{"version":"https:\/\/jsonfeed.org\/version\/1","title":"LongWay.Studio feed","home_page_url":"https:\/\/longway.studio\/reflection","feed_url":"https:\/\/longway.studio\/reflection.json","description":"LongWay.Studio content.","author":{"name":"LongWay.Studio"},"items":[{"title":"Megatransect as Catalyst","date_published":"2026-04-26T19:51:00-06:00","id":"https:\/\/longway.studio\/reflection\/megatransect-as-catalyst","url":"https:\/\/longway.studio\/reflection\/megatransect-as-catalyst","content_html":"

When is the second installment? I asked this question after reading part one of the Megatransect report back, J. Michael Fay\u2019s 1999 \u201cgrueling 15-month, 2,000-mile (3,200-kilometer) trek across Congo and Gabon to chronicle the region\u2019s pristine forests and wildlife and fight for their protection\u201d in National Geographic<\/em>. I impatiently waited for the second and third articles to appear in my mailbox with the printed version of \u201cNattie Geo.\u201d<\/p>\n

Intrigued by the planning of such a journey, I relished the logistics behind the route, supplies, transportation, guides, security, food, and equipment. Fay gained the headlines; a large team supported each step.<\/p>\n

Observing and collecting along the way, I imagined Fay and his partners keeping a journal, photographing, video recording, and noting exact coordinates of flora and fauna. They documented injuries, animal bites, and dangerous water crossings.<\/p>\n

The total distance over so many months inspired my consideration of a long journey by foot across multiple ecosystems. Someday. His (their) four-digit mile distance is orders of magnitude longer than even my longest two-digit mile trip. Something about so many miles and days inspires both excitement and disbelief (that I might ever start or finish such a trek).<\/p>\n

We called it a transect (with a slight nod to Fay). No prefix of \u201cmega,\u201d however. Twenty-four miles in one day, crossing the continental divide, transecting (a generous modifier) Rocky Mountain National Park. The son and I began early one summer morning for our one-way walk. Karis and the daughter drove over the mountain to meet us at the end of our hike. Let\u2019s call that transect a test run (walk) of what might be possible.<\/p>\n

I dream of interviewing Fay. A set of questions at the ready for that possibility.<\/p>"},{"title":"First City Ambulation","date_published":"2026-04-19T16:18:00-06:00","id":"https:\/\/longway.studio\/reflection\/first-city-ambulation","url":"https:\/\/longway.studio\/reflection\/first-city-ambulation","content_html":"

Thursday night I took a long walk.<\/p>\n

The Thursday in question dates to August 19, 1993. For about four months prior to that night, I thought about taking a long walk to Lake Berryessa from my residence in Davis, California.<\/p>\n

The accuracy of “long” is questionable. You be the judge after reading my story.<\/p>\n

That summer of 1993, before my fourth year of college, I worked on campus as a painter with a crew slapping white paint on dorm room walls. The boss gave us the day off, yet I had forgotten about a prior event in the evening, so my walk commenced at 10:00 pm. I did not overthink the walk, the route, or other logistics.<\/p>\n

What follows are the words in my spiral bound notebook (noted in italics) from the day after.<\/p>\n

On my back, the green, dilapidated backpack given to me in the fourth grade by Grandma. Stuffed inside: sandwiches, apples, space blanket, sweat pants, watch, camera, wallet, flash light, cap, water.<\/em><\/p>\n

I walked, quickly, I must say, to the train tracks by “L” Street and Second. The tracks go in a southerly direction past the Davis Amtrak station. I’ve traveled on these tracks before. Biking and running, both.<\/em><\/p>\n

The tracks pass underneath I-80 at the corner of the UC parking lot. I scared myself by thinking about vagabonds hiding here, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting wanderers. I sang songs, prayed, and quoted scripture. Have you heard the silence underneath an overpass? Not that the noise ends, but muffled and ethereal.<\/em><\/p>\n

Full of anxiety, I feared an attack for no good reason. Reflecting back on that time in my life, my anxiety stemmed from leaving Davis for the next academic quarter in Washington, D.C., wondering what I would do after graduation (planning on graduate school), and dating life (among other stressors such as a roommate who stayed up late with the glow of his computer screen impinging upon my sleep).<\/p>\n

I questioned saying “yes” to DC and leaving the comforts of (other) housemates, the familiar small town of Davis, and typical routines. I questioned the value of an internship in DC still to be finalized. I questioned what graduate school would be like, should I get accepted. I was anxious; I took that anxiety into the dark walk.<\/p>\n

Coming out the other side, a light from the freeway illuminated the tracks. Then headlights, off to my left, going away from me, caught my attention. Three cars following each other; not closely. Suddenly, headlights coming my way. I ducked, still they came. So I crouched low on the down side off the tracks. The car drove alongside the tracks, opposite from me, driving north. I waited to observe the car, wondering if he would reverse directions, coming to me. Semi-convinced the car was not turning around, I stood up to continue walking. Another pair of lights. Dork. Again, the third car came, following the same path.<\/em><\/p>\n

Laying on the ground, rocks as my bed, an owl floated just<\/em>...<\/p>"}]}