Marathon
13 years ago
Friday, July 4, 2008
a new record!
I walked nearly 25 miles today, which is now my new distance record. And it warn't easy, neither. As the walk dragged on, something told me it wasn't a mere 20-miler. It started nicely enough: Gay dropped me off by a beautiful lakeside park very early Thursday morning; the walk from there to the RV center where I asked for further directions (it turns out that MapQuest had noted a street-- Cottonwood-- that doesn't exist) was, as it turned out, 6.05 miles (just checked with Google Earth on my current host's laptop). From the RV center to the prearranged pickup/dropoff point was exactly 19 miles, but I didn't make the final half-mile (0.4 miles, to be exact). So: about 24.6 miles today, which beats the Samish Island record of about 23 miles. You might argue that I was able to do today's walk thanks to a lighter pack (during the Bellingham-to-Samish walk, the pack was 58 pounds, as Woody had noted) and better weather (it rained during the entire Samish walk)-- not to mention the fact that I did the Samish Island trek without any sleep.
All conceded, but today's walk featured something I haven't had to contend with much until now: real hills. The final five or six miles of the walk took me through a very nice neighborhood that wound up and down the contours of a local hill-- a tall sucker. The roads I was on tended to curve and to be angled at the same time; as before, I was often fooled into thinking a particular rise was done when BOOM-- I rounded a curve and saw more hill before me. It can be discouraging, after a while, if you're constantly expecting relief after the rise you're on, so... in my case, I stopped expecting. I also started switchbacking my way up the longer slopes as a way of easing myself up them without too much strain. I did have to watch for cars, though.
About five miles before the end of the walk and right as I was starting the descent portion, I ran out of water. Very bad news, but I kept in mind that I was a mere five miles from my goal, and noted that, even though my mouth was drying up at a discomfiting rate, I was still sweating, so dehydration wasn't a serious issue.
After a while, the descents became as difficult as the ascents had been; my movements were becoming more wooden and robotic; the pain in my feet was increasing, and my balance was starting to waver-- thank goodness for the trekking poles.
But the trekking poles didn't save me from my first (of what I'm sure will be many) fall. Yes, I fell today, right next to a construction site where a home was being built, somewhere around Mile 18 or 19; one of my knees simply buckled, and down I went. Not tragic: I wasn't hurt, none of the equipment was damaged, and I eventually managed to get off the ground, dust myself off, and lumber over to another porta-john to give vent to my inner turmoil. No one saw me fall, no cars passed by while I was down... no one offered any help. It was truly a Hobbesian moment: my glimpse of life as solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. I can attest that no angels swoop down to right you when you tumble. You just roll over, check yourself and your equipment to make sure nothing is detached or hanging at an awkward angle, then you grunt and slowly lever yourself to your feet with your trekking poles, being extra-careful with your footing from then on.
I'm still not sure what caused the fall, though the likeliest reason was simple fatigue. My right knee developed one of those gristle-y clicks you sometimes hear when walking; in my case, I felt rather than heard the clicking, which radiated through my flesh from my knee and into my torso, and eventually up into my head. Cool, eh, ladies? It was totally painless.
I was so damn thirsty by the time I reached Woodland that I bought three bottles of juice at a local Shell mini-mart and drank them all before attempting to contact my very patient and tolerant host Eric who, along with his wife, waited until very, very late so we could all eat dinner together. As the cool juice settled in my guts and the evening breeze began to freeze my soaking tee shirt, I got a bad case of the chills and had to dig through my backpack for my jacket, which I put on. My phone, whose battery had died during the walk, charged itself enough at the gas station's wall socket for me to tell Eric I wouldn't be able to make it to our appointed rendezvous point, and when Eric showed up at Shell, he told me I looked tired. And sore. True enough: I was moving like a mummy when Eric arrived; everything hurt everywhere. Still does. And now we know why: 'at warn't no twenty-miler.
While I've got more to say about my wonderful hosts, I'll leave those remarks for a later post. Right now, I need to check laundry and hit the hay. Another long walk to Vancouver tomorrow.
_
Thursday, July 3, 2008
pas aussi long que prévu
Today's walk might be only around 20 or 21 miles: my host in Woodland, who lives 14 or 15 miles outside the town proper, will be picking me up in front of a Safeway in town, and dropping me off there again the morning of the Fourth (tomorrow). I'll be spending most of the Fourth walking to Vancouver.
My host in Longview just dropped me off at a lakeside park, saving me about 4 or 5 miles. This morning's dropoff point is a mile or so from where I was picked up yesterday, which would normally mean I'd have to make that distance up, but since I did those extra eight miles while at Lewis and Clark State Park, I'll consider the distance walked.
