The act of 'pushing on' often results in an interesting adventure for me. Yesterday's 'pushing on' past my planned day end near Park City, ND landed me 2 hours down the road in Carrington.
I find camping in the town park near the ball diamonds, which I confirm with a couple Dads enjoying their post coaching beers. Just then, the dark skies open up and deluge the town with rain; me safely under the group picnic shelter; the DR being soaked. Prudently, I check the weather forecast only to discover a severe thunderstorm / hail warning for the immediate area. No problem, I have resources. Wouldn't a warm hotel bed and hot restaurant meal be a nice treat?
The three hotels in town are all completely booked as a result of the North Dakota oil boom. One woman did kindly offer to see if one of the guys wouldn't mind sharing a room, which by my laughter she concluded my decline. I ride back in light rain to the group shelter to ponder my options. I am not excited to set my tent up under the trees and risk a hail storm. The DR is tucked happily under the shelter and so I opt for that approach as well. Waiting till dark, I spread my sleeping bag out on a picnic table roughing it "cowboy style".
So far the people of Carrington have generally been less than friendly. With odd looks to the stranger and several folks walking by a smiling me with maps a splay and not even a nod of acknowledgement to the traveller. This aloofness added to the awkwardness I already feeling about playing 'homeless' in this town park. I think, hope even, that I would be rather 'invisible' but I am not.
There is something about being exposed in your sleeping place that is especially vulnerable. A trio of pre-teen boys wander past, flashlight in hand, they squeal and run past in delight and/or fear at the mystery of someone sleeping on the picnic table. A late returning baseball team disperses from a bus to waiting cars must see me, but no one comments. It is a little intimidating. Apparently the news of someone (a woman) sleeping in the park travels and a car, with what I imagine are teenagers, cruises the park a couple times in the dark. "heyy girlie.." This is more than a little intimidating. Troubling media stories, which I generally avoid for this reason, reel through my brain.
One last car rolls into the park. Their lights shine on me, I lay still trying again to be an invisible lump atop a picnic table. They pause by the camping rules sign and then slowly find a place to park. Ahh, they are like me, weary travellers seeking rest.
12:30am all is quiet. 3am sound of an owl. 5:15am the traffic on the main road is picking up. 6am in the full morning light I decide to make my bed a table again. It feels strange to have my sleeping place be this public. I can only imagine what it must be like to be homeless. To have all your worldly possessions in a nearby cart. To long for a comfortable nights sleep with privacy and maybe even discretion and respect from those who might encounter you. To be so habitually exposed and dismissed at the same time. I can't really know what it's like. I pack my bike and in 15 minutes I am gone. I do not have to deal with the dismissive or pitying glances of fellow town's folk or the task of finding another 'invisible' place to sleep that night.
Of course, all my imaginings of harm are for not, which is the highest probability. I do believe people are inherently and fundamentally good. The greatest proportion of people would help vs harm, including those who seemed 'unfriendly' to me yesterday. One has only to ask for help and it will be there in one form or another. So my 'pushing on' from the comfort and familiarity of a fully serviced state park netted me an interesting experience of exposure, vulnerability and the reflection that comes with spending the night sleeping on wood planks.
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