Fair warning: due to the exhaustive nature of the enterprise I’ve (foolishly) committed to, my posts will not be as timely and predictable as your morning newspaper.

Here’s the first piece of the tale to come. It’s not lengthy, ornate, or evocative, but bear with me, the frozen-fingered hiker makes for a poor typist.

Some ruminations straight from the heart of the Virginia backwoods—
I woke up this morning in the Hilton, wrapped in freshly pressed bed sheets, the corners tucked in tight because at the Hilton the staff prides itself on going the extra mile. 

I like to go the extra mile. I sometimes tuck my sheets in too. It makes me feel more at home.

Tonight, however, I have no sheets. I am cocooned in a sleeping bag in the middle of the woods. The Hilton is somewhere around 200 miles away. Even if they were willing to go the extra mile for me, an oh so valued customer, they would still be 199 short. 
Not to mention the near 9 miles I bushwhacked from Troutville (aka Nowhere) to my campsite, a place with an erie lack of automobiles, sultry street lights, and clocks (aka Neverwhere).

It as if I’ve drifted out of the quick currents of the modern world, and into one suspended in amber.

I’ve pitched my tent without a tarp tonight. The housing is a screen that I can see straight through. There’s no need to put up shades so the neighbors can’t see in. Privacy is the gift of lonely places like this. 

The trees are still and dark, but behind them the stars drift with inexorable slowness. They are my only reassurance that the world is still in motion.

Back on ground level, however, I’ve got other more immediate worries. My back aches. My shoulders and legs too. The toll of the trail, I guess. 

But I’ll be stronger tomorrow. The adventure has only just begun.

…but damn do I miss those snug sheets. 
Cheers from the nomad

(Found a gnome’s home 3 miles in…the fairy tales got it all wrong.)