Dirt Road Dreams

I love those little tracks that go off into the distance.

There is something intriguing about two lines of tracks heading back into the trees, or over a hill. Where do they go? Where do they end up?

If they are a bit worn down, we know that they eventually end up somewhere.

But where?

I often imagine it’s a little cabin or tiny home back in the forest where someone who wants to get away from it all sits on a porch watching the sunrise.

Or set.

Getting away from… it all.

Perhaps a rancher uses it to keep a fence mended, or a livestock watering hole that needs constant attention.

Or maybe, just maybe, it could lead into a remarkable part of the forest known only to a few hearty souls with adventurous spirits, camp stoves, and tents.

And a truck.

I see them everywhere I go, little anti-freeways that beckon me.

I saw one near Pigeon Forge. It went straight into the green abyss of Kudzu.

Outside of Wind River, one seemed to climb to the sky on craggy cliffs.

The one pictured is near Cedar Breaks in gentle mountains of Aspen.

I want to go down every one of them.

Maybe someday I will.