Road Trip Series |*|
An Exploration of Landscapes
Part IV: Good Times in the Badlands, Some Bad Ones Too; Nowhere To Go But East!
Jump to . . .
Chapter 10: Days 33-36, Badlands
Chapter 11: Days 37-47, Sioux Falls to Virginia!
Chapter 12: Days 48-51, Shenandoah
*This Part is ~17 ‘pages’ in length.
Road Trip Series
Days 33-36
Chapter 10: Badlands
RTS Days 33-36
Badlands
Chapter 10: Badlands
Badlands National Park, SD
Day 33: September 23, 2018
Just finished treating the wound on my left knee that I got earlier, as I was unpacking things from my car. I pulled a box out from the backseat and as I turned around to walk to my tent, I scraped my knee against one of those short, upright logs they use as a kind of barrier between the paved road and the field. It stung and scraped my skin off. It’s not big though, less than an inch in diameter. What sucks is that it’s at the exact same spot where I had an abrasion just a few weeks ago, and I don’t think my skin there has fully recovered yet. And now that skin is gone, again. I cleansed my wound inside the dimly lit tent as it shook and shuddered against the wind. The wind tonight is relentless. I got here around 7:00pm, and the light faded quick. It was dark, chilly, and the wind unabating as I was pitching my tent. I hope it holds for tonight. I don’t want to wake up in the morning cold and tent-less.
I actually found setting up camp in this kind of weather a fun challenge. It’s a different experience. Anyway, my campsite is awesome. It has unobstructed views of one stretch of the badlands. Can’t wait to see more of this badass landscape tomorrow morning! as the sun greets it for a new day.
By the way, I didn’t even write about my last day in Rocky Mountain. I just took my time (as always) and drove up the Trail Ridge road at noon, going as far up west to the Alpine Visitor Center, about as far as my gas would allow; I didn’t plan to go that far. The Trail Ridge road is one of the highest paved roads here in the US peaking at over 12,000 ft. in the alpine region. My Honda Fit made it. I was a bit worried that the strong gusts of winds at the top would be enough to blow my car off the edge of the mountain, as there were no fences or railings to stop the cars from rolling off the edge. But my car is low; the winds mostly go over it. Before I left, I also took time to learn about the history and geology of this landscape in one of the visitor centers. I just find it fascinating.
I extended my stay here in the Badlands. Will now be camping out here for three nights instead of two. I want to space out my exploring here, and to try and keep things simple.
Road Trip Series
Days 33-36
Chapter 10: Badlands
RTS Days 33-36
Badlands
Badlands National Park, SD
Day 34: September 24, 2018
8:00pm. I had a date this morning. Well, not really. I just say that because I think it’s funny. It was supposed to be a ranger-led hike/walk with a group of people, but because of the rain, the supposed group got reduced to just one person: me.
I almost didn’t go because the rain was pouring down hard this morning; it woke me up at 6:00am, and didn’t stop until about 8:00am, though the gray, heavy clouds overhead still suggested that it wasn’t over. The hike was scheduled to start soon, at 8:30am, so I went through my should-I-stay-or-should-I-go phase and finally decided I should maybe try to go. It took me a while to decide and get ready; I got there 2 minutes late. I parked my car and checked to see if they were still there, hoping that they would consider waiting for the late ones.
Nobody was there except for this girl with brown blonde hair dressed in a ranger uniform, standing there in the cold, under cloudy skies, cup of coffee in hand. I assumed it was coffee anyway. She was cute. I asked if this was the ranger-led hike. “Well, if anybody shows up,” she said. To which I replied, “Well, I’m here.” Or something like that; I was distracted. I asked how long the walk was going to be while we waited to see if others would be joining—nobody else came. “It’s usually about 30 minutes if I do my whole talk and presentation but if it’s going to be just the two of us, I probably won’t go through all that. It would just be cheesy if I did.” I might have suggested that she do her whole routine anyway, as an attempt to bring humor in. We waited for a couple more minutes. “Looks like nobody else is joining,” she said. I asked if she didn’t mind still doing this since it was just me. She was cool about it though. “Yeah I just wouldn’t do my whole routine. It would be cheesy. So we’ll probably finish quicker, less than half an hour.” It took us more than half an hour.
We talked, of course, about the badlands. I learned that “badlands” is the actual name given to this type of land formation. I thought it was just because they looked badass. We walked along a boardwalk trail raised about a foot off the ground; a vast view of the badlands lay before us. She talked about the geology of this landscape, about how all these were formed, and about how fast, in geologic perspective, this kind of formation erodes—about an inch per year. She stepped off the trail and dug her heel in the ground, taking a sample of the clay soil to show me their texture, and how easily they crumble. I kept on thinking what questions I could ask that would make me look smart. Come on, Mike, you know about these things too. But it seems I forgot; I don’t know if I did ask any smart questions. But I did ask questions, and she answered them. We talked. She’s from South Carolina; has been working in this park, seasonally, for about three years now; was originally working on plant restoration in the park and has only recently been interacting with park visitors. She pointed out that it’s nice here at night because it gets really dark and you see a lot of the stars, and mentioned that just the other night she was here, in the dark, taking photographs of the milky way. “You come here at night to take pictures of the night sky?” I asked. “Yeah,” she said matter-of-factly. That’s cool, said my mind, or maybe my heart—I get confused. Her dream park where she wants to work at is in Olympic National Park. “Oh, in Oregon?” I asked, stupidly. “In Washington,” she replied. “Close though,” I defended. She wanted to be in the West coast. I’m from the west coast, I thought. I suggested for her to visit Sequoia, in California, and her reaction was a kind of subdued, eager longing as she told me that she does in fact want to go there too. We talked about Colorado, about Boulder and the surrounding cities. And both agreed that that area might be a good place to move into in the future. We already made our way back to the parking lot by this point and I noticed I just passed my car. I ignored it and we kept walking. We talked about Rocky Mountain National Park, and how she’s been there before and how I’ve been there just recently and how we both are wanting to visit again. Then she said, “Yeah, me and my boyfriend are going there just a few weeks from now.”
I stopped walking then. But we continued to talk still. I’m not sure if she noticed a slight shift in my energy; or maybe she might have sensed something—a sound, say, like a faint shattering of a distant mirror, whose only real reflection, was in fact an illusion. I cheerfully suggested that they hike Chasm Lake and tried to describe how awesome it is. She said she might. I said my thank you, we shook hands, and said goodbye. We got into our cars and went on our separate ways. . . . Her name’s Isabella by the way.
Road Trip Series
Days 33-36
Chapter 10: Badlands
RTS Days 33-36
Badlands
Badlands National Park, SD
Day 35: September 25, 2018
The rest of yesterday—after that morning spell of delusions and daydreams—was spent surveying the land. I drove through the heart of the park, getting off the car here and there, to walk on soil. Unlike most national parks, here they don’t restrict visitors from stepping off paved trails to venture out onto uncharted terrain. You can walk on the dirt soil, on chapped and cracked clay, up and down muddy hills, so long as weather permits. They reason that the land is eroding at a quick rate anyway; preservation is futile; might as well let the visitors enjoy the place while it lasts. Still, treating it with respect goes without saying. They even allow you to be paleontologist-for-the-day and spend your time digging up and looking for fossils. This region in South Dakota rests over a rich fossil bed of once live creatures from 75 to 30 million years ago. And because of the fast erosion of land, heavy rains and winds often uncover pieces from the past—a jaw bone here, a femur there. I did not see any, though. My eyes are not accustomed for such.
So I press my heel on the drying mud and I pick on the crumbling clay; I get a feel of the land. Here’s what I know so far: deposition and erosion are the two geologic processes mainly responsible for the formations we see today. From ancient sea beds millions of years ago; to clay, sand and silt carried by rivers; to wind-blown volcanic ash from eruptions in the west coast; layer by layer and interspersed with time this land was built. The result is a vast and flat floodplain that occupied this region. Now the foundation has been laid. The stage is set. Erosion starts off the play. Changes in the river systems approximately 500,000 years ago gave way for erosion to surpass deposition in its influence on the landscape. New rivers cut into the prairies, rain storms chipped away at rocks, and harsh winds polished these land-sculptures, and they all continue to do so today. Imagine a vast flat land transformed into a scene of rock spires, spinous ridges, rolling yellow hills and narrow zig-zagging canyons. I am standing on the floor of this excavated ancient land; the tops of the spires and ridges were the level tops of the flat floodplain that formed after the million-year deposition.
