One day when I was walking some.

The Springwater Corridor was a paved trail running east from Portland toward Gresham. It followed an old railway grade, cutting behind neighborhoods, crossing industrial districts, and passing through stretches where the city seemed to disappear completely. I walked it almost every week .Portland likes to present itself as an egalitarian city, but certain hierarchies remained intact. Occasionally, wealthy women  on horseback would approach and order me off the trail. The horse, apparently, had priority. I always moved. A frightened animal weighing half a ton was not a philosophical problem worth debating.

The trail was beautiful, but it was never predictable. In this one section one day when I was walking some, men emerged from the bushes in a group of four or five. They were unsteady and visibly intoxicated.(But on what was a total mystery.) The whites of their eyes were yellow. They asked for money. A dollar. Anything. I had to play it cool I had to posture to be tough enough not to get beaten up. But then also I had to posture not to be too aggressive, so that then they wouldn't be aggressive. Reading facial expressions isn't my specialty, so I was hoping that this would become uneventful. I was pretty nervous. If they understood That I probably spent all my time at Super Weenie Hut Jr's, and was  a non threat, I could be in trouble. 

So, I kept moving. I told them that I didn't have any money. They let me pass. Perhaps they could tell I had no money. This was not difficult to determine. I was dressed in second hand hiking gear, that I had got at Value village(a second hand store) and living in Portland, where nearly every available dollar had already been converted into rent.

That afternoon I had hiked Powell Butte before joining the Springwater Corridor for the trip home. The temperature was approximately sixty seven  degrees. Fog covered the lower sections of the trail. A light drizzle had been falling for most of the afternoon.

I had dressed correctly, layered shirts, waterproof jacket, hiking pants, and boots. Moisture management was the primary concern. Rain was not necessarily dangerous at that temperature, but sweat could become a problem. The rain intensified.

Within seconds, the drizzle became a steady downpour. Water struck the leaves, the pavement, and the hood of my jacket. Visibility dropped. The fog thickened until the trees on either side of the trail became vague vertical shapes. 

Being from the West Texas desert, I love the rain so much. Then I heard the footsteps. They were behind me. At first they were difficult to separate from the rain. Then the pattern became distinct.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Someone was following at approximately the same pace. I did not turn around. Turning would reveal that I had noticed them. Instead, I listened. I shortened my stride. The footsteps slowed. I increased my pace.

They accelerated. The response was immediate. I reviewed the possibilities. A jogger would pass. A cyclist would make mechanical noise. A normal pedestrian would not precisely duplicate every change in my speed. The trail behind me was concealed by fog. The nearest street crossing was some distance away. There were no houses visible from that section. The footsteps continued.

Step.

Step.

Step.

My body responded before I made a conscious decision. Heart rate increased. Peripheral vision narrowed. The muscles in my legs seem to be gearing up. I considered running. Running would confirm fear, but remaining on the trail might allow the person behind me to close the distance. I tried to estimate how far back they were. Ten feet. Perhaps fifteen. Close enough.  accelerated again. The footsteps accelerated with me. I was preparing to sprint when I noticed.

Wait, wait, hold on.

 There was no delay. The footsteps did not follow my movements. They occurred at exactly the same instant. I stopped. The sound stopped. Rain struck the pavement around me. I lifted one boot and placed it down. A footstep sounded it was me. There was nobody behind me. I stood alone on the trail, listening to the rain. Then I started walking again. The footsteps returned. This time I understood them. I made it home without incident.

Sometimes it seems that the most frightening thing following me is the sound of myself.