Canoe Creek State Park

Pictured: Not a creek. But it is Canoe Lake, and it offers many recreational options.

When I first arrived in the Altoona area, I wanted to find a place where I could escape the hub-bub of the city and relax.

Many people suggested visiting Canoe Creek State Park. It seemed like a good choice considering the park is fewer than 15 minutes from Hollidaysburg.

I didn't know much about the park at the time because I decided not to do research in advance. Who doesn't love surprises, right?

Well, from the second I pulled into the parking lot, Canoe Creek exceeded my expectations.

What sold me was the park's lake. Canoe Lake is 155 acres in size, according to the Department of Conservation and Natural Resources. It's a puddle in comparison to neighboring bodies of water like Raystown Lake (8,300 acres), but Canoe Lake is large enough that it provides the people of Altoona with a multitude of water recreational options.

Pictured: No fishing. But you are able to bring your own boat,
kayak, canoe, etc., to the lake to fish. There are rentals available,
as well.

The most popular activity is fishing. Almost all of the lake's shoreline is accessible by foot, so it is not uncommon to see at least one angler every couple of yards during fishing season.

The lake also has boat launches on its eastern and western shores. Only electric motors are permitted, so some people turn to kayaks and canoes instead.

Speaking of watercraft, the park provides boat, kayak, canoe and pedal boat rentals from Memorial Day until September (likely Labor Day). The rates go by the hour or a full day. The prices vary depending on the craft, but I rented a one-person kayak for two hours a few weeks ago, and it cost me only $14 ($7 per hour). I'll take the rental any day, considering a kayak costs about $250 or more.

You have the chance to see some wildlife while on the lake like
geese and other waterfowl.

For those who don't want to be on the water, they have the option of being in the water. Canoe Lake has a 350-foot-long sand beach on its western shore near the main parking lot. The beach borders a section of water designated for swimming only. It's not the ocean, but it's a great (and free) option for parents looking to get their kids to the beach without the five-hour drive to Delaware or Maryland.

There is also a grass lot and picnic area by the beach if you don't enjoy the feeling of sand. The picnic area has a concession stand, changing rooms, bathrooms and showers. You can plan an entire day trip just to Canoe Lake's beach alone. The beach area is open 8 a.m. to sunset from Memorial Day to Labor Day.

The Limestone Trail leads to the Blair Limestone Co. kilns, which
operated during the early 1900s.

Not everyone enjoys the beach or water. For landlubbers, there is the option of hiking.

Canoe Creek State Park has about eight miles of trails ranging in difficulties and scenery. During my short time in the area, I've conquered almost every trail the park has to offer.

The most popular one tends to be the Limestone Trail. It starts in Parking Lot No. 6 and follows Mary Ann's Creek until the trail connects with Moore's Hill Trail and the Smith Hillside Trail.

Near the middle of the trail are the remnants of the Blair Limestone Co. kilns. These concrete "pyramids" (or whatever geometric shape comes to mind) were once part of the thriving limestone industry in central Pennsylvania. Visitors can peak inside most of the kilns or walk the trail above them. They don't look like much, but the kilns have been around since the early 1900s. The surrounding park didn't open until 1979.

The inside of one of the Blair Limestone Co. kilns.

The kilns make the Limestone Trail worth hiking, but the latter doesn't provide much of a physical challenge because it's short and flat.

Those who want to push their limits should try Moore's Hill Trail.

This trail traverses the exterior of the park and includes hills (duh) and dense forest. Moore's Hill Trail takes about an hour to complete and will make you break out in a sweat.

One of the neater attractions on the trail is the Hartman Kilns site.

The Hartman site has this less-than-glamorous kiln. Even though
it's creepy, the kiln still manages to grab your attention.

If you aren't paying close attention, you might miss it. The site is just off the trail but deep enough in the woods that dense foliage obscures it.

What makes the site special is a lone kiln resembling the ones at the Blair Limestone Co. site. This one, however, is dark and damp because it has a concrete roof.