So today won't be as bad as I thought-- certainly not 29 miles. Thank goodness. The only real worry for today: the rain.
_
settling in for the night
I'm at the magnificent home of Gay and Ralph in Longview, and that's literally what I see when I look out their bay windows: a long view of much of the state! Their home is perched on a high hill; the Missus came to pick me up at the intersection of Nevada and Westside Highway, which means I didn't do the final 4.2 miles of the walk. "It's a dangerous road," Gay said. It's also a hilly road: the four-mile hike, most of which goes up, would have reduced me to a quivering mass of protoplasm. Gay or Ralph will be dropping me off where I was picked up very early tomorrow morning, probably around 5AM. I have a long walk ahead of me.
Dinner was a fantastic smorgasbord of chicken, pasta, homemade bread, salad, and cantaloupe. As my Kiwi buddy John was known to say after stuffing himself: I am replete. I've had the chance to meet Gay's cat, Miss Daisy (picture pending), as well as three dogs owned by Gay and Ralph's daughter and son-in-law, who live next door but are currently away. We talked a bit about my trip, and also about Gay's incredible father, Jay Ellis Ransom, a prolific author and polymath, who currently lives in The Dalles (he's a sprightly 94) and whom I might visit while I'm there. A tour of the house reveals that both Gay and Ralph are people of many talents: Gay is a "computer nerd," as her husband calls her, and Ralph makes wine from local berries (no grapes!). Both are good cooks, though Gay insists she doesn't cook that well. "Don't listen to her," said Ralph during dinner.
We touched on the topic of religion long enough for me to learn that Gay sees institutional religion as the cause of most human strife throughout history. Neither she nor her husband is religious; they politely asked me whether I wanted to "say grace," but I told them I don't stand on ceremony. I'm not one of those who feels the need to pray publicly before a meal at a restaurant (didn't Jesus warn against public prayer, anyway?), and the only time I ever say a blessing is at home with my folks, or at a formal event at our church. I'm not a particularly prayerful person, perhaps because I'm a nontheist (buy my book to find out more!).
Laundry is perking right now; sleep beckons. Gotta wake up early.
_
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
mossy trees! is this part of the old-growth forest? shot was taken in the vicinity of Lewis and Clark State Park
"Walking is bad for you."
The man saw me as I was heading into the gas station convenience store; he called out to me as I was crossing the parking lot: "Where ya' headed?"
"Washington, DC," I said, even though I'm never sure why I say that. For all I know, I'll hit the Atlantic while in New England. Or maybe I'll be on the coast of Georgia.
"What for?" the man asked. He was an older gentleman, slight of build. For some reason I was reminded of Hume Cronyn in "Cocoon."
"For religious reasons," I said.
There was a long pause. Then the man asked, "Got a phone?"
"Sure," I said. I thought it might be rude to follow up with a blunt, "Why?", so I said nothing further.
The man suddenly pulled out a banana-yellow business card and handed it to me.
"Walking is bad for you," he declared. "It reduces muscle mass. Sure, you'll lose weight, but you'll also be weaker." I was ready to laugh in the man's face: I remember how beneficial walking was when I lived in Switzerland, where I had walked and done other exercises like pullups and gained muscle mass while losing weight.
"Call me up sometime and I'll give you a workout," the man said.
"Thank you!" I said with deliberate overenthusiasm. He nodded and we went our separate ways.
The business card says he's got a Bachelor of Science in Health and Physical Education from Walla Walla College. I do sense a great deal of BS about this guy, but hey-- if you're interested in learning more about his miraculous, 20 minutes-per-week exercise plan, leave a comment and I'll be happy to send you his contact info.
_
dogs and Good Samaritans
I've been on the road a few hours now, and no one's barked out their window at me as they were driving by. On the contrary, I met another Good Samaritan on the street: a woman in a white Volvo drove up to me, pulled over, leaned across the passenger seat and handed me-- that's right-- a freezing can of Pepsi.
"You look like you need it," she said, smiling.
"Oh, my God, thank you!" I stammered, having long since abandoned whatever pride had kept me from accepting food and drink from strangers.
And with that, the lady drove off.
On one hand, perhaps it's not surprising to discover that, as little Anne Frank believed, people are basically good at heart. My overall experience in Washington State has been overwhelmingly positive, whether we're talking about the CouchSurfing hosts I've met or the religious institutions I've dealt with or the many random encounters I've had in stores and restaurants and on the street.
