The other day I walked with a small group to East Rock, a park a few miles away from campus. It's a pleasant enough walk on a sunny day, with older houses and flowering trees to help you on your way. Once we got to the forest, though, there was a slight issue as our leader couldn't remember how to get up. So after a series of "short cuts," which were actually a series of woodland paths long overgrown, we found what I would like to affectionately call The Stairs of Death. So, intrepid adventurers that we were, we climbed them....and climbed them....and climbed them. When I was having mild hallucinations from fatigue, we finally made it, and it was astoundingly beautiful.
We could see for miles and miles. There's also a monument up there:
We sat for a while on the grass, eating lunch, before heading back down, taking a different path that distinctly reminded me of the Oregon Trail, that bastion of my childhood computing. We were a wagon train, bravely trying to get back to civilization, and hoping to have new casualties.
It took us four hours all told, getting there and back. It was supposed to take 2. I love adventures.
We could see for miles and miles. There's also a monument up there:
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