It looks foreboding. When I came across it, I cautiously peaked inside expecting to find a body or Bigfoot, but was relieved to find nothing of the sort.

After awhile, I opted to leave because I couldn't shake the eerie feeling the kiln gave off. I'd still recommend it to anyone passing by, but make sure to have a crucifix and a jug of holy water at hand.

The Moore's Hill Trail runs parallel with Canoe Creek shortly after
you pass the Hartman Kilns site. This trail eventually hooks up
with the Mattern Trail, which brings you back to Canoe Lake.

If you're looking for a real challenge, you may want to consider hiking the Mattern Trail.

It's a multi-use trail, but it is also designated for horseback riding, which means you should be one horsepower or more to attempt it. The Mattern Trail goes to the highest point in the park at about 1,350 feet. You can see Canoe Lake in its entirety from that height.

This trail isn't meant for novice hikers, though. At some points, you climb uphill at what is at least a 45- or 50-degree angle. Even with all my hiking experience, I had to rest a few times to prevent having a stroke.

The view is worth it, and you have the chance to see some wildlife along the way. I saw a few deer that day, which was the first time I saw any in the park since I started visiting it almost a year ago. On that note, I should warn you to be cautious in these areas because most of the park is open to hunting during hunting seasons. My advice: Leave your antler hat at home.

Canoe Creek offers some other activities not in the woods or water, as well. The field between the parking lot and the lake has a baseball field and a volleyball court. There is also disc golf in several locations.

For those who want to relax, they can sit at a number of picnic tables near the lake and elsewhere. Many of the tables have nearby grills for cookouts. There are also three pavilions in the park for larger groups. They are free to use, but groups can also reserve them for a fee.

What makes Canoe Creek State Park great is the variety of activities visitors can engage in. The park is geared toward anyone of any age. Out of all the things I mentioned, I'm sure there's at least one activity that appeals to you. Hell, you can even read a book or sleep all day at the park, if you want. That's the beauty of Canoe Creek -- it has something for everyone. Not every state park can make that claim.

I wasn't quite sure how to end this post, so here's a turtle I saw while hiking at the
park.

Ice Mine

The Ice Mine has been around for centuries based on the hieroglyphics at the entrance.

The Ice Mine is one of the odd attractions at Trough Creek State Park, along with the Balanced Rock, Copperas Rock and Raven Rock (at least looking at rocks isn't the only thing to do).

The mine is also the first thing I visited upon entering the park. The reason I stumbled across it is simply because I was lost, and it is at the end of the only road in the park.

But even though it serves as a dead-end road sign, the Ice Mine still deserves a moment of attention.

For starters, the mine is likely older than the park itself. The area where Trough Creek State Park sits today served as a hot spot for iron production going back as early as the 1790s. The park didn't open until 1936.

The Ice Mine is believed to be "a prospect hole in the early days of mining," according to an article written by geologist John P. Wilshusen of the Pennsylvania Geological Survey. A "hole" is the best description for the "mine." It is an opening about 3 feet high and about 20 feet long. If this was a mining prospect hole, it either lacked the iron to turn a profit, or our prospector was lazy. Whatever the case, the mine didn't get too far in production.

What Prospector Pete failed to realize was he may have made a fortune instead by discovering one of the world's first air conditioners.

Image courtesy of DCNR / This illustration demonstrates where the cold air in
the Ice Mine comes from. Cold air gets trapped between slabs of rock during the
winter. When temperatures rise in the spring, they warm the hill, causing the cold, denser air to flow downhill and out of the mine like a vent.

The Ice Mine acts as a vent at the base of the hill where it resides. "Frost action" and weathering have broken the hill's ledges into loose slabs and blocks, according to Wilshusen. During the winter, cold air fills the openings between these slabs and becomes trapped. When rising temperatures warm up the hill in the springtime, they cause the cold, denser air between the slabs to flow down the interior of the hill. The Ice Mine acts like a vent, releasing the cold air from the hill. Since cold air sinks and hot air rises, the former stays close to the bottom of the Ice Mine's stairwell.

