The thing I like most about the trail, despite the blue markers, is how not used it is. As I tread past overgrown places along the path in the summer, I can almost believe I'm the only biped whose walked this way or that in years, if not centuries. In winter, the only hominid foot prints are the ones from my boots on a previous walkabout.
But, perhaps it's just my delusion; I know I've told a few trekkers how to find the trail, and why it's one of my favorites. Sabina and my daughter have wandered it with me, as well as one of my close friends and my sister and whitie. Although, most of the time, it's a walk in the woods, it follows the canyon just above the narrow gage's tracks. During the summer, the train's whistle can break the silence with a start. There are the places on can catch glimpse of the Road.
Despite that, it is amongst my favorite trails, and most assuredly within walking distance of the house. For the most part, a nature hike, but there are one or two mines ruins along the way to remind me of the previous passings of Man. I am acquainted with its twists and turns, and know its secret passages to the Argentine if I am so inclined.
There is an overlook, which takes in the canyon; the train tracks, the river, the Road, and the rest of the valley around it. I sometimes look down as I munch on my apple. Most of the time, I watch the sky, that brilliant turquoise blue, observing the thunderheads drifting by like coiling Chinese dragons. My eyes will track west, toward Mount Sniktau, to the Roof of the World, the the summit of my personal Kilimanjaro. There, I meditatively listen to rhythms and rhymes of the cosmos on the mountain breezes, the whole time musing where I might go exploring next.