With each day of the year now claimed by multiple interests – Thursday was National Donut Day, by the way – it’s hard to get revved up about anything called a “day” anymore.

When I used to work for a newspaper, my editor laughed at anyone who pitched him a story based on an official day (the exceptions being national holidays such as Memorial Day). He could not be swayed by cancer survivor stories, pink ribbons, ribbons of any other color or free coffee. There were no “day stories.”

I have failed him.

Today I came across a sign on the side of the road as I drove through Pennington, New Jersey, a quaint town in the “garden” part of the Garden State. I’d just finished mountain biking on a trail network on Baldpate Mountain near the Delaware River, where I’d encountered other mountain bikers, hikers and ample evidence of horseback riding, which I barely avoided.

As I drove through Pennington, I was exhausted, still covered in mud and sweat from my ride. It was hot and I was anxious to get home and take a shower. Yet when I saw a sign about National Trails Day, I pulled over and snapped the photo above.

My sentiment, having just been the beneficiary of the hard work it takes to maintain the Baldpate paths, was simple: trails are good. It was nice to see someone celebrate the concept of trails. I hope the official day encouraged other people to get out and enjoy them.

And though I break my former editors rule with trepidation, I have a suspicion he would forgive me. I remember him frequently vacationing at his cabin in the Adirondacks. And I pretty sure he owned a pair of snowshoes…

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