I've had this ready to go for a long time, but I was saving it. With hunting season coming up at home I've been thinking of my trails out on 'The Land.' Maybe this is a good time to give it to you.
Trail-making 101
Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My
name is Professor D.J. Tralmacher and I’d like to welcome you to
this new semester at T.T.U.
This class is Trail-making 101, a class
which will acquaint you with the history of trails, the makers of
trails, types of trails, uses of trails, tales of trails, and
innumerable other useful bits of information you will need should you ever find yourself bereft of a trail
and want to correct that oversight. Furthermore, a person with a
complete understanding of trails also develops the skills needed to
avoid leaving a trail, when the situation warrants.
Speaking of warrants, let me first
insure that you all really want to be here. In past years there have
been a few students who registered for this class in error,
actually intending to sign up for Bail-making 101, a very different
sort of class entirely. Bail-making 101 is taught in the back room
of the campus security building by retired Judge Hardas Nales.
I am told that some of the students
that took the bail-making class last semester and failed it, admitted
later, that had they taken my trail-making class instead, they might
have avoided a lot of unpleasantness with the authorities. These
students had apparently left a very readable trail of empty beer
cans, pools of vomit, and even one sleepy young lady, through
several suburban blocks just off campus. They were finally pinched by
those authorities, just as their party really got going.
Nevertheless, if any of you want to
leave at this time and amend your schedules to show the bail-making
class, please do so now.
Come to think of it, given the degree
of partying engaged in by the the average student at this university,
it might be wise to consider at least auditing the bail-making class.
There is no charge for an audit of a class. Now personally, I
believe that the knowledge you will possess upon the successful
completion of this class will minimize your chances of needing the
bail-making class, but well, you just never know.
And now to the subject at hand.
Those of you who have GPS
devices, have
digital mapping or geo-tagging capabilities on your laptops, i-phones, pods and pads or whatever other electronic
gadget you carry around and are addicted to, can forget about using
them in my class. In this class, we deal with good old-fashioned
trails that you make by putting one foot in front of the other, over
and over and over. Or one that you find and adapt which might have been
made by some sort of critter, as it goes about its business of
putting one foot in front of the others, and so on.
The text-books for this class are as
follows:
Getting
from Here to There…by D.J. Tralmacher,
I
Did It My Way…by D.J. Tralmacher,
Hey,
Where Does This Go? ...by D.J. Tralmacher, and its
sequel,
Didn’t
We Pass That Tree Two Hours Ago? …by D. J. Tralmacher
These works are of course available
from the campus bookstore. They are paperbacks, an important
consideration if you want to carry and use them for reference while hiking a trail.
You environmentalists will be glad to
know that the paper in my books is made from soybeans. Not
only is it readily biodegradable, it is actually edible. The ink is
edible as well, made from derivatives of onion skin and beet juice. That means, if you find yourself delayed on a trail someday and your supply of freeze-dried entrees, mains and desserts has been exhausted, remember, all of my books; totally edible.
In fact, 25 pages of any of my books,
boiled in 2 cups of water for 5 minutes, produces a nutritious,
albeit bland porridge containing 180 calories. A pinch of salt is
optional. Vegetarians may want to avoid consuming the binding
area of the book since the glue, while also perfectly edible, does
come from animal sources. Myself, I think the binding adds a pleasant, mildly beefy aroma.
I've heard it said that some books are so well written that they can't be put down. That the reader 'devours' the text in a single reading. Well, I like to think that my books are interesting enough that you will want to 'devour' them as well. If any of you literally devours one of my books, take a photo during the cooking stage of the event. Presented to the bookstore after you return to civilization, this photo will entitle you to purchase a replacement at half price.
In this first session today, I want to
acquaint you with my own history and the development of a trail that
would shape my life. I will also give you invaluable tips on how you
too can profit from a good trail.
My very first trail was one that lead
from my house on Eddy Street in Wakefield to the 1st
National Bank, approximately 2 blocks away along Hancock street or 3 blocks away, if I took my trail.
The 2 block version was the one my
father had walked with me a number of times and had now given me
permission to travel on my own, after I demonstrated my ability
to look both ways at the cross walks and to get the very heavy bank
door open by myself.
The 3 block version I developed on my
own, shortly after I began making the 2 block trip alone. I didn’t think
it was necessary to share with my parents that I knew a better way to
the bank.
I would start out, dutifully walking up
Hancock for the benefit of parental eyes that, even at that early
age, I realized would probably be following my progress. By the time I came to the first cross street however, I knew
that Mom’s eyes were no doubt now engaged in watching over my
little sister and brother and that I had a free reign. I would take a left on Aschermann Street and dash away. I understood that if I was to take my new trail, accomplish my task at the bank,
and return in a reasonable time, I would have to cover some ground.
