This was actually the first stop on my ride on that day. The access to the trail that leads down to the natural stone arch is back a long private driveway. I rode back to the house at the end of said driveway and knocked on the door.....no one answered. I looked around the area for any signs of life......there were none. I went back and knocked on the door again....with a little more force this time. I heard shuffling footsteps off to my left. I waited. Finally an elderly gentleman came into view around the corner of the house.
He was wearing denim work clothes. His silver hair was disheveled. On his hands were rubber gloves. On his feet were work boots covered by clear, plastic covers something like you would see in an operating room.
I fought the sudden urge to turn and run screaming from the sight before me. Seeing that natural stone arch just wasn't worth my being cut into many pieces with a dull machete and buried in this crazed phycopath's fruit cellar.
Against my better judgement I stuck out my still attached hand and introduced myself. To my amazement he did likewise. And, as it turned out, he was pleasant and accommodating. He had no intentions of cutting me into pieces....he was just dressed like that because he was working on a project that required the protection of the rubber gloves and shoe covers. If I recall, he had been spray painting or something to that affect.
We talked for a while, he was retired and was a pilot. He actually had a plane in a building by the house and a small runway for getting into and out of the air. He said I was welcome to ride the bike down to the stone bridge and to just take care of the property while I was there.
So we parted ways and I headed down the trail to the bridge..........