Up just beyond where I work lies "Succession" road. A short trudge through deep leaves and fallen branches on an old logging cut, with hemlock and white pine returning it to the forest, then left towards a green tunnel with a copper carpet of needles, and finally after a quick drop, a serpentine road bends left and right around the contours. To the left, a wide, darkened expanse from a controlled burn. The charred blackness in sharp contrast to the blooming redbud trees, rust colored roads, and specks of green from budding saplings. To the right, a downward progression out towards Prather Bridge road, the Tugaloo river, and the rolling hills of South Carolina.
Today I started left, rolling up and around bend after bend, past the burn and clearing my body of a hangover. With inhibitions still gone after the first car bomb last night, I pushed on past the expansive cul de sac at the top of a long climb. The predominantly coniferous forest closed in and another long abandoned lumbering road unfurled before me. Even though in my ears Ben Gibbard was appropriately repeating "there's nothing past this", I kept going until the trail disappeared, becoming a blanket of pine needles all around.
Back the way I came, explored a fire break for a bit, then past the connector trail, down...down...and down some more I rode out. Took the pavement back and spun the legs out.