A quick observation on Road Kill

I know it is early and may be to soon for this topic, but I promise I will refrain from talking about it.



It can be hard to imagine a guy like me not being the most athletic but it's true. I am trying though with this walk. The reason for me mentioning this is to let you know that most of the time I am walking behind Bea. A couple of steps at first and gradually the distance increases. Since Bea is in front of me he startles the moths and bugs that are in the bushes along the road.

These poor little guys hop, scurry, run or fly out of his way. We are not walking through the grass just next to it but they flip out. Most of the flying ones end up right in my face. It is a good thing to know that I yell when a moth hits my face as if I was being mugged. It is a shock to the system. The thing is, they friggen love me. In my hair, landing on my pack or my chest, they cant get enough. Constantly bugs were attacking me for a solid half hour. Yes, I could lead and try an walk ahead of Alex, however my cankles and blisters beg to differ.

Walking on the side of the road brings me to the next topic, the header, Road Kill. Mummified, leatherfied, innocent animals all along Route 9 D. I couldnt count, and won't either. They dont even look like animals half the time, just piles of leaves. The good thing is if I ever need to identity the spine of a racoon or you need to know if you hit a opossum or a woodchuck, I am your CSI man for the case.

Enough of that unpleasent topic, but there was a great deal of it and the first time I noticed so many upclose.

My personal highlight of the day occured right after we past Fiskill. A red pickup truck with Mass plates pulled over and asked us for directions. While Alex steered them in the right direction I peered in. The driver was a woman in her 60s or early 70s with long gray hair. She was trying to restrain her dog while listening to Alex. Her cab had a backseat and was filled with boxes, loose furniture, and bags. In the front seat sat an old, very pale man. He looked as if he had not been out in months. Imagine Boo Radley at 80, with a grizzled bear. He makes eye contact with me and smiles. He bends over and picks up a Yankee hat and has this big grin on his face. I smile and give him a thumbs up but he shakes his head. I look at the hat and see that it is a Yankee Hater hat, and I shake my head and say oh no. He starts laughing and then they drive away.

Amazing, this old man with one foot in the grave was having a laugh at my expense.



I love it.