From the depths of the Blue Hills and my quest in search of the elusive
Wood Tick, I am finally once again emerging from the forest. Why I chose to pursue the foolish idea of tracking and photographing a
Wood Tick is still beyond me. How do you catch that which catches? How do you hunt that which hunts? How do you attempt to trap (for a photograph) that which traps? Quite simply, you can't. At least, not always via bicycle. In this conquest I spent the entire summer sequestered away from riding friends and training buddies, exploring each and every intricate nook and cranny of the Blue Hills, mapping from corner to corner a sort of 360-degree virtual Google-Street-View-type map in my mind. Yet, I seem to be hoarding most of it to myself, sharing very little of this tremendous "playground for big kids" with others. That will change, my friends and readers.
I've covered the gravel. The jeep roads. The two-track. The ATV trails. The creek crossings. The creek bottoms.
The hills. Seriously though, at this point it feels as if I've covered nearly every road and trail in the surrounding 5 counties. When riding from my home, I've essentially run out of new places to cover in one day of riding. Yet, still no photo.
It felt like hours upon hours, days upon days, and weeks upon weeks in search the perfect photograph. Once I ran out of trails and roads to explore, I needed to get in the thick of it. If I was going to capture the ultimate photo, I was going to have to get crazy. I'm talkin' mad dog crazy. I would have to assume some sort of alter-ego in order to blend in with the woodsmen. When the trusty and reliable Soma Juice would no longer do the job, I would throw on the full length cloak made of beaver pelts, and my Davy Crockett hat, and attempt point-to-point bushwhack trail runs from Murphy Flowage to Imalone. This is madness. Running? Running is madness!
I had somewhat found a new obsession. Or, it was ‘different’, at least. This whole "trail running" thing seemed to offer a strange, sort of eerie, yet very primal feeling. One feels as if they are some type of ancient hunter or gatherer winding and twisting through the wilderness, whose only means of transport is their own two legs. No skis, wheels, dogs, machines, or any tools for that matter to make this self-propulsion somewhat easier. This, it seems, exemplifies the concept of "human powered" in it's most pure and simple form. I’ll give you that, my fellow runners.
While never successfully capturing that perfect picture, and having taken a long hiatus from the bike, I had the tremendous idea to use this new found obsession to my advantage. I would try to redeem myself from a horrific attempt on a vintage 26 inch Schwinn Paramount mountain bike at the 2009 "mashed potato" Tuscobia 75 mile Ultra. Although biking is my preferred poison of choice, I would use my knowledge, experience and training acquired from my quest to attempt the
2012 35 mile Tuscobia Ultra…this time however, on foot...
Stay tuned. Upcoming posts will include a short Tuscobia 35 recap, and details on tomorrow's
Ragnorok 105....which, looking at the weather conditions, cross training this past winter could end up serving me quite well. Onwards and upwards!
