Miles of Bad Road.

The longest walks of my life were separated by over 20 years - a lot then, not much now.

18 and in the farthest north of Newfoundland, perched on a 600 m.y.o. mountain, peering across the North Atlantic with radar eyes, we identified and tracked aircraft coming over the pole and into Can-Am airspace.

At the bottom of our "hill" - not a lot of mountain left after 600 million years - sits St. Anthony, at coast side. The salient quality of the town was a hospital, which meant nurses, which, in 1966, meant young women.

Our site was about 3 1/2 miles up the hill, twisting, turning, climbing, falling, a landscape tortured by powerful erosive forces. We had a couple school buses ran up and down the hill periodically, to haul us, and the dear ladies.

One stormy, besotted night, I took the bus down to spend time with a nurse who was on call. Somehow, I missed the last bus back up. As I had duty that morning, I elected to walk up.

In the interim, the storm had turned into a fully-armed Nor'easter, and the hill was closed. Which happened one other time in my year there. When the winds pegged a 120-knot gauge for hours.

It was beyond brutal. My clothing was adequate, but hardly techno: the gear probably added over 30 pounds to my mass.

The wind was so intense, as I would finally get to the top of one of those many rises, sometimes crawling, as I stood, the wind often knocked me off my feet and I would slide back down the hill I had just struggled up. This went on for hours. When I got to the site, there was an old guardshack about 30 yards from the barracks door. I had to stop inside and sit on the floor, gather myself for that last 100 feet.

I was out of high school ten years before it occurred I needed more education unless I wanted to work for a living. Upon graduation, in the spring of 1980, a friend and I hitch-hiked east to see some friends. His visit went much better than mine. I can be a load, and was.

We were moved back off the road by Officer Friendly of the PSHP at Lancaster. At the onramp, we were picked up by a guy owned a couple record stores in Harrisburg. In the van, he had these three giant pickle jars full of caps. All colors. Like a jellybean guessing contest at a church bazaar, only pharmaceutical wonders.

He never offered to share, which was good. Because he fired a Jamaican fatty, and, after two turns, I was gone. I came too in Harrisburg, and remember two things only. One, Jim Salas immortalized and enshrined himself by terming people who live in row houses "row lifes".

The other: somehow, we agreed it would be a good idea to walk across the I-81 bridge at Harrisburg.

Your map will tell you it is only about a mile.

No way.

The bridge is over 100 feet high. There are 4 lanes of high-speed traffic, including trucks, with all that turbulence. The "guard" rail is for vehicles, the top below your waist.

If you have a sidewalk out front, it's probably 4 feet wide. The sidewalk on the northbound I-81 bridge over the Susquehanna is 30", maybe 36. It is narrowed repeatedly by infrastructure, and the only way past is to turn sideways and inch along.

Which walk was worse? The Newfoundland hillclimb presented much more opportunity for death or serious injury.

But I would do it again before I would cross that bridge.

My horse kicked the shit out of a pig this morning.

A stray found his way into the pasture, and Mister Buckles overcame his flight instinct at something he had never seen before and protected the others.

Of course I feel bad for the pig. He obviously wasn't afraid of the horses, or he wouldn't have gone through the fence.

But I have to be proud of Mister Buckles.

Driving a country road today, came on a mini-drama. Into view was a redtail flying low away from the road. On the road were two turkey vultures. One was standing over a roadkill raccoon, the other watching the redtail fly away. As we passed between them they rose, then settled back to their respective stations.

Always thought vultures were voracious, first-come, first served. (Queue theory, like at Wendy's: no one gets ahead by jumping lines.)

But the one watched while the other dined first.

Pity those who know everything.