Sunday morning, my Patient Husband kicked me out to go biking (the only benefit of going to the late Mass: time to do things beforehand.)
If you remember, last time I went through the dirt trails at the park and had a magnificent time. Saturday night, it had poured rain, and I opted against biking over dirt on the grounds that it would be mud.
The road I live on is divided into three parts. I live on the Paved Part. Across the state route, the road continues as a dirt road, complete with potholes big enough to put a stock pot. If you take my road in the other direction, it ends at the Creepy Zone, and then (apparently) there is another segment of the road which used to connect to my section. I know nothing about that road, although someday I may try to see if a path still connects the two.
I went up the dirt road to another street that runs parallel to the state route, but doesn’t see much traffic. It’s the back road I take home from the library, so I figured I’d bike to the library and back again.
About a mile and a half away, at the Angelborough Cemetery where I’d turn to go to the library, I realized the road actually terminated in the cemetery itself. I changed plans and biked into the cemetery. The posted regulations didn’t say anything about not biking there, not exploring, not wandering — so I went in.
I’m not sure of the etiquette here, so weigh in please: was that wrong? I don’t think so; at the cemetery where Emily is buried, I frequently saw joggers and walkers, and it never bothered me. I stayed on the roads for vehicles and prayed for the dead while I went through. No one else was there. I feel I passed through respectfully.
But this cemetery — this gorgeous cemetery. I should go back with a camera, but I’d never capture the sense. For one thing, you’ve got gravestones going back to the American Revolution, some older. Many stones were worn to flat forgetfulness. The paths took circular routes within one another, and in some of the encircled areas, the grassy grave area dipped down in steppes, maybe as far down as twenty-five feet. When I was at the center of the cemetery, the trees parted (there were maples everywhere) and I realized I was at the top of a tremendous hill, roads spiraling everywhere and the graves laid out in a cascade downhill.
After that, I explored the “newer” part of the cemetery, with polished granite markers and more clear definitions of sections (I believe they call that “orthogonal planning”) and then returned home by the back road.
I never would have done that in a car, but somehow on a bike, it felt more intimate to be there, less of a disturbance.
The whole ride took about half an hour, and I’m hoping to do another “explore” next week.