Pulling off onto the roadside, and camping. I wonder how I felt about doing this when we were riding this highway and getting information for the Alaska Bicycle Touring Guide. I suspect that we stayed in campgrounds. We could just as easily have stayed in gravel pits, as Becky and I did last year, and now this year. I don’t remember. I of course wish that I did.

Today we hiked the Goldenside Trail. In the trail guide it indicated that the trail was an easy hike and also the most popular of the listed hikes. I was cheered by the former and dismayed when I read the latter. Becky said that we did this hike last year. I told her that I did not think that we did, or at least I had no recollection of doing it. I remember hiking up to the very large, box-like generator shack, looking around and then hiking back down to the road.

Alys on edge

I then was going into great deal as to why I was stressed out and providing Becky with the details. My stress, I indicated in my use of example, was work/project related. Becky paid me little mind, and in fact, in the middle of my rant, began taking photos.

I have since learned that I seldom have her undivided attention. At least she’s adept at telling good stories, of which I have been/remain on the receiving end.

This is an example of how memory does not work. There was a sign next to the generator saying Goldenside, and additionally, this time around, a discernable trail and lots of cars in the parking lot. There were, early on during our two hour hike, lots of people at the bottommost portion of the trail. The trail was well worn, with a dirt/gravel base.

A boardwalk at the base of a trail means there has been a lot of foot traffic. Two board walks means that there has been far too much foot traffic.

Becky and I soon found ourselves moving like turtles behind a very slow group of trail tourists. There were at least two dozen of them, making the mass hard to pass. So we hung behind, me grumbling, as they dilly dallied along. Some had walking sticks. I looked, but I did not see any walkers.

And so, we continued on the upward trail, Becky every so often asking me if I remembered this trail, and me shaking my head and muttering “no.” We passed the group when, finally, they clustered around their tour guide. Later I thought that I should have stopped and listened to him – I might have learned something that I did not know.

Once past the group, we picked up our pace and were soon scrambling over shale, this before clambering over several mounds of granite rock so as to take in the view of the Tombstone Range and Blackfoot River. The river was braided, glistening in the late afternoon sunlight.

Then it was down, down, down, to the road and back to our clandestine campsite where Pete’s truck and Becky’s tent, thankfully, were where we left them. This was not in my mind a prime campsite. Too close to the road, making for too much highway noise. I am looking forward to getting home.

Next: 233. 8/25/23:Nearly Home