I went running twice this weekend while visiting family in Vermont (note to housebreakers: I’m HOME NOW, so don’t come to my house to break in).
Running in the rural section of Arlington, VT, where I stayed is not as comfortable for me as running in my beloved village of Herkimer, NY. For one thing, there were no sidewalks. There was not even a shoulder. Usually there was a little bit of a grassy edge I could move onto when a car approached. Most cars at least moved over a little, even if they didn’t slow down (a blessed few did both). I ran early in the morning, to avoid as much traffic as possible.
Saturday I ran out Ice Pond Road, which leads to Warm Brook Road. I saw the Ice Pond but not the Warm Brook. That run has the advantage of making a circle, at least for part of it. I still run out the road my sister-in-law’s house is on to Ice Pond Road, then back up that road after Warm Brook Road. But it’s not a complete out and back run. I used to do out and back runs all the time when I was in the army. I don’t know what my problem is with them now.
It is an odd thing (to me anyways, but I’m a New Yorker) that there are so many dead end roads in that area. We have this nice, long East Arlington Road and all along it are all these short little roads that don’t go anywhere but have houses on them. I suppose I could do a Dead End Run like I did on German Street in Herkimer once (I believe I wrote a blog post about it). Maybe next visit.
I did run one dead end on Saturday. It did not have one of those helpful signs saying “Dead End” or “No Outlet.” I had never been on that road. I decided to check it out. Dead end. I was almost at the end when a dog in a backyard started barking at me, so I turned around and ran back out.
Sunday I decided to do an out and back run, because I wanted to head in the other direction and knew I had no non-dead-end roads to turn down. But there was a covered bridge. I thought it would be nice to run over a covered bridge while visiting Vermont.
The bridge has a sign I’ve seen on many covered bridges: “One Dollar Fine for driving faster than a walk on this bridge.” Well, that’s for driving, I thought, not running. Anyways, sadly, my run is not much faster than a walk. Also, there was nobody there to collect a fine. I ran across.
I saw a sign for a private road. I see that a lot in Vermont. The sign looks exactly like a public street sign but says “Pvt” after the name of the road. I wanted to run down the road, knock on the door and say, “It’s your DRIVEWAY! Get over yourself!” I am unlikely to do any such a thing. I’m afraid I would become a victim of Private Road Rage.
I admired some rather magnificent houses as I went by. Some of them looked new and quite expensive. Then I saw one that was more my speed. There were four tractors, a tractor trailer cab and several pick-ups and cars in various states of road-worthiness. The front yard had decorations I enjoyed. A bat hung from a tree, as did a wind chime. A large spider was on a rock leaned against another tree. A leprechaun smiled from under a rock; a deer lounged next to the spider rock. Under a tree at the end of the yard I saw some chickens and a puppy. The biggest chicken was bigger than the puppy. It was a house with character. I admired it again on my way back.
As I got closer to the end of my run, I saw a lump that may have been a sleeping dog. I let it lie, as they say you are supposed to do. Another dog at that house, a gorgeous retriever-looking pooch, barked at me. I was almost back at my sister-in-law’s house by then.
Both runs had a couple of minor hills. Nothing to compare with what I like to run in Herkimer. I didn’t mind that, but by the end of the run I was really missing the spring. I reasoned with myself that the run was not so long as to make it really necessary to have a drink during. I had a bottle waiting for me at the end.
They were not bad runs. The temperature both days was reasonable, but humidity was high. I ended both runs stinky but glad I had run. I’ll be glad to get back to running at home, though.
Mohawk Valley Girl 