First City Ambulation

Thursday night I took a long walk.

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.

The accuracy of “long” is questionable. You be the judge after reading my story.

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.

What follows are the words in my spiral bound notebook (noted in italics) from the day after.

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

Laying on the ground, rocks as my bed, an owl floated just below the level of the overpass, in the light from the freeway, I observed its wings making motion, but not advancing. The bird rested on a chain link fence running up the hill to the freeway. As the second car drove by, the owl hovered above me. No more than twenty feet. I threw a rock or two, and he floated back.

The third car drove by. Again the owl looking down on me as I lay helpless on the ground I couldn’t rise just yet. So I threw a few more rocks. One made contact with my antagonist’s right wing. He came back once more.

I thought of a fish. Those talons entered my mind. I wouldn’t appreciate a swooping attack. Armed with half a dozen rocks, I prepared to launch the entire arsenal straight up. I waited a few seconds for the bird to move away from me, figuring a straight up attack would shower myself. This last barrage was our final contact. I saw him no more.

Invisible assailants near the underpass gave way to an actual predator in the form of an owl. Owls command their territory; I am in awe of them, now. Then, I irrationally believed this particular nocturnal flying hunter would seek me as food.

Bright lights at the end of the track. Train? Maybe just headlights from cars on the interstate. No, a train. Seconds before, I pulled the mini-mag from my pack. The light it gave showed an embankment to scamper down for shelter from the train’s light and its heavy wheels. The rumbling procession shook the earth beneath me as I reclined on my forearm.

Resuming the walk, a light similar to the one just passed shown down the tracks. Making sure it too was a train, I again entered the shelter of the nearby embankment. More whistles from the conductor than the last. Maybe I was seen.

The walk ended on the tracks. Paved road finally. Shortly, though, I left the road to follow the levee along Putah Creek. I have biked here many times before. My mind continued its tricks. Seeing people in large rocks. One rock remained in my hand. I kept it.

One more track to cross. And yet another train. An Amtrak this time. People sat in their comfortable chairs, moving by me without noticing a walker in a bright white t-shirt and shorts.

I stopped to check the time: 11:57 pm. No way I’d be to the lake.

Gravel turned again to pavement. A road running against the creek riparian to farm and research facilities. I had just passed a path leading down from the road to a picnic area when a vehicle’s lights shone past me on the road. I quickly retreated down the path behind a conveniently placed tree. A van drove by.

I thought I might pause for water and a seat in the picnic area. However, the sight of a flatbed truck, half a dozen tents, and what appeared, in the dark, to be a tarp with people sleeping on it, encouraged my walk to continue uninterrupted at this time.

The paved road turned ninety degrees right. Away from the lake. The walk was to be decided. To go straight meant I would have to leave the levee road to follow along by the creek as soon as I came to Pedrick Road. In the dark? That distance? I took a drink at the corner before sticking to the paved road and that beacon from the airport.

I didn’t know what made me stop here, but I climbed the stack of hay by the airport to sleep. The first step deceived. A small pile of hay covered the ground in front of the actual stack. This pile felt soft under by boot. The stacked bails proved to be not as giving to a body.

I hid as well as I could from the light. The sweats and wool shirt came on as well as wrapping in the space blanket. I slept solidly. Only until 2:40 am (Friday). I decided to move on.

Stopping to sleep attended to my basic need at that time. My body knew what it needed, even if my mind was racing with anxious fears of the current and future unknowns. Sometimes rest stills or silences the cauldron of mixed up questions and fears. A reset might just calm the waters.

One more scare at seeing some vertical post in a field, imagining a person following me.

Down Olive Tree. Then walked the well-known route from Arlington Farm through the community houses by Emerson over the bridge on 113, 14th, the tunnel, Cypress.

I said hello to a young man coming off the overpass. He listened to a Walkman and ate some snack food out of a bag held to his chest.

My legs ached. I removed the pants and shirt. I took out one sandwich to eat. Good.

The feeling of security returned when I hit the lights by my old apartment. Pavement, street lights, cars. No fear like on the levee or the tracks.

In bed at 4:10 am. A six-hour, minus sleep time, walk. Got up at 11:04 am.

I want to walk again. With someone, though. Not this alone thing.

Now, more than thirty years after that solo adventure, I am walking with someone. I also venture out on solo city walks and multi-day backpack hikes. My anxiety, lessened over the years, might still conjure danger in the dark of the night (bears in the back country are real), yet I am capable of calmly reflecting on life’s questions while ambulating.