About half a block down Aschermann, and it was a long block, there
was a set of concrete steps that led to the top of a rock outcropping that the city had decided not to remove when it put
in the sidewalk there. It was exciting to look over the edge of the
concrete barrier that ran along the top and see the cars passing
along the street below me. To see the tops of cars at my age was
fascinating, I suppose because I normally never saw the tops of
anything from my then youthful vantage point. After a few minutes of
observing, I would then retrace my steps back to Hancock, cross both
Aschermann and Hancock on the diagonal to save time and approach the area where my
trail entered its second region of rock outcroppings. From the point
just across from the post office, to the end of the block where there
was a bar, the bus station and Augie Tiberi’s supermarket, I would
walk along the base of a high rock wall, indented with all sorts of
moss-covered depressions and ledges. This was the best part of my
trail to the bank. It was shady and cool there on the hottest days
and I felt that it was my secret place.
The reason for my trips to the bank was
to instill good saving habits in me. I had a kid’s savings account
there and every week during summer vacation, was sent off to deposit
my allowance. The goal of my savings, I was told, was the purchase
of my first $25 government savings bond, which actually cost only
$18.75. That I would ever amass that unimaginably huge amount of
money was frankly, well, unimaginable to me, and I therefore
preferred to deposit some of my money in my own sort of bank.
The mossy alcoves in the cliff side
fascinated me. I imagined that the thick layer of moss that covered
them was actually a forest on a mountain side and that I was flying
past it. As I soared by, I would slip nickels under the moss. From
my perspective, this was a far better place to store my money than
the bank. Just consider, I could withdraw it at any time, I
didn’t have to remember my ‘bank book’, and best of all, I
didn’t have to answer that dumb question the bank clerks would
usually ask me as I came up to the teller’s window and strained to
see over the top of it. “Who’s little boy are you?” really
annoyed me. I didn’t like having to shout out my name in the quiet
solemnity of the bank. I knew that my name was on my bank book that
I had just given the teller. Had I then been familiar with the word
'moot', I would have certainly agreed that it described that question.
For some time, my savings under the
moss grew. I would stop by each week, inspect my stash, and add
another nickel or two. Then one day, when I got there, my world fell
apart. My cliff side forests were gone, stripped off the moist rocks
that had sheltered my wealth. Up until that point, I had never
realized that I was visible from the street, tucking my money into
the moss. That some other, bigger kid, probably one with a bike I
thought, had watched me and then robbed me crushed me. My
secret trail that day was lost to me, forever. In the years since, I
have lost much greater amounts than the $.50 or $.60 that made up my
hidden fortune then, but I have never suffered any loss as acutely as
I did my first financial calamity.
I learned two lessons that day. One,
trails that run along sidewalks, are not good trails for doing
anything that you don’t want the world to see you doing, and two,
keep your eyes open when you are hiking (or riding your bike) along a
trail because you never know when you might find something of value.
I put the second lesson to use
many years later when I was a student at this very university. Early one spring day, I was hiking along a snowmobile trail just outside
of town. My first find was a long handled flat screwdriver. I used
that screwdriver for years to open the rusted out lock on the trunk
of my ’69 Ford Custom. A hundred yards further along was a
socket wrench, with a 7/8’s socket still attached. I realized that
I was on to something here. I hiked farther that day than I
had intended to, yielding to the possibility that there might be yet
another treasure just around the next bend in the trail. I did come
home with such an assortment of stuff that day that I made a mental note to
carry my backpack next time I hiked a trail so I
wouldn’t appear to be carrying the contents of a full
toolbox in my pockets.
During subsequent hikes, I discovered
that timing was important. The first hike in the spring, after the
snow melted off any given trail, was the money run, so to speak. I
also discovered that there were others out there who also found good
pickings along the trails.
I once arrived at a trail-head south of
town that was new to me, while there were still patches of snow here
and there. I was expecting to have a profitable stroll. Just as I
rounded the first corner on my way out, I met a geeky young guy returning from the trail. Handles stuck out of his pockets and he carried a long, four D-cell flashlight that he was happily clicking on and off. And it worked! “Boy”, he said as he went by me, “You
wouldn’t believe what I found along this trail. I’m bringin’ a
sack or somthin’ next time I come though.”
Class, I see that we're about out of time for today.
For tomorrow, purchase and read the first two
chapters of Getting From Here
to There, and be ready to share with the rest of the
class, your personal level of familiarity with trails, however you
define them.
And remember, there are some people who
go through life thinking they are special, simply because they “take
the road less traveled by”. Well, nuts to them. We are the
special ones. We make our own trails.
See you tomorrow.
