Great night. Very comfortable sleep spot. Cars in the direction I would be walking could see the spot if they were really paying attention, but they weren't. The drab orange of the tent causes it to disappear at night, but shows up a bit in between the trees in daytime. I worked to disassemble it and pack up. I used to be in a hurry to do this, but I learned that it goes more smoothly when I'm calm and simply go from one task to the next. If I'm anxious, I screw up. Tent poles get snagged in the fabric, zippers also snag. Bags don't fit correctly. By remaining unfazed, and simply knowing that I won't be seen, the problems disappear.
I started back up the road. Having slept in until about 7:30 a.m., the walk was a bit lighter...
Every time I passed these cemeteries I found plastic flowers on the grass, sidewalks and streets.
I guess there are more unsightly kinds of trash, but perhaps none that
will last quite as long before breaking down.
I was surprised just how quickly the time and miles were passing. Because I'd already walked about two miles north of Piedmont before bedding down, there were only ten miles to traverse until I reached the outskirts of Greenville...
I'm not sure I really like this sign. If you have a "problem" with your "senior," apparently
this is your "solution." It just seemed a bit too much like a "final solution."
I know it wasn't meant that way.
The golden arches appeared on the horizon and it was time for a break...
Some McDonald's signs are really pathetic. The sign of quality?
After touching base with the people on Facebook and transferring pictures (I take every chance to transfer them from the camera to the laptop just incase something happens to the camera), I headed back out, and into the downtown. My destination now was Starbucks so that I could really get some work done and scout for a sleep spot on this night--I had no idea just how hard the latter would be, nor how many more miles I would be walking...
Guess whose house this was?
No one on the sidewalks. I thought this would be another non-walking town.
Panorama of the eastside center of Greenville.
Everything was going well. The sleep spot had worked wonderfully, the walk had been short, the break at McDonald's had been productive. I went from intersection to intersection, in the steadily thickening density of the lunchtime traffic. People were not overly helpful or vigilant about walk signs and who should be doing what. This was my warning to be extra careful. And I was, but it turned out that some circumstances would be out of my control.
When I reached a particularly busy intersection, I waited for the walk sign, while cars to my left sat revving their engines and ready to charge out. A white Mazda CX-5 was the only car in the three lanes of the one way street to my left. It was half-blocking the crosswalk, with no right turn signal on. I paid it little heed, as it was obvious that the light was changing and the Mazda would have to wait for the next cycle, while the cars to my right got their green light and I got my walk light.
The light changed, and my light told me to walk. As I started across the street, the Mazda suddenly began to move forward bumping into me as it did. I saw a woman looking to her left only and not forward as she pulled out.
I knew she would not stop on her own, and I could foresee myself being taken down and under the car before, or even if, she ever realized what was going on. In the moment between moments, instinctively, I yelled directly at her through the windshield. It was the loudest sound I think that I'd ever heard (and I've played in a lot of rock bands). It was certainly the loudest sound I have ever made. She jerked to a stop. I was amazed to see that ALL of the traffic in every direction around the intersection also stopped.
I stood there, feeling a bit like Moses parting the Red Sea. I knew that no human could produce such a sound. It came from another dimension--one that split through space and time, interrupting the physics of this world, in that one particular place. It was the Voice of the Spark beheld directly by me and everyone around me. It was not me.
It was only then that I noticed she had her smartphone up to her left ear. She peered at me as if she had already killed me; with a look of absolute terror, horror-stricken strain etched upon her face. Her brow was furrowed deeply and her lips were quivering. Tears were running down her cheeks. And, she kept mouthing the words, "I'm sorry."
I wasn't scared. I wasn't particularly angry either. It was a stupid mistake on her part. She obviously felt terrible, and she was also caught in the obvious act of being distracted while driving. When I'm calm and not in an emergency situation, I tend to be a bit wishy-washy with my decisions. But, when reaching a state of crisis and the spotlight is on me, I don't even think about how to handle things, I just act. In this case, I simply searched deeply into her eyes as she could not look away from me, and I held my hand up to my own face clutching an invisible phone, and said, "Hang...It...Up." She nodded over and over again, but could not find the strength to pull the phone away from her ear.
