June 8, 2026

The Swamp Rabbit Trail faded into forest. A half-mile from where I stood, silhouettes of a few walkers and cyclists wobbled forward through a cavern of green. This was two or three miles south of Travelers Rest, the semi-cute, touristy village some 15 miles north of Greenville. 

I had started at the trail’s northern terminus, which meets the end of a lonely country road three miles north of the town. Thick forest leans over the asphalt. A patch of light shows a quarter-mile distant. In 15 minutes a highway appears, the trail follows in parallel. A single walker appeared a couple of hundred yards ahead, then a runner moved by, a tall thin guy. I passed Carolina Embroidery, across the highway I spied a long flat warehouse, signed as “GRACE CHURCH.”

Twenty minutes more took me into the center of Travelers Rest. Traffic picked up on the highway, which is Main Street, as cyclists flew by on the trail in both directions, along with runners and parents pushing strollers. A digital gauge fitted with a camera standing next to the trail offered a count of passersby.

The city of Greenville built the trail along an abandoned rail line about 20 years ago, pushed by local hikers and nature lovers. The project went through some hiccups, financial problems, land-use issues, local opposition. But in the end it’s an asphalt path. Construction amounted to grading and paving. Two cars can’t fit side-by-side.

I read that people started walking the trail in 2008, although it didn’t officially open until 2010.  “Swamp Rabbit” was a nickname for the no-longer existing Greenville & Northern railroad, which ran from Travelers Rest to Greenville.

The trail surface is mostly level, so popular with walkers, runners, folks with strollers, cyclists. They’re out there for the fresh air, fitness, and scenery, in any order, any season, dawn to after dusk. It’s a touch of nature without the hassle, just concrete and asphalt, no rocks, roots, poison ivy, snakes, or other unpleasant elements of the outdoors. In parts there are mosquitos.

In these weeks following the melanoma work, my days grew long. You can only read so many books and magazines, walk around the block only so many times. I pushed the distances out farther, eight, ten miles (On the Road May 25). The state park was off limits. I added to my share of light household chores, folding clothes, cooking meals, or at least heating them up.

Amidst all those time-killing things, I sat in the house. Outside the scruffy grass of the unmowed lawn had grown thicker since a heavy rain. Our little plot of shrubs accumulated weeds. I thought then of the trail, which bisects the county, northwest and southeast, into wilder, gentler places.

I could start at the center and head outbound and return. Or aim at a longer distance, from the northern terminus, hiking southbound as far as possible in five or six hours, through the mill district and into the suburban flow of strollers, cyclists, and walkers, which intensifies closer to downtown. I checked with a few others, no takers. This would be a solo project.

Sandy went along with the idea, although she had other things going on that day. Early Thursday we navigated through a maze of winding country byways to find Tate Road, a short, deserted strip surrounded by silent forest. The trail’s end intersects with the road. No signs or markings. We had a quick kiss, I trudged forward.

I followed the asphalt—all you have to do, the trail is idiot-proof. Traffic picks up, the highway becomes Main Street. The trail continues parallel to Main past a driving range, a restored Victorian home, now a lodge, a brewery, some tourist businesses. Then into the woods.

The wooded stretches are serene columns of green and deep shade. The pedestrian and bike traffic thins and disappears, the trail extends into haze. Cyclists yell “Left,” the walker jumps. I learned to stick to the right-hand fringe. Here and there a house shows up. I try for long strides, the woods inches forward, sunlight breaking through the shade every few hundred yards.

The trail crosses a half-dozen streets north of the Furman University campus. Vehicles slow for the trail traffic. Lean young guys without shirts race by, training for cross country. The pretty campus lake and bell tower and the soccer stadium come into view. Then back in the woods for a while. Rail tracks appear to the east. A half-dozen freight cars sit next to a big sign, “Berea,” an unincorporated place. Warehouses and factory yards line the trail behind chain-link fences.

Here the Reedy River, which eventually flows through downtown Greenville, appears as a narrow muddy stream on the east side of the trail. A factory wall shows a colorful painting with the magical legend, “We rise by lifting others.”  

At about ten miles I pass the Swamp Rabbit Café and Grocery, a chic health-food hangout, coffeeshop, and playground. Cyclists pull over for coffee and beers, parents watch kids on swings. I sprawl at a picnic table and pause for five minutes to gulp water and electrolytes. The Reedy widens a bit.

Traffic picks up as the trail moves through the old mill district. Sturdy multilevel brick structures that once housed busy textile mills rise on either side, some as abandoned hulks, others already turned into condos or offices. Further along, men and machines are at work, bulldozers and excavators pushing huge heaps of Carolina clay. Warning signs show up, the trail detours into Unity Park.

The park is pretty, a monument to Greenville’s late-arriving spirit of racial tolerance and regret for decades (about a century) of Jim Crow politics. Nicely landscaped ball fields and play areas border the trail. The Reedy flows faster, crashing over rocks through downtown. The trail becomes a city promenade, lined by expensive hotels and restaurants. It follows the river into shaded Falls Park. Kids, barefoot, tiptoe across the rocks.

My pace is slower, I feel the warm sun on my shoulders. I make the turn after Cancer Survivor Park, a lovely, poignant spot, then press on past the Veterans Memorial, breathing deeply. Another turn, at 14 miles, leads into fashionable Cleveland Park.

Moms are watching kids at the big playground at the edge of the Park. I push on along the trail extension under the bright sun. The forest thickens again, a quiet jungle of kudzu. My strides are shorter, at 15 miles, five hours. I turn and hoof it a half-mile to the zoo, Sandy is waiting. I look back. The trail still beckons, casting its spell. Another time.