Follow the Stream: Part 3

Journal Entry: Day Three

I’m sitting on a curb in the middle of rural Sardinia. I think the name of the town is Segario. Either that or that’s the name of the town’s only cafe. There is a different kind of quiet here. It seems almost soft. I sit waiting for two runners making their way from the city of Cagliari to Capu Mannu, a peninsula crowned with an ancient Roman fortress. The ages of war on this island have long since subsided, but the runners are engaged in a battle of their own. They are running 25~ miles a day, supported by the local cuisine, Drew Smith on a mountain bike, and myself. The sun is strong, eliminating any existing drive as soon as you shuffle out of the shade. Yesterday’s mileage was a chore - fear of the looming miles pulled the runners deeper into their own minds. 

This morning our house host made us breakfast and showed us his donkeys, roaming up above the chateau. The farm was perched on top of a pass, allowing us a distant view of our final destination. We ate our fill of bread and cheese and loaded up to begin our daily mission: 25 more miles. With childlike joy and utter confusion concerning our mission, the host watched as the runners trotted through the olive trees, onward into the unknown.

Cresting the final pass of their epic, Travis and Rio find themselves on the home stretch. The city of Oristano, the destination for the day, is clearly visible as they descend toward the coast. The morning is still, birds sing and the warmth of the sun refills the runners. Their muscles are stiff, yet their pace remains even stiffer. Flying through the farm country, they navigate a herd of sheep. Exchanging gestured apologies and directional intent to the farmer, they increase their turnover rate. 

Continuing into the city, the arrhythmic buzz of the traffic and bustling life offers a soundtrack to the rhythm of their tired feet. The day is over as soon as it starts. Negronis and pizzas from a local joint fill the afternoon hours and lead deep into the night. Sounds of local youths running wild harmonize with a local musician busking in the street.

The runners are due to finish their journey tomorrow. No one references it, but there is an unspoken, universal intent to soak in as much as possible.