Kurt reached the railroad bridge where the Youghigheny River meets the Monongahela River. It appeared that the rusty bridge hadn’t been used in years. He crossed over the Youghigheny without a hitch, although looking down into the green, swirling water made him aware of the danger. The bridge’s condition made him cautious with the extra pounds he was carrying. When he reached the other side, he sat down on a cement foundation of a demolished building that lay against the hillside. Kurt looked back across the river to McKeesport and thought that he had just finished the most exposed part of his journey. On his first day, he had traveled in daylight and through populated areas. Now he would be following the Yough on his way to Connellsville.
He saw a wooden shack further down against the hill that was tilted to one side. Kurt walked over and kicked open the rusty hinged door. He wanted to take a quick break before beginning the next phase. He found a small stool and sat down. He sipped water and had a quick snack while he watched the rivers collide where they met as they had for thousands of years. He would now be heading into the country and the mountains, away from populations. His mind drifted in thoughts of the journey ahead. His sister, what was she doing in Scotland? He hadn’t seen her in years. Would he make the connection with Dr. Alexander’s people and what did that mean?
If that didn’t work, would he get space on a flight in Columbia? Would either group buy his information as credible? It was a kaleidoscope of thoughts with absolutely no rhyme or reason. He took a deep breath and checked his watch. It was close to noon. He had to get going if he hoped to achieve his first goal of reaching Connellsville by mid day tomorrow. Kurt had programmed the trail, the time, and the weather for the trip on his GPS screen. He knew the weather was supposed to be cloudy early tomorrow morning with rain expected and later in the week there was the possibility of an early snow storm coming off Lake Erie. He hoped the forecast was wrong, but for now, the rainy weather might provide cover. “That’s the plan. Can’t wait any longer, gotta get rolling,” he muttered to himself. He took his last bite, stretched, and got up. Checking his back pack and pockets he set off, quickly setting a brisk gait.
He walked along the river bank on a narrow trail. The path was cluttered with all types of debris. This was not the main trail, but it was completely isolated which was perfect for Kurt. He could see ahead a high wall with a arched entrance way. As he got closer, the path opened up and he walked onto a large landing of crushed limestone. It was the entrance to the “GREAT ALLEGHENY PASSAGE” as he could see in faded letters above the entrance. The wall had collapsed in several places and he stepped over one low section onto the gravel walkway beyond. He saw stone, metal and wooden debris scattered about but the pavement was clear. This was a relief to him. Kurt looked back down the river to the Monongahela and then turned and began to walk. Slowly at first but soon he was able to get into a quicker pace. As he did so, his mind wandered. If it wasn’t for the finality and the circumstances of this trip, he would have been more relaxed and strictly enjoying this walk through history. He quickly realized he had to stay focused on the present, not the past or the future.
As Kurt walked, he listened to the river run beside him and the noises of various birds in the overhanging limbs above the trail. As continued along the trail it narrowed but was still solid even though the tiny crushed stone was moist and gave with his footsteps. What amazed him was the uniformity of the walkway years after its design and construction. It was still guarded by a sloping hillside. As he went deeper into farming country, it became more secluded. He was surprised by his pace. Many times he had to move aside branches, but for the most part, he didn’t need to stop to clear the path. Kurt glanced at his watch and realized that he was close to his pre-planned schedule. He felt extremely strong and alert. “This is good. Got to keep it up,” he said.
For the next several hours, when the path was clear, he walked with a powerful gait that became a game. It was like an old army movie. A forced march and he was the sergeant. At one point, he began to chant, “Hut, two, three, four. Hut two, three, four.” The cadenced walk time, coupled with the uniformity of the trail, was helping him make good time.
Kurt came to a straight away in the walkway and he could now see far up the river where he could make out church spires. As he pounded along the only sounds were from the water running to his left and occasional muffled sounds of life from over the ridge of the walkway. The most surprising thing so far was that since he began his journey from McKeesport, he hadn’t seen or passed another person on the trail.
Suddenly, as he turned the next bend in the walkway, several church spires of different heights and colors appeared before him. This must be West Newton, a town his father had taken him many times in the past. He decided it was a good time to take a break as light was starting to fade in the late afternoon. Kurt loosened his backpack and dropped it on the bank. He sat down and turned on his GPS screen which flashed him the weather for the coordinates. He checked the message and turned it off, so the signal wouldn’t be picked up. The forecast called for rain tonight and the possibility of a storm off Lake Erie tomorrow had increased with a big drop in temperature. Kurt sat there for a minute, realizing he had to keep going into the evening. He had to get as far as he could before the cold weather and snow came. “I guess things were going too smoothly,” he thought.
After the stop outside West Newton, the sky changed from fading light to darkness as night took over. This section of the trail hugged the hillside and with the tree limbs hanging, he had perfect cover.
