There's a ravine on a road near Cabbage Ranch. At least, that's what we'd call it where I'm from... Here, it might be a gulley. Or a crick bottom. Yes, I live that far south.
Since I'm not redneck, I like the word ravine.
But when I'm running, it's the rise that matters. So I call it The Hill.
Hello, Hill. So we meet again.
The Hill looks innocent, but do not be lulled into a false sense of security. That's just what The Hill wants.
From this angle, the far side doesn't look too bad. And I'm holding up. I got this.
I had a moment at the bottom of The Hill (before THE SUFFERING) to reminisce about the distant past, when we used to get rain in this moisture-forsaken state. Cabbage and I have seen the water reach the edges of this road, whirlpools on both sides swirling with evil promise. It gave me shivers to look at it then.
No shivers today as I climbed. Just sweat, and a growing fire in my legs and lungs, and a desperate, grasping hope that Cabbage would receive my telepathic message to come save me from myself and The Evil Hill.
No such luck, but I did (at the top of The Bastard Hill) have a moment (while I walked and the horizon stopped spinning) to look at these goats. Super cute little babies!
I bet they never run The Hill.
I started to feel better, and was running easily again. Alas, this is no fairy tale, and there was no Happily Ever After. No. In this story, The Hill awaits in its dank lair. And the lass? Well, her respite was short lived...
On the way back, guess what awaited me?
Fortheloveofallthatisgoodandholy, I just want to live somewhere flat.
These hills are about to get rated on the MNS.
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