Alive Among Ghosts - Part 1

[I've decided to delay my planned post for now in favor of one that should still be pretty good. The support for the last one was completely overwhelming. You all have lifted me out of a funk and made me feel like that light at the end of the tunnel is for REAL. THANK YOU ALL!]

It was growing dark. The overcast was billowing, saturated and dense like a white towel dropped into a dirty pool of water. There was still time to kill before I could head back to my sanctuary, sleeping bag and sacred computer. I'd been reading a collection of works by James Joyce, and was able to let that absorb my interest until the natural light got too dim at Mill Creek Park.

In the previous hours I had explored the many streets east of downtown South Portland, around the marina and then up and down the neighborhood roads.

It was that in-between time now. I had been up at 6:30 am like every day for the last 40 or so days. And I was just plain old tired. Despite my brave attempt to put a stoic mask over my sun-burned and now cloud-covered face, I was (and am) growing weary of this time in the "wilderness."

Earlier in the day I had spent several hours at Tim Horton's, where one cup of Jo buys me a table. But, I unthinkingly bought a second cup too. I am very sensitive to caffeine and halfway through the second cup I noticed that I was getting anxious and my mood was darkening. I need to learn to say "when" with coffee. But "when" was ancient history by the time I decided to head to the park.

Now that I was ready to leave the park, my thoughts were mired in a canyon of negativity. My feet were wet. They had been all day. The sneakers I have are wearing thin and each has a small hole in the bottom now. So going through a puddle or even walking in wet grass squeezes water up through the soles and into my socks. It was also a cold day and despite my usually good preparation, I had neglected to bring jeans, so I had to deal with shorts. For a while I put a towel over my legs while sitting on the bench and this helped, but in my never-ending mission to not stick out in the crowd--though no one was around, I thought better of it, and stuffed the towel back into my backpack. Besides the towel looked like a skirt. Not cool.

Of all my time out "here" - since walking out the door of my last apartment and the first night of trying to ride that ridiculous bike - I was truly feeling down. I kept trying to remind myself of how much support you have all given me, and even though that did make a positive impression, I just couldn't seem to hold the thought as I sat wet and trapped in the drizzle of this dark day.

Finally, reluctantly, I ventured back toward my sister's place. Usually I head down Broadway from the park and then head up Anthoine Street to connect with Highland Avenue. But that would have brought me back too early, so I decided on the longer route of remaining on Broadway until I reached Amato's and Evan's Street. I was still dubious about arriving there too early, but I really had no choice. I was tired of sitting and needed the change of environment.  Along the way I checked out some places for lease (I am trying to start a business and am always looking at empty buildings). I figured that would kill some time.

When I finally reached Evans intersection I noticed that the bike path that ran parallel to Broadway continued on, adjacent to the intersection. It was still rather light out, the air was fairly dry and I was in my meditative walking mode. I decided to cross Broadway and Evans and check out the trail that set off into the woods. I'd been to every South Portland park and walked every trail, but this was like a secret I had not yet heard of.

This is when things began to change...

I later learned that this was the southern part of the South Portland Greenbelt Walkway a paved path paid for by the State of Maine, which the City of South Portland won an award from the Federal Government for as a high quality and naturally beautiful project. Yet...I didn't know any of this at the time. To me it was (presumably) just another way to reach Highland Avenue further down, and a way to kill time. And boy, did it ever--kill time that is!

My cell phone read "7:15" when I entered the path.

As I walked into the mouth of the path and under the sheltering cover of large oak and maple trees the drizzle diminished. I could imagine a sign above the entrance, like Dante's phrase above the Hell Mouth: Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate ("Abandon all hope ye who enter here").  I chuckled to myself.  And a strange stillness, a dead silence, hung over my steps. All I could hear was the "squish, squish squish" of my sneakers waterlogged and unable to hold more moisture. I remember that all I wanted was to get back to a warm space and let my feet dry out. They felt like wrinkled, dead meat ends (ha, ha).

The path was pleasant and peaceful though. I slowed to a more measured pace. The sides of the path were lined with thick clusters of Japanese knotweed (Fallopia japonica).  You've all seen this before. It is a kind of invasive plant that grows quickly around pavement, in poor, sandy soil and looks like mini-bamboo. It's density was so great that peering into it was impossible. The space between plants was pitch black. It would have been a great place to hide. As a kid, we had some down our street and I just loved exploring though it. I was even tempted to do the same thing now. But I came to my senses.

The woods beyond, on either side, when the knotweed thinned and temporarily disappeared, was beautiful, vast and over-grown with pines on the edges of small streams and swampy, leafy areas. Venturing further and further in, I found that the houses and other buildings stacked up along the side of the general path, thinned and receded the deeper I went.  It became very dark indeed in the woods, though I knew the sun had not gone down yet.  Had it not been for the tar pavement, I would have mistaken the area for a medieval forest.

