On Comfort

I slept last night in a real bed, after dinner around a real table. Tonight I'm in the tent, and my bed is the grassy forest floor. I ate supper straight out of the pan, crouched by the tent. 

On the walk out of Edinburgh, I passed the bus stop for the Express bus to Glasgow. I could have been in Glasgow in an hour. But I've chosen to walk, and the journey will take me three days. 

Why do we do this? Why do we, the walkers, the long distance runners, the explorers, why do we choose discomfort, when comfort is so easily available? 

I'm walking, not catching the Express bus, because I want to meet the people, learn about Scotland, and because I want to go at Nature's pace, slowly through the countryside. 

Tonight, camping (and thus not in a comfy bed) a wee deer came by, grazing a lush green clearing in the forest here. I would not have seen her from a bus, or from a comfortable home. 

 

 

In the woods

 

And on the walk today I spoke to at least a dozen people, including a couple of guys using magnets to 'fish' metal from the canal, a fisherman who called me 'buddy' and someone who said I looked 'fresh' and ready for the rest of the Trail (that was at 5pm when I felt anything but fresh.) 

The deer, and the chat - that's why I take the rougher road.