Except perhaps for some cities in Europe, I am most happy place-wise in the rolling hills of the Appalachians. I’ve never needed cliffs. Just some hardwoods and a couple thousand feet of altitudinal change without airplanes or asphalt too near. In North Florida I was lucky to have sinkholes and the scarp provide me a few similar rolls and a quiet place to hang my hammock only 20 minutes’ drive and 15 minutes’ walk into San Felasco. Southeast Michigan has been equally challenging. There are some pretty woods and nice lakes, but hills in the Midwest are rare. Today, though, I found my new day hike. Okay, the altitude rises and falls only a couple hundred feet, but that will do when the chipmunks are the loudest things around. Admittedly, I didn’t love the lakeside beach, but this Florida boy probably always will think of water below 65F as deadly unless it’s being consumed, so I’m not a great judge of that end of the trail. (The few people that I saw there with fishing poles and happy dogs seemed to love the lake, though, so I’m sure that it was lovely if that’s your thing.) The walk was a nice few hours, especially in the middle of the trail network because of the infrequency of overlaps between the bike and horse and hiking paths and because it was still just chilly enough to keep the crowds away while the first green leaves were peeking out.