Ride 5-6-16

April let me down. It decided to imitate March and February in Old England. I should have already had 20 hours’ woods time, but April assed. Lack of exercise and isolation in nature has frayed my temper, and caused me to plot how to black-bag and disappear some local Personality Disorders. I needed woods, and not just because I lack a van, stungun, isolated soundproofed building with utilities, and henchmen. I even appeased the Excuse Generator with the prospect of scouting for body-dumps.

Having seen the weather not match the forecast every day this week, Friday being clear as predicted was all I needed. I ran the errands needed, got gear together, and went. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, just that it would be in York, and it would be forested. I decided on Bell Marsh area, the land off Garey Mill Road. I was tempted to go to South Berwick via the trail I found the wrecked manure spreader last year, but knew that was just asking for trouble, so stuck to the plan, appropriately congratulating myself.

When I turned onto Garey Mill one of the first things I noticed was the absence of No Trespassing signs in a place they’d been previously. I noted that for later.

As I made my way through the Right Of Way to York Land Trust land I realized I hadn’t been that way in long enough to not recognize several things. This heightened my sense of exploration. When I came to a fork that looked totally unfamiliar, yet had traveled many times, I stopped and consulted maps. I was on a way I’d gone several times, as suspected, but a few feet away was a path I’d never taken, always meaning to and never getting around to it.

New path means GoPro time. Unless one has lost half of one’s helmet mount, on the last woods ride in Kittery. After resigning myself to no GoPro (NoGoPro?) and asking my helmet “Are you cunting kidding me?”, I journeyed on.

The path went up. Too up for fatman riding. I walked, taking the opportunity to evaluate boot and insole modifications. Most recent insole mod is a success: right foot did not roll over once, nor did boot roll over around it. New lacing methods were mostly successful as well; boots didn’t become too loose every .25 miles of walking. Pressure points, though, were something to work on.

Also, there were bugs. Like holymotheroffuck bugs. Stop for 30 seconds, get surrounded. Let me attest to the power of Ben’s Gear Spray: I didn’t get bitten once. Granted I was in long sleeves and pants with light jacket, but the spray worked: not even hands were bitten.

This path was sparsely littered with evergreen saplings. Normally the Land Trust and Water Districts plant a single type of evergreen to close paths. Here there were multiple types of tree, randomly distributed, and still allowing access.

The first picture worthy feature was something I remembered, eventually, having seen on Google Earth and Maps: a disembodied deck, with chairs, some stacked as though carefully stored in a normal manner. I say “disembodied” because decks are usually part of something else, but there was only some detritus suggesting part of a structure. There also a knit blanket scrap, creepy in its bright colors amidst the decay.

Further up the hill I found several cairns, some with chairs, all in places with good views down slope. It was almost like someone had stationed guardposts around the crest of the hill. I was impressed by the dedication to their party spot. Judging by the size of the Xmas trees growing around the hill, the fortifications hadn’t been used in some time. One of the cairns was almost completely surrounded and rendered inaccessible by the trees.

On the north slope of the hill I found an improvised shooting range, first noticed by the neglected flag in shreds flying from a clothesline. There was a plywood top coffee table, folding steel chair, and ancient ax in a rotten stump, providing a comfortable waiting area for non-shooters. From the firing line I could see some blue plastic bucket as a target, with red paint splashed on rocks for range markers.

  

After considering the scary-movie possibilities of a shooting range far from potential witnesses, I moved on.

 Still on the hill I found a swamp. A swamp. On a hill. Kind of different. 

Descending the hill I made my way to a familiarish path, and got tempted by a not-quite-blocked trail to my left. 

There were building stones all over this second hill, suggesting that something, probably a road, had been toppled. Then again, the first hill had once been a quarry, so these building stones could have been undelivered stock. No way to know, though. Regardless, in the event of an apocalypse, I know where to get some good building fortress building stones.

Also found a small cave made by the tumbling of the rocks, decided that would be a good place for a critter to live, and gave up further exploration of that area; I couldn’t ride it anyway.

A short way back to familiar trails I found a downed tree blocking my way. I got out my hunters’ wire bone saw, and proceed to cut. And the tree grabbed the saw causing one of the handless to pull off. I put the saw away, and wondered how it could cut bone.

The “winter” runoff had uncovered some type of rack on another trail, which I removed for safety purposes.

The strange Spring had not caused much growth yet, so things were easier to see than normal. I ventured out on a couple ridges that are not always visible. One of these was the home of sick trees. It seemed 1 in 5 had fallen due to termites and other ailments. Never a timber harvest where I’d like it.

I was in the area where I’ve been looking for a cemetery for 2 years. I decided to try to find it, given the extra visibility. I went up timber trails I hadn’t before. One of the landmarks for the cemetery was Schoolhouse #7, demolished unknown years ago.

However, when I found an old style mass-produced chair, I became hopeful of being able to find it after all.










Unfortunately, walking on timber trails without more gradually working up to it had taken a toll on my good leg; my Achilles tendon was in serious owness.

Having followed this timber trail to a place near Garey Mill Road from a direction I never thought accessible, I decided it safest to deal with trespassing charges than try to go back to riding trails. Then the timber trail became a fairly well maintained dirt road.

 Except for the wreck.

I think it used to be a pickup truck before the driver tried to run over Bruce Banner.

It looked as though the Hulk had picked up the pickup and wadded it up like paper.

And there were bullet holes. Because of course there were.











I did find one carelessly discarded No Trespassing sign (no picture), face down in a ditch. I picked it up, read it, and put it back where it had died. I think the No Trespassing provision has been suspended while the timber is possibly being harvested. How fortuitous.

Back at Garey Mill I stopped to get set for the return trip. As I was fussing with my gear one of the three residents of the road pulled up in his pickup and asked if I was lost. I took this to be a passive aggressive way of saying “Get out of here”. I just replied “No, I’m good. Thanks.” and continued my prep. He drove off. Thinking about it now he may have been the one driving when truck met Hulk.

Anyway, that was the first significant ride of the year, and it bodes well.