I explored throughout the day. At midday when the clouds dispersed and gave way for sunshine, the colors of the formations became more distinct and vibrant compared to the dull tones of the damp, gray morning. And again in the late afternoon, during the lengthening rays of sunlight, the views were once again renewed with freshness, as if someone washed away the previous colors and repainted the whole scene. You stand in one spot looking out at the view and you admire it; you come back at the same spot another day, another time and you are reintroduced to a familiar face you think you know, a beautiful stranger.
That was for the rest of yesterday. For today, I explored the seldom visited south unit of the park. I drove and hiked my way to Sheep Mountain Table. It is in fact a mountain table—a plateau with a vast level top raised high above the surrounding landscape. It felt so high up, the sky seemed so vast and immediate, spanning most of the view from horizon to horizon. To get there involved mostly driving on unpaved gravel road, then comes a point where it is accessible only to high clearance vehicles. I parked my car at the side and walked the rest of the way. The walk itself offered spectacular views. There weren’t a lot of people, either. In fact it was just me and a couple, and they were ahead of me for about half an hour, so it felt like I was all by myself exploring the area.
I got back to camp late afternoon to find my tent holding on to dear life as the winds harassed it relentlessly, trying to blow it away. But it held its ground. My neighbors, an elderly couple who stayed in an RV, told me that they were worried about me throughout last night because of the winds and heavy rain. It was that bad, I guess. Yet I slept soundly through it all, and woke up with the tent intact.
Road Trip Series
Days 33-36
Chapter 10: Badlands
RTS Days 33-36
Badlands
Badlands National Park, SD
Day 36: September 26, 2018
In the morning of my last day in the Badlands, I mostly just spent it reading and packing up my things. It is a chore disassembling a tent as much as it is to pitch it in heavy winds. Before leaving, I went to the visitor center to buy a postcard and saw Isabella again. And I blew it again!! I was only able to say a few words and then said good luck with everything as a kind of farewell. In my mind, I knew there was more that I wanted to talk to her about. But anyway, she has a boyfriend, what is wrong with me. Although it would have been nice just to have made a new friend. Was I so utterly crushed in finding out that she’s already in a relationship that I completely dropped the opportunity of just possibly being friends? Why.
* * *
10:15am. I am sitting here, beside the tent, listening to Metric’s song, Anticipate. I try to see what I can. The birds on the grass behind me just took flight, materializing from my periphery and darting to the lone tree in my line of sight. Separately they dart and hover, moving with a sense of urgency as if pressed by the air, to pick out a branch of their own; they need shelter from this wind. They settle and blend in, and disappear from sight. The leaves of the tree shake in the passing of this invisible force, this unwavering wind. Where did it come from and where is it going?
To the right of the tree, in the distance, is the stretch of badlands visible from my camp—an incredible view. I watch this rough stretch of land and its rugged peaks, half bathed in sunlight, half streaked and roughened with shadows; I settle in for the show. Here the land is the actor with many faces, and time is the stage. From any angle in any point in time, you look; you are rewarded with a dramatic performance played out in still images. I can’t quite place what role erosion plays: it is either the cause of the performance—the driver of the act—or it is the performance itself.
The wind brushes off my thoughts then brushes my skin; I return to my senses. I look at the image in front of me. The song in my ear adds charm to the scene; it’s calming to watch. Here comes the wind again. I thought about the loose rocks and clay which are probably being eroded by the strong winds. It rained hard last night, and the other night, too. This land is taking a beating. The intricate network of small rivers here, the winds and rain, all contribute to eroding this landscape—about an inch per year. Evidence suggests that they have already met half their life expectancy, and that in another 100,000 to 500,000 years—a moment’s passing in geologic times—these formations will be gone, completely dissolved by natures forces through time. Their sharp peaks and serrated ridges, and layered shades of brown, white, yellow and red, stretching for miles and miles, set in between a foreground of prairies and a backdrop of cloudy blue skies—this piece of land will not last for long, at least for earth’s standards. But in the meantime, in between time, they put on a show.
* * *
Last night I ventured out into the dark to see if I could capture a decent photo of the milky way. I drove to the area of the Door Trail, a short boardwalk trail passing through a gap in the badlands wall. It was past 10:00pm; not a soul was in sight. I stepped out of my car, camera in hand, flashlight in the other. I walked the trail, and passed through “the door,” a gap in the badlands wall. At the end of the boardwalk, you can step down onto the rugged soil and explore the vast land before you. The full moon dominates the night sky; tiny white stars quiver in the backdrop. I took a few steps off the trail and eyed the surroundings—it was as if I stepped into another realm, or the surface of the moon. The land where I stood was soaked in moonlight. Behind me are the sharps formation that make up part of the badlands wall, the serrated outline of its top cutting through the dark. And before me spreads the rugged land, extending to and blending with the horizon. An eerie silence slips into consciousness. It is dark—it was dark, but now my eyes have adjusted, and everything is aglow. I could see, limned by the diffuse silver light, the details of the formations’ rugged face. The setting was strangely lighted, and the aura surreal, and I get it now: this is one more of the land’s many faces, disclosed by the moonlit glow of the night.
I almost forgot what I came here for. I pointed my camera and clicked—no luck. No milky way to be seen. The radiance of the full moon was too strong, too sublime, to let the dotted lights of millions of stars, careening out there in deep space and slanted in the sky, to pass through the night, and into my eye.
I am now in Sioux Falls, east of the Badlands, and will be heading to Wisconsin tomorrow.
Road Trip Series
Days 37-47
Chapter 11: Sioux Falls to Virginia!
RTS Days 37-47
Sioux Falls to Virginia
Chapter 11: Sioux Falls to Virginia!
Sioux Falls, SD
Day 37: September 27, 2018
Nothing much for today, really, except that I again almost made a new friend. Almost. Because I suck at this. I mean, I am a friendly person, but it’s just hard for me to take that next step to really connect. And by really connect in this situation, I mean ask for her number, or social media, or something! I know I can be shy. But that’s not the main thing. It’s more of that I don’t have much practice on this—of trying to make lasting connections with strangers I just met. I’m not the kind of person to just come up to someone to say hi, hello, can we be friends? I have relied more on external forces to bring people to me, where I can potentially be friends with them. Like, say, the people I met in school, at work, or from friends’ friends. If that makes sense. I don’t actively seek out people who I can potentially be friends with—not that I don’t want to, that just wasn’t my default. And not that there’s anything wrong with choosing not to actively seek out friends, I just now feel like I’m willing to do that because . . . why not? I’m doing this trip and seeing and meeting a lot of different people anyway, might as well try. But the thing is that my skills in this suck—if I even have any. This might sound ridiculous to some or even most people, but it’s just the way I work.
Anyway, last night when I arrived here in Sioux Falls, I ordered take out at a Cambodian restaurant. A girl helped me with my order. She was probably about the same age as me, or about two years younger. She’s from Cambodia and has just moved here about a year ago. We talked. And she asked a lot of questions, like she’s genuinely interested in my story. Which was nice. And so in a few minutes, my order came, and I left. The food was good and it was close to where I was staying. So I decided to have lunch there today before I leave for Wisconsin. She was there again, and we talked a little bit more after I was done with lunch. Her name, I finally thought to ask, is something I cannot probably spell correctly, so I won’t write it here. She was nice, friendly, and seemed very down-to-earth. I suddenly thought about asking her number, or social media, just so I could maintain the connection. We could really be friends, I thought. But I didn’t ask for her number, or social media. Because as I thought about that thought, it also came across my mind that she might think that I’m asking her because I like her. Also, and mainly, I think I just choked. It was a busy time at the restaurant and she needed to attend to other customers. In that short window of time, my mind could not come up with a smooth, cool, chill way to ask her what I wanted to ask her; so I didn’t ask, lest I burst out with awkwardness. We just talked a bit more, then said goodbye and that I might visit again sometime, maybe on my way back to California. Looking back now, this was just stupid and I should’ve just asked. This has got to stop, Mike.
