The Path Well Traveled

Day 3 – Saturday Night - 8/20/2005 – Mile 24 – 7:45 PM

Okay, there is more traffic on these back country roads than I had thought. It grew damn tiresome and aggravating. I could hear each vehicle racing along from a mile away as it approached. Each time, I would have to stop hiking and step off the road to let them pass. They acted as if I weren’t even there and wouldn’t slow down. The cars and trucks would fly by with a gust of wind and then I would climb back off the shoulder of the road and continue my journey. The big logging trucks were the most worrisome and with each of their passing came a flying windstorm of debris from the cut pine trees in their trailers. I would close my eyes and hunker down till they had passed with a roar.

At one point, I sat down on the side of the road, tired and exhausted, and threw my backpack upon the ground. Cars and trucks rode by oblivious to my plight. I opened my water bottle to take a drink and then started to cry softly. I felt so lonesome and I had no one to share my adventures with. “I am not a bad person,” I thought. “Why do I have to go through life alone?” The lonesomeness and the lack of human contact of my journey had set in. These are psychological obstacles that I will face on my big hike next month. I wiped the tears off my cheeks, capped my water bottle, donned my backpack, and set out, back down that long road with a renewed determination.

Late this evening, I was coming back into civilization and the houses and trailer homes grew more numerous. I had to hike a good ways off the road to find a secluded and private spot to camp. I didn’t even light a fire tonight because I feared it could be seen from the road after dark and would alert the locals.

Tomorrow should bring me into Waverly and will be the end of my trip. I look forward to walking into “God’s country” and the familiar sights that will greet me. I plan on stopping by my grandfather’s and grandmother’s graves and will leave a few road side wild flowers that I hope to find. I have told my father often that if something were to happen to me then this is where I want to be buried as well; buried in a place that I someday want to call home. This quiet, sleepy, country town called Waverly. The birthplace of my grandmother and grandfather and of all the fond memories I have of my childhood.