Where the Sidewalk Ends

Ryan and I really have been enjoying our first month here in our new town. The city itself is a bit larger than Salt Lake, and we live at the very edge of it. We are a five-minute drive or a ten-minute bike ride from a tiny little rural town, and about twenty minutes from the heart of downtown. My favorite new hobby (besides analyzing the different dialects on the country radio stations) is finding and exploring this town's little quirks. 

Quirk #1: Nearly every day I go bike somewhere new, and there are a lot of trails around town. Literally, there are several trails you can bike around the edges of the city, but if you want to go anywhere in the middle you have to brave the roads and sidewalks. I only mention this because it is impossible to bike on the sidewalks easily here (trust me; I've tried)! Most of the roads are 40mph or more, so I avoid them whenever possible. But every day I discover a new sidewalk that just ends. BAM! In the middle of a block. For no reason. At first this was frustrating because these silly sidewalks would end unpredictably and interrupt my lovely jaunt of a ride. But now it is hilarious, because I remembered that Shel Silverstein poem. Guys! I found it! I found the place where all the sidewalks end! 

Would you end it like a cliff?

Would you end it by the sign?

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins,

And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright,

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight

To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

And the dark street winds and bends.

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go

Would you end it in the grass?

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Would you end it in the ditch?

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.

Would you end it on both sides?

Would you end it by the button?

Would you end it in bush?

Would you end it in a puddle?

The thing I love about this poem is how magical this place sounds. I love imagining a little fairy world that begins at the end of the pavement, at the end of urban reach. It is like Narnia beginning at the back of a wardrobe. So I decided to start documenting all these magical places, all these sidewalk-endings. Partially to prove that there really are an absurd amount (Seriously it's as bad as little old Culpeper!), and partially to appreciate this particular quirk of our new home.

Would you end it by the bridge?

Quirk #2: Only in Oklahoma can calling something "Texas-sized" be legitimate advertising and not just a joke:

I still smile every time we drive past this :)

Quirk #3: The river may be almost completely dry this time of year, but the view is still awesome! This whole area is actually very green (almost as green and tree-ish as Virginia!) and lovely. I can't wait for all the leaves to change color! All our love from the place where the sidewalk ends!

On a weekend bike ride on the riverside trail

Same bike ride, tributary that leads to the river