People look at you kind of funny when you come running up at them with a bell on your foot. If it weren’t for the bell, the visor, sleeveless shirt, and fuel belt look might strike them as odd all on it’s own. If it weren’t for the tattoos, the whole look might be prone to getting you beat up on the trails of the Suwaree. It’s sort of hard to get pissed at a guy for looking like that on the trails when you are trespassing too, so maybe that builds in a bit of slack too.
The bell is not for people, really. It is theoretically for the bears. A sort of early warning system to let them know I’m about to enter their “space” and don’t want to disturb their chi. I want the bears to treat me like a leppor. Hear the bell and get the hell out of the way. It may be an overabundance of caution to wear the bell down by the river, where the trails are always crowded; however, I am not taking any chances since that bear was stalking me downtown the other day. That’s right. Stalking me. I am like honey.
Which can make encountering another trail user a sticky proposition. There were more than an average number of opportunities for such interaction on the trails this afternoon. What can you expect, anyway? It is, after all, a sunny early summer holiday weekend afternoon. So, perhaps the redneck nation on the banks of the Suwaree did keep the bears away, hence making the bell on my laces obsolete. But the tribe also parted like the Red Sea as I navigated their midst. They sure as hell were not getting anywhere near the dude with the bell on his shoe, so at least it was good for something.