The Woods People
Thank you, Bear Gryhls. A few weeks ago, I brought my 2001 Corolla to the repair shop on a Sunday afternoon. It was due for an annual inspection and a couple of minor repairs. The repair shop is a few miles away and, with T-Dubs living with my Aunt Florence in Ft. Lauderdale, nobody was around to give me a ride home. We were somewhere off to the left of the big green spot, definitely not on a red-dashed trail. No matter. There's a stretch of woods that Daisy, my infectiously athletic 16-month old Lab, likes to patrol. I'd seen a Portland Trails sign on the road near the repair shop. The repair shop is in the middle of nowhere, just over Interstate 95 and sitting in an open field. It would be picturesque if it weren't for the 15 or so junkers sitting out in the yard at all times. Daisy excitedly jumped in the car and excitedly jumped out at the repair shop. We walked back to the previously unexplored trailhead and dove into the woods. Any time we faced a fork in the road, we...