Of Truth and Angels 5

While the kayak trip had made their shoulders and arms sore, their legs were itching for a workout.
After lunch and a potty break, they struck out for some exploration. Backtracking a short distance, Preston turned off to the left up a steep ramp. It was an established walking path with railings and asphalt paving. Atop the ridge, the paths went in several directions, but after glancing at at the map, Preston led the way up higher on the ridge. The small country lane opened onto ordinary open farm fields, but rather well kept. Instead, it was the road that was rough. Still, it was a pleasant view.
Preston pointed to the cell tower on the right. “Might get a good signal up here,” he clowned. Cell service was notoriously bad in the Walloon highlands. Ahead a ways was a sharp left. They could hear the sound of heavy highway traffic nearby, and Preston showed her on the map where they were going to cross just under the N97 autobahn. Within a half-kilometer, the path ran past a farm house and into the woods. A short distance later took them under the autobahn and into a recreational area. There were trails and stony open areas all over the place.
The managed to pick out a few thin trails that led them down into the next valley northward. Preston stopped at the road and pondered a bit, scanning up and down the road to orient himself. “I can’t remember that well, but from the terrain, I’m guessing it’s uphill there.” He pointed up the valley. On their left was a long row of townhouses with no break for quite some distance, aside from tiny narrow passage ways.
Eventually it opened to reveal some really ancient houses and well kept gardens, nestled up against the trees that concealed a very steep hillside. On the right the dense forest and brush barely hid an even steeper rise. Eventually a few shallow buildings managed to squeeze themselves into the narrow space along the road on that side. Some of the structures were ancient stonework with tiny shrubs growing from the interstices between the stones. Preston kept scanning to the left and eventually stopped where the road turned hard right. There was a break between a small yard with a wooden fence on one side, and a gravel drive running up to an opulent house behind some trees on the other side. A track ran up the hill where some recent tree harvest had left the ground bare.
After walking around a bit in the inevitable mud left by the logging, Preston spotted a thin trail running up one side of a narrow draw. The trail rambled upward in more or less the same direction until it hit the rocky brow of the hill. There were signs where other feet had sought a break, and they eventually found it. Passing between two rocks they scrambled up some thickly layered decaying vegetation onto another, fairly solid but narrow trail running behind the rocky lip. Preston turned left, back toward the Meuse valley.
There was still a good bit of picking their way among the rocks, but they found a place where the treeline opened onto an unfenced field. There was a broad track running along the narrow opening in the trees back toward some houses and agricultural structures. Eventually they were ushered into a narrow lane running among some very nice houses, some new and some ancient, but all every well kept. On their left was a rare barbed-wire fence backed by a row of very tall pine trees. This continued straight up the hill and to a crossing at the crest.
They turned left and headed down-slope between a stonewalled barn on the left and a more ancient stone fence along the right. The walls gave way to high hedges and newer structures, after which they turned right and headed down an increasingly narrowed lane that ended at stone gate posts. To the right was a rugged walking trail. After a short run through some trees, they found themselves in a mixed rocky and wooded area that had seen a lot of hikers. The primary path wound down onto one of the few streets dropping off the ridge into the backside of Dinant. Preston turned back uphill a few meters to yet another path.
It was coming back to him in bits and pieces, but with the help of the map, they following the narrow rocky tree line between the open private farmland and the bluff. They ended up just above the ancient citadel.
Angie turned and asked in a childish tone, “Are we there yet?” Then she laughed.
Preston turned and said, “One more little goody, then we take a break and go back to our vacation quarters.”
After looking over the fancy garden at the citadel entrance, they went back out past the hotel and turned left down into the woods. “I promise you, this journey is almost through,” he offered.
“Nobody’s whining,” she answered tartly, then grinned.
The trail dumped them out onto a long winding street headed back down into town. It was pretty easy and at the bottom they encountered one of the giant saxophone monuments to its inventor, Adolphe Sax, whose house was nearby. Just beyond this, they turned left down a narrow street named after Sax, running between tall buildings. The houses quickly turned into shops, then a few cafes began appearing. They decided it had been a long enough hike to justify another meal. They passed a tiny Sicilian cafe and the aroma was too much. Heaping plates of pasta made them forget some of their soreness.
They loitered and emptied a bottle of wine between them. Though tired, there was one more stop they wanted to make, and it required a hike back north along the river front. Dinant had restaurants and cafes aplenty, but actual grocery stores were thinly spread. They were growing tired of restaurant food. The nearest grocer from where they were was just over a half-kilometer.
Angie picked out some items that needed no cooking. Upon leaving the grocery market, they decided to cross the Meuse on the walking bridge atop the lock. It wasn’t much of a drop in the river, but barge traffic demanded such controls at long intervals on this part of the Meuse. A little over a half-kilometer south and upriver on the west bank brought them to the transportation hub. The wait for a bus was long, and they decided to spring for the expense of a taxi.
The driver was chatty, but Preston and Angie preferred to let him rattle on with minimal response. They were thinking hard about their hardest assignment yet.