None of the other drivers around quite knew what to do for a few seconds, and then the controlled chaos started up again, as if this had been just a brief bit of entertainment during their lunch breaks. I had the thought of taking her picture, a picture of her car, her license plate, etc... But I felt that I'd made my point. I wasn't really very upset. I was unharmed. She was traumatized enough and didn't need an internationally published blog post about her stupidity. I felt sorry for her. So, I turned and went on down Main Street, and didn't turn around.
South Carolina has weak laws in this regard. Texting and driving is a mere $25 fine for the first offense. There are no laws about standard cell phone use (talking) while driving. But, this doesn't surprise me. The state - with no offense to it's citizens - is rather primitive in many legal regards. The progressive laws of the West would astound a South Carolinian in some respects. It's trashy highways (despite being cleaner than many New England roads, and despite a hefty fine of up to $1,000 and a year in jail) are a direct result of a kind of self-bestowed personal entitlement that is not compatible with environmental concerns.
Its marijuana laws, while not being as harsh as some of its neighbors, are still about ten years behind half of the other states in the nation--medical use is illegal here, except for CBD-medicine. I will say that its paraphernalia possession law is ahead of the other cannabis-related legislation; being a civil offense, not criminal. Its politics since 1990 have been Republican-dominated. Its emissions standards for vehicles are equal to the lowest federal standards--and you can smell the difference when walking on its streets. Suffice it to say that, many states are much worse, and many states are profoundly better. Also, to be fair, it's alcohol laws are much less strict than Georgia or Tennessee (which is the worst in the nation, in my opinion--everyone is carded, no matter what age). Here, they don't care as long as you look over twenty one.
Where was I? Oh yeah, continuing on...
Greenville skyline.
Great brick building restorations all over the downtown.
This guy was out each day at the head of the Furman Park Entrance, playing some
excellent guitar; sometimes accompanied by a flute player.
Across from Starbucks.
Starbucks was located - as it is often - in one of the swankiest city locations,
right at the edge of the Falls Park on the Reedy River.
I had a pretty good idea (so I thought at the time--HA!) that I could find a spot somewhere up in the northwest of town to camp for the night. So, when the sun set, I headed out to find one. I walked, and walked, and walked to find it. As I did, I noticed more street people around. A guy stopped in his car (obviously casing the area) and asked if I "needed anything." Of course, I didn't, and thanked him for his kind offer, then continued on.
I was really feeling the fifteen or so miles I'd already gone on this day, and the pack was growing heavier and heavier. Its straps on my collarbone were digging in with very little mercy, and I kept stopping to push it up and reposition them outward toward my shoulders or inward toward my neck, with very little success. My left heel was aching and my attempts to walk in different ways to alleviate the discomfort also met with continuous failure.
In the one potential sleep spot that I was "sure" would work - judging only from Google Earth - I found a well-trodden woods, filled with every kind of detritus. The Spark said, essentially, "Ah...nope," as I ventured deeper into the area and saw a moldy office chair with a ripped up tarp over it. It looked like the Hobo King had temporarily abandoned his kingdom. There were hushed voices around me, but my bright LED light revealed no one. It was a bad scene, and I wanted out.
When I got back onto the road, I saw a lonely Wendy's and decided to check out Google again. I went in and bought a small drink (the ticket for using their Wi-Fi). My internet searches revealed that I had gone about five miles out of town; even beyond the Greenville city limit. It was with some exasperation that I determined to go back toward town and search the Greenville Health System Swamp Rabbit Trail, via a road listed only as Route 507.
The walk back... Well... It just sucked in every way. The temperature was cold, my body was wearing out and I needed to find something soon, or I'd be forced to do a thing I hadn't done since the Manifest Destiny Journey: sit in various places downtown all night until being told to "Move it along" by the police. I couldn't stand that thought, and became determined to find some sort of alternative.
When I reached 507, and made my left turn to check out the area, I noticed that it was much more populated than was seen on Google. And, the endless dogs barking as I passed each house become like a torment that only weakened me further. I discovered a dirt road off to the left, with a large gate across it. There was no "No Trespassing" sign (I won't officially trespass).
I was afraid to use my very bright LED light, and figured my glasses - which were fogging up from sweat, heavily scratched and held to my face by the most tenuous of stretching rubber straps - would be good enough. The time was about 10:30 p.m. - way past my normal bedtime.
