Random thoughts running a Colorado trail
Coloradoans are dead serious about their trails — they aren’t finished until they are paved with concrete and gravel shoulders from one town to the next, lined with split rail fence, dotted with trailheads along the way, and outfitted with all the supplies needed to pick up after your dog. (Though few do.) Texas flora = prickly jungle preferred by spiders, snakes, and biting bugs, i.e., not the Great American Desert depicted in your fourth grade textbook. Colorado flora = the desert depicted in your fourth grade textbook. Lungs breathe shallow and rapid, yet you are not breathless. Rabbits and coyotes run from you, but the prairie dogs stand up and squeak “high five” as you go by. Running with your 21-year-old son gets you some odd looks (trainer? body guard?). When you are all grown up, your dad can drive you to the edge of town and you can run back to the house without having any emotional duress.
I’ll take a high-fiving prairie dog over a wild pig any day.