September 13
1599 – 1610
Dave dropped me off at the trailhead. We had a good chat about traveling in Mexico and the Trans Siberian Railroad. As we rolled out of town at a safe 10 mph, we came upon a herd of cows in the road.
Dave explained that these hardy cows graze up in the mountains all summer. And when the weather starts to change and gets colder, the cows automatically head downhill, back to the farm. Sometimes big crowds of them at once walk through town and shut down all traffic.
Winter is coming, sayeth the cows.
And it is cold when I start hiking again. Cold, like I should put on my puffy, whenever I’m in the shade. If I start walking uphill, then I’m roasting. I feel like layers are the solution and also get ready to never be happy about the temperature.
A crew of 6 birds flew at me simultaneously. Like a squadron of fighter jets. I felt the whoosh as they flew by my head.
I walked through miles of old burn. When did this happen? It’s not all blackened. I can see it in waves up the hillside, forming stripes of green and black.
Spinstera 