A Living Magazine - Day 312 - Homecoming - Newport to Greenville

I heard barking. I knew it was directed at me. Then came the telltale sign of a fast paced trot from the trail by the street straight to the tent. I couldn't see anything, but I knew it was two large dogs, running around the tent and sniffing. As I learned in Mobile with the stray dog confrontation, the best course of action is complete inaction. Just wait them out. They can smell me but they can't see me or know what I'm doing.

The only thing I was concerned about was whether they had a curious owner. I couldn't imagine that someone would walk two big dogs next to a busy street unleashed--especially if they were liable to run after the first thing they saw. I could have been wrong, but I determined that they were probably strays. It didn't take long for them to lose interest, and I heard them run off. I waited about five minutes and then did a quick pack up. It takes about five minutes to get all the stuff I carry in my pants into the pockets, put on my shoes and stuff the sleeping bag into the pack. Then it takes a minimum of nine minutes to disassemble the tent. I did it all in about twenty minutes on this morning (due to a lot of shaking out the tarps).

I'd seen a Burger King on my way to this park the night before and decided to go there to get online and find a better place to hang out; somewhere with a sleep spot nearby. I saw that it was about 5 miles from my location in Newport to a little town just northwest of Wilmington, called, Greenville. There was a Starbucks there and a lot more green spots showing. So I Googled a route and then adjusted it, so I could take fewer roads. Google Maps is great at finding the shortest route, but it will lead you down sixteen different streets. I can't handle more than about five around an urban area without getting lost. I drew myself a quick map, and took a screenshot just incase, then headed out...

Not exactly a concealed weapon.

I always wondered where they kept all that stuff.

This guy was huge--about three inches long, with a wingspan of about four inches.

Looked just like a helicopter.

I got through the longest stretch and then suddenly entered a uber rich neighborhood. Every street had clean sideways on both sides, with crosswalks, and beautiful people walking tiny dogs. An example of one of the humble cottages...

Oh joy! Looks like Buffy is home!

I reached Greenville just as the rain started again, and upon crossing a bridge over the highway I saw two possible sleep spots; one near the onramp, and a strip of woods along the highway itself. Starbucks wasn't much further ahead.

When I entered Starbucks, I saw that it was filled with all of Buffy's BFF's. There were only white people drinking and eating there. And, it was so interesting to hear the conversations they had, as compared with the Burger King I'd just left.

At Burger King there were only two tables with guests. The first had three people in sweatshirts and sweatpants talking in that Pennsylvania/New Jersey-like accent about having to sell their one of their cars to pay a power bill. The other table had two Hispanic women switching between English and Spanish, gabbing gossip.

Here at the lily-white, Mansionville branch of Starbucks, two smartly dressed, slender, middle aged women discussed where their daughters would be going after college graduation, and departed with a promise to "meet here after yoga!" Each time someone would walk in, he or she would see some one they knew and walk over to do that cheek to cheek kiss thing. Two older gentlemen discussed the latest cosmological discoveries, and tried to talk about what dark matter was--getting it all wrong by thinking it was the same as a black hole.

Nevertheless, the atmosphere there was very pleasant, and though it was also busy, I was able to set up camp at a table with an outlet, just as the sky opened up...

I worked all day there, and was the only person left at around 7:00 p.m. I took a chance with most of my remaining funds and decided to buy a red-eye Amtrak ticket to Poughkeepsie for early morning, not the next day, but the day after.

Then, figuring I had sucked every bit of welcome out of my time there at Starbucks--along with my tall dark roast, vente ice water, and cheese danish, I packed up and left. The rain had lightened to a drizzle. I really wanted a salad, and crossed the street to a high end health food market. Unfortunately, they had just closed and the guy inside the locked door just smiled and shook his head.

Making a mental note to go there earlier the next day, I started toward the highway to vet sleep spot option one, stopping at the Mobil station for a piece of pizza and to buy a Gatorade. I have to say, many of these Middle Eastern dudes who own the gas stations around the country have got to be the rudest assholes when it comes to customer service. They just don't give a shit. The guy was gabbing in Pashto loudly on the phone. He didn't look at me one single time, scanned the stuff without telling me the total (which I saw on the register), grabbed my money and slapped my change done on the counter, turning away and then speaking even louder into his phone. I'm sorry that it sounds like I'm stereotyping. There are wonderful Middle Eastern gas station owners out there. He was not among their ilk.

The first sleep spot possibility was very exposed, and located on an incline with no level spots. In short, it sucked. So I went with option two, taking a paved path along Highway 141 and climbed up a small hill to find a really nice area. Several deer scampered away when I first got there.

Scouting around, I didn't see a good secluded place. So I headed back toward the edge of a neighborhood. I took a chance and settled for a place that could have been seen by the second floor windows of a large house. But the lights were on in them, which meant they could not see a thing outside. It grew dark quickly anyway, and I got the rain-form of the tent set up...

The night was calm. And, the rain held off for a couple hours. I ate my slice of pizza and just stood there thinking. There was an old train track right next to me that led to a rusty tressel running over the highway. At one point the flicker of a small light shone through the woods. I thought there might be a bike trail. It grew closer, then whisked by me and down the train tracks disappearing across the highway. I tried to think of what it might have been. No one would bike on train tracks, and it moved too quickly to be someone walking. To this day I have no idea what it was.

When the raindrops became too numerous to avoid, I crawled into the tent, pulled out my sleeping bag and fell asleep.

Greenville Sleep Spot.