I cross the second bridge, Township Road 6, which is cement and was poured in 1916. Then County Road 75 and the deep cut of Baddow Pass. The big iron bridge that crossed this stony gorge is gone and the road now crosses the Pass on an earthen fill. Legend has it that soon after completion of the railway there was a bad train accident at this curve and locals began calling it the "Bad Old Pass". In time it became Baddow Pass. Makes sense to me.                       I follow the trail downhill where it enters the cut of Baddow Pass and here it is cool and damp. There is some water in the trail and clumps of Christmas ferns grow on the shaded banks and damselflies flit around the puddles. I neglect to check my maps and think that I must be close to Glenmont. Now I look at the map and see how wrong I was. I am only halfway there. Almost four miles to go. I call that I'll be late. Way late. I'm sorry, I spent too much sauntering. Henry speaks to me again in Walden, "The swiftest traveler is he that goes afoot."                       The afternoon sun falls lower and I begin swiftly walking around that great loop of trail, which on the map appears so innocently small, and straightening out toward my destination, and ride home. I do stop to watch a fiery skipper. This skipper is a small and speedy butterfly that is shaped like a folded paper airplane. When basking, it spreads its wings in a posture that is unique. While its hind wings are spread to the side, it holds its forewings at 45 degrees, giving it the appearance of a fighter plane with a double tail.                     Unlike the swift skipper, a little wood satyr rests with wings outspread on a leaf of nettle. Like its mythical namesake, wood satyrs are lovers of woodlands and abound here along the trail. Its wings look tattered and worn. I can empathize with the little butterfly.                       A dead turkey, or rather its skeleton and feathers, lies in the middle of the trail. The work of the bobcat? Nature isn't always gentle. It can be a world of tooth and talon. A Cooper's hawk with a songbird in its talons wings down the open space of the trail. A towhee calls and dragonflies (twelve-spot skimmers) hover and then speed away. Redtails and turkey vultures have caught the wind and crisscross the trail high overhead, dark against the blue sky. I see the end. My friend is coming to meet me. We walk and talk and share our love for this beautiful place and our mutual admiration for the Cooper's hawk and bobcats and butterflies and deer. [afterword...]