Somehow I keep on forgetting some of the things I’ve learned these past years and need to remind myself. So what if it does go bad and I sound awkward and look stupid when I ask the question? Don’t worry about failure; worry about the chances you miss when you don’t even try. Make connections; let rip; and dance where you can.
On my drive to Wisconsin, I found myself thinking about the opportunities I’ve had so far to connect with others during this trip. With some of them, I just stood by and let them pass. Or with some I only made little effort. Then a thought came to me, about how, in our lifetime, we (most of us anyway) are only going to meet less than a tenth of 1% of the total number of people present at the exact same time that we are alive, and that our families and friends are only going to make up an infinitesimal fraction of that tenth of 1%. I don’t mean to be all hippie yippie. I am merely stating a fact. When you think about it this way, every opportunity of meeting a potential friend almost seems a privilege not to be missed.
And so I can’t let this happen again. I now make it my task to work on this skill. How hard could it be?
I made it to Wisconsin. I am now in Richland Center, part of an area called The Driftless. I am staying at a tiny house for tonight. I met one of the owners who built it. It is very cool, cozy, and homey. It’s raining outside. My tea has steeped. Time to read.
Road Trip Series
Days 37-47
Chapter 11: Sioux Falls to Virginia!
RTS Days 37-47
Sioux Falls to Virginia
Richland Center, part of “The Driftless,” WI
Day 38: September 28, 2018
1:55pm. I am in a coffee shop, Kelly’s Coffee House, in Richland Center. I like the small-town vibe of this place. It’s not actually a small town, well, not too small anyway. But it has that vibe—that small town, peculiar yet intriguing, world-of-its-own kind of vibe. Or at least that’s what I sense. It’s like this place exists independent of the rest of the state, or country, content with itself for itself. Self-sufficient. I don’t know why it gives off this kind of atmosphere. Maybe it’s the coffee shop—the way the furniture vary in theme depending on which corner of the shop you sit, the art and decorations, the plants. Or maybe it’s the people in the coffee shop, conversing confidingly and telling stories only those who live here would get. It feels like I’m in a novel set in a small town with plots unfolding in subtle, intriguing ways. These are my thoughts as I sit here observing the surroundings and inhabitants of this place, in this area, called The Driftless. The name is because of the region’s geologic history. But I think the biggest culprit of this thought and feeling is that, as I was reading a novel earlier this morning—a story set mainly on a small island in British Columbia and Japan—I turned the page and suddenly the characters were transported in the very same area where I was in—in The Driftless. It’s pretty cool when the novel you’re reading suddenly transports its characters to a location you are in at the very same time that you’re reading that part of the book. It almost seems like a nod that you’re reading the right book at the right time. What are the chances? It’s probably nothing. Still, it’s interesting to think about.
11:36pm. I am now in Glendale, Wisconsin, a few hours’ drive east from Richland Center. I Just got off the phone with my dad. He texts relentlessly—all these questions and then decides later to call too, asking again, the same questions. It’s their job to ask, I get it. But why is he so good at it? I wonder if I’ll be the same a few decades from now, and if so, will I catch myself and change my ways?
I got to see Lyssa earlier. We met when I arrived here. We ate dinner at their place, with her parents. It wasn’t as awkward as I expected. That was the most amazing, homey dinner I’ve had since I left for this trip. Sisig and liempo and rice! Then we had strawberry cheesecake for dessert. Now I’m hungry again.
Road Trip Series
Days 37-47
Chapter 11: Sioux Falls to Virginia!
