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We hadn’t been since the fall. And although upstate New York was dealt an unusually mild winter, last weekend was my first time out for a bike ride with my mom in a while.

We tried the path at Rotterdam Junction, which was underwater last August when Hurricane Irene caused the Mohawk River to swell and flood the city of Amsterdam, parts of Scotia, the Stockade section of Schenectady and the Rotterdam Junction.

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It was difficult to tell whether the drab brown landscape was just a recently melted spring landscape or a post-flood landscape, or a little of both. But there was a smell along parts of the path that I know to be the lingering odor of flood.

The first smells of spring were also alive, so our trek west toward Pattersonville was not so bad. Except we didn’t get too far. The trail is blocked off with Jersey barriers by a rail company, so we turned around and biked toward Scotia, along parts of Interstate 890.

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The path has some of what you might expect: hissing geese, swampy looking fields, litter along the banks of 890. And some of what you might not: a junk yard to the south and an old man jogging with very visible nipple chafing through his white wife beater.

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To be fair, it’s probably too soon to rate the junction as one of my least favorite biking trails. But the paths in Fort Plain, Saint Johnsville and Little Falls were beautiful during summer and fall, and the sound of traffic was distant, if not non-existent.

In my usual pre-coffee, half-awake daze, I stepped out onto my front porch this morning and saw a thick fog had descended. I really like morning fogs if only because their dream-like nature makes me feel suspended in that precious time where it is not yet a new day filled with work and responsibility.

Some gorgeous mists…

Dordogne, South West France

High Tatras, Slovakia

High Tatras, Slovakia

Lake Bled, Slovenia

Photos via Flickr, Flickr, Flickr and Flickr

When I was young, maybe 12, I would walk around the pond in Schenectady’s Central Park repeating Psalm 23 with my father. Green pastures, quiet waters, my cup overfloweth, etc. Ten years and a lack of religious overtones later, I found myself wandering past the pond and into the park’s noted Rose Garden with my sister and nephew. I never knew it existed all these years.

© Bethany Bump

The last few weeks have been busy. I’ve been writing a lot and taking photographs, sleeping too little and making meager attempts to organize my life. My walk through the Rose Garden was rejuvenating.

© Bethany Bump

© Bethany Bump

© Bethany Bump

© Bethany Bump

© Bethany Bump

© Bethany Bump

I’ll have more photos up soon of Rose Garden treasures…

What a gorgeous piece of art on global warming. I find it so gratifying when artists or musicians use their creativity for important issues. Change doesn’t necessarily require a policy studies degree. Sometimes it just takes imagination.

P.S. If I were this artist all I would think is don’t mess up!!

Art by Alice Ninni. Music by Matteo Negrin.

I’m still getting used to bright lights. Clarity. The slightest speckle of green in the eyes of a friend.

Summer is joyous when it finally arrives here. The winters are long, cloudy, gray. And followed by rain, clouds, and more clouds. But the sun is here and we all want to be in the path of its warm rays. We longed for these moments as if we’re remembering the best hug we’ve ever had.

I like these hugs. I like the brightness and the exposure and the longing for our ideal life to manifest at any moment.

I love the colors summer reveals and the ease it brings over us. I can see it in these places:

It smells like salt and clean, cold sand, fragrant flowers, old wood and our best selves.

Step away and the water changes from clear to pretty blue. The trees lose their majesty and the buildings rise up, like a clarion call for humankind to keep dominating.

It can only be dreamed. The static rush of water pounding rocks blur our thoughts and we’re left somewhere between the origin and our sterilized lives.

Photos via Flickr, Flickr and Flickr.

Since acquiring my new bike, I’ve gone on a few rides from one town to the next. I rode about 17 miles yesterday heading west. My mom and I made many stops along the way to wander in and around so many lovely sites and forgotten relics.

© Bethany Bump

The ride from Saint Johnsville to Little Falls is surprisingly full of awesome little treasures. There is an adorable little creek with a mini waterfall where we stopped on the ride back to cool off. Around a downhill bend we arrived at the historic Herkimer Home where General Nicholas Herkimer once lived and established a farmstead. If you look up the hill from the trail there is the solid brick English Georgian style mansion.

Herkimer Home | © Bethany Bump

Down the hill there is an expansive field of wildflowers that screams at you to frolic through on a sunny, breezy day (which it was). Three geese waddled along the trail headed toward the canal waters. We stealthily stalked them a little ways until I got too excited to catch up with them and they flew off.

A few miles out from the historic landmark we rode in sight of giant walls of excavated rock. I made a note to climb them on the way back until I almost ran over a snake and freaked out a little bit about encountering one in the rocks.

Riding along, I barely noticed a row of hidden decaying pillars to my left. My mom and I wandered inside and were greeted by a magical little Narnia. The pillars once held up a railroad and were littered with party leftovers and colorful graffiti. The sun overhead cast a stunning light through the columns, which were at this point growing trees and grass over their rusted roof. The effect was damn beautiful. Wandering further still away from the trail and past the columns is a barely noticeable de facto trail. Brush and trees obscured a faraway view of a curious little manmade cement waterhole. I couldn’t fathom what it was for, but the years of neglect made me wonder if Bilbo Baggins possibly lived out there.

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The drive from Saint Johnsville to Little Falls by car is very different. It’s mundane. It’s too familiar. You change lanes and obey signs with the second nature of someone who’s bored by a place they’ve known all their life. Maybe that’s why I was unexpectedly delighted by this latest biking adventure.

I begrudgingly realized the other day that I was spending a bit too much time behind my laptop. My eyes began to hurt and my legs felt restless. I had the urge to run around in circles or go back in time to when correspondence took place via snail mail.

Well, I finally caved and got a bike instead. A baby blue Lamborghini bike:

I haven’t really ridden since early high school, when my friends and I would bicycle to the pay phones or nearby novelty store on our summer camping trips. I wasn’t sure what kind of bike I had in mind. I don’t know brands other than Schwinn and so I told myself my bike just needed to be sea green and awesome. When I took a seat on a Lamborghini though, I knew it was meant to be.

Afterward I rode about 10 miles on a nearby bike trail, passed an Alice in Wonderland-esque mushroom, took a shower in some brief rains, avoided goose poop and unleashed dogs, and stopped to pick pretty flowers like a little kid.

My mom giving context to this freakishly large mushroom.

My latest wonderment has been the awesome colors in nature. How do strawberries get so red and how does nature produce this lovely purpley-pink color? My mind is simple these days.

It was a breezy, carefree adventure and much-needed time spent away from my computer. I’m already looking forward to more adventures.

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