The Wakeful Wanderer's Guide to New New England & Beyond

The MiddleWay

The narrow path northeast of Yale Havens was empty. Marto glided his way up it next to the river. He was becoming more competent with the skates and swooped in great curves up along the level trail. Caravans were not allowed on passageways like this one, built on the beds of old railroad tracks. This one had been recently converted and the surface was gloriously smooth.

As smooth as the skating was, however, Marto could no longer avoid the warning signals from his feet and legs. He had blocked the pain back on the Merritt, but now those blocks were proving insufficient, and increasingly hazardous. The friction from the skates had caused blisters on his feet. His shins were screaming at him to stop and his hips ached. The soles of his feet felt wet and hot. His calves were spasming. He had to take frequent breaks, even when using the maximum power assist the skates had to offer.

The chipmunk ran out in front of his feet without warning. It zigged and zagged to avoid being stepped on, but Marto was already toppling forward, rubbing his hands hard on the road and banging his cheek against the ground. Marto found himself thinking it was the same chipmunk that had tripped him up on his unicycle at the start of his journey. Fucking chipmunks.

["Ouch!"] ["Ooh, you took a digger!"] ["That's going to leave a mark!"] His followers chimed in with their concern, but he couldn't help but get the feeling they were enjoying his little run-ins with the rodent population.

He was going to have to take time to recuperate when he reached The Middle and choose a new mode of transport. He made this data public shortly after leaving Yale Havens in the hope someone might offer him a bike or maybe even a new uni. He stopped to sit on a bench and watched the Connecticut River glide by. His feet, finally freed from the skates, looked red and damaged.

The sky was gray but bright. The day was hot. UV radiation was dangerously high, and though his hat protected much of his head, his nose and lips burned. His body felt flooded with oxygen from his exertion, but he also felt dangerously weary. He checked the distance to The Middle and decided he had just enough in caloric reserves to get there. He had a little leftover hard-tack on him, and he nibbled a bit and drank from a bottle offered at a nearby water station.

["Your body temperature is 38.62°, Marto. you may have overheated,"] FornTimbur « HraunHugur « Kristin « Katrin « Eva « etc thexted him from Reykjavik. ["Dehydration too. You might need attention."]

["You are pushing too hard Marto,"] Mem sent. ["You should stay still for a while."]

He checked his Merit. His followership had risen again to pre-Glenville levels, and exceeded them by 12.5%. His stop there had set him back significantly, but his gleeful liaison on the Merritt seemed to have spiked interest, as did his stop at the library. A discussion was underway about his current ailments and their possible solutions. He was getting an urgent message.

["We are coming to meet you Marto. Hang tight."]

The message was sent by five emissaries from The Middle heading south on the same trail. They were on bikes. He could see their names and progress. He was happy to stay put until they got to him.

The abandonment of train travel remains, in the mind of this historian slash travel writer, a mystery. Obviously, the old coal powered engine died a well-deserved death, along with the oil-powered model, but one has to wonder why photo-electric engines on an improved line of tracks have not been resurrected in post-tide civilization.

I imagine there are three reasons for this. The first being the conversion of the majority of the old tracks into more popular pathways for foot and bike travel. The second is a general lack of interest in physically moving from place to place, but that reason is offset by the continuing need to move goods and produce. The third reason might be a culture of provincialism on the part of the Interconnected communities. Not much thought is given to centralized planning for transport of people and goods in this age of revived tribalism. Centralized planning died with the dissolution of federal governments, which in turn died with the demise of the capital which fed them. Still, we are unified in our maintenance of signal repeaters, keeping us connected mentally. Why then, can't a little attention be directed toward a more effective model of transport than road-bound caravans?