I started out playing music. The sound mingled with the early morning traffic and I played off of the sounds of engine whine and muffler blast and gurgle, rubber squeal on asphalt. As usual I hugged the left side of the road. There were no clouds in the sky and the air had the smell of spring. Colorful flowers blooming low to the ground.
 
I was thinking of how the road went down following the contour of the hills. I looked at the altimeter on watch that some at Timex watch company had given me, and wondered how it could be used for Planetlines.  Then I looked up as the cars that were in such a big hurry slowed and stopped at the bottom of the hill.
 
It was a horrendous scene. A van filled with residents from a seniors care home had apparently ran the stop sign and shot out onto Route 136. A large red dump truck slammed into them crushing the van across the road and against a building across the road. By standers had already pulled the truck driver from his cab, and two injured souls from the van.  They lay in the green grass going into shock, while the rest of us tried in vain to extricate the other 9 people.  No progress could be made until the Jaws of Life finally arrived. I left, knowing death was near. I did not need to see the faces. Tears welled in my eyes, I am not sure why.
 
I put my mind and body to walking, feeling the mountains gentle roll, and thinking about measuring and collecting data. Now there was hardly any traffic, as roadblocks had been set up and detours routed. The road for a while was strangely quiet, just the sounds of footfalls, the morning bird serenade and the breeze.
 
Further on things seem back to normal, the traffic buzzes, oblivious to what has transpired a few miles away. A helicopter, hurries in the direction I have just come, and then black vehicle of the coroner in slow motion.
 
I walk in silence, sometime touching the steel strings of the banjo. I walk through Washington until Route 136 becomes Route 40. I stop and look at barns, old stonework and read the signs, sit on a stone after crossing the old stone bridge on the National Road. I think of history as a component of Planetlines. I walk all the way to Claysville, 25miles for the day. John G is waiting to take me to the hotel and to a nice meal.
 
Five of the eleven died he said. I had no more tears, and no answers.