Things have changed

—“Did I not see ‘Victor Hiking Trails’ on the license-plate frame of yer car pulling in? You had to stop because my dog ran in front of yer car.”
I asked that to a lady walking her dog on the road into nearby Boughton Park (“BOW-tin,”[as in “wow”] not “BOAT-tin”). I was being walked by my silly dog on the same road.
“Yes you did,” she exclaimed. “I’m the Treasurer.”
“Okay,” I said. “Years ago I was on the board for this park. That map on the bulletin-board was by me and another guy. We did it in a computer. In fact the entire first park-brochure was done by me. They’ve since done another, but they’re still using my history. Same map too.”
“I have that original brochure,” she smiled.
“I’ve done parts of Lehigh Valley Rail-Trail,” I said; “but never the Auburn.
You go on ahead,” I added. “I’m kinda slow.”
We met again later. She was walking her dog back from where I was headed.
“I’m a railfan,” I said. “That’s why I call all the rail-trails by their original railroad names. ‘Lehigh Valley Rail-Trail’ is Lehigh Valley Railroad’s Buffalo Extension, and ‘Auburn’ is New York Central’s ‘Auburn Road.’ It was the first cross-state railroad into Rochester, built in the 1830s. Although originally it wasn’t New York Central.
Another is Pennsylvania Railroad’s old Canandaigua branch, now part of Ontario Pathways. (Ontario Pathways also includes a section of the old Pennsy line to Sodus Point.) We walked that Canandaigua line first.
Lehigh Valley is the one I prefer. I get on at Mendon and hike west toward Pittsford/West Bloomfield Road, where I turn back. It’s nothing but woods; I call it ‘the wooded cathedral.’ No civilization whatsoever! East of Mendon a power-line joins.”
“We always get on the Auburn at 444, then hike west to Phillips Road. That goes under Lehigh Valley Rail-Trail. But we can’t do it now. Both trails are snowed in,” she added; “and aren’t plowed.”
Later I realized 10 years ago I woulda never said anything to that lady. Socialization with ladies is since my wife died. If my wife hadn’t died I’d probably still be the same uncommunicative dork I was while married.
I didn’t hafta socialize with women while married. I had a wife who already liked me. My childhood also made me frightened of women: “No female will ever wanna talk to you!”
Mind-blowing successes pile up. “Hi, how ya doin’?” by name if possible. They smile and eat it up. My Bible-thumping parents, and my Sunday-School Superintendent neighbor, spin in their graves!
I’m tryin’ again. 70 years late I find women love talking to me. “Yer funny; and not boring as Hell,” one tells me. I’m also not a drooling lecher: what I call a Trump wannabee, i.e. someone who thinks women are mere toys (“grab ‘em by the [‘privates;’ taste and decorum here]).
Not this kid! Women are very likely to say something worth hearing. Men do the macho-gig — which I’m never good at.
Strike up the conversation yerself. You may be glad you did. If that bombs, it’s no longer my fault. Contrary to my hyper-religious parents and Sunday-School Superintendent neighbor, women wanna talk to me. I find that hard to believe; a legacy of my childhood. My parents and neighbor were full-of-it.
So, “Did I not see ‘Victor Hiking Trails’ on the license-plate frame of yer car?” That lady smiled right away. She also slowed down to talk to me at least 10-15 minutes.
How can I resist?
I feel like I had to lose “the BEST friend I ever had” (my wife) to get here. She died almost seven years ago, and I feel like I’ve moved beyond my wife — which ain’t fair.
I take risks I never took while married.
She doesn’t get to experience who I became.

• “Victor” is a rural town southeast of Rochester that became a suburb. It had two active railroads, plus an electrified interurban trolley-line. All are gone.