The stairs provide the sensation of "Hell freezing over."

The temperature by the Ice Mine is most noticeable on a hot and humid summer day (duh). On the day I visited the mine, it was about 90 degrees with humidity near 80 or 90 percent.

As I descended to the mine, I could feel the temperature drop several degrees with every step. The temperature at the bottom was akin to being inside a cave. The humidity seemed to have dissipated, as well. The real question was, "Is there actually ice?"

The mine is almost pitch black other than the opening. I happened to be carrying a flashlight that day, so I turned it on and peaked inside.

There were no icicles, ice or even frost from what I could see. I was expecting to be peering into the wardrobe from "The Chronicles of Narnia" series where a tundra would be hidden away behind closed doors.

The Ice Mine, other than it being cold, seemed to be a dud at first sight.  I decided to take flash photography anyway for memory's sake.

Pictured: Not a magical tundra with talking lions.

When I started writing this post, I revisited the photos. As I looked at a photo of the mine's interior, I noticed a few white spots resembling what looked like cobwebs at first. I zoomed in and instead found small patches of frost and ice in a few spots. There wasn't enough ice for a suitable bourbon on the rocks, but it was ice, nonetheless. The Ice Mine lived up to its name, regardless of the quantity of ice.

You may be wondering how ice manages to form in the mine when the outside temperature is high -- at least I hope you're wondering, so I'm not wasting time writing this post. The easy answer is moisture.

This could be ice, or maybe the mine is haunted and these are
just orbs.

Ironically, if you look into the Ice Mine during the winter, you won't find ice (except maybe for snow blowing into it). That's because air in the winter is much dryer than summer air. It's the same reason why people get cracks in the skin on their hands during the winter compared to other seasons. Summer air, however, contains high amounts of moisture. When the cold air from the mine meets the warm, moist air from outside, the combination creates ice.

The ice does stop forming, though, once the cold air in the hill is depleted until the next winter, according to Wilshusen. He recommends visiting in the early summer for this reason.

If you're in the Trough Creek area, you should take my advice and go on a scorching hot day. Not only will you feel the difference in temperature more drastically, but you can save money on your electric bill by not running your air conditioner. Just remember to send a small checked addressed to me for my contribution. Hey, you don't think I write these blog posts for fun, do you?

Lincoln Caverns and Whispering Rocks

Am I the only one who feels as though I'm in a scene from "Alien" while looking at this picture?

Overview

My girlfriend Cassidy and I spent a portion of a Saturday morning trying to figure out where we should go for the remainder of the day. I always suggest state parks, but I often feel guilty that the two of us tend to do things more in my interest than in hers. I asked her what she wanted to do instead.

After looking at some websites, Cassidy mentioned Lincoln Caverns and Whispering Rocks. I've seen signs for the caverns dozens of times while driving on Route 22 to Canoe Creek State Park and the Lower Trail, but I never felt compelled to venture all the way to Huntingdon just to see rocks.

The idea was something out of the norm, though. I never visited a cavern before, and the whole point of my adventuring is to visit just about every outdoor feature there is in Pennsylvania. I agreed to the idea, and our journey was set.

The tour

The tours last about an hour and feature two caverns. The tour guides provide geological and historical information about the area. Most of the facts were new to me, and the kids on our tour seemed to take great interest in what the tour guide had to say. They asked more questions than any of the adults did throughout the tour. It's great to see children fascinated in learning.

The caverns' "rooms" vary in size from extremely tall and narrow to very low and wide. You won't have to crawl on hands and knees at any point, but taller guests will need to duck at certain spots to avoid concussions. Likewise, some of the passages require side-stepping to get through. I got caught once or twice because of my backpack.

Even though the caverns are millions of years old, they haven't stopped developing.

Many portions of the caverns are still "active," which means the structures inside them continue to grow. The walls are covered with a lot of moisture, and the ceilings drip often. This moisture solidifies into rock formations on the ceiling, ground and walls. Even though it looks dirty, the moisture is harmless, our tour guide assured us. I took my chances anyway and attempted to avoid the drops as if the water were acid.

The tour guides are friendly, but strict about one policy since the caverns are still active.

The number one rule on the tour is to not touch anything other than the hand rails and the floor. Pieces of the cavern have been broken because of human error. For structures like stalactites, it takes about 100 years for them to grow just an inch. One stupid mistake can send something that has been developing for thousands of years back a few centuries or more.

Despite the caverns being damp all the time, they manage to provide a comfortable atmosphere.

Warmer clothes are suggested, however, since the caverns maintain a constant temperature of about 52 degrees, according to the Lincoln Caverns website. The coolness feels great on hot, muggy days, though.

Even though the caverns are cold and damp, they shouldn't deter possible visitors.

The tours are accessible to most people. Cassidy and I were accompanied by adults and children alike, including some toddlers. I don't recommend bringing infants, however, unless you want to hear nothing but crying echoing off cave walls for 60 minutes.

History

This is the sinkhole that Myron Dunlavy Jr. was believed to have
fallen into when he discovered Whispering Rocks in 1941.

The caverns were destined to be a tourist attraction since their founding in May 1930 during the construction of Route 22.

The Stewart family, which farmed on the property where the caverns were discovered, opened the site under the tongue-twisting name "Hi-Way-May Caverns" on June 25, 1931, according to the Lincoln Caverns website.

The Stewarts were, I hope, better farmers than entrepreneurs. The business flopped, and the family put the caverns up for sale just one year in business. Despite caverns not being the most sought-after real estate, the Hi-Way-May Caverns sold in no time, thanks in part to the fascination of Myron Dunlavy Sr.

Dunlavy was a manager for the New York Telephone Co. and had such an interest in caves that he often put ads in the paper seeking ones for sale, according to the website. Dunlavy inked a five-year lease / purchase agreement with the Stewart family from 1932-37.

He changed the caverns' ridiculous name to the more sensible "William Penn Caverns" during this time frame. Dunlavy would later alter the name to "Lincoln Caverns" after his favorite U.S. president, Abraham Lincoln. The website doesn't explain why Dunlavy considered the name change, but the guide during our tour said the change came out of customer frustration.

A separate tour in Centre Hall was Penn's Cave, which offers boat tours inside the caverns. Customers who came to William Penn Caverns were disappointed to find out that no boat tours were offered. They cited the likeness in names between the two tours as the reason for the confusion. Dunlavy changed the name to prevent future issues, the guide said.

While Dunlavy mostly started the cavern business himself, he was not alone in operating it. Members of his family would take interest in the caverns, as well. Dunlavy's son, Myron Dunlavy Jr., came to Huntingdon to work at the caverns and to attend Juniata College.

The younger Dunlavy helped contribute to the business by searching for other caverns in the vicinity. He stumbled (and I mean that as a matter of fact) into what would become Whispering Rocks in September 1941. Dunlavy Jr. fell into a sinkhole about 15 feet deep and had to crawl his way through complete darkness to get out, according to our tour guide. Both he and his father shared interest in preparing Whispering Rocks for business, but the discovery was made just months prior to the United States entering World War II. The website states Dunlavy Jr. served in the military during this time, and the Whispering Rocks project wouldn't be finished until 1961.

Since then, Lincoln Caverns and Whispering Rocks have remained a family operation. Ann Dunlavy, Myron Dunlavy Jr.'s daughter, came to Huntingdon in 1972 and worked as a tour guide. She eventually became manager of the caverns in 1977. Ann's mother, Marion, serves as secretary-treasurer of Lincoln Caverns, according to the website. As for Myron Jr., he served as president until his death in December 2005. Ann continues the operations Lincoln Caverns today.

