Having lived in the Blue Ridge, I have high hiking standards. I expect panoramic views of valleys with only a farmhouse or a silo. I expect at least a four mile hike up that includes some semblance of rock climbing. It's almost as though, because I don't really exercise at all, that I want to push myself more when I hike. When I moved to Baltimore, I assumed hiking was off my list of physical pastimes, and I would have to start counting taking the stairs up to my apartment as exercise (I definitely do this in the winter).
Today is a beautiful day. It's about 73 degrees outsides, there are scattered clouds, and I couldn't spend it indoors. At least not all of it. After the market, I put some snacks and water in my daypack, and Bubba and I headed north on 83 to Oregon Ridge Park. I have no idea where we hiked or what trails we took. I took one glimpse at the map that said the longest hike was 1.6 miles, and immediately decided we'd just wing it instead and get some more distance in. This is a decision that was much better for me and far worse for a dog with tiny, stubby little legs.
|Not pictured: my shooing the dog away from eating dirt.|
|True majesty is a basset hound.|
|An eerily empty lake: the telltale sign that it's no longer summer.|