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.


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6 comments:

Anonymous said...

Following you from Korea. It would be great I think, if your blog had an interactive map to show your spatial progression along your walk. It would make a lot more sense and help organize your posts more. Random place names don't mean much.

Wishing you the best. What you are doing most wouldn't even try.

Anonymous said...

Most backpackers seem to agree that the downs are harder than the ups. I think it has to do with the fact that at each step, you are "catching" the weight and stopping it from continuing, a more abrupt act than stepping uphill. Hard on the knees, hard on the toes (well-laced boots become critical), and hard on muscles we aren't used to using.

Also, that thing about hills? That they trick you? Always happens. There's probably some life-lesson here, having to do with expectations. Something Buddhist, perhaps. Perhaps you could meditate on this while climbing your next hill and come up with a good aphorism or short poem :-)

Anyway, I'm sitting here having my morning tea, alternating between wincing in sympathy and rooting for you. Most people couldn't walk 26 miles at a stretch without the pack. I know I sure couldn't. Well, I probably could, but I sure don't want to prove it.

If that knee-click continues, you might want to get a doctor to check it out. Those knees have to carry you a long way.

Kevin Kim said...

Craig,

Several people have requested some sort of map of my progress, but I simply don't have the time or resources to create such a graphic, especially from my tiny BlackBerry, whose screen is totally unsuited for a comfortable bird's-eye view of the state. If I had steady, ready access to an actual computer, I'd happily whip something up via Google Maps or a similar service, but I don't have such access.

If a team of volunteers wanted to pitch in by creating such a map and updating it regularly, I wouldn't say no...but finding volunteers for this or any of the other jobs that need doing (e.g., almost everything currently being done by Alan Cook) is like pulling teeth.

Care to be the first?


Kevin

Anonymous said...

Yet another fantastic post! I'm living vicariously through you.

How you described how you felt regarding the hills made me wonder how Sisyphus felt!

Are you able to take a hot soak at any of your hosts' homes? That might help with any joint swelling and help retore you while you sleep.

Always, wishing you well on your journey,
Maven

Anonymous said...

Kevin,

Thanks for the condolences regarding my dad. I haven't been following your walk very closely, but it looks like you're more or less holding up pretty well, despite the occasional corporeal glitch (buckling knees). It's nice you could make the sanguine observation that people are basically good, and I would tend to agree with you---provided that social conditions are good enough. I was touched by the anecdote of the woman handing you an ice-cold Pepsi. But you only have to look to the example of Nazi Germany (joblessness, economic depression, and so on) to see what it could all easily degenerate into when social satisfaction and material comforts are stripped away. (And it is somewhat ironic that you quoted Anne Frank about people being basically good at heart.) Anyway, weak apologies for the injection of cynicism. Keep up the great effort with your walk.

Max

Horace Jeffery Hodges said...

Kevin, I found that walking in the Ozarks went better going downhill if I kept my knees just a bit slightly bent, but I don't know if that'd work on a long walk, especially with a heavy backpack.

By the way . . . don't ever run out of water. Never. I nearly died in Oklahoma when I ran out on a very very hot and humid day.

Jeffery Hodges

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