It’s taught me to be calm, patient, strategic, brave, and grateful for and connected to my body and the world around me. I feel more accomplished when I complete a strenuous hike than I ever felt from professional praise. A hike is tangible, and it’s for me, not for anyone else. And it’s totally punk rock. Let me count the ways:
Don’t get me wrong, I understand the benefits of group travel and the many reasons solo travel can be dangerous, especially for women. Those concerns are inherent in daily life for us and need not be rehashed, and when we’re feeling vulnerable there are thankfully a million articles about how we can better prepare ourselves to face the world while female. What I’m interested in exploring is the idea that there are circumstances in which solo travel can be advantageous to one’s safety. I’ve often had plans in mind that, upon a friend floating the idea of joining me, suddenly seemed rife with caveats. The following scenarios are food for thought.
Late morning, clear day. The sun is shining, the wind is whipping fast; I’m sitting in the bed of a moving truck on a little-trafficked backroad in Molalla, OR, thirty-and-some miles outside Portland. There’s a dog in my lap. A local couple had done me the favor of picking me up as I walked back into town from the campsite. This memory has a glowing haze around it; it’s burned into me because of the quiet reflection bought with that moment of silence.