I kept expecting someone to ride by on a bicycle or jog by with a nod of greeting, but I was completely alone. As I wandered on I had that strange sensation that I might be headed in the wrong direction; south perhaps, toward Scarborough, when in fact I needed to stay in south Portland. On and on and on and on I walked. A mile post passed by. Then another. And the sounds of civilization faded completely. The sky grew darker and darker and the drizzle became more like occasional bouts of rain. At the same time I was wondering just what the hell I'd gotten myself into.  Fortunately though, I also recognized that my dark mood was gone now; replaced by the instinctual need to stay alert and a growing excitement about penetrating into the unknown.

I was glad to be back in a lucid state of mind. I was becoming quite impressed with the length of this trail as I ventured on and on. As you might imagine, things that seemed long to me before I made lengthy journeys of this kind had become less so in the last month and a half. Yet STILL, this time seemed to be different somehow. It was very much like I was passing into a lost world, while being sucked into my own mind.

I felt much as I had inside my many adventurous dreams. You know; when you find yourself out of your comfort zone in a dream, looking in every direction, wondering what you should do?  [I will have much more to say about the value of these dreams in some posts soon to come.]

I drank up this feeling. How much better was it to be lost on a trail of mystery than to be languishing on a park bench, cold and depressed! THIS is what I craved. THIS is what I needed. After what seemed like a half hour I passed by a tent on my left side. I slowed, feeling VERY alone, but wanting to see as much as I could. Was there anyone in it? Had I only known about this area when I was looking for a place to spend my nights early on... A strange notion of fear and growing excitement passed through me. Maybe this guy was a psycho? In a way...frankly...I hoped he would be. Sad to think that life has gotten so boring and predictable that I actually craved danger. But I have to admit that I did.

The sides of the tent were white and blocked any view of its interior. There was a rustling on the other side of the path. I immediately stopped. A shiver ran up my spine. I peered deep into the woods, but there was only a stream and large drops of rain to be heard, making there way down from the closed, leafy canopy above. I methodically turned 360 degrees, peering as intensely as I could in every direction...NOTHING.

With a bit more trepidation I started on again, this time a bit faster. I passed another mile marker. It seemed impossible to me that I had gone three miles. The treetops above me were very dense now and seeing a clearing ahead was a welcome sign. Maybe THIS would be the passage to Highland Avenue and my route back to civilization... But it was not to be.

Now I was passing into a weird area of large grassy hills. Several signs were posted (about one every 50 feet) warning walkers not to venture up on to the hills.  Apparently this used to be a land fill and "dangers and hazards" were plentiful there.  Cool!  Plus, if I strayed, I was likely to be caught by whatever authorities roamed this desolate area and given a $1,000 fine (no shit!).

The brighter sky above me was a welcome sight too, but, as luck would have it, it turned dirty gray again after only a short time. The Wizard of Oz song kept looping through my mind... "Follow the Yellow Brick Road...da da da da da da da..." For fun I tried to change the mental lyrics to "follow the black tarred road," but it just wasn't rolling off the tongue.

I have an excellent sense of direction and when I realized the path seemed to be doubling back on itself, I started to feel pretty foolish for even entering it in the first place. Would I meet a lion without courage, a straw man in need of a brain or a tin man lacking a heart? I sure as hell hoped so, since I felt quite alone at that moment.  But it wasn't a complete curve in the path and in little time I was headed back in my original direction (roughly, east).

Finally, I passed out of the grassy, hilly area. There was a bench that had a small brass plate on it, and read: "In Loving Memory of (so and so). Father, Grandfather, Brother..." etc... I wondered what this poor man had done in life to earn a bench plate ten miles out in the woods in death, where no one ever saw it. Then I considered that *I* should be so lucky. I didn't stay long at the bench, wanting more than ever to just get my soaked sneakers off and feel the softness of my sleeping bag... On the other side was a marble plaque that told about an old 19th Century race horse track, called "Rigby Park." I suddenly remembered that I had my camera on me and kicked myself for not documenting the trip thus far. But when I pulled it out and clicked the power switch, the battery icon flashed and it turned off; friggin' thing was dead. Figured!

I journeyed on. I passed into a humongous clearing. That's when my thoughts started to become a little twisted. There was a strait-away, maybe 500 yards in length that I had stared down. I noticed that finally, I heard someone jogging behind me. Finally another human being was close by. This strange Bugs Bunny cartoon was ending.  At last, with someone around, I was less likely to be abducted by aliens, see a Bigfoot or have an anvil drop on my head.  I stopped and turned around......NOTHING. "Weird," I thought.