Thursday, December 22, 2011

My Outlook On Looking Out the Window

We are a mobile society, and we have been for all of my life.  My family and I lived away from our home town, the town where my grandparents lived and my parents had grown up, for most of my life.  So, I spent a lot of time, in my youth, sitting in a car, looking out the window.

As I grew up, my time in the car never seemed to lessen.  If I wasn’t traveling to visit someone, I was traveling for work.  Many more hours were logged, looking out the window of moving car.

I have always been something of a history buff.  Growing up in the South, I was fascinated by the Civil War, and the people who fought and/or lived through it.  As we would drive past historical markers at the sites of skirmishes, or full-on battles, or drove through battlefield parks, I would look at my surroundings and try to imagine how things had been, a hundred years earlier.  I looked at old warehouses and hotels, when we drove through towns, trying to imagine what they looked like in the heydays.

I still do that, particularly in the urban setting.  But, having become a mountain biker, I look at the landscape a bit differently than I used to.

“That looks like an old mining road going up that hill,” I think to myself.  “I wonder if I could get my bike up that slope.”

“That railroad grade would make a good way to get into the forest…”

“I wonder if I could follow that deer trail…”

I see the world as a place to be explored, now, as well as a place where others went before. 

x

2 comments:

  1. Sean and I are planning a trip to Gettysburg this spring/summer. We are going to take our bikes and ride around in the park - he thinks that will be a better way to understand the size of the battlefield and that it will be easier to read all the markers (and he reads all the markers!). He wants to do this again at Shiloh, too, now that he is old enough to appreciate it (he says).
    --Joy

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  2. I will happily hit the Shiloh route, again. I wish I could make it to Gettysburg, as well.

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