So begins one of the most exciting days of my life and I am, of course, two hours late. It’s been suggested more than a few times that I will show up late for my own funeral. While that may be a morbid way to make the point, I can’t disagree. Tardiness and I go way back.
As I promised everyone, I’m keeping this diary of my journey, and will write as often as I can. Because of my late start, though, I’m fumbling through this introduction while my INCREDIBLY tolerant friend drives in silence. “I need to get this started now or I never will,” I pleaded when I first pulled out my phone and started typing. “I’m really, really sorry.” I’ve promised to make it up to him when I get back but he seems more than a little dubious.
“You said you aren’t bringing your phone,” he responded.
“Not MY phone, no,” I said without looking up. “My OTHER phone.”
It made sense in my head, honest.
A clearer form of that statement might have been, “I’m not bringing my personal phone, but I will have a satellite phone to upload my journals and in the case of an emergency.” Instead, Alex permits my half-formed explanation to drift away like toxic particulate matter from a tailpipe.
That all said, we’ve reach the crux of the issue, the whole point of all of this early morning hurry.
The idea first showed up months again and I ignored it. Initially, I treated it like every other unwelcome guest that sneak into the gooey safe haven inside my skull. And like all those others, I very much expected it to eventually tire of the poor hospitality and go back where it came from.
But it didn’t. It stuck around. If anything, it became even more insistent, squatting between hopes and dreams with its arms folded and its pouting chin tucked.
So I gave it some attention, spinning it around, getting a better look at the thing. Again, I assumed the surgical poking and prodding would cause it to bristle, wriggle loose, and take a hike.
Ironically, it didn’t. But I did; or, at least, am about to.
Yep, I’m going on a hike.
To offer a long-winded back-story, I love horror fiction : films, games, music. Most of all, though, I love horror literature. Reading about the frightening, fantastical plights of Everyperson protagonists has always given me a thrill and sense of adventure that no other genre has equaled. Though I have an overflowing stable of authors that I turn to when my late-night jeebies call out for their matching heebies, one author remains my absolute favorite steward for all things macabre : H.P. Lovecraft.
As a PERSON, Mr. Lovecraft seemed considerably unpleasant, but as an author, barring a few tales that too nakedly espoused his racial elitism, his work is incredible. I’ve been through his entire catalog many times and still feel the same jolt of creeping dread whenever I enter his world.
And what a world it is. The premise of his fiction’s worldview is that human beings are meaningless in the grand scheme of things. We are only tiny flecks of insignificant sentience in a universe that is, at best, indifferent to our existence, and at worst directly inimical.
Most of Lovecraft’s protagonists are regular people who, if they survive at all, do so through dumb luck or by being so irrelevant to the universe’s malignancies, they don’t bother expending the minute energy required to smoosh them. Bold, superhuman heroes, his leads are not.
Those malignancies? Even for the genre, they are particularly nasty. To them, humans are as insignificant as dust motes. Occasionally, they may find a use for human servants, but as soon as they stop being useful, they are discarded and destroyed.
These eldritch, cosmic horrors possess such immense power that the human mind will crack, choosing to succumb to insanity, rather than try to understand them. LOTS of Lovecraft’s protagonists go mad from only glimpsing the deeper fabrics of reality and the impossible horrors that inhabit them. Counter to the protocols of most modern fiction, in a Lovecraftian story, one can generally assume things are not going to work out well for our hero.
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It’s very bleak stuff, to be sure, but Lovecraft does have a talent for creating intriguing, cosmic horizons of terror and wonder unlike any other author I’ve encountered. The adventure is alluring, even if it DOES end in madness and despair most of the time.
I mention all of this because, in a moment of inspiration (or madness, which the Man, himself, would appreciate), I realized that I could satisfy my dauntless compulsion while also complete a pilgrimage that had been on my to-do list for even longer.