On the other hand, you've got the people who shout incoherent garbage out their windows as they drive by, and all the warnings from good folks about the need to "be careful out there"-- a testament to our pragmatic or cynical conviction that people are basically fallen.
Which is it? Are we basically good, or basically fallen? (Or are we mired in a sort of fundamental avidya, or ignorance, as Buddhists would contend?). Life doesn't provide clear, pat answers to most of our important questions, and the question of basic human goodness is among those admitting of no clear answers.
Dogs are lucky in that sense. Being pack mammals responsive to abstract notions like hierarchy and territory, dogs are born into the world wired with a sense of duty. They may be, as a result, the most Kantian of domesticated animals.
As happened when I went on a long hike in Switzerland, dogs have been barking at me all along my journey, especially when my path takes me through a suburban neighborhood or a farming area. Most of the dogs wag their tails while barking, which I take to mean they're not really serious. In one case, two dogs ran off their property to come right up to me, but I was more pissed off at the mindless owner than at the dogs themselves; they were only doing their sacred duty as members of the human pack.
I've been sitting at a place called Riverside Park while typing this entry. It's a fairly quiet place right now-- field, baseball diamond, trees, parking lots-- and I'm not even sure what city it's in. Many of the neighborhoods I've passed through have been advertising July 4th in some way or other: I've walked by innumerable fireworks booths. This neigborhood, wherever I am, is no different.
Anyway, it's time to get a-movin'. I stopped at this park because the lady's Pepsi (this state is an enormous Pepsi advertisement: almost every restaurant corrects me every time I order a Coke) gave me an excuse to rest my feet a bit, and while I might grab a snack if there's a convenience store down the street, I need to get moving.
Later.
UPDATE: I forgot to note that today, I encountered my first true hill. It was long, steep, and cruelly laid out so that, every time I thought I had reached the top, another little hill appeared before me. A bit like life, eh?
_
the next few days
I'm off to Longview in the morning. The residence I'll be staying at is 14.48 miles from where I am right now. I'll be staying there a single night, then waking up extremely early (maybe 4AM) for my most brutal walk to date: a 28.56-mile walk from the Longview area to a Safeway in Woodland, where I'll be picked up and driven to a home that's actually 14-15 miles outside of Woodland (I'll be dropped off at the Safeway again the following morning; this is based on the "chase car" scenario), before moving on to Vancouver on the Fourth (as you probably realize, that's Vancouver, Washington), where I'll try to book a hotel again.
That's not how I wanted to do things, but I don't want to crash anybody's Fourth of July celebration, and I'm on schedule to arrive in Vancouver on the Fourth. It's a shame, really, because there are, according to my manager Alan, plenty of CouchSurfing hosts in Vancouver. Were I not arriving on the Fourth, I'd have no trouble staying with a CS host, but as someone averse to partying in general, I'd only be making myself uncomfortable by being the stranger at someone's shindig. I need to check on hotel availability on the Fourth, but I have to get to bed now, as it's nearly 1AM and I have to wake up at 8.
By the way, the motel I'm in is probably the best of the motels I've stayed in that are in the $40-50 range: while you do get a lot of traffic noise through the front windows, the walls are more solid than those of a typical motel, which means less sonic nonsense from the neighbors. I appreciate that.
So: Castle Rock to Longview, Longview to a point in Woodland where I'll be picked up, then Woodland to Vancouver, where I'll probably need to rest my blistery feet again for two nights. I may also have a church to stay at when I reach The Dalles, about 50 or so miles east of Portland, Oregon.
Too bad I'm already south of Vader, WA. I would have liked to pay tribute to my childhood, uh, hero.
_
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
shout-out to Guy and Diane
I met Guy and Diane (pic shown earlier), a couple from Montreal who are on a road trip that includes Mount St. Helens and Rainier, while I was typing away on the BlackBerry at the pavilion at Lewis and Clark State Park. They parked their car at the pavilion parking lot, close to the park's entrance, walked up to me and asked about the registration procedure for the campsite. I told them to track down the camp host, and they must have gotten everything arranged just fine, because they ended up in the site right next to mine!
The next time I saw them was when they were cooking dinner over a roaring fire (at L and C State Park, you have to buy firewood; you're not allowed to collect deadfall because the park is in an old-growth forest area-- everything must stay). I overheard them speaking French to each other and discovered they were from Montreal; Guy teaches English and his wife is-- I forget the French term and can't quite remember the English, either-- a type of nutritionist/dietitian and body-mechanics/exercise expert.
