Friday, June 23, 2017 (Day 51)
It was difficult to leave Daleville. To pull myself away from that coffee shop. But, why? The trail was not far. It continued just on the other side of US Route 220. It was less than a mile away. Was there some strange, intense desire to absorb all I would soon be without? The slick-backed silvery gleam of the cars in neatly spaced rows; the hot, dead, unmoving asphalt of the parking lot; the consistent grey tone of the store buildings, touching cheeck-to-cheek, that formed the half-moon of a shopping center; the identical black lettering displayed above the store-fronts, alluding to what may be procured inside; the heart-quickening frenzy of consumerism; the seductive nature of procrastination. I blankly stared.
The sun was setting when I left.
I crossed over a stream on a footbridge, and along rolling pastures. I soon employed my headlamp to guide my way. I had travelled no more than 3 miles before spotting a side trail that led to a nice campsite. My pack was too heavy. I stopped for the night. At around 11 pm it rained. Then, it rained harder. I set up my tent. I bid the day farewell.