Its eyes are jet black and unflinching, at a height level with my own.

As I squeeze out the last of the tension in my hand brakes, it wanders to where four others are grazing on clover just 15 feet from where I sit idle on my bicycle.

Its white tail moves back and forth as it studies my movement, jumping a bit when my shoe scrapes on the trail's wet pavement.

Above us, sunlight pokes through holes in the dark green ceiling, casting jittery spotlights on the carpet of slick, matted-down leaves.

Just then, one of them steps near the trail, thumping its front right hoof into the thick sod. Beside it, a smaller, younger version stands at attention.

Memories of high school biology hurtle through my brain as I try to remember anything about the behavior of deer and whether I was in danger.

It's mating season, I remember, but these deer have no antlers. I opt to be cautious, and after a minute or two of silent transfixion, I shout out to scare them away.

I came across the three whitetail does and two fawns near the end of a bicycle trip on the Lansing River Trail, which runs from the west side of the MSU campus through Lansing along the Red Cedar and Grand rivers.

The trail includes more than eight miles of paved trailway and boardwalks, but the main route is about five miles.

I began my trip on a muggy Monday morning at the trailhead near the intersection of Kalamazoo Street and Harrison Road.

As I pedaled down the trail on my mountain bike, signs of MSU faded away and were replaced by untouched areas of wilderness.

It was the first time I'd ridden this trail in my four years of college, and I was immediately amazed at what was waiting just outside of campus.

I rushed down hills near the Red Cedar's banks, where pockets of low-lying haze rolled atop the Red Cedar's surface, hiding in spots the sun had yet to visit. A mile further, the river fed into shallow swamps where mallards paddled around the twig-like legs of a still heron.

As the trail continued to snake along the Red Cedar and eventually along the Grand River, I passed Potter Park Zoo, downtown Lansing, residential areas, warehouses, factories and Lansing's Old Town.

About every quarter mile, I would come across someone else on the trail.

I passed runners and other cyclists.

I passed jogging mothers with strollers carrying disinterested babies.

I passed old men with scraggly beards and blank stares resting under highway overpasses.

I passed factory workers, landscapers and fishermen.

I was staring into the churning waters at the Brenke Fish Ladder when I met one of the anglers.

The ladder is situated beside a dam and allows for salmon to "climb" up the various levels of rushing water and eventually spawn in the Grand River.

"They should be here by now, but the weather's been too warm out," said the man, introducing himself as Travis.

He stood on a ledge near the dam and watched a plastic bobber ripple at the end of his fishing line.

The young man, probably in his twenties, said he fishes the area about twice a week.

His bobber dipped under for a moment and Travis yanked his line, only to come up empty.

"Ehh, probably just a blue gill," he said.

He smoked the final few puffs of his cigarette and released the butt into the rushing waters below.

"On any given day in the summer, this whole area would be filled with people fishing," he said. "You get all walks of life out here."

After chatting for a while with Travis about the 32-inch catfish he once reeled in, I said goodbye and continued down the path.

On a City of Lansing Parks and Recreation brochure for the trail, the route is described as "a scenic doorway into the natural environment of mid-Michigan."

Although the trail goes through many of Lansing's busiest areas, it seems far removed from the clamor of a busy city, and there are alternate paths so that users don't have to cross busy streets.

Near the end of the trail, I approached a long, winding slope.

The hiss of tires speeding down a trail or the clicking of un-pedaled wheels in motion were absent as I lifted myself above the saddle and pedaled in slow, steady revolutions to make the climb.

It was in the silence that I came across the whitetail deer, and watched them as they watched me, alert and uncomfortable, before I chose to scare them away.

And it was at that moment, as their cotton ball tails disappeared into the brush, that I regretted not taking this ride a long time ago.

Share your own trail memories with Faces & Places writer Don Jordan at jordan3@msu.edu.

Jordan will tour different places around the Mid-Michigan area throughout the semester. Send him ideas of future spots to attend.