Day 303
Day Totals: 7 hrs, 26 .3 kms

Today is going to be another stroll down memory lane. This time it will be around the countryside along memorable stretches of road in the farmland/suburbs north of the city.

Remembering my Summer of 1994

I start my hike on Siloam Rd, the farthest north I got on my last hike, and immediately the memories start to flow. Back in 1994 I took a break from my life in Mexico and came here for the summer to work in construction. I'd been living in Latin America for most of my life and it seemed like it was time for me to reconnect with my country of birth. But things didn't go quite as planned.

People treated me well here in the Pennsylvania, but I wasn't really at ease. I remember walking through the fields late at night in this area, confused and uncertain about my life. I felt out of place in this country... I didn't quite know why... it just seemed that the US wasn't the place for me .

Towards the end of my summer here, I determined that Mexico was going to be my home... forever... I was going to change my name, be a teacher or social worker serving the less privileged of that country... and that was that... No more life in the US for me.

That determination lasted only 1 year. Then I left Mexico for good.

Now, 20 years later, I think back and wonder what really made me have such a sudden desire to leave America after just being here a few months. I think I've learned a thing or two about myself and about human nature since then, and I'm pretty sure I wasn't driven by pure altruistic motives.

See, as a white foreigner living in Mexico, (as would be the case in most developing countries) I was treated special). I was respected... I wasn't just "one of the crowd". Coming to America, I was just an ordinary joe doing an ordinary job . I think, subconsciously, I really missed that feeling of thinking that I was special and not just one of the crowd.

Now, 20 years later, I'll have to admit, I still enjoy living in other countries more than in my own. I still like the feeling of being "unique" and different from those around me. But I think I've matured enough to be able to adapt and find myself wherever fate decides to put me or whatever people I have around me.

Remembering Winter of 2000

A bit further up the road, and the movie reel flashes forward 6 years: It's Winter of 2000. This time I remember pedaling up this stretch of road in the dead of winter, 20 kilometers round trip to a job packing tires into boxes--then pedaling off to a second job at a fast food joint. I had just come back to the US after spending a couple months "off the grid" in Europe and I needed to make some money--fast.

This was another rather difficult time in my life--but important . I was able to go from a penniless wanderer to being financially stable in just a couple of months... just by working really hard and being very frugal. Of course, I knew also that there are not very many countries in the world where this is possible, and I grew to appreciate the US a good bit more as it's a place that gives people the opportunity to find a job (or 2) quickly, without needing any "connections".

The view along this stretch is quite beautiful when the fields are blanketed in snow. The ride home was one of the few peaceful moments in my day when I could just forget about everything for a few minutes and just live in the moment.

No snow on the ground now, but, still a beautiful moment as the first rays of the sun reach across the Cumberland Valley.

The Death of a Village

Finally I loop my way back around to Highway 11, an important historic north-south route that travels through Cumberland Valley, Shenadoah Valley and on across the country, running parallel to the Appalachian Trail . Here, it seems that back in colonial times, towns were deliberately spaced 10-15 miles apart, so there would be always be a place to find lodging for the passing traveller or cattle driver.

Or maybe not. Just a few miles up the road is the village of Green Village--which is not longer a village. Just a row of houses. Nothing to give it a "soul" or any sort of cohesion. The only places of business are a couple of roadside restaurants and a gas station. It's now classified as a "Census Designated Place", nothing more.

But cemetery catches my eye. There I find tombstones of people who have lived and died here for the last 150 years. So I'm sure, back in the day, this WAS a village. There were shops here--as people couldn't just hop in there cars and drive to the nearest Walmart. This village had a soul. A couple ghostlike houses clustered together right at the center are a reminder of this.

I wonder how many more villages like this I'm going to find on my journey ... probably a lot.

Here in Green Village, some more memories... I also pedaled out to work at the gas station here back in 2001, working two jobs, coming for the night shift here. At times I was putting in 20 hours a day. A couple of times I actually fell asleep while riding my bicycle!

This was an experience of "pushing myself to the limit"... I hope I'll never have to have this sort of experience again--but I'm glad I put myself through this.

Revisiting Scotland

Off to the east now, I reach the village of Scotland, which I parkbenched way back in 2007. It's pretty chilly today, but I do manage to make it through my entire 2013 album before my fingers go completely numb, the head out to explore the town a little more.

Scotland hosts the district court for Greene Township--but it's more like a big metal shed with windows! Possibly one of the most unglamourous courthouses I've seen . I mean, I'm all for the government being frugal... but a metal shed?!

And with that, I head on back towards Chambersburg, taking the same road through the apple orchards that I'd take on my bicycle back in 2001, when going to the movies at nearby Chambersburg Mall.

The quarters for the migrant apple pickers are quite spartan. This is one job that I didn't do back when I was getting started trying to get on my feet back when I moved to the US--although I considered it. Looking at the one room living quarters for pickers who toil in the freezing rain for a low paying temporary job that requires that they always be on the move, I'm reminded that not everybody gets a free ride in this country.

Touring the Trailer Park

I have one last sub-culture I want to have a glimpse of before ending my hike: The Trailer Park Culture. This culture is often mocked and lampooned in pop culture as being the bottom rung of society . Not necessarily true--there are some very classy folks that live in mobile homes.

The Chambersburg trailer park does seen to fit the stereotype a bit. Very rundown looking mobile homes with little done to fix them up or make the area look nice. I suppose it's either because people that live here are in transition, have financial problems, or simply don't care...

Having worked with some trailer park dwellers who looked for any excuse to leave work early and race off to the nearest bar, I guess I'm not too surprised...

And with that, I finish my loop and my day hike comes to an end.