Day 22 – West Union to Pennsboro, WV – 12 miles

When I was a kid, I remember mourning the historically boring moment into which I was born. The Cold War was on its last legs and then concluded before I was politically aware. Sure, the US would continue to participate in hot wars and other military engagements, but these were largely abstractions; nobody I knew was directly involved and I had no reason to anticipate that I would get roped in. In the years that followed, momentous events certainly unfolded, with the internet boom probably being paramount, but it hit at a stage in my life when I could adapt fairly seamlessly. While social media has become a curse, once again it really boomed when I was at a different stage in my life, when I was better positioned to capitalize on the benefits and be personally inoculated against the downsides (aside, I should note, from the broader socio-political consequences, which of course are dire).

Outside of 9/11, I’ve lived a life that has been largely predictable, stable, and secure. It helps being a white, middle class, American man. And, of course, there are ways that we absolutely should have further disrupted the status quo over those years, and we’ll likely be paying the price for it in the years ahead.

Anyway, my point is that I’ve been pretty damn fortunate.

When I woke up today, I went through the typical routine, packing up my clothes (freshly washed!), taking care of some quick communication, going back over the day’s route, and filling water bottles. Then, I had the atypical blessing of a home-cooked breakfast, with Sharon preparing French toast, with stewed apples, warm maple syrup (“we don’t do cold syrup”), and all kinds of other options. I bid Paul farewell, then Sharon drove me back to the center of West Union, where she took a couple of pics and said goodbye.

If the day were a novel, I’d criticize the author for literary laziness, falling back on the cliched use of weather to establish tone. It was a drizzly morning, gray and cool, just wet enough to require a pack cover, but not to the point of requiring full rain gear. I was back on the North Bend Rail Trail, slowly trudging along, and finally facing up to the new normal. In another day, I’d hit Ohio, where restaurants were now closed. San Francisco was about to order shelter-in-place guidelines and I wondered when those would spread more widely. Increasingly, people were coming to terms with the seriousness of the crisis; how many would be willing to open their homes to me to share water, conversation, or shelter in the days ahead? And even if they were willing, would it be right for me to impose myself on them, when I am doing something utterly gratuitous?

It took four hours to cover those 12 miles to Pennsboro, and by the time I arrived I knew that the walk was over, for now at least. And surprisingly, I wasn’t despondent, I wasn’t crushed, I was only a little melancholy. In the end, the choice didn’t feel like a choice; it emerged clearly as the only responsible course of action. I’m not worried about getting sick, but I certainly don’t want to endanger others, especially the most vulnerable people around us.

When in my life have I ever really had to sacrifice anything of importance in service to the common good? This is a very small price to pay, regardless of how long I’ve looked forward to this walk, and how hard it might be to carve out the time to take another shot at it in the near future.

In Pennsboro, I called Sharon, and she immediately kicked into action, driving over to get me. At the same time, I booked a car in nearby Parkersburg. An hour later, I was on the road, heading home. That was 2pm on Tuesday. I walked through my front door just before 8pm on Thursday. For the most part, the drive was easy, especially once I successfully beat the forecast blizzard through Wyoming. The lone lowlight occurred in The Dalles, when I stopped to buy some groceries at Fred Meyer. Less than 20 feet into the store, one of my calves seized up, cramping heavily. A minute later, the other calf joined in. Suddenly, I was shuffling slowly through the giant supermarket, with a face that wore the exhaustion of a long drive. I think it’s a minor miracle that I wasn’t forcibly shoved into quarantine, but people certainly were giving me the appropriate social distance.

So it ends, for now, not with a bang but a whimper. Aside from my calves, though, I’m good. I’m lounging on the couch, it’s a sunny day, I have a full refrigerator, and I have projects to work on that I’m excited about. As an introvert with writing ambitions, podcasting habits, and more books to read than I could ever get to, I feel like I have been training my whole life for this moment.

See you on the other side of the quarantine.