Flashes of Panic

A. and I went over to run in the Quabbin Reservation this evening. Well, she ran, I rode my bike and took pictures. I’ve discussed my fascination with the Quabbin before, but this was the first time I was able to take pictures of it. There are some quietly dramatic parts, like the infrequent empty cellar holes alongside the trails—heck, the trails themselves are a bit eerie, tracing between farms and towns which no longer exist, with practically nobody there.

We’re not sure why so few people use the trails; we’ve barely ever seen anyone in the Pelham sections, except for their one-day hunting seasons and, once, ice-skating on a pond in the reservation. People are more common in the New Salem sections, and since New Salem is so sparsely populated itself, it’s not surprising that there are few people walking the old roads.

Nothing, however, is quite as spooky as roads which run right down to the water’s edge… then go in.