Directions

The full name of the attraction is Lincoln Caverns and Whispering Rocks. The location is a bit vague, but the caverns are between Alexandria and Huntingdon, about 30 minutes outside of Hollidaysburg. If you type "Lincoln Caverns" into a GPS, the location will likely come up. Just in case, the exact address is "7703 William Penn Highway, Huntingdon, PA 16652." The parking lot is just off Route 22. There are plenty of bright yellow signs along the way to guide drivers.

Much of the information in this post, especially the historical details, is courtesy of http://lincolncaverns.com/.

All photos were taken by me during a tour.

Walking Wonders (Part II)

Just another photo collection of oddities I saw while strolling.

This is outside a house. I'm assuming it might be some sort of memorial to victims
of explosive diarrhea? 

Trees have adapted against deforestation by growing mines to blow up
unsuspecting lumberjacks.

How do you know you're lost? Maybe it's when you reach a dead-end road ...

Or maybe another dead-end road ...

Or maybe two dead-end roads just a few feet apart.

This is either a rope swing or the world's
worst noose.

"... Gonna have ourselves a time ..."

Right now, a grammar Nazi somewhere is saying, "NEIN, NEIN, NEIN, NEIN!!!"

I don't have a witty comment for this one. I just loved this sign.

There are several beaver dams in the Hollidaysburg area. It makes you wonder
how such small rodents have the ability to construct structures with objects almost
10 times their size and weight.

The likely answer is they're hopped up on Gatorade ...

... and NOS energy drinks.

Bucket List: Great Allegheny Passage and C&O Canal Towpath

Cumberland, Maryland, acts as the connecting point between the Great Allegheny
Passage and the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal Towpath Trail.

Riding rails-to-trails is one of my favorite outdoor pastimes.

The trails in Pennsylvania go through forests and are usually accompanied by a scenic river or mountains. You can witness these views while riding on a path that is mostly flat and is not accessible to motor vehicles (usually), so the trip isn't physically or mentally overbearing. What's not to love?

During a recent trip to Cumberland, Maryland, I experienced love at first sight with two of the larger trails in the region (just don't tell my girlfriend).

Image courtesy of Google Maps / A map of the Great Allegheny
Passage from Pittsburgh to Cumberland, Maryland.

The first is the Great Allegheny Passage, a rail-to-trail that starts in Cumberland and cuts through much of southwestern Pennsylvania until the final destination in downtown Pittsburgh. The entire trip, one-way, is about 150 miles.

The second is the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal Towpath Trail, another rail-to-trail that also starts in Cumberland and coasts along the Potomac River until it ends in Washington, D.C. This trail is about 185 miles long, one-way.

Image courtesy of Google Maps / A map of the Chesapeake &
Ohio Canal Towpath Trail from Cumberland, Maryland, to
Washington, D.C.

Because the two trails meet in Cumberland, riders can travel both of them in one long stretch, a whopping 335 miles. To put that into perspective, a car trip from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia via interstates 70 and 76 is 304 miles by car, according to Google Maps.

The chance of me doing both trails in one trip is quite slim at the moment. I want to start modest and tackle the GAP or the C&O one at a time. Both trails seem great and offer spectacular views, but I'm leaning toward the C&O as my first trip -- the main reason being because it travels parallel with the Potomac River the entire way. I love water, whether it's a lake, river or an ocean. The C&O also has several islands along the way, which makes the trip sound that much more exotic. There is a vast history associated with the C&O, too, so I never pass up a great history field trip.

Image courtesy of Google Maps / This map represents the driving
distance between Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. The trip by car is
about 304 miles via interstates 70 and 76. The combined trail of
the Great Allegheny Passage and the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal
Towpath Trail is about 335 miles by bicycle.

The trip is made a little easier because of campsites every five to seven miles. The sites are free and provide a bathroom, picnic table, grill and drinking water. There are also hotels and stores along the way just in case.

Despite all the amenities, the trip is going to be challenging.

