Shuffling through Cities

“Turn around,” my mother expressed with sorrow in her voice. I didn’t understand. Why was she being so serious while trying to take a photo of me? I never stand still during photos and often make silly faces but she was becoming upset. Then she said it, “Is this really what you want the police to see when they have to go searching for you?” I was suddenly lured into her world. She feared the animals, the uncertainty, but mostly the people I might encounter. What would their intentions be when they met a female walking solo forty-two miles away from home?

I was about to begin my walk from Dallas to Denton. The plan was to walk 26 miles the first day and 16 the second. I would stealth camp in a wooded area near a golf course and try my luck at not being discovered. My mind was centered around the opportunity this urban hike would provide me. The furthest I’d walked in a day before this was 15 miles and I still had yet to complete a solo backpacking trip. My purpose for this trip was practice and training. The pack that I would carry with me weighed roughly twenty pounds and held considerably less than my 65 liter pack.

I walked out the front door, leaving the security of my childhood home. I knew the streets I’d be walking on. They were the streets I’d learned to drive on and the communities I’d grown up in but it was different now. I was confident in my tranquil state of aloneness. But it was different in other ways too. The few people I walked past were afraid of me. I had always been conditioned to fear the people on the street. “Don’t interact with them,” I was advised. Yet, these people avoided my eye contact and hung their heads low. Seeking to be hidden from the world around them and to be seen only by those they knew and trusted. My entire 42 miles consisted of two interactions with other individuals. The first was fifteen miles in on day one. It was a young man working for a moving company and he asked me what I was training for. I wasn’t as inconspicuous as I’d thought. He had recently hiked the continental divide and spotted my chaco sandles dangling off a gear loop on my pack. The second was a crossing guard on day two that helped me cross the street. I wasn’t planning on crossing but when she left her car and stopped traffic, I felt obligated to. As I stepped off the street into the safety of the sidewalk she suddenly realized I hadn’t been looking to cross. “Sorry!” She said with embarrassment. “Do you want to go back?” I looked at her and smiled while saying, “Well, if you have nothing better to do.” As quickly as I’d crossed the first time, I was back on the right side of the street. I felt rejuvenated. A potentially awkward situation had been avoided with laughter and light-heartedness. It really did make my day!

I was using Google Maps as my turn by turn directions yet, the route it suggested still held sketchy crossings along highways. When I hit the back roads I was plagued by construction projects. I knew I needed to avoid cars but walking within the construction areas wasn’t a solid idea either. I crossed the street, walked as far down as I safely could, and scanned the horizon for a path. Nothing. A small twinge of doubt started to creep up inside my stomach. “Where do I go?” I thought. I looked back where I just came and saw two teenagers jogging along the road exactly where I needed to be. I retraced my steps and established myself along the path shown to me. I don’t quite understand it, but the pair disappeared into the horizon just as suddenly as they’d appeared. I thanked the powers that be for the direction and continued on my way.

Dusk hit after the first day of walking and my legs were noodles. Sitting down for a rest and standing back up were spectacles. I kind of just let myself drop to the ground and then had to squirm around for a second or two before I could get my legs to cooperate with me. I found a nice wooded spot right off the side of the street and meandered into the brush. I immediately saw deer tracks and a deer trail. “Sweet!” I thought. I wouldn’t have to bushwhack and my only concerns were hunters hunting the deer and me being in the way. I found a spot off the beaten trail and relaxed. Rustling was in the background. “Must be a deer or raccoon,” I reassured myself. Whatever it was quickly took off running. I poked my head up, alert, straining my eyes to distinguish the figure in the forest. “Looks like a small deer,” as it flashed by. “Wait, black and grey? Is that a coyote?” I saw more movement. Next, I see a tan, unmistakable, cat tail. “Nope, nope, that’s a cougar. I’m leaving.” I packed up my things and cautiously exited the forest.

I made my way to the original forested area I planned on sleeping in and set up my bed in the twilight. It was only 7pm but I was ready for sleep and rest. Unfortunately, those two things evaded me most of the night. In order to use a more inconspicuous pack, I was unable to bring my zero degree bag and made do with a fleece liner and lots of layers. This resulted in a less than toasty sleeping environment in addition to the scurrying figure circling me through out the night. I could see a silhouette rummaging through the leaves and figured it had to be a raccoon. It never bothered me however it kept me alert all night long.

The second day demanded more of a mental game. My body was fatigued and aching and each mile drew on longer than the last. I just wanted to rest but what would that do for me. No one was going to come pick me up. No one was going to come save me. Quitting was simply not an option. The only way to get to rest and comfort was to continue. I continued because I had to. That is what I told myself. And so, I shuffled along the sidewalks, the shorter my stride the less it hurt. Eventually, I made it. The whole trip was a blur. I could hone in on specific moments but the trip as a whole came and went and I knew it would. I was living in the present and at peace.