RTS Days 37-47
Sioux Falls to Virginia
Ann Arbor, MI
Day 42: October 2, 2018
6:00pm. Currently having my second cup of coffee today here at Literati bookstore/coffee shop, in Ann Arbor. This shop has a nice concept, one that I might steal in the future. It’s a bookshop downstairs and a coffee shop upstairs. Maybe for my own shop I’ll add a music room where people can browse through and listen to music using a selection of quality headphones, or they can listen inside tiny booths for two equipped with a turntable and a small coffee table. And maybe there will be an open mic where people can perform—either sing their own songs or read their own writings, or act, or rap. And maybe I’ll also add in a small home theater, or sort of like one, where short films or normal-length films will be played in scheduled times during the week; the titles to be shown will be voted upon by the regulars. Or maybe I won’t get to do any of those, except here, in my head, at this moment. . . We’ll see.
Columbus, OH
Day 43: October 3, 2018
I am now in Columbus, Ohio after spending three nights in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I wasn’t really able to write much about what I did these past few days—I seem to be merely floating, with no apparent direction, unsure what to think, do, or feel.
So I failed to write yesterday about days 39-41. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I’m avoiding it. Because they bring up heavy thoughts and feelings. I don’t think me and Lyssa are OK right now. I don’t really know what happened, she’s not responding to any of my messages, and I’m left with my rueful imagination to fill in the gaps.
Here’s to inject a little levity in this otherwise serious entry. My tent now smells so bad it can mask the smell of 2 weeks’ worth of not taking a shower—not that I know that for sure. If anyone approached its effective smell radius, no one would know who the real culprit was, the tent or the tenant? I couldn’t stand it anymore. So I cleaned it earlier. For tonight I managed to rent out an entire townhome for 80 dollars, just so I’d have space to clean my tent and let it hang to dry.
***We eventually got to talk, and I was, eventually, able to write about those days. But I must say I do not intend to share them here. Not knowing sucks. But we all have to bear its weight at some point in our lives. The important note is that things eventually lightened up, for me and—I’m hopeful—for her too.
Road Trip Series
Days 37-47
Chapter 11: Sioux Falls to Virginia!
RTS Days 37-47
Sioux Falls to Virginia
Somewhere in Pennsylvania, Near Pittsburgh
Day 44: October 4, 2018
My mind is preoccupied with nothing in particular. It’s either I’m bored, or avoiding thinking about something.
A thought crossed my mind earlier. It is this: I want to write a book. I’m feeling that again—that subtle urge to create something. I just hope that feeling also came with an idea of what to write about, or a plot for a story. But no, instead I’m just left with this vague idea to write a book—about what? Where do I start? I want to tell a story that would move people, that would ring true no matter who you are and where you come from, something real. But the thing is, I’m not a good storyteller. Far from it. Maybe I’ll dream up a story tonight. That would be nice. So long as it’s not a horror story. That would suck.
Tomorrow I’m heading over to my friend, Dani, in the eastern most state I planned to visit, Virginia!
Shenandoah National Park, VA
Day 47: October 7, 2018
Dani and I parted ways today. I had lunch with her and her sisters earlier, and then they gave me the chicken adobo and rice their dad made for me. What a nice guy, and funny too. All of them were very nice. We had dinner the first night. I am just really grateful. I failed again to be consistent in my writing. I wasn’t able to write on October 5 and 6. But I think spending time with my friend is a good excuse. A better excuse is that we went on a booze cruise last night, for the birthday of Dani’s friend. It surprisingly had a good amount of fun, laughter and hardcore drama all in a short period of time. But I really had fun.
I am now in Shenandoah National Park, south from where Dani lives. The days are getting shorter as we move into the heart of the Fall season. And so is the remaining time on my trip. But I don’t want to think about that yet. It’s surprisingly warm today, even at this time of night. We’re expecting rain for the next few days. Hopefully I can still get to hike a few trails. I would really like to hike part of the Appalachian Trail. Anyway, it’s getting late. Good night!