For starters, both trails are 150 miles or more. The most I've ever ridden in one trip is 52 miles, which was on the D&L Trail in Lehigh Gorge State Park. I will give myself some credit, however, because I've ridden all 52 miles in about five to six hours. I've completed the D&L several times, so I'm no stranger to longer rides. In addition, the D&L has no overnight camping locations, so if you plan to ride the whole thing round-trip as I have, you need to do it all in one day. The C&O gives me the comfort of knowing I have a location I can rest at every few miles.

Another problem I've come across is the camping arrangements.

I have a two-person tent, which is a good start, but how do you lug a two-person tent on a bike? The bag I currently keep the tent in is enormous and would never fit on my bike. I would need to stow the tent away in a backpack or a bike saddlebag, the latter which I do not own. As for the former, I received an outer frame backpack from an editor at work, but whether or not the bag is large enough to accommodate the tent I have yet to find out. And this is just the tent -- not including other items like food, water, clothes or anything else necessary for long-distance traveling. Speaking of food, what kind can you take on a bike trip? Anything that requires refrigeration is basically out of the question. All of the food needs to be non-perishable, which leaves me with items like granola, cereal, Pop-Tarts ... basically breakfast. I admit I could live with that.

Finally, there's the time requirement for such a trail.

As I stated before, it took me about six hours to ride 52 miles in a day, which I think is great progress. What that means, however, is if I were to ride that many miles per day, it would take me about four days to travel the C&O Trail -- one-way. I don't have a problem riding for that long, but I do need to return, which would take another four days. I don't have enough vacation time accumulated to make an eight-day bike trip just yet, not to mention I don't think I'd be able to lug around eight days worth of camping materials on my bike. The best solution would be to ride the trail one-way and to take a shuttle from Washington, D.C., back to Cumberland, which I know is an option. That option costs money, however, and I haven't been able to find a rate for shuttle services yet.

Those are just a few issues I need to overcome in the planning phases before attempting to tackle these trails. The more I type, the more I realize how difficult this trip might be.

My plan of starting small by riding only one trail might need to be downsized even more. I'm considering taking a two-day trip just to ride a portion of the trail and get a feel for what I might encounter. I haven't set a single tire on either trail yet, so what may seem like a conquerable feat might prove to be the biggest physical challenge of my life.

I think the planning of the trip is the most important part of successfully completing it. Going into it unprepared can be my greatest failure and make what should be one of the best experiences of my life into a living hell.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, seeing these trails was love at first sight. But just like love at first sight, I shouldn't just jump into a trip without first getting to know it better. I may find out that I'm not entirely compatible with the trails after just one or two days of riding. I may have to ease myself into riding the trails in their entirety. But that's what love is all about -- putting forth the effort to make things work, no matter how difficult the challenges ahead. I'm willing to make this work.

The Balanced Rock

"Quick, someone get a photo of me riding it like a surfboard!"

One of the weirdest features I've seen in a Pennsylvania state park sits (or should I say "leans") in Trough Creek State Park in Huntingdon County.

The Balanced Rock is a giant boulder that appears to defy physics by teetering precariously over a cliff. It's so massive that it can be seen hundreds of yards away from the road.

It doesn't looked as "balanced" here, but
the Balanced Rock still sticks out with its
white surface among a sea of green below.

Despite the name, the Balanced Rock is only an optical illusion, though it has performed a sort of "balancing act" for years.

The rock is a geological feature known as an "erosion remnant," according to a 1969 document written by geologist John P. Wilshusen of the Pennsylvania Geological Society. The Balanced Rock seen today started to form millions of years ago when Trough Creek began cutting into the valley below, Wilshusen wrote.

Wilshusen's explanation gets a bit confusing from there, but an illustration of how the rock formed provides better insight. 

The rock was one of several blocks that made up the ridge it now sits upon. A mix of erosion and "undercutting" from Trough Creek caused the rock to break away from the cliff above. Gravity kicked in, and the rock began to slide downward at an angle. It eventually came to a rest, but erosion never did. Most of the cliff above and around the broken rock eroded over time. Some of the cliff below it also eroded, but most of it remains today. 

