Well, now that the semester is nearly all said and done, I only rode my bike to school twice. Turns out I am more of a hiker than a biker (cyclist). People like Lance Armstrong and Mark Beaumont (cycled around the world) make it look so easy.

That link is a video of Mike Beaumont, that I could not figure out how to embed. I like the American Beauty music, it makes it feel epic.

They ride their bikes with grace and finesse over even the steepest incline, while for me, half way through and I’m ready to blow up the hunk of metal. In my defense, my hand me down bike was less than agile, with the gears always falling off, and the little kids in the neighborhood laughing at me, while I “fix” my bike and get grease on my face and hair process. This seems to be something that I cannot conquer blindly. There is also the hurdle of being hit by a car, that I am afraid to face.

The fact that I am bike challenged does not change the need for self-sustainability. So, to squelch the pain of failure, I am embarking on a new mission, that of having a garden and eating local and seasonal foods. While my cooking skills are questionable, I am certain I will be good at eating!

Suburban Hike

While hiking mountain after mountain is an individual experience of its own. Reading about the tree I passed, trail mix I ate, and the rock that was blue, can understandably get a bit tedious. A “hike” does not necessarily have to be exclusively on a mountainside. There is a rather large golf course by my house, if you are familiar with the campus, I am sure you have seen it a time or two. Well, after 5 years of living in Kennesaw, and a night of moderate alcohol consumption, we decided to brave the golf course; the oasis in the midst of our suburban reality. I have no idea the time frame of our gallivant, but it was dark outside. With a few back up beers in my pocket, we set out to unfold the mysteries of where the rich spend their leisure time. It was, from what I could tell, picturesque with its rolling hills and pristine grass. I’m sure if it were light out, we could have seen our footprints behind us as we tousled the manicured lawns. We ducked as every car passed fearing that we would be found trespassing, and have to be retained in country club jail. For Chase, that made this hike a little terrifying, while for me it was invigorating. We walked down the “trail” to the lake, right past the country club where we could have surely been spotted if someone merely glanced out the window. Luckily, our stealth moves went unnoticed as we crept by. We could see people in their houses, preparing dinner and watching TV. At one point a man saw us from his kitchen window as he was, presumably, doing his dishes. So, Chase made me dump my beers in the nearest trashcan, which was a cryin’ shame. The “trail” (sidewalk, or whatever it is they drive their little golf carts on) led us down to a pier where ducks and frogs laid not so quietly in the reeds. This brought us back to the road in the neighborhood; back to civilization. Now I know why those guys like golfing so much.

Pine Mountain

On a particularly dreary Sunday morning, I was less than ecstatic about getting out of bed and venturing into the misty, sprinkling woods. After meeting Ashley for a steaming cup of coffee, we lent our blankets to the cats in favor of chilling mountain air. The best way I can describe Pine Mountain is a combination of Narnia with Sleepy Hollow.

The rocks were huge and purple, while the trees stood mostly barren except for layers of light green moss. Leaves covered the ground, hiding sticks and rocks forcing us to be overly cautious on the trails.

Ashley wanted to hike the whole trail, which equaled approximately 4 miles, up the eastern side, then down the western side, back up the other side (at this point I was lost), around some rocks,past a tree, then up to the peak, and back down to the beginning. The peaks and rocks had awesome Native American names, which I, unfortunately, cannot recall. Being used to the worn paths of Kennesaw Mountain, this hike seemed like uncharted territories. It was comforting to see fellow hikers who were probably the nicest people I have ever had the pleasure of passing. Perhaps it’s the fresh air, or Cartersville is the most pleasant city in America. This hike was certainly strenuous, and even though it was approximately 50 degrees outside Ashley and I had stripped down to the bare necessities. But the view from the top was worth it.

I’m afraid this picture does not do it much justice, because it was like standing on the top of the world. After, our picnic of bananas and fruit snacks, we began the slow decent homeward.