Trail three is utterly abandoned.
My hiking buddies—Owen, Curtis, and Joey—scurry up and down slick hills, jump over small ravines and land precariously, their hands reaching for a hold in the cliffside. I take the trail more carefully, an instruction manual running in my mind. Foot here, sidestep there, grab that root for extra balance. I am a determined, but slow, hiker. Turkey Run poses quite the challenge for my right leg, weakened in a surgery long ago; I command my ankle to turn outward, but the nerves don’t fully connect with my brain, and I’m left staring down at an unmoving foot. Owen sees my dilemma and runs over to help me down the damp hillside that I’ve been struggling with. Water rushes past our ankles as we reach the trail floor.
Travel Writing Final Essays 