At the end of the first day on the trail his body felt good, but gradually as he walked, a tightness in his calves developed. The extra weight and the pace apparently was catching up with him. Kurt could feel the steps becoming laborious and he realized he needed to rest. He rounded a slight bend and spotted a small cove about four feet up the hillside. He clambered up the slope and crawled into an oval shaped opening. He explored the cave and realized that there was an old conduit cover leaning against the rear wall, partially covered by dirt and rocks. Whatever its purpose, it hadn’t been used in years. This was a perfect spot out of the weather and any possible sighting from the air. He would await daybreak and the pending rain. He curled into a tight ball, covered himself as best he could, and laid his head on his backpack.
Kurt lay there, eyes now closed, trying to relax and sleep. For several minutes he lay there wide awake.
Somehow he needed to rest, hopefully sleep, if only for an hour. As much as he tried to relax, his mind traveled all over the bounds of his memory bank. From his father’s laugh to a PBS special when he was a kid that showed the sun finally blowing itself up, disintegrating all the planets. Of course that would be in millions of years, but it made an impression on the young man. Nothing, he realized, was absolutely permanent. Each moment was important in your life, yet absolutely insignificant in the timeframe of Man’s existence on this earth and even more so the existence of Earth itself. This philosophy of living in the moment always put him in perspective as to the importance, the incredible importance of living for the present moment. Tonight, as he lay curled in a hole beside the Youghigheny River on the mission of a lifetime, he thought of his belief in the moment and that the only thing real and within his control was each tiny frame of time like this moment. That was his last conscious thought.
Kurt awoke in the dark, but he could tell by the sound of birds off in the trees, that daybreak wasn’t to far off.
He must have been exhausted from the past days because he had slept most of the night. He stretched his body, pulled up his legs, and rolled out of the cave. He slowly stood up as a group of low flying crows could be seen in the grey light of the morning as they zipped by into trees above the hillside.
Kurt stretched his body again, looked at his watch and then to the river. Up ahead and across the river through the rising fog he could make out a small town which he believed was Smithton. A few lights were sprinkled amongst the low storied buildings. Smoke peeled out of several chimneys. He had been here as a young man when his father would drive into the mountains. These were fond memories of the times that he and his father spent together. This route was not only his way out, but was bringing him closer to his memories of his youth and his family and taking him through lands that he knew so well.
Light was coming over the hills to the east and the fog was burning off. Kurt could see above him the first bank of high dark clouds in a tight ridge coming into view. The weather had been so typical of this time of year.
Wave after wave of clouds would come in off Lake Erie, some with rain, but then, when the temperature dropped, snow. At that very moment, the wind began to pick up, as if listening to Kurt’s thoughts. He checked his weather again. The forecast was for winds picking up to 30MPH, before a rain storm arrived in the Laurel Mountains. It was time to move. Without hesitation, he grabbed his pack, tightened the connectors, hoisted it on to his back and returned to the trail. Hopefully, by this time tomorrow, he should be in the mountains and on his way to Columbia.
He had walked for only a few minutes, when a light drizzle began, which soon turned into a steady downpour.
He put up his hood and zipped up his lined jacket. The clearness had totally disappeared and a heavy black cloud presence took over the sky. The wind picked up and his weather meter clocked winds close to thirty miles per hour. He walked blindly for close to an hour and then the force of the rain quieted to a gentle mist. It was a relief from the large slashing pellets of the earlier downpour. He was able to see up ahead much better than he had before, so picked up the pace. The bad weather made it unlikely that he would come across anyone on the trail, unless they were Security. As a precaution, when he came to incoming pathways, he would slow down to make sure there was no one entering the passageway.
Kurt knew from his work research that the population in this rural community had plummeted over the past ten years. Most residents had either moved to the city or left the area or country altogether. The only growth industry was large organic agri-businesses set up by the Administration and worked by Latino’s brought in from Mexico. He also remembered the Administration was attempting to revitalize a dormant wind farm sector up in the higher ridges. Funds for these projects were coming from South American investment companies of the Southern Hemisphere Union. It was a good plan as the power generated was used by the local agri-businesses.
Kurt also knew that the major farms and generating systems were monitored by Security, but so far he had not heard or seen any patrols in the air and on the water.
He was falling a bit behind schedule due to the rain and the trail wasn’t as secure now that it was covered in places with water. Much of the hard packed paving had cracked, filling with water and dirt. Twice he took a few minutes to eat his rations. Finally, the misty rain stopped completely. His waterproofed shoes had held up well during the day, but hours before he had lost feeling in his feet. It seemed like a month since he had his socks and shoes off. He would have to due some healing tonight because he couldn’t afford for his feet to swell.
Ahead of him a curve in the path brightened suddenly as a short burst of sunlight peeked through the dense clouds. The trail still had some stone mileage markers, although most must have been taken as souvenirs. He came to one with Adelaide, MP 90, which meant that Connellsville was only a few miles down the river. The town of Adelaide was above the ridge and he could still see the town’s old brick buildings. He looked back at the river, noticing that the current had picked up dramatically with the new rain. He continued on the trail until he reached a large outcropping that came right up to a bend in the path and he stopped. Slowly he looked around and could see both sides of the river at Connellsville. He could see no activity. The town looked deserted. He had been going at a blistering pace and the combination of the damp weather and the impending night, caused him to seek a place to rest for the night. He needed to ration his energy.