Alright so back to the lecture at hand. Perfection is perfected so imma let 'em undastand...
I made my way back to the road and decided that in order to make up for the time and energy I spent on the tracks I tried to leg it double quick. Zig-zagging between the left and right shoulders depending on which side of the road had more room to breathe.
Moving along highway 30 is a much different experience than the one that I had on the tracks. There is the speed and the cavalcade of swerving cars and the gusty rush of huge logging/shipping trucks. The chaos of all that metallic traffic was something that was hard to get used to compared to the serenity I was soaking up not an hour before.
But it is not the speed or fear or potential for instantaneous death that is the hardest part. For me, the thing I find most frustrating is the noise. On the road I could not even hear the fall of my own footsteps as I trudged up a hill. It was all about going forward, head down, mind cluttered, feet still motoring on, ever forward. It is counter-intuitive to the peace I am hoping to give and get while out on this mission. I liked the thinking I got to do on the tracks. I liked the quiet and the space. The birds, bugs, fallen trees, standing trees, soft breeze, even the bits of trash I saw were better.
Along the road the litter is all plastic bottles, fast food bags, plastic grocery bags, snuff containers, cigarette butts, coffee cups and lids. A never ending stream of trash, tossed out the window by one person, eventually to be picked up by another. Maybe I am being overly romantic but on the tracks the discarded items seemed to become part of the landscape. Faded bits if broken glass, rain beaten shotgun casings, smashed seashells between the rocks, a silver crumpled unidentifiable beer can from some half thought out, less than half successful duck hunting expedition.
You might be wondering: "Instead of waxing and philosophizin' about the piles of trash on the side of the road why not pick some up and do some good while you are already there?" A fair point, I concede. And in truth I had considered picking up garbage as a part of this adventure. Maybe I will get a chance to in the future. But overloaded that I am at the moment with stuff, I can hardly bend over to tie my shoes, let alone stoop down again and again for every cigarette butt I see.
I know, I know. Excuses Ex-Schmuses.
Anyway, with my concentration less in tune with where I am and about 95% on where I am going, I trudged onward. I went about ten more miles and with nothing more interesting than being mooed at by an ornery cow (which was pretty cool actually) and I found myself at about 6 o'clock in the evening nearing exhaustion. No signs for any towns had been seen in all that time I had been walking. I was looking forward to the opportunity to use some of my camping gear I have been carrying around with me so I began to scan the forests along side the road for a nice place to bed down for the night.
By that time my feet and shins were burning like dry ice from going up and down three huge hills. My mania for finding a place to stop was starting to make me panic. After saying a prayer to help me find my way an old private logging road almost immediately appeared on the right. I crossed the street tried to ignore the signs that were shouting at me in big stupid letters: NO CAMPING - NO TRESPASSING - VIOLATORS WILL BE FED TO THE BIG DOG FROM "THE SANDLOT". Too tired to continue, I made my choice, slipped past the gate, up a short hill and collapsed into a dark flat wooded area...
July 13, 2014
3 years ago