In the morning, they invited me over for a breakfast of fresh fruit; although I don't usually eat breakfast (readers of this blog will recall the porta-john story, which discusses the dire intestinal consequences of eating breakfast after years of not doing so), I accepted the invitation and ate a nice meal while we talked over our respective plans.
Diane told me that Guy is keeping a journal about the places he's visited and the people he's met along the way (in fact, I might have seen him writing in his journal yesterday morning); before we went our separate ways, we took some pictures and exchanged contact information. Very cool couple.
I'm still not used to the Québecois accent and I stumbled a few times in conversation; we all spoke French the entire time, though I did hear Guy speaking perfectly fine English with the camp hosts earlier on (maybe Guy knew I needed the practice!), and also heard Diane speaking in English.
Bonne route, vous deux, et profitez de votre temps aux USA. Il faut s'amuser dans la vie... parfois on n'a pas le temps de faire tout ce qu'on veut. Chaque moment est précieux.
_
barked at!
MapQuest failed to note that one of the roads I was on had undergone a name change, so I had to stop at an RV park and confirm I was still heading in the right direction. The lady who ran the place was very gracious despite my serious reekage (the backpack itself is beginning to acquire a stink), and I made it to the Motel 7 West in Castle Rock with no further trouble.
Except for one guy. He drove by me in one of those retro-looking Plymouth Thingamajigs and actually barked at me-- a sharp series of woofs.
In every case where someone yells out the window at me, the yeller is a guy, from his teens to his twenties. Just a reminder that we men are generally stupid creatures, prone to doing stupid things for stupid reasons or, as is often the case, for no reason at all.
I was once again limping by the time I got into my motel room ($48/night plus tax), and when I peeled off my right sock I saw a big ol' blister on my pinky toe. Gotta take care of that.
Gotta air out the tent, too-- damn. Forgot to do that last night.
_
Monday, June 30, 2008
the people you meet along the way
I've had some interesting encounters along the way today. The first was while I was passing through the tiny town of Toledo: a 40-something man who was sitting on his porch called out, "Where ya' headed?"
"All the way to the east coast," I said. "Three thousand miles!"
"Good luck to ya'!" he called, smiling and nodding. I thanked him and walked on.
Several miles later, and back on South Jackson Way, I was walking past a property when a gentleman on the other side of the fence started walking my way, moving as though he had a purpose. He asked me where I was going, then produced a freezing can of Pepsi and a huge plastic cup filled with ice, just for me. You can't imagine how grateful I was for his kindness.
The man's wife came out and the three of us talked about my walk and my options for heading south and east. The Missus brought out a note pad and I wrote my blog's address on it. Before I left, I asked them to spread the word about my blog; I'm sure they will.
Thanks, you two!
A not-so-pleasant encounter occurred earlier, when I was walking past a lake park and envying the kids swimming in those cool waters. Some idiot sitting on the passenger side of a pickup that drove up from behind me yelled something that sounded like "Beggar!" but could have been much worse. I didn't hear the shout clearly, and even though I've been yelled at by random assholes on many occasions thus far, this particular incident bothered me because of its potentially racist nature.
In any case, that bit of unpleasantness was the second of today's encounters, not the third, so it won't echo long in my brain. Freshest in my memory is our Good Samaritan and his can of ice-cold Pepsi: he was clearly representative of the better side of humanity, and a far cry from a cowardly passenger in a speeding vehicle.
I'm about to leave the truckstop cafe I'm at (thanks to our Good Samaritan again for telling me about it) and do the final leg of today's 21-miler. I might have to stop another two nights after this one: my pinky toes are killing me, so I'm back to using both trekking poles to minimize the pain.
Come on, Kev... just three more hours to go...
_
a quick note about comments
I've been resting my feet for the past forty minutes and am about to start up again, but before I head off I'd like to ask commenters to help me out by noting in their comments-- if it's not already obvious-- which blog posts their comments are referring to.
When I see a comment on the BlackBerry, I see only about a half-sentence of it, and cannot always tell what post it refers to because my BlackBerry's browser doesn't allow me to expand the comment for a full preview.
In cases where people leave anonymous comments, this can also be a pain because some comments aren't actually anonymous: the commenter leaves a name as part of the comment's content, but on my BlackBerry, I can't always see the name. My normal rule is to reject anonymous online comments, but for the reasons stated above, I've been lenient on that score. End result: I publish the comment, then can't find the post it's appended to.
Anyway, please try and help me out. It'd be a big help-- especially if you're responding to a post that's more than a day old-- if you could add a "re:" or a parenthetical ("This is a response to that post about treating foot odor"), to the beginning of your comment.
Thanks.
_
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