(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2004 04:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
which_chickWell, I didn't see any Rubyspots today. Couple of what looked to be Fawn Darners and a Sympetrum here and there, but other than that, not a whole lot. I did have a good time smack-pafing down the creek, though. That was nice. When I got down a ways, I decided to walk back on the old turnpike (An abandoned segment of the Pennsylvania Turnpike goes right by our land. It's been turned into a "Bike Trail" thing by the Southern Alleghenies Conservancy, which pisses me off because it means we will have more stupid, lost, touristy people wandering around and completely failing to understand about private property, but it does make a fine, quick walk back from smack-paf travels despite all this).
When I got to the old turnpike, I discovered the Army was doing live-fire paintball exercises on it today. I discovered this because a nice man in an army outfit told me all about it as I stood barefoot before him in my rather scruffy, damp clothing, shoes dangling from one hand and tank top falling off of one shoulder. He was carefully not-looking at my bra. The nice army man allowed as how I probably should take cover while the trucks were going by. I resisted the urge to point out that I was clearly a civilian and therefore exempt from being shot at with paintballs.
So I started walking back to my house along the abandoned turnpike, at my customary 4 MPH stroll, shoes in one hand, net over my shoulder. It'd have been a very Norman Rockwell scene if I'd been a ten year old boy instead of a thirty-something chick. Five minutes or so into the stroll home, there were army trucks in the distance, coming towards me. As instructed by the army guy, I scuttled over to the bank, went about six feet down it, and hit the dirt so that I'd be invisible to the army trucks going by. When they had all gone past, I got up and finished walking home, unmolested by paintballs.
When I got to the old turnpike, I discovered the Army was doing live-fire paintball exercises on it today. I discovered this because a nice man in an army outfit told me all about it as I stood barefoot before him in my rather scruffy, damp clothing, shoes dangling from one hand and tank top falling off of one shoulder. He was carefully not-looking at my bra. The nice army man allowed as how I probably should take cover while the trucks were going by. I resisted the urge to point out that I was clearly a civilian and therefore exempt from being shot at with paintballs.
So I started walking back to my house along the abandoned turnpike, at my customary 4 MPH stroll, shoes in one hand, net over my shoulder. It'd have been a very Norman Rockwell scene if I'd been a ten year old boy instead of a thirty-something chick. Five minutes or so into the stroll home, there were army trucks in the distance, coming towards me. As instructed by the army guy, I scuttled over to the bank, went about six feet down it, and hit the dirt so that I'd be invisible to the army trucks going by. When they had all gone past, I got up and finished walking home, unmolested by paintballs.
