More than anything though, it a very evocative line. Especially if you are, or have been, a long distance runner.
I read the story ages ago, and I remember - having been drawn to it by the title, and the thought of solitude via athleticism - I remember being disappointed because it was really something else. A story about class, or boarding schools, or something... something that wasn't running.
Why it comes to mind though, as part of this GAP series, is how, when I encountered other travelers during my week on the GAP trail, it was evident that what we were all after was solitude.
(just north of the Salisbury Viaduct)
I'd meet someone, Troy at the KOA, Rowen in Cumberland, the former minister in Frostburg, the guy with the Surly at the KOA when I was northbound, and we'd talk, and it'be good. Where are you going? Where have you been? Had that bike long? You done a trip like this before? (and usually, after hearing my accent...) Where are you from?
So we'd talk, but, even if we realized that we were headed the same way, we'd leave wherever we were separately, because we respected each other's solitude. Respected each other's desire to ride alone.
I was really happy to meet all those gentlemen, and talk to them, and shake their hands, and share a few stories, but in the end, I wanted to ride alone.
When I was planning my GAP trip, and talking to people around town about it, the question which would always come up was "are you doing it with a group?" When I answered "No", I found people's reactions split along two lines:
a) Cyclists - even if they weren't long distance touring cyclists - got it. You're going alone? That'll be awesome. And their eyes would mist over with some kind of envy, accompanied by an image floating before their eyes of forests and rail-trails and prairies and climbs into the dewy clouds clinging to a mountain top.
b) Non-cyclists didn't get it. And, I'm not trying to be mean, but, I couldn't be bothered to explain it to them.
And, well, what is "it"? What is the thing I didn't want to explain?
Partly - it's this.
Skip through the two-plus minutes of period-piece British drama, and watch from about the 2:50 mark. And look at their faces.
Start at about the 2:50 mark
Despite the fact that they're running in a group (presumably the 1924 British Olympic team), is there any doubt at all that they're really running alone? And exulting in it?
No music. No earbuds.
The kind of trail where there is dirt under your feet which sprays out a bit behind you every time your feet push off.
Listen for it. The spray of sand, of pebble.
Listen to your breathing.
Feel the breeze on your skin.
Squint slightly as you round a bend and a flash of sunlight hits your eyes.
Are you alone? Or are you part of something?
And does the pounding of your heart somehow make it even closer?
And I, tiny being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss.
I wheeled with the stars.
My heart broke loose with the wind.
- Pablo Neruda "Poetry", translated by Alastair Reid.
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