Light at the End of the Tunnel

 Steve and I had a wonderful camping trip this year, we stayed in Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania for 4 days and Hocking Hills, Ohio for 3 days.  We had several adventures in hiking, biking and white water rafting, however the one I would like to share today was our day biking on the Great Allegheny Passage (GAP) rail trail.  Our white water rafting guide had recommended driving to the next town up the trail (Confluence) and from there biking about 6 miles up to the Pinkerton train tunnel.  He said that it would be a pretty ride with several trestle bridges to cross over, and the Pinkerton tunnel was a local landmark and unique experience.  We thought a 12 mile round trip sounded doable for two people who haven't biked all summer.  

We packed a lunch to eat when we got back to Confluence and snacks, extra water in a camelback, first aid kit etc. for the ride.  We though we were probably overpacking for a 12 mile bike, but not knowing the trail and how far we might be from help we tend to overpack and prepare.  

We were very fortunate that most of the trail was wooded and shady, it also followed the river with several gorgeous overlooks.  

What we did not anticipate was the constant uphill climb.  There were a few downhills headed east to the tunnel, but mostly my quads were burning with the consistent pedaling needed to make our way.  Then, at the 7 mile mark, we realized it may be farther than the guide's estimate of 6 miles.  We decided to stop, rest, and re-evaluate the distance by using the interactive map we had downloaded for the trip.  Stopping was harder than we'd thought; with tired legs, Steve's usual dismount did not work as well, and he ended up scrapping his knee up on the gravel path.  Guess we did need that first aid kit!

Consulting the map, we saw that we were more than halfway there and maybe it would be another couple miles to the tunnel. This we felt was doable, especially if the way back was going to be a steady downhill.  We continued on, and eventually got to the tunnel just shy of 10 miles. Our 12 mile bike had turned into a 20 mile bike!  But we made it, and the overlook was gorgeous!  And the tunnel, well, that was an experience.  

The Pinkerton tunnel is 849 ft of unlit tunnel.  You can clearly see the other side, however, after the first few feet, the blackness is total and you can see nothing around you.  I had several minutes of anxiously steering straight towards the light at the end, with hands I couldn't see, on a path I couldn't see, and praying that there were no obstacles for me to run into!  It had not occurred to us to pack lights.  The cold of the tunnel chilled the sweat on my back, and all I heard was the gravel crunching beneath my tires and my breath echoing back to me from the tunnel walls, which added to the general fear factor.  I was very relieved to make it unscathed to the other side.  The way back I was a little easier about it since I had made it through once and knew what to expect, but it was still very unnerving riding through such total darkness.  I had some time to think about the symbolism, how often we are going through dark times that scare us and where we can't see what obstacles or dangers might be ahead, and we just have to trust that we will make it to the light on the other side.  To get through the scary times, hold steady and steer towards the light.

The way back to Confluence was a much easier ride with a constant downgrade that let us coast a lot.  I was very grateful for that!

Resting on the way back, we found a couple benches that were engraved with sayings that fit the trip perfectly.  As Steve feels I am the loveliest flower in the garden.  And for some reason, this trip between hiking Laurel Highlands and Hocking Hills involved a lot of climbing.  Steve would turn to me and ask, "Say it,"  and I would reply: "Yes, Ray, we are still going up".  

The Many Scarred Tree

 One of the tools that I use to help with anxiety has been to practice meditation and mindfulness.  This does not mean sitting for hours staring at my belly button and trying to think of nothing.  Rather it is about no matter if I am sitting, walking or performing some chore or task,  I am also practicing keeping my focus on noticing the world around me. Not distracting myself with music or audiobooks, or letting my brain endlessly spiral around upcoming tasks etc.  It is taking some time to really notice the little things around you that normally are just background, that we might not even really see as we walk by.

A few weeks ago I happened to have a little over an hour of time between work and a writing class I am taking, so I stopped by a small park and explored a new to me nature trail.  It happened to be a low energy day so I knew it would be a slow meander and just took my time at a pace that didn't have me stopping to catch my breath.  It happened to be a very old boardwalk, covered with moss, and with many uneven boards.  It even had some areas under construction with missing boards and new off to the side ready to replace them.  Going slow was probably the wisest way to take with the somewhat treacherous path.  There were several lollipop branches with one overlooking a river that I chose to rest at, and meditate and watch the river for a bit.  Watching the river, with no people about, it was still a busy place.  Reflections of sunlight off the water danced on the underside or tree branches overhanging the river in a mesmerizing pattern.  Huge red dragonflies patrolled and circled across and around, across and around, with occasional dives at the insects skimming the water.   A large fish jumped, startling me with its sudden huge splash.  Shortly after a huge raptor (I am not skilled enough in bird identifying to know the exact type) bright white and brown speckled body dove down towards the water.  It seemed to be coming right at me as its claws reached for the surface and missed its prey.  It circled twice before flying off further down the river.  I tried to focus on my breathing and simply take it all in, and marveled at just how busy the world is with no people around.  How much life is going on in the world that we often do not take the time to notice.  

I continued on my way, wanting to give myself enough time to get back to the start of the trail, and eventually I came upon a tree that was so torn and scarred that I was amazed that it still lived. Something in the tree's past had tried to take it out and been unsuccessful. Here it stood, scarred but very much alive. Standing straight and tall with a bright green canopy overhead.  A silent reminder that damaged does not mean broken.  Sometimes we make it out of the trauma heavily scarred and survive and thrive nonetheless.  

Lost in thoughts of the tree and what it meant or symbolized for me (not a mindful moment!),  I was startled by someone coming up behind me.  The first person I had seen out there, she said something like, "behind you", and I jumped probably a foot to the side as she speed walked past me.  She had headphones in and seemed to be going faster than was safe for this boardwalk.  I think she barely noticed me as she went by.  I wondered if she had noticed the scarred tree?  Or had taken a moment to watch the river?  I suddenly felt sad for her, and by that same token for my past self.  How many trails did I run with friends where it felt good to be out in nature but I was distracted with conversation.  Did I really see and hear and appreciate the world around me?  How many runs did I do with headphones and an audiobook or podcast running in my ear to distract me?  What did I miss by not taking some extra time to really feel and focus on all the vibrant life around me.  

This experience seemed to be a reminder that no matter how busy I am, trying to fit that workout in, I should stop and take a breath, and take the time to mindfully take it all in.