Continuing through the park I watched the silent dance of fishermen, the changing leaves captured in watercolor, blue herons practicing patience and grace, boardwalks spanning swamps thick with lily pads, cattails, fish, turtles, and other wildlife. Equally cool were several sightings of the silver vintage dome cars from the California Zephyr line as part of the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad. Love coffee? I’d enjoy perhaps the best on the trail at Peninsula Coffee House & Market, though Mile 42 Coffee well south in Loveland may have something to say about it. Looking for a Fall activity with the family? I highly recommend Szalay’s Farm & Market where visitors can peruse rows of pumpkins, fresh fruits and veggies, and a large variety of mouthwatering snacks, or test their skills in a large corn maze. For me, a fresh peach and locally baked cookies did the trick.

Sundays in Akron must be a day of rest or football, appearing as a ghost town as I walked through empty streets. I’d exit the city via a series of boardwalks beginning at Summit Lake, homes lining the canal with backyards and docks in varied conditions, before joining the Tuscarawas River south of the city. I’d enjoy my favorite breakfast of the hike in the quaint town of Canal Fulton thanks to the fluffy, belt-loosening omelet from Sisters Century House Restaurant. With the weather forecast promising fair weather over the next week, this is also where I’d ship home excess gear including my tent and multiple warm layers. Notably colder nights would begin the second week, but I was too stubborn to admit my foolish decision to save weight.

Southwest of Massillon the overall urban feel of the first 75 miles gradually gave way to rural farmland, fields of corn and soybean, and pastures of horses, cows, and sheep. The better part of the next 50 miles through the small towns of Dalton, Apple Creek, Fredericksburg, Holmesville, Millersburg, Killbuck, Glenmont, and Brinkhaven proved to be my favorite stretch. Over two days I’d pass through Amish country, watching a way of life most of us admittedly admire slowly play out before me. A 17-mile road walk between Dalton and Fredericksburg led through the ups and downs of hills and valleys, the tops of beautiful white houses and grain bins stood like lighthouses among a sea of green pasture and golden corn. Small roadside stands offered pumpkins, flower bouquets, and fresh produce. Each had a glass jar where you could drop in a few quarters, operating on the honor system. Lines of plain clothing of white, tan, black, grey, and blue hung like large Tibetan prayer flags drying in the wind. Children played baseball outside one-room schoolhouses, their shrieks of laughter subsiding and replaced with quite stares of curiosity. It was a humbling reminder that I was the stranger, an outsider. Numerous black buggies pulled by horses trotted by offering closeup glimpses of people emphasizing simplicity, community, and separation from popular culture. I couldn’t help but think, at least in a small way, that we had more in common than we knew.

The trail would then skirt the postage-stamp sized towns of Howard, Gambier, Bangs, and Mt. Liberty, only briefly entering the small city of Mt. Vernon along the Kokosing River before exiting. It was here the trail offers a point of procrastination, the Ariel-Foundation Park, a 250-acre park built on the former grounds of a glass manufacturing factory. The city has since turned history into art, allowing visitors to wander the grounds and explore different installations including the River of Glass, the Tree of Life Labyrinth, several large earthen mounds and the true gem, the Rastin Observation Tower. Consisting of a steel staircase spiraling its way up and around an old 250-foot industrial smokestack, visitors can climb 224 steps to a 140-foot-high observation deck. With miles to cover I chose to skip the climb up but have every intention of returning.

A real treat was to be found in the town of Centerburg, the Kolacheez Coffee Bar. I’d spend an hour listening to soft music and chatting with the owner who explained the history of the kolache and his role in bringing the idea to life in central Ohio, all the while enjoying four of them with a hot coffee. A few miles down the trail and once again hungry, I swore at myself for not having had more. Forty-eight hours later found me moving south, the sprawl of Columbus now behind me. The previous day had me winding through a small, wooded corridor leading into the state capital. Walking along sidewalks between towering office buildings and hotels, I’d pass the home stadiums of the Blue Jackets, the Clippers, and the Crew. I’d note an increasing number of people wearing scarlet red, signifying the proximity of nearby Ohio State University.

The trail immediately south of Columbus can best be described as a long walk between small towns. The next few days would bring cold nights, a day struggling against a stiff headwind, and a day of scattered rain. Coupled with fewer people on the trail and an increasingly sore foot, the days felt lonelier and tougher as I struggled with each step through the excruciatingly straight stretches between Georgesville, Lilly Chapel, London, South Charleston, Cedarville, and Xenia. Just after Spring Valley I’d join the Little Miami River which would prove to be a constant companion over the next two days as I passed through its valley, home to the towns of Corwin, Oregonia, Morrow, South Lebanon, Loveland, Symmes, Miamiville, Camp Dennison, Milford, and Newtown. Despite the proximity to the urban sprawl of Cincinnati, stretches of trail passed through several nature preserves, campgrounds, and canoe rentals helping to keep the neighborhoods and the Kings Island complex out of sight and, most importantly, out of mind.