Trail Companions

Most mornings, on backcountry trails in Cuyahoga Valley National Park, I’m not burdened with human encounters. This morning, however, it was a virtual traffic jam out there.
Less than a mile into the woods I spotted a guy sitting on a stump. Actually, I heard him before I saw him. He was talking on a cell phone. Remember, not long ago, if you saw a person talking to himself you assumed he was mentally deranged. Now, you assume he’s on a cell phone, which might still be a mental derangement.
The guy was making some sort of business deal. More info than I wanted, that’s for sure. I passed him and he never acknowledged my presence. That’s okay. I heard him say, “Just tell them we need the stuff by mid November or it’s a deal breaker.” Then he said, “No. I can’t get on a computer. I’m in the middle of a business meeting. I’ll get back with you in a couple hours.”
Ah ha! He was playing hooky. I was beginning to like this guy.
Further down the trail I encountered a forty-something couple. Runners. Mr. Macho was out front. To his credit, he had a great-looking dog on a leash. He was wearing his game face and just grunted as he lunged passed me. Why do runners always look so grim? They never appear to be enjoying themselves.
His female companion was the opposite. She was all bubbly and glowing with the exercise. She did, however, speak in capital letters.
“MORNING!”
“Ah, hi,” I said.
“ISN’T THIS A GREAT DAY?”
“Ah, they’re all great. Some are just …”
Then they were gone—for a while. I got them a second time on their turn around. Mr. Crankypants still looked like he was not having much fun. The dog’s tail was wagging so hard I thought it might come off, so I know he was having a ball.
“HI! SO GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN! HOW ARE YOU?”
Since she was gone before I could respond, I said, “You don’t give a shit about how I am …” Ooooo, that felt good.
I stopped to adjust an errant shoulder strap that was making my backpack list to starboard. A barking growl at my heels set me off like the Space Shuttle! As I returned to Earth, a chuckling runner, obviously enjoying his joke, was passing my landing spot. He said, “Hope I didn’t scare ya!”
I contemplated how much damage I could do with the titanium point of my trekking pole. I hesitated, thinking that I’ll meet this jerk again on a winter hike and get him with an ice sickle. That way there’ll be no finger prints when they find his body in the spring.
After a few hard miles my mind began to get back into the rhythm of the trail. Then I spotted her. A woman, standing in the middle of the path, about 50 yards ahead of me. She had her hands up to her face and was obviously sobbing.
Immediately I entered into a discussion with the Voices in my head. This was a classic Franz Kafka philosophical discussion: You’re crossing a bridge late at night and you see someone poised on the rail, about to jump. Do you stop and try to help, or do you continue on your way?
When I drew to within 15 feet of her, she looked up, noticeing me for the first time. All she said was, “Oh!”
She was flossing her teeth! Right. Flossing her teeth!
When my resting heart beat got back down to below 1,000, the Voices told me to look at the positive side of this: She’ll toss the floss on the ground, an Orchard Oriole will find it in the spring and use it as part of its nest, and we’ll have another special bird living in the park.
As I neared the end of my seven-mile ordeal, I cut through a meadow and stopped to admire one of my favorite bugs—a praying mantis. At least here was a critter that exhibits normal behavior, like biting the head off its partner after mating.