Breezewood April 24

In the morning we all drove over the mountains to Breezewood to find a motel to leave my rolling luggage. It was the last day that Bill Donahue of Backpacker and my friend David Rhodes would be with me.

Asking if I need a ride

They offered to take my gear and check into a motel for me while I took the time to start walking up the mountain, but I decided to go with them. David drove while Bill continued to interview me in the back seat. It was exactly 25 miles to the Quality Inn. We drove back over the mountains we had driven earlier, and said goodbye.

I left, walking up the mountains thinking that I knew what was coming. I turned to wave goodbye a few times. The last time I turned to wave, they were gone.  Then it hit me that the end of the logistical support that I had come to depend on for the last several days was gone.

Traffic was lighter than the day before. It was 7 miles over the first summit to the next town, McConnellsburg. Along the way the road twisted and turned through a pine forest. On the other side a large palliated woodpecker swooped through the trees below me. Large flashes of white exploded at each wing stroke as it dipped and rose in the air with its crested red head.

Route 30

There were five summits culminating in Sideling Hill an elevation of about 2135 feet. Trucks grumbled up and down the steep grades. The cars screamed by. I toiled. Sweat poured off me, but the breeze dried the salty moisture on my face and kept me cool. Between the mountains were the valleys Trees were beginning to bloom and the red and electric-green blush of their blossoms said that summer was not far behind. Between each mountain were the valleys. In the valleys the towns or small farming villages. At the foot of each mountain someone always stopped to ask if I wanted a ride.    Want a ride

Sunset

I thanked each person who wanted to help me in this way, but I knew that I needed to walk each step. There was something to touching the earth this way. Something came from the experience of passing through place this way. Today I felt it was necessary to pay homage to the earth, for all that it has given us. The walking was something like a prayer. And then I thought about the seventeen miles of wounded, dead and dying, that only yesterday a man on a mower told me about and the walk became for them. And then it became for all those who have suffered because of all the wars.

As the sunset I played my banjo, Life¹s Celebration, and tears welled up in my eyes. It was dark when I reached the motel. I collapsed on the bed.