Pavement ends

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The Campbell Creek Greenway Trail is both a passage and a meetingplace– it winds through neighborhoods, inviting the multitudes. It is a haven of humanity in a big, cold city of cars, although this time of year it is rare to encounter much traffic on the trail. One curious interruption of the trail’s continuity from the foothills to the sea occurs at the Seward Highway, where the trail ends without official provision for passage. As I’ve mentioned previously, unofficial passage occurs via a footpath. The path is alternatively crusted in snow and sheer with ice, as is passes under several bridges and many lanes of traffic. A sign reads– simply and without meaning this time of year– “Pavement Ends”. Under the many lanes of traffic, an icy fractal troll has taken residence.

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6 thoughts on “Pavement ends

  1. Nick, I just wanted to let you know that I am still watching. When will you be heading South? I have also been keeping tabs on Chris H. and while you lads are of an age to be my children in a way you are both heroes to me and I would like to someday see you at my fireside overindulging on whatever is at hand, be it food, drink, or conversation. You know how to find me.

    tj

    • Duke, I look forward to it. We can pack some hoagies and go for a 12 miles century ride. I’m sure Chris would love that.

      My plans are indefinite and forthcoming. I’m dying to sleep outside and ride bikes all day. For now I’m working at a bike shop, which is a colorful place. Just yesterday a man used a rented Mukluk as a getaway vehicle, after kicking in a window at a local bank that refused to cash his check. He was apprehended outside the bike shop after dropping the bike off for service. This brings new meaning to Salsa’s brand motto, “Adventure by Bike”.

  2. There is a place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind.

    Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To the place where the sidewalk ends.

    Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go, For the children, they mark, and the children, they know The place where the sidewalk ends.

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