Of course we can read maps. GPS has not spoilt us at all.
Bored over the Thanksgiving holiday weekend and possibly jealous of images we might have seen on social media, Mr HiWell, Low Spark, and I concocted a plan. Or perhaps I made a suggestion that seemed like a good idea at the time. Screen caps of message threads indicate that I probably was the root of the evil of getting up early Saturday morning to put on historical clothing and take a multi-mile walk.
We know it was at least seven miles, and may have been nine…we went off the trail in a couple of places. But the lads are going to Trenton, and need to get in some walking time, and now that it’s shotgun deer season, the number of places we can safely hike are fewer. There’s no blaze orange in broadcloth– yet.
And this wasn’t the squeeziest photo op.
The walk began harmlessly enough, through corn fields and brush. We forded a stream the easy way (I suggested fording a la the 40th but the lads opted for the bridge.) The Sakonnet Greenway Trail maintained by the Aquidneck Land Trust is pretty mellow. Flat (unusual here), relatively free of traffic noises, and used by dogwalkers, it seemed safe. Then we met the golfers as the trail skirts the edge of the Newport National Golf Course. We were too nice and said yes, they could have photos with us. Of course, they had clubs and we didn’t.
We could have ridden in style.
When we went off trail to loop up to East Main Road, we encountered many homeowners and many barking dogs. When we told one woman we were off to a Paul Revere and the Raiders tribute band concert, she noted that “the kicks get harder to come by.” Further on up the road, two boxers charged the fence that enclosed their yard, startling us– but the real danger came from the chihuahua that charged up the road after us, barking madly. The children’s rhyme about “the beggars have come to town” seemed all to relevant.
The Kitty Who Walked Alone
By the end of the walk, there were many references to Captain Sobel and Currrahee, though I thought more of Rudyard Kipling’s The Cat That Walked By Himself.
But when he has done that, and between times, and when the moon gets up and night comes, he is the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him. Then he goes out to the Wet Wild Woods or up the Wet Wild Trees or on the Wet Wild Roofs, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.
Kitty Calash 