As part of our Errandonnée explorations, Basil and I took the train to an unfamiliar stop.
Here’s Basil, all set to board the train. Is it wrong that one of the benefits of riding a Brompton is the sheer pleasure of observing, over and over, what a beautiful thing — aesthetically and engineering-wise — is a Brompton?
There’s a wonderful old trestle at this very small station. (Obviously, I’m predisposed to love metal . . . )
And, hence, a long climb up to or down to those tracks. Many of the train stations in the area specialize in inaccessibility; this one would be pre-eminent in that class.
It’s not surprising that there are no shoulders on the road; that, too, is commonplace in this area, but then there’s that sidewalk-to-nowhere at the bottom of the stairs.
Passengers who disembark on this side of the tracks find themselves stranded and facing a rather infelicitous jaunt to the parking lot, which is around to the back, under the tracks, behind the scene shown here.
Though this area isn’t very pedestrian- bicycle-, or disability-friendly, there are some compensations, like unexpected, pretty, little views of meandering creeks and small bits of untouched woods.
Basil enjoys the views, too. We spent a moment hoping this would be the last snow we’d see this year. (Fruitlessly, I might add.) Endless winter or not, it was still a lovely day for a ride, and we both went home well-satisfied.