Ashuwillticook Rail Trail
by Cynthia Saunders

It had been a grizzly, humid morning, and a muggy early afternoon.  The air was heavy and damp; even the papers on my desk seemed slightly wilted. Then the building atmospheric tension climaxed as it often does, and with impeccable timing—between getting out of my car and walking into the foyer of my apartment building, the rain came down like it was not just falling, but running, as though it had been strategically waiting for my most vulnerable moment.  For about an hour after I took shelter, it continued to thunder and crash.  And then, almost as abruptly as it started, it stopped.  The darkness swept aside, the birds became brave enough to sing again, and, thanks to the lengthening days of May, there were still a few hours of daylight left.

Any love of the outdoors demands a certain amount of flexibility.  In this case, I had been planning on taking an afternoon hike, but after that drenching, the trails would surely be muddy and difficult to traverse, not to mention the damage my boots would do.  That’s when I decided to pay a visit to the Ashuwillticook Rail Trail.  Even though the ground would be too wet for a hike, the paved trail would be perfect.

One of the things I like about the rail trail is that there are a number of convenient entry points.  This is good for someone like me who likes to walk but rarely has enough time to think about covering the whole thing at once.  Even though its 11.2 miles can be an hour and a half ride on bike down and back, a walker can get a wide range of different experiences just by taking advantage of the various starting points.  This time, I parked in Cheshire on Railroad Street, by the snack shop and the Daniel H. Petithory Memorial.  Lately I had been into meandering along the portion near the lake, watching the geese and their little strings of goslings, but today merited a change of scene.

I was eager to go enjoy the post-downpour fresh air, and I expected to come across a fairly deserted path, yet it turned out that I wasn’t the only one who had been waiting out the storm.  In the parking lot, two women were getting geared up for a bike ride, and one was teaching the other about the shoes she was putting on.  A few minutes later, a girl pulled up in a jeep with her very enthusiastic retriever chow puppy.  Twice a boy with tackle box and fishing pole in hand walked by, first one way, then the other (maybe he had forgotten something at home?) an then a family of four came by, the boy and girl each on bikes up ahead and the parents lagging behind, strolling along.  I saw couples, pairs of friends, people who looked like they had destinations, and people who were just out for the sake of being out, like I was.  One highlight this time was when a rabbit hopped across my path and paused long enough to let me try to take her picture.  I say “try” because I had forgotten my camera; I made two attempts with my phone, but its memory seemed to be full, and she wasn’t willing to wait around long enough.  After a few moments, she was gone in the thick trailside foliage.

So, there were plenty of other folks (and animals) with the same bright idea as me.  And yet, I still felt like I was in my own space.  I guess that’s my favorite thing about the trail.  You’re never totally alone, and yet there’s a certain recognized respect for other people, and it’s that respect that keeps the atmosphere nice for everybody.  It’s a place adored and enjoyed by a large percentage of the community.  I see people I know on a regular basis, and yet I never feel crowded, I never feel uneasy.  If anything, I feel calm, and willing to share what I love.  Which, I suppose, is why I’m writing about it now.

About Cynthia Saunders
North Adams native Cynthia Saunders wrote her first poem, “The car went after/ the star” at age 5, and has been writing, and chasing stars in her car ever since. Currently, she teaches English at Wahconah Regional High School in Dalton and lives with her kitten, Thomasina.