I'd hardly left Bryson City when I passed a mile marker for Cherokee.

Just after mile marker 153, turn right onto a very straight dirt road.

I passed the mile marker I had been waiting for.

Where the road turns to gravel past mile marker twenty-four.

Just before the three- mile marker, these three routes start to merge onto a single course.

When we reached the two- mile marker, the radio came alive again with a position report.

The caller gave the number on a mile marker.

He looked alongside the freeway for a mile marker.

Kylie passed another mile marker and squinted when her brights reflected against the road sign ahead.

Chubs was still trailing behind, the gap between us growing with each mile marker we passed.

If ending Aids were a marathon, we'd already be behind pace at the first mile marker.

Touch is just another mile marker on that road, and it'll probably be obsoleted soon enough.

Leaving the half- mile marker, I was very confident that I would get there for the win.

It was the Rock'n'Roll Arizona marathon in Phoenix, with local bands playing at every mile marker.

No big tree, or road, or mile marker.

Having just reached the five- mile marker, it's still way too early to be sure I'll complete the course.