Some years ago, a juvenile delinquent male was spotted on the inner-city riverside trail where I usually jogged. My reaction? For FOUR YEARS I ran an extra quarter-mile just to check the riverbank under that bridge for fresh tracks. No dice.
Before someone starts scolding me about the danger of wild animals, you’re wasting your breath. I’d rather be notorious for being ‘that idiot jogger who got eaten by the mountain lion’ than ignored as ‘the mummified remains found in bed during a Health & Welfare Check’.
I had to give up running on the South Platte Trail when the junkies started ‘camping’ next to it and attacking passersby. I’m not scared of a mountain lion, but I don’t want to run the gauntlet of junkies.
