From this morning: On the way back from Maine on a snowy/sunny winter morning, we stopped about an hour into the trip at a rest stop up a wooded hill (the entrance road going up the hill toward the east), but on the way up the hill we passed nearby a place lower to the north that was well-known to us. So, from the rest stop, we bushwhacked down to it through the woods and deepish snow; it was an old camp with a small barn at its east end, woods right nearby to the east, a small clearing to the south, and a larger clearing to the north and west, with a steep slope to the west leading down to a lower flat area with woods at its edge a ways further on. The ground also sloped back up to the north from the lower clearing and continued in a low ridge directly north of the camp. It was no longer winter but a mild day in the green season. Someone with us, who looked like Mark Gatiss, took to fixing the barn, which was in some structural disrepair, and a montage of him putting in new studs and maybe resurfacing the walls and roof proceeded. Down the slope to the west, cars were racing around haphazardly, driving off a road that went by along the north and west edges; the area was called the Speedway. To the north of the camp, receding over the ridge, was a driveway with a sign saying “Speedway / 15 mph”, which didn’t seem to be being heeded by the cars there. Also down in the Speedway was a small fenced area with two or three lions, which were bothering each other and which someone said were not at all happy there, which given their restricted quarters was quite understandable. As a result of the cars and the hostage lions, the Speedway gave rather an unsavory impression.

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