Road Trip Series
Days 48-51
Chapter 12: Shenandoah
RTS Days 48-51
Shenandoah
Chapter 12: Shenandoah
Shenandoah National Park, VA
Day 48: October 8, 2018
It’s a warm, sunny day here in Virginia’s Blue Ridge. First full day here. I woke up not feeling cold at all, which is a first in all my days of camping, despite just wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts as opposed to my usual four layers of uppers—two short and one long-sleeved shirt, and a fleece sweater—three bottoms, two pairs of socks, a beanie, and a pair of gloves, oh and fleece and down blankets, too. So yeah, it’s a warm day.
I did a short hike this morning and another in the afternoon, the latter ending at Stony Man summit, which gave incredible panoramic views of the Shenandoah Valley. You can even see some clouds rolling in over the ridge from behind and beside you.
I decided to stop by an overlook on my way back to camp and decided to have dinner there. I heated up the left-over chicken adobo from Dani’s dad. I “cooked” it as the sun set before me, and I watched as the sky turned into a haze of purplish pink, and the last rays of the sun lit up the clouds, blurring their edges with a pinkish hue. A dinner with a view. What more could you ask for?
But I miss home. And my bed.
Shenandoah National Park, VA
Day 49: October 9, 2018
Day 49 of this road life. I didn’t do much today. I reread the last part of the book A Tale for the Time Being. It just has this ethereal mystery to it and I wanted to read it again just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I didn’t. Pieces of the puzzle were intentionally left out. It took me a while to realize that it was OK, and that in this way, I somehow felt closer to the characters of the book. Nao, Ruth, and Oliver were all confronted by that blank page of not-knowing. It was hard for them but they made peace with it. Like the author said, not knowing keeps all the possibilities open.
I moved camp early today. I’m now at Loft Mountain campground. This campground was supposed to have good views of the valley, and I tried to pick a good spot to set camp, but the clouds made it impossible to see anything. It was actually pretty cool when a sea of clouds rolled into this whole area earlier in the afternoon, and it stayed—and it’s here to stay. Around the time of sunset, the clouds that engulfed my camp lighted into the purplish pink I saw yesterday, as I was eating dinner. Suddenly, the space air occupied became a dream-like haze tinted in pink. I couldn’t see for more than a stone’s throw away from my tent; I couldn’t see any of the tents camped near me. It was as if a hazy dome came down and cut me off from reality. The dome’s pink underside were laced and contrasted with the bare dark branches of trees. And I just sat there, astonished.
Road Trip Series
Days 48-51
Chapter 12: Shenandoah
RTS Days 48-51
Shenandoah
Shenandoah National Park, VA
Day 50: October 10, 2018
Daaamn. Fifty days on the road! It’s all going by too fast. Seems like it was just about a week or two ago when I first camped in Sequoia & Kings Canyon. I don’t want to think about this trip ending yet!! So I won’t. OK.
It was raining when I woke up earlier today. I planned on getting up early so I could do a sunrise hike, but laying down on my warm and cozy sleeping bag, in my homey tent, on a cool and rainy autumn morning, was just too much of a temptation. So I gave in. I love waking up in a tent, outdoors. It’s like an instant happiness booster right after I open my eyes. I spent most of my morning inside the tent, writing something for my blog. Then I hiked part of the Appalachian Trail today! A section of it that lead to an overlook, at Mary’s Rock summit. The view was this vast wall of fog. In short, there was no view. You couldn’t see even a faint tracing of the landscape before you, because of the fog. It was still a good hike though—filled with an abundance of greenery, and brown, rust and orange leaves on the ground. The forests here, as compared to the west coast, are seething with an intricate variety of plants and insects. There is so much detail in the surroundings—the variegated shapes and textures of leaves above and below you, the intricately laced bare branches of trees, the variety of flowering plants, insects crawling and flying about, clusters of mushrooms clinging to the roughened tree trunks, and moss-carpeted stones. I tried to look closely here and there, to try to differentiate and identify—if I could—what was in front of me. After every few steps I stop, stare, blink, repeat. I need some rest for these weary eyes.
