May 31, 2013 Day 11 — Ellicott to Sandy Spring (20 miles or 40,000 steps)

In consideration of my 2:00 appointment at Sandy Spring Friends School, I head out bright and early by 6:30. A seven-hour cushion of time for a 20+ mile walk sounds right to me. The Bob Evans restaurant is open for early breakfast risers and I’m sit-down customer number one. My waiter, Evan (no relation to the owner of the chain) sees to it that I eat a hearty breakfast.

Today’s walk features a long stint on Route 108, due southwest of Ellicott City to Sandy Spring. The first half of the route includes sidewalks with plenty of morning commute traffic. Cars are either going to Baltimore or to Washington. However, part 2 of the walk is completely sidewalk-less, just barely a foot-wide shoulder that occasionally completely disappears. I must pay attention or be killed. It quickly becomes exhausting to pin oneself against the bushes on the side–plunging unavoidably into patches of poison ivy–whenever a flock of cars passes. Drivers, meanwhile, are texting, talking on cell phones, or staring blankly into the windshield, and despite my awkward posture of self-preservation against the wall of green, not one single car slows down. One lady even wags her finger at me as she speeds forward in her oversized vehicle. Excuse me!

The recurring thought I have all morning is, What do you think you are doing, Asselin, walking from Cheyney to Washington? I love existential questions on the purpose and meaning of life while skirting disaster on Route 108.

Last spring I asked the same question during my endless trek across Northern Long Island. I think I even blogged about it, referring to the experience as crossing the sea of doubts (at Orient Point). This year, I’m facing the same psychological dilemma–a desert of doubts–even though I’m surrounded by green woods and fields. Why desert? Because I’m thirsty, parched, and it’s damn hot (in the 90s today).

I’m thrilled that my existential crisis is happening now–always about 2/3 of the way. During a rest stop for liquids, I call the International OCD Foundation to see if the staff has any good answers to my question about my identity and vocation as a walker. Jeff Smith, the Director Development, tells me it would take a long time to answer my question. He suggests instead that I hydrate and proceed with caution. Oh, I get it. I’m asking the BIG question, and that one never has a simple answer, or even one.

Ok, I’ll move on, but it’s kinda lonely out here on the thin road with 90-degree temperatures, so I’ll hope for small signs from the universe that this whole ordeal is rightly led. Perhaps a thumbs up on Facebook, or a “that a boy” text message, or a small contribution of support (which produces a lovely “bing” on my iPhone).

Just as I’m about to give up, the Sandy Spring town sign appears around the corner.
A 7- Eleven store clerk gives me permission to use the employee bathroom even though this is strictly against store policy. Thanks, Will, for breaking the rules after you hear about my journey.

I arrive at Sandy Spring Friends School, happy to get out of the heat and into an air-conditioned building. Tom G, the Head, counselors and the school nurse join me in his office. We talk about brain disorders, about Nathaniel and his BDD, my walk, and how this school responds and can respond to issues of mental illness among its students. All of us–educators, the 7-Eleven clerk, pilgrims–need to trust that what we are doing is what needs to be done. I’m inspired by the Sandy Spring School motto–“Let your lives speak.” Got it. Thanks for the reminder.

Now a two-night stay awaits me at Toni and Bruce Evans, the final pause before the big push on Sunday to Washington, DC.