Thinking back to your high school Poetry class, you defy Robert Frost by taking the road more traveled by. Chuckling at your own little joke, You glance at the thing in the grass as you pass and realize it's just a stone. It's a late afternoon in summer, with the sun just starting to dip below the trees. The more traveled path curves upward over a hill. Your shoes hit the packed dirty and echo off into the trees as you climb up the hill. The trees on the left stay as thick as ever, but the ones on the right thin out the higher you get up to the hill.
Soon, you reach the crest. The road has widened and you can see car treads in the dirt ahead of you, turning from the path you're standing on to another path that curves into a field on your right. Ahead, in the weeds on the left side of the road, you spy a bicycle. It's a little weather worn and splattered with mud, but it's bright red paint defies these distractions, making it look rather lovely. Smiling, you stoop and examine the bike under the high, hazy clouds the sun is peeking through.
You hoist it up to it's tires and roll it around a few times. They seem to be full of air. Wondering who would leave such a fine looking bike just lying on the side of the road, you think finders keepers and hoist yourself onto the bike and begin pedaling down the path. As you pedal, the hill dips back down again, and you find yourself racing down the hill, under a particularly dark patch of woods, the branches covering the path growing larger in number. You bump over them, jostling the bike every once in a while.
Pretty soon, the path clears out again and you feel a bump as you hit the paved part of the path. You pedal down this for a while before the trees stop completely and you're flanked on both sides by wide, sweeping fields. After another twenty minutes of pedaling, you're about to turn around when you spy a four way stop ahead. Pushing on the brakes, the bike skids to a halt as you look up at the signpost that points the directions.
The arrow that points ahead leads toward a small village in the distance with buildings that look like they fell out of a cozy German hamlet postcard. "LEAVENWORTH." It reads. "COME FOR OUR ANNUAL PROCESSION OF THE SPEICES. JUNE 14TH-21ST." You briefly wonder what "Procession of the Species" means as the distant sounds of a cheering crowd echo from the town in the distance.
The arrow pointing left leads towards some tall mountains in the distance, dark looking under the hazy sky. "ARCADIA MOUNTAINS." The sign reads. "COME TAKE THE GONDOLA TO THE TOP AND SEE SPECTACULAR VIEWS. EAT AT OUR MOUNTAINTOP RESTARAUNT. GO HIKING. STAY IN OUE MOUNTAINTOP LODGE. FUN FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY."
The arrow pointing to the right is unmarked, just another paved path leading so far off into the distance that you can't see where it goes. You look up and see dark clouds coming your way. It'll be raining soon, so you better make your decision quick.