There was a dumpy mix of dead vines, bull-dozed red mud, and thickly tangled prickers around the perimeter; all flanked by quicksand and patches of black swamp water. Several times I thought I'd found a passage through the mess at the edges, only to find more braided vines, dead fallen trees, thick, wet leaf beds,and the scurrying sounds and shaking trees of critters alarmed by my presence. I didn't even need the Spark to tell me I was barking way up the wrong rotten tree.
Speaking of barking; when I snuck back around the edge of the big gate onto 507, it was like all the dogs in the neighborhood had just received a text message to attack, held back only by their short chains and fenced yards. They angrily growled and howled as I walked as fast as I could toward the only other option, Blue Ridge Drive and the Swamp Rabbit Trail itself.
I crossed over Blue Ridge and found a nicely paved trail. There were no signs prohibiting camping, and I soon discovered why. It was a watery nightmare on either side of the trail. By now it was 11:15 and I was beginning to stumble. At these times, when I have done my very best, tried as hard as possible, and utterly failed on my own--and only at these times -- I resort to asking the Spark for assistance. It is not a stubbornness really; more like a feeling that the Spark is a precious resource not to be exploited or overused. This is probably foolish and unnecessary of me, but I just can't bring myself to resort to its assistance, unless all else has failed. And, when I do resort, this is what I say... "A little help please, I can't go any farther."
I walked another twenty feet, with my LED light searching both sides, when I saw on the right a light patch with no water. It was a pile of rocks, covered with tightly packed sand. And, it led to a steep bank about thirty feet high. Unfortunately, there was a tall chain link fence that ran across the top of the ridge, yet set in slightly from the edge of the bank. When there is nothing else to choose, choose the least of all problems. Remember POMA? And, so I did.
I cautiously walked across the rock and sand bridge and climbed the bank, careful not to fall backward. I could just see myself rolling down, Saggy and all, into one of the dark patches of water at either side. When I reached the top, I was delighted to find a ridge, level, and about five feet wide. On the other side of the fence was a strange triangular shaped pond or reservoir, with the surface of its water about fifteen feet below me. I knew this ridge was where I would spend the night.
The ground was damp and I didn't want to put the pack on it. So, I held the bulging mass between my knees, resting it on my shoes, then opened the pocket to pull out the new tarp, which I unfolded and laid upon the ground in front of me. That gave me a dry place to put Saggy. Then it was simply a matter of doing my regular tent and tarp/fly assembly. When the tent was up and covered, I simultaneously picked up the pack and moved the tent directly over the new tarp's footprint, swinging the pack into the tent to assure that it remained dry.
Once I got myself into the tent, I did the standard kneeling and checking the ground outside for insects. There were none. Then, out came the sleeping bag and my clean clothes bag as a pillow. I climbed into the bag, thanked the Spark, and lay there for a moment just listening to the distant and constant din of barking dogs, heavy traffic on Blue Ridge Drive, and the occasional late season peeper.
Suddenly, a large splash echoed out from beside me, in the pond. It sounded like someone had thrown a bowling ball into it. Then there was another, farther toward the middle. Fish of some kind? Ha! I didn't care. I was hungry and joked to myself about catching one. Whatever they were, they were large, I figured at least twenty pounders. I didn't know enough about freshwater fish to guess what species. Maybe one of you know? I will try to look up this pond on Google at some point to find out. It can be seen in the photo below...
Greenville Sleep Spot.
_______________________________________________________________________
PLEASE CLICK ON OUR SPONSOR ADS BELOW FOR GREAT DEALS!
_______________________________________________________________________
_______________________________________________________________________
PLEASE CLICK ON OUR NON-PROFIT CAUSES TO SUPPORT YOUR COMMUNITY!
_______________________________________________________________________
Support Dawna Lamson's Simply Smiles fundraising campaign!
From her page...
Help me support Simply Smiles by making a donation to my Win A Trip campaign! With your help, you can send me to Oaxaca, Mexico or the Cheyenne River Reservation in South Dakota to work with Simply Smiles. The process is fast, easy, and secure. I truly appreciate any support you can provide. And, no matter the outcome, it will benefit a great cause!
If you can't make a donation at this point, help me reach my goal by sharing this page on Facebook and Twitter! Or, even better, send an e-mail to friends you think might be interested in contributing and include a link to my page!
Thanks so much for your generosity!
This will be a wonderful opportunity for Dawna to provide a brighter future for impoverished children, their families, and their communities. It's easy to give! Just click on Dawna's picture below.
_______________________________________________________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.