Entering Limited Access Area…

 

The green meanies are back again, bent on raising more havoc with the traffic. The west shoulder of SR. 203 between Tualco Road and our driveway has a new gravel roadbed and is prepped for paving. Our regular route along this shoulder was glutted with the meanies, their machines of destruction, and traffic cones. I did not want to chance another showdown between Gladys and Mari, TSI’s bossy munchkin of a flagger, so I transported my ride south to the old Honor Farm, parked across from Crescent Lake, and entered the Valley from the South.

No one was hitting drives at Sky River Driving Range. For some reason I have collected a number of golf balls from my Valley walks and have been meaning to return them one at a time to the Driving Range. So far all that’s happened is a reminder every time I pedal by the range to remember to bring a golf ball on my next ride.

Also no one out in Broers’ berry field on this rare sunny day in a month some have termed “Junuary.” I’m surprised the field is vacant. Lots of tasty red bounty out there. And tomorrow the rains return. Gladys and I ride to the Tualco/203 intersection where the green meanies are staging their uproar. Time to turn and retrace our route south through the Valley.

No sign of aliens this morning. In fact at this early hour of the day not much was happening yet. A slow pace out here; even the dairy cows were leisurely “at grass.” Contented ruminants they are, slowly churning the Valley’s pastures into milk. They hardly notice us as we roll past. I can’t imagine cows having problems with hypertension. Well, perhaps a slight rise in pressure prior to milking time. Paul “Brandon” Bischoff was tending his lettuces. He responded to my shout with a “Hi, Terry,” and a friendly wave—then glanced nervously over his shoulder in the direction of his garlic patch. Back at Crescent Lake I load Gladys for the return drive.

I arrive at the Ol’ Homestead to discover huge machines intent on demolishing the ramp to our driveway. As I watch, it’s like they’re peeling away Time: I hauled gravel for that ramp from the base of High Rock years ago before the area became the suburbs. Two layers of asphalt later, we’ve reverted to gravel again. Until the meanies finish their upgrade, heed this virtual warning sign for our driveway: “Primitive road. No warning signs. You are entering a limited access area.” If you come for a visit, please enter with caution.

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