There was a time when I would walk great distances, in places unfamiliar to me, on paths or along routes I’d never taken. The distance I could travel limited only by the decreasing length of day. I was of the possibly mistaken mind that finding one’s way to and through places one does not know comes easier when lit. The ability to see where you are going is most useful when you have something to recognize, but the sun surely lent warmth.
I made it my goal to always be back before dark. To be within range of wherever I was staying. More than once I failed.
More than once, when following trails I unexpectedly found myself at a point where the path ended and a road began. Whether disgorged before reaching my destination, or someplace other than where I had started, it was always an unsettling experience, if not an altogether unpleasant one. Caused, I presume, by the incongruence between where I was and where I had expected to be, in conjunction with the self-imposed time constraints. I was always running late.
In such occasions it is difficult to say that I had no idea where I was. I had no idea where the roads eventually led, or even that they had existed prior to their discovery, but I always had a general idea of my position in relation to my surroundings. I knew the ocean was this way, and in which direction lay the little town I’d passed hours earlier.
Backtracking is another word for quitting; I forged ahead.
In the end I always seemed to get where I was going, and isn’t that what travel is all about?
An unrelated point of interest (for me, at least): Bradicon! has produced 2233 icons in the last 3 days.