Despite briefly living in (and despising) a few other places in his lifetime, Lovecraft’s true home was always Providence, Rhode Island. Akin to Stephen King centering most of his tales in his beloved Maine, Lovecraft uses Providence and the surrounding area as the hub for many of his stories. His characters travel the world from time-to-time but, primarily, they hail from or end up in Rhode Island.
If it’s good enough for Lovecraft, it’s good enough for me. I’m hiking to Providence.
My plan is to arrive in time for Halloween. Speaking of things I love, Halloween has always been my favorite holiday and Autumn my favorite time of year. I can’t think of a better place than the New England coast to experience both, so why not do so in Lovecraft’s old stomping grounds? I’ve read about different festivals and Lovecraft-themed tours that take place at the end of October, so being able to take part in those this year will be a dream come true.
Between myself and my destination lie approximately 550 miles of wooded countryside, small towns, and a lot of wilderness. Sure, there are much easier ways to get there. Heck, I drive to Rhode Island in less than a day. But Providence feels like something I need to EARN. It’s difficult to explain (believe me, I’ve tried with skeptical friends and family), but reaching the Promised Land through the power of my own two feet feels NECESSARY.
Alex is dropping meoff in Mcconnell’s Mill State Park, near New Castle, Pennsylvania. I’ll be zig-zagging across trails, through parks, and, when necessary, along a few roads. There’s no convenient, single trail, of course, but I’ve plotted a reasonable path. In total, it should end up being around 550 miles of honest-to-goodness hiking. I’d like to arrive in Providence no later than the night of October 30th, so that gives me a full 30days.
Allowing for a few missed turns and refueling, let’s call it 18.5 miles per day, on average. If I get to my destination sooner, all the better. That’s more October I get to spend around Providence. But my goal stands at the night of October 30. 550 miles, 30 days.
Like one of Lovecraft’s ill-fated heroes, I’m keeping this journal of my adventure; at least one entry per day. To assuage the more pessimistic imaginations of a few family members, I’ll be uploading them as I go. Some of the potential scenarios envisioned of my journey… I swear, Howard, himself, would be impressed. Bears and bandits, I grant are possible antagonists, but come on. No, I don’t believe I’ll encounter many tigers in central Pennsylvania, Aunt Tina, unless I visit a zoo.
But I’m NOT going to be responding to any messages or phone calls. I gave the satellite phone’s number to a FEW people under that explicit warning. Nor will I be going online to do anything more than inject my recorded musings into the information highway – I won’t even look at any comments left. Me, the trail, the world – that’s it. I don’t want civilization butting into my serenity.
It may sound harsh, but I know me. If friendly voices keep reminding me of what is waiting back home, my resolve is going to fracture and I’ll be catching the first bus back with a homesick heart. This is the only way this will work.
So there’s my plan, crude and bare bones as it is. There’s fluidity here if need be. It’s a moderate per-day distance for someone devoting all their time to walking, so if I need to pack it in a little early one day, I can always make it up. In truth, I like that idea of popping off-trail every now and again to check the lay of the land. I like small towns and I’ll be passing plenty of them. I’ll need to refill my supplies occasionally, anyway. Plus, I’m guaranteed to get lured toward several “World’s Largest Nail Clippers!”-style oddities as well. With a schedule this loose, I have that freedom – recognizing that when the fun’s over, I’ll need to step it up for a day or two to mitigate the damage. No problem.
I can camp anywhere that won’t get me shot. Some of the more well-trodden trails have camp sites and shelters so I’ll stick to those when available.
Long days, short days, minor mischief-making on and off-trail, sure! Everything goes. When adventure comes knocking, it will find a very willing vessel in me.
… I tell myself. Anyone reading this who knows me probably just snort-laughed so hard they need to clean mucus off the screen. I know, I know; it’s all talk until it happens. Even I scoff a bit reading back over what I just wrote. “Bold thrill-seeker” seems more than a little out of character, but who knows? Our personalities are largely molded by our environments and mine is about to change in a big way. Maybe I’ll end up changing right along with it.