back on the wagon

I'm standing on a cliff, in one hand there is something small, perhaps a pebble or marble, in one hand there is something big, a boulder or a bicycle. I'm not sure if I should jump or if I should fly. I'm wondering how I got here and where I will go from here. Round and round and round we go. So many trails, so many roads. I feel the wind draft up from the valley below, look out at those mountains I have climbed time and time again and time slows, then fades and then, there is peace. Here on this cliff, in these mountains, here I feel free.

Hi, my name is Clay and I have a Pisgah problem. I can't get enough. I'm an addict, always sneaking off to get my fix, a common junkie. All it took was one ride and I was hooked. After that first time it wasn't long before I quit my good job packed up everything I owned and moved closer to the source of my high. And it has just been downhill from there. Over five Pisgah hundreds rides later, countless miles of hikes and then runs with plenty of bushwhacks and waterfalls thrown in for good measure and Pisgah still never ceases to amaze me. There is always something new, something different, something that always draws me back. On most days there is simply no place I would rather be.

Pilot Cove/ Slate Rock Creek > Pilot Cove Loop yesterday: