Here's how you get there:
1. Turn left onto Lincoln and proceed up a gentle incline through
a neighborhood inhabited by the academic elite.
Gigantic guiled-age homes fronted with old sidewalks that are upset & riven with the roots of elephantine maples.
When you reach the top of the street you'll be a little winded, but be wary crossing the street,
as the drivers around here are erratic. They will run you over
without the slightest reduction in speed. They will stop in the middle
of the road for no apparent reason. They'll keep you guessing on these streets where total confusion reigns.
The flattened bodies of all variety of birds, mammals and reptiles remind you to keep your wits about you and your middle finger at the ready.
When the neighborhood becomes uniform and all the houses are dressed white with black shutters, you're nearing the trail.
2. At an old railroad overpass you must dismount and carry your bike down an embankment to
where the train tracks used to be. Here is the bike path, a ribbon of asphalt and glass
that tunnels its way through the woods and fields and commercial blight. As on the streets,
the path is fraught with hazzards. From out of the ferns and underbrush small animals will dart at you, throwing their tiny furry bodies right
into your spokes in a sacrificial effort to send you careening on their divine wind into a ditch.
Spastic six-year-olds will peddle wildly on their huffys and veer into your path.
And be prepared to execute some tricky riding up on the shoulders to avoid oblivious mothers with
drifting strollers and cell phones.
3. When the path bends to the right you are riding along the bottom
of a large ancient lake. The small rounded mountains to your left were once taller than the Himalayas.
You are on a long straightaway that stretches ahead into the distance and converges at a single point. If you leave early enough,
the trail vanishes into fog. The air is soil and moss. You cruise & cut through the mist.
You peddle and you think: About the night before. About the day ahead. About a new song.
About old ghosts. About how hot she is.
4. Emerge from fog and exit path at Railroad St. At a long corrugated metal building, a line of
trucks filled with potatoes idle & wait. The potatoes ride up a squeeky conveyor belt
operated by a stocky old man with a head like a russet. He will wave at you once you've passed by for the
30th time. You will wave back and say Good Morning.
5. Lift bicycle onto shoulder and enter nameless building. On your way up the carpeted stairs, be sure
to discreetly kick out the nauseating Renewzit airfreshener from the outlet that the yuppies in the computer office
have installed and seem to feel is so important in projecting an air of professionalism. To p of stairs & unmarked door on left.
6. Repeat daily.
