam into one another, with the likelihood that they’ll get hurt.

The Stupor Bowl has taken place 50 times now. That’s 5 hours of television watching a year, times 50 years. That’s a total of 2,500 hours of sitting in front of the tube. That’s 62 forty hour work weeks. What a waste of time.

However, for me Stupor Bowl Sunday is one of the best days of year, because there are fewer plying the White Highway. Today we had just one encounter, with a bicyclist who did stop – now since the White Highway is a speed thoroughfare, few do stop. And we heard no sounds of snowmobiles at the distance heading our way. It was like the world would be if the population was suddenly reduced by seventy five percent and all that remained were considerate silent sports enthusiasts.

We did have a good ride. We went out to Grizzly Camp, and up the hill. On the way up, Tinni poured on the gas and Hrimmi kept stride. Raudi moved quickly, but did not bolt to keep up. It was blustery near the top – Hrimmi kept stopping and the way back down the hill, Raudi waited patiently and when we moved, moved downhill at a slow, controlled pace. I felt in balance the entire way, which was not always the case in the past.

I just wish we’d gotten out earlier. In a few minutes, I’ll resume studying anatomy and physiology, a difficult task because my thoughts keep going back, not to touchdowns or interceptions, but to today’s ride on the White Highway.

Next: 38.1/8/16: Heart Poem

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