I've done some roped-soloing trips lately--as in, planned to climb by myself, rather than being forced to do it because someone bailed--and I have observed an interesting phenomena on these trips.
Not only do they take on a more personal rhythm than the usual climbing trip, which is primarily shaped and driven by the partner dynamic(where do we meet, what do we climb, who's going to drive, etc), but I find myself gravitating toward more low-key or out-of-the-way routes. If I go to a "popluar" crag, it's on a weekday, or in the late evening, or in bad weather when there's less likely to be company.
It wasn't a conscious strategy, but, rather a pattern that created itself, presumably driven by the same impetus that made the solo experience a desirable outcome in the first place. I've learned a lot about myself and my climbing when I'm alone. I also talk to myself(I've got to stop that, it's getting annoying.)
The fascinating(and surprising) part of this new world for me was that somewhere along the way to my "solo" experience I slipped into a subculture of other "soloists"(I use the term in its broader sense, as in, someone climbing alone, whether roped, aid, bouldering...). As the clouds roll in or as the sun begins to sit heavy on the darkening horizon, people quietly appear. Some with just a pair of shoes, some with aid gear, some with a rope and I-pod, but each is alone in their pursuit. You hear no one shout "on-belay" or "off-belay" or "WHAAAAT?!"
The few times it's happened, I remember it being a surreal scene, such a contrast from hustle-bustle crag activity I'm more familiar with.