Photo illustration courtesy of the Department of
Conservation and Natural Resources / This illustration
demonstrates how the Balanced Rock was formed. The
block with the dotted line shows the rock as it appears
today. The block with the curved arrow coming from it
is the Balanced Rock as it was originally. Note how the
rock broke from the cliff above, which does not exist
today because of erosion.

The finished product is a rock that appears ready to crush an unsuspecting group of hikers at any moment. Although flimsy-looking, the rock is quite sturdy. I can guarantee you many people (maybe myself included) pushed on the rock in an attempt to cause a catastrophe. Rest assured, the Balanced Rock is quite stuck, and it's going to take more erosion to cause it to budge.

Surprisingly, the biggest threat hasn't been gravity or erosion, but graffiti. Several people who have ventured to the overlook have carved or painted their names, initials or other messages onto the rock. I'm not sure if there's any form of prosecution if someone is caught in the act, but I wouldn't advise anyone to do so -- not just because it might be illegal, but it's desecrating something that took millions of years to form. One thing the graffiti does show, however, is how popular the rock is. 

The Balanced Rock is also easy to get to. It is labeled on the park map, and there is a designated trail to reach the overlook where the rock sits. It is also easily accessible because of wide stone stairs installed in the path. Just about anyone of any age can make it to the top without major problems.

If you decide to venture out to Trough Creek, make a stop at the rock. If it's the only thing you do the whole trip, it will be well worth the visit.

Graffiti is visible on most of the rock. It's a shame something that
took millions of years to form is treated like a boxcar.

These are what the stone steps look like on the trails leading up
to the Balanced Rock. They're probably some of the sturdiest
stone steps I've seen on any trail.

Don't always take a stick for granted

I rode the entire Lower Trail from Hollidaysburg to Alfarata today.

As far as sights were concerned, it was the norm -- lots of trees, water and birds. That's about all I see every time I ride this trail.

In the last quarter mile of the trip, however, I was more focused on making it back to the car without my legs buckling or my back giving out.

That's when I noticed a black stick lying both on the trail and in the grass.

"Weird," I thought. "Sticks don't tend to be that dark."

That's when I remembered the last time I saw a "black stick" like that. It was at Trough Creek State Park, and it looked something like this:

Who knew sticks could be so terrifying.

I realized it was a 4-foot-long black snake.

I'm not sure of the exact name, but I'm assuming it's a black snake, or "one of those things from your nightmares."

This is only the second time I've ever encountered one of these without the security of a glass case between it and me. When I crossed paths with the one at Trough Creek, however, it seemed passive. As long as I kept my distance, it didn't move much. I figured I'd have similar luck with this one.

What I failed to recognize was the Schwinn bicycle is the natural predator of the black snake. When I got within feet of it, the snake lunged up and twisted in midair in an attempt to make a 180-degree turn to get out of the way. But when a snake gets airborne, I take it as a sign of "It's time to die."

I swerved a bit, thankfully in the opposite direction, and the snake slithered off.

Both of us came out of the ordeal unharmed, and I learned two valuable lessons from the experience.

1. Don't always take a stick for granted.
2. Bike shorts are very absorbent, in respect to urine.

Muggy Monday

I decided to go for a walk Monday evening because, despite the weather forecasts, it turned out to be nice WITH NO RAIN AT ALL. 

Granted, it was muggy and a bit hot, but that is how a summer evening should feel. 

I was almost done with my walk when I started crossing the bridge from Loop Road into Hollidaysburg. The view provided an opportune sunset. 

It wasn't one of the best I've seen, but the amount of moisture in the air made everything hazy, which created a great silhouette of the Hollidaysburg skyline. The abundance of open sky made it even better. Since my hometown of Mountain Top is nothing but trees, there isn't much sky to see.

I took a minute or two to take in the sight. Because of my obsession of always having a camera, I'm glad you can, too.