The Markers Speak . . . Poetry!
A delightful, hill-climbing ride through the Glenville hills on Friday, a nip in the air but the sun shining hard — just one of those perfect fall rides. I took the good camera, which I don’t usually do, and made a few stops to capture the historical markers scattered along the route. Didn’t get them all — dogs objected to my presence in a couple of instances, and I’ve found that people who live in the country tend not to cotton to leashes or any other form of canine restraint. Generally when you’re on a bike the dogs will just run you, but in one case I was already stopped and getting my shot of the Wolf Hollow sign when this old collie came bounding out of his yard and across the road. I didn’t even have time to unclip my road-side foot before he was on it, but luckily he skidded to a stop, sniffed my shoe, and walked me off his territory. I didn’t argue.
From that lovely ride, what may be my second-favorite marker ever:
