Indian trails

Biking on a perfectly maintained trail next to the quiet gurgling of a river with an Indian-sounding name on a perfect November day. That's how my husband and I spent most of our afternoon today and it was memorable.

When all was said and done, we'd biked almost 10 miles, which for most committed bikers is a pittance, but which for my motorcyclist husband (who didn't feel as in control of the much, much lighter two-wheel cousin of the motorcycle as he does on his almost 500-pound bike) and for absolutely non-athlete me, it was a true feat.

Near the end of our journey, my husband tackled one of the highest hills in my small college and waited for me at the very top while I walked, bike by my side, because there was no way in hell that my tired legs (or my less than capacious lungs) were going to pedal me up any hill at that point.

A bike borrowed from wonderfully friendly professor colleagues allowed my husband to enjoy one of the longest bicycle rides he's had in 20 years. As for me, my trusty $14 bike acquitted herself wonderfully in the endeavor, especially after my husband fitted it with a pretty new white basket where I carried my water bottle and, later, the few groceries we got after the ride at the village market for our dinner.

The trail, at the foot of the hill atop which the college sits, cuts through corn fields and nearly pristine tracts of land and was built on top of what used to be the railroad's right of way in another century. There are still old wood telegraph wire poles along the trail, which are spooky in their ancientness.

Because of the Indian-sounding name of the river, I thought we were surely on what used to be Indian lands and at the end of the trail my conjectures were confirmed when a large sign explains that the area was known as "Little Indian Fields" because it was first populated by the indigenous settlers of this land. The marker, of course, does not mention those indigenous peoples by name or nation, but does provide the names of the first Euroamerican settlers and the dates in which they arrived.

I shuddered a little because I thought I could feel the presence of those gone by so long ago, especially in the eerie silence of the trail, where not even the river or the birds (except for the loud-mouthed crow, of course) or the wind riffling through the trees could be heard.

By the time we made it back to the apartment, which is on top of another hill, our legs were sore and pulsating with the effort and we were both winded and exhilarated (although I had gotten a little whiny earlier when my husband decided to take the longer way home).

Tonight, during a college-wide activity (to which we drove), a professor colleague told us that the trail goes for another 8 miles in the opposite direction.

"You should do that next," he said.

"I could never do that!" I exclaimed.

"Sure you could!" he answered.

While I do appreciate his vote of confidence (since it would be 16 miles round trip), I'm definitely going to wait until my muscles have forgotten this bicycle ride before I embark on the next one. Although, now that I've had some time to rest, it sure does sound like a great idea.