Dirt road

The settlement of Cripple Creek came in sight as the men drove the herd of cattle through several large red sandstone monoliths. The cattle bellowed and moved in a strait forward procession down the winding dirt road, with El Capitan, known by the Spaniards as the ‘The Leader’ of the great Rocky Mountains, in view. “There we are, Will.” Eddie said above the noise of the herd. “Won’t be long, now…just have to get this herd to the auction pen, and we’re off for a little fun. Good thing the boss

v. No. Of 2 Mosques; both just outside the right of the way. vi. No. Of 15 securities checkpoints or police stations. vii. Most these have intruded on the state-owned of the road or are immediately nearby. [38] [39] [40] Considerable encroachment on the Expressway No.1 has occurred over the years. An inventory of the encroaching installations was undertaken in August 2012 and was augmented in June 2013. Along the Expressway No.1, almost all are small businesses serving passing traffic, some

and now winter loomed again. Brad felt a pang of sadness ―more hollow than painful― as he realized that Papa had been gone almost a year. Brad motioned at Toby to keep up as they started the long trek up 123rd Lane NW. It was an unpaved road in 1959, bordered by a patchy woodland of evergreens and Broad-leafed Bur Oaks, the only hint of habitation

In the poems, “Identity,” by Julio Noboa Polanco, and “The Road Not Taken,” by Robert Frost, the poems have some different techniques, and some similar techniques like the rhythm, rhyme, alliteration, stanzas, and the imagery. To begin with, the rhythms of the poems are different in many ways. The rhythm in the poems “Identity,” by Polanco, and “The Road Not Taken,” by Frost, the rhythms are stressing different syllables may times in the poems. In addition, the rhyme of the poems are different, in

for calls that he made to patients in their homes, and for driving between his two offices. His morning office was in Jerico and he went to Sheldon for the afternoon office hours. It was about eighteen miles of dirt and gravel road that separated the two offices, and driving over that road about 75-80 mph in a convertible would cause great clouds of dust that covered you and everything in the car.

construction or people talking and walking then you're most likely in a large city like New York. The definition of city is “a large town.” Whether you live in the country or city, there are advantages and disadvantages for both. Driving down a dirt road has its positives. Like first of all, you don't have

you drive along this curve till you get to the first right turn onto the 280th road. You stay on this highway till you get to the decrepit house with the large lawn, stick pile out front, and the fencing company sign. The green Brantford Covenant Church sign should help you also. Keep going east on 7th Road past the collapsed barn that is as old as the dirt it’s foundation is planted in. Go until you get to Bismark Road. Then turn north. Make sure you slow down because of all the deer. Drive

but, the group decided to leave their phones at home. They all agreed that they could spend one day together without their phones and without any distractions. “Turn left up here,” said Brad. “Okay,” said Lauren. “I really hate driving on these dirt roads.” As soon as Lauren finished her sentence, the car made a sputtering noise and suddenly stopped running. Lauren turned the key a few times to try and get the car to start back up but she had no luck. She gave up after a few tries. No one knew what

cross has many roads, I have never ventured to a destination in Asenua without knowing at least three more routes. Walking on dust roads are the most common means of travel. Red chalky dust coats your shoes as you travelled to and fro. Sometimes red sand particles would get stuck in your eyes, ears and hair when car owners speed past causing a cloud dust to rain down on passersby. I often wondered why they sped, after all 85% of the roads where dead-end routes. There is one main road in Asenua and

body lurching to the left at the sudden force of the turn. I’m finally on Green, a quiet dirt road that stretches from Bennett Lake to Parshallville, a scenic detour I ride down that lets me clear my head. I’ve only lived in the area for two years, but those two years gave me something timeless--a home. My home isn’t some conventional house in the suburbs, although I did live in such a house, but it is the roads and the fields that webbed their way throughout and past my city, and the memories I make