Mucking Through Manchester, Sunday, April 4, 2004
"There's a trail," shouted one of our leaders on Sunday morning's trail run. As if he had any idea where it went (which he didn't). Nor did we know where we had been. Or were headed.
Until that is a few moments later running down the middle of a street we finally seized upon and thought might be Southern Avenue, and was most certainly in either Essex or Manchester.
We hailed a woman driving by. And she was damned reluctant to stop for six men running down the middle of her street in shorts. Until she saw Jenn in the middle of the pack with Raichle on a leash.
With her engine still gunning, she eased to a stop and ever so tentatively rolled down her window a bit. "Where are we? we asked and "which way is Manchester? The opposite way as you're headed, she laughed shaking her head at the great story she'd have to tell her friends.
Up the street -- it was another steep hill that we were doubling back on -- were several donkeys in a paddock. They undoubtedly knew where they were. And it is unlikely that they too had spent the last two hours splashing through knee high water (Jenn was icing her strained ankle, Rick was having fun and Matt? well he's Matt), mucking through ankle high mud and bushwhacking along in search of a trail to somewhere, anywhere that might sometime lead us to our cars parked on Summer Street.
But they are donkeys and not so smart. We're runners.
Next week's (dis)orienteering session? Maybe the Newell Stadium track.
