It was about the going as much as the getting there. My rhythm was tied to the sun's rise and fall, my calendar to the changing seasons. I felt comfortable, at peace in the woodlands and ridgelines and hillsides. At the bottom of the hill that rhythm became irrelevant and the comfort faded. Distance in the nontrail world is measured in a different way.
Time is space between items on a to-do list.
Sure, I needed to go into town to pick up supplies and mail, to savor a pizza, to shower. This was no longer familiar territory. I tended to my business, then headed back out of town to where the trail poured out of the woods and crossed the road. I spotted the next blaze and followed it up the other side, back to where the wind played along a ridgeline, back where I belonged. The 2,158-mile Appalachian Trail is the most famous long path, but others will take you farther, higher, or even east to west.