Hiking

Changed the oil and rotated the tires today at 38,500ish, or about a hundred miles overdue. And for the second time in approximately 50 Miata oil changes I used a non-OEM filter. I realized I needed to change the oil somewhere on the road home from FLA last weekend, but the fact slipped my mind until like Friday night. By then it was too late to order it from my usual on line haunt and I just can’t bear to travel the 50 mile round trip to the nearest dealer (for several reasons) to buy one. On our Saturday morning shopping trip we went in to Advanced Auto and picked up 4 quarts of 10w30 Penzoil and a filter. Some schmo was monopolizing the jumbo book of filter compatibilities, so I asked at the counter. I gave the man the particulars and he asked which brand I wanted, “Fram, Puralator, Mobile1…” I said, “Whatever, they all filter oil, right?” I got a Fram, I think because it was first alphabetically.

After the Miata servicing we had just the right amount of daylight for a walk in the Woods. To change things up we drove to the other side of town to enter at a different spot. We had walked this particular section a couple times or more, but when the trail turned right to head further into the woods, Donna said, “Let’s go straight.” To which I replied, “That’s no a real trail, it ends right there.” But as I spoke she kept walking and I had no other choice but to follow her down the rabbit hole. The map I carry showed no trail, but sure enough, what looked like the end, merely resembled one as it turned into a narrow, windy, little used path down a hill. I was no too worried about getting lost as we were traveling along one edge of the woods and the railroad bed that was to our left was still there, just that it was now 30 feet above above trail level when it was once slightly below it. The map showed if we continued only this route we would come to a trail spur that would lead us back into the woods proper or if we continued past that we would come to the eastern edge of them and several officials trails. When we hit the spur we thought in for a penny, in for a pound and continued along in the uncharted territory. Unfortunately after only 50 yards or so we were confronted with an ugly 20-25 foot drop-off to a stream with a corresponding steep climb out on the other side. We quickly returned to the spur trail and finished our walk in a civilized manner.

Had I realized the Top Transition count was going to end where it did I just might had gone out in the garage and put it up before calling it a night.