I’m sorry to say that the sixth leg of the Springwater Corridor trek was the worst. I set off from the trail’s intersection with Southeast 82nd Avenue on a bitterly cold day. The wind was blowing off 82nd like it was Lake Michigan. The first thing I saw was a city truck driving down the path. The truck stopped and the young man inside warned me that there was some wet paint on the trail.
I noticed some patches of black paint on the pavement and realized he’d been cruising down the path, painting over graffiti.
On either side of the trail were scraggly bushes, and occasionally the backs of buildings.
At one point there was a rickety home-made bench under a tree that was dedicated to someone in rough paint. Behind it was a falling-down shed. Two people were leaving the shed, saying goodbye to someone inside. I wanted to take a picture of the bench but I didn’t because I was afraid the people were cooking meth in the shed.
There was ice on the puddles and the sky was the color of a dead whale. The wind kept blowing. There was garbage in the tall dry grass.
Jackie was nervous. She was especially unhappy when we walked under the overpass for I-205, six or eight lanes of traffic going overhead at 70 miles an hour. During most of the walk, she stayed out ahead of me, weaving back and forth across the path like she was sniffing for land mines.
On the way back to the car, I walked by a culvert that ran under a busy street. I saw a man ducking into the tunnel, I assume to do drugs.
Couldn’t wait to get back to the car.
That was in January. Now it’s March, I need to buck up and get back out there.
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