The Trail Less Taken

Usually when I'm asked the question, "if everyone else was jumping of a bridge would you just go ahead and follow them?", I answer yeah, probably, I'm mean maybe it's a good idea. On Amazon I usually go with the "Best Seller". I mean, why do I have to waste my time trying it out if about 500 other people already did, and liked it? Does that fly in the face of my individuality? No, I don't think so. Just the fact that I'm on Amazon already does that. In fact, if I'm on a bridge with a whole bunch of people, that really doesn't speak to being the kind of person that has to do the unbeaten path...right?

Well, however, I often, through no fault of my own, find myself on the unbeaten path. Ok, yes, maybe I should take some responsibility, but why? Having recently become a fiction writer I have learned the glory of: I can pretty much make up any shit I want to. As long as it doesn't hurt any real person, but it's fiction, different than politics, I might add.

So my story here, today, is actually, honest to God, real. You can't make up this kind of stupidity.

Craig and I decided to go on a hike in Frick park. He wanted to show me where he rode his bike one day. It sounded nice. We walked the 9-Mile Creek trail down to the Monongahela at Duck Hollow. We followed a lovely trail east along the river, although I did point out to Craig that there was no way this could have been the trail that he rode his bike on as there were too many tree roots and rocks. He assented that I could be right. Thus, validated, we continued on this path.

After 3-4 miles our trail took a spur that started to parallel two sets of train tracks. On the tracks nearest us sat a stationary train with no engine attached to it. This was seemingly where our trail ended unless, according to Craig, we wanted to hike all the way to Braddock. Craig pulled out his new, fancy Strava trail map on his phone. According to this there was another trail on the other side of the train tracks that would lead us back to Frick Park. On Strava the other trail's name was the Humpular. What the heck is the Humpular we asked ourselves rhetorically. Well, being the safety-conscious, responsible adults that we are, we said there was no way we were going to crawl under a train, or climb over it to cross the other track and get to the other side in order to, hopefully, find this trail. So we turned ourselves around and followed along the train tracks back to pick up our old trail.

But (there's always a but), about an eighth of a mile further, the train ended. AND, across the two sets of tracks, about twelve feet up the embankment, was a set of stairs...no kidding. I mean, stairs in Pittsburgh, whoda thought! But seriously...We couldn't see where they ended as there were trees further up, but we could certainly see where they started. It was almost like they were here, just for us, to take us to the path we wanted to be on, a short cut back to our car. Hmm, quite pleased with ourselves, why not? They looked sturdy enough; old, but made of concrete.

We carefully walked across the two sets of railroad tracks, down the ditch on the other side and started scrambling up the embankment to reach the stairway. There were no railings, and they were kind of steep. Craig warned me about a bee sitting on a leaf on one step. I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn't put my hand on the bee, freak-out, and tumble backwards off the stairs and down the embankment below.

Not me, no siree-Bob!

Despite my triumph, my legs were shaking by the time I reached the top and Craig pulled me up. No sooner placing my feet on solid ground than I was plastered against the cliff as a mountain biker went flying by us shouting "3 more behindya!". My mouth dropped pretty much permanently open as I watched the mountain bikes speeding down the no more than 2 foot wide path. Thus, we were on The Humpular. As they went whizzing by, one of them shouted, "it's all about the momentum!". At this point, I am absolutely convinced that mountain bikers are certifiably, INSANE. No way would I ever do anything as crazy as....

I may have been able to will my knees to quit shaking and wedge my dropped jaw back closed again with my fist, if, at that moment, not more than five minutes since we crossed the train tracks below, we saw, and heard the roar of the Amtrak zooming by. Yes, the tracks we had just sauntered across without a care in the world. My new favorite expression being: what the absolute ______! You fill in the blank with any word you want.

After Craig pealed me off the side of the cliff, we made our way along the path.

Pretty, but I think I'd like to go home now.

But first, a couple of recommends:

And remember to get your copy of my new mystery:

SPF 1500: You Are Protected, But You're Not Safe

A book always makes a great Holiday gift, especially written by someone you know....ME!

Find out more at my website:

amycdoyle.com

OR

to order, highlight and click either of the links below

https://mybook.to/gmpx

OR

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FWG2T672

And lastly, a Shout-Out to Cranachan. This Scottish desert is a lovely holiday treat! Umm, oats soaked in whisky with raspberries...nothing better!

Thanks for reading,

amy