Today’s a foggy day. Even worse than yesterday. Walking outside, you couldn’t see more than 7 feet in front of you, even with a light. Driving, you couldn’t see probably about 30 feet ahead of you. It is, actually, kind of cool.
The night has arrived. The rain comes and goes. Winds gust, knocking here, knocking there, on the thin fabric of my tent. But it doesn’t bother me; I’ve settled in, and I’m here to write.
Shenandoah National Park, VA
Day 51: October 11, 2018
11:06pm. Still here in Shenandoah National Park. The weather forecast for where I was supposed to camp today, south in the Blue Ridge Parkway, was not good. They were expecting rain throughout the day there and I didn’t want to go through the hassle of packing and pitching my tent in the rain, so I decided to just stay another night, and make my drive to Roanoke tomorrow. The weather’s not good here either, but at least my tent’s already set up.
I finally had a solid do-nothing day. It was rainy and foggy the whole day and 50mph winds were expected in the afternoon. There’s a storm approaching. So I stayed in camp all day. I walked for about an hour in the morning, along the Appalachian Trail, a section of which was accessible just a few minutes’ walk from my campsite. I was glad to discover that I can now differentiate fairly well between an oak and a maple. I have never seen so many leaves scattered on the ground before. Well maybe I have, but this time they seem so overwhelmingly abundant; I’m dizzy with leaves.
Road Trip Series
Days 48-51
Chapter 12: Shenandoah
RTS Days 48-51
Shenandoah
There must be millions of them, brown and scattered and wet from the rain. Then I noticed on the ground, clusters of leaves off the side of the trail. Small piles of leaves about 4-6 inches in diameter. I moved one of them aside and saw a small hole in the ground underneath it, less than half an inch in diameter, and it was lined with one or two leaves inside, most likely to prevent the tunnel from collapsing. I moved the two other piles of leaves that were near the first, and there they were too, a small tunnel lined with leaves. I walked on, and the more I walked the more I kept noticing these clusters of leaves on the ground—they were everywhere, even my campsite was littered with them. How did I just notice this now? Surely they came across my gaze before. And now I can’t help but see them.
In any given scene there is a variety of depth and detail; there’s too much to process. So you simply notice what you already know. But to see new things means to part the curtains of familiarity, and involves a kind of letting go. To let your vision scan unbiased across the scene. The tricky part is matching it with attention; unless I pair vision with attention, things simply go unseen.
I wondered, what particular insect could this be, strong enough to pile up these leaves yet be small enough to fit in a hole about a quarter of an inch in diameter. I set aside the shelter of leaves and waited for something to come out; nothing. I stomped on the ground beside the hole. Nothing. I guess they too have heard the news about the weather; they’ve settled in.
On the way back from the walk I saw deer, a family of three, having their breakfast. You immediately knew who the mother was as she kept an eye on me as they crossed my path, and as her young fed on the plants. She kept her head and ears raised, alert, intent to protect at the slightest hint of harm. But I mean none of that. I am merely as curious as they are. What are they doing and why are they here? So I just stood there, and watched them, too. After a few minutes she decided, I guess, that either I was harmless, or not harmful enough, even if I tried. And they moved along through vegetation, now with only a slight hint of care, picking and eating some plants here and there.
In the afternoon I mostly stayed in my tent, listened to an audio book, started reading Walden, and watched an episode of a TV show. By about 3:00pm the winds started to pick up—and they are still going—and then it rained hard. So I just stayed in my tent, all afternoon, all evening. When the rain took a break from its pouring, I grabbed what easy dinner I could find in my stash from my car, and ate dinner in my tent. I had nuts and dark chocolate, tea, and plenty of time. I found I have enough space here inside the tent to do push-ups, some stretches, planks, and sit-ups. It was actually kind of nice staying in my camp the whole day. There were no urgent matters, no profusion of options on what to do, which is nice sometimes. The emphasis turns to the quality of things done, not the quantity—the presence in simplicity is what I seek.
12:01am. It is officially October 12 in this slice of the globe. Happy Birthday to me and my sister. Good night!
The mountains are Home.
Bona fide hustler I’m making my name.
And I’d appreciate your help by sharing!