I powered out of New Albany ready to feel like a new man, suitably stuffed from the hotel breakfast buffet and eager to power through the opening miles. Before long, though, I settled into a steady trudge–not struggling, by any means, but not exactly setting the ADT on fire. I was back on a minor highway, following the Ohio River first west and then south, with cars whipping past me on their morning commute to Louisville. I’ve spent a lot of time by or around the Ohio River now and the experience has engendered a healthy awareness of flooding, as life here has been deeply shaped by the perilous precipitative potentiality invested in each new spring. In some places, this means a whole lot of RVs and otherwise empty lots. Here, this means towering structures with 10-15-foot-high cement foundational floors, with a more “normal” looking house or mobile home perched on top. I hope that works.
After passing a randomly situated casino, proudly boasting “We left restraint off the menu,” I turn uphill onto a road closed to traffic. After navigating an extensive washout and completing the ascent, I settled into another extended stretch of walking along minor roads, replacing corn as the crop of choice with soy. Lots of soy. This was a barren walk–throughout the opening 20ish miles I didn’t say a word or see a person close enough to say it to.
But New Middletown awaited me and New Middletown promised a gas station! Never before in my life, even when nerve-wrackingly close to an empty gas tank, have I appreciated has stations as much as I’ve begun to here. Gas stations mean snacks. Sometimes, they mean pizza or sub sandwiches. They mean 42-ounce, 79-cent, ice-cold drinks. They mean bathrooms. Occasionally, they have tables and chairs, and those are specially blessed gas stations.
New Middletown’s gas station has closed.
I didn’t even have 30 seconds to process my grief before a man called to me from his porch. “Now, where are you walking?” An older fellow–I’d later learn he’s pushing 80–sat on a rocking chair, smoking and watching the world (and in this case, me) go by. I answered his question and then backtracked. “I… I thought New Middletown had a gas station.” “Oh yeah, it’s really disappointing. Do you know that back in the day we had four whole stores here…”
Rick Anderson has lived most of his 80 years in New Middletown. A bridge-builder, he traveled around, spending years here and there in support of his projects, but he always found his way back to NM. “I’m one of ten kids. We’ve lost three of us, but the other seven are in this town. Lots of cousins and others, too.” I ask him, “what’s the population of New Middletown?” “Oh, about 50.” “And how many of them are your relatives?” A boyish grin sweeps across his face, as he declares, “Oh, about 20. There’s a road named in the town for us, too, Anderson Road.”
On cue, Rick’s sister drops by, quickly giving me the eye to confirm that I’m not taking advantage of her brother, before curiosity gets the best of her. She and Rick recall a pair of older women who passed through, walking the ADT eastbound a few months ago. “They had a big German Shepherd and it was pulling a cart!”
After a half-hour, a coke, and two ice-cold bottles of water, I hit the road. I’m excited for what’s ahead–Indiana’s original capital, Corydon. (Rick helped me get the pronunciation right–basically skip over the y.) Not 30 minutes outside of NM, though, I get pulled over by a cop for the third time on this walk (on Country Club Road, of course). It sure looked like he was coming for me–he was flying down the road and hit the brakes hard and flipped the lights the moment I came into view. “I just want to make sure you don’t need anything,” he says, as he proceeds to ask for my ID so that he can run my name. “This way,” he says, “we’ll know who you are if any calls come in while you’re in the area.” I pass the check, he wishes me well, and I’m on my way.
Corydon is set up like Madison, with a well-preserved historic section and a separate area for shopping and new businesses. The ADT goes through the historic, which is great, aside from a restocking perspective. The town has as many signs telling its history as it does buildings, and for all the significance of these sites to the state’s past, the place with the greatest buzz is probably Butt Drugs, the most tourist-trappy place I’ve encountered thus far. Butt Drugs is an old-school soda fountain with a full-fledged drug store. Locals came to get prescriptions filled; tourists got milkshakes.
After a long break, for both milkshake and something more substantial, I was powering out of town, finally getting the bounce I wanted from yesterday’s easy day. A good thing, too, because my plans for today were ambitious–in the end, they would take me 37 miles. Most of the remaining stretch was paved, following the Old Forest Road westbound, but eventually it delivered me onto the Adventure Hiking Trail. I turned south and immediately ate a face-full of spider web. It was quickly clear that nobody had been on this part of the AHT today, and maybe not for a few days. I had sticks in both hands, swinging like windshield wipers, and I still got coated. I guess it’s a particular kind of adventure. Nonetheless, the trail finally delivered me to my final destination for the day, the Indian Creek Overlook Shelter, where I had a small hut to sleep in and a secure roof over my head.
As it turned out, I was really going to need that…
Technical Notes
- No ADT waymarks today
- The Horseshoe Casino is just before the turnoff onto Doolittle and there is a hotel and restaurants there
- Doolittle Rd is easy enough to walk on despite the closure, but if they ever decide to repair that it’ll probably interfere with walkers for the short-term
- I don’t know if New Middletown’s gas station (or neighboring restaurant) has any shot of reopening, but people should anticipate no food until Corydon
- There’s a gas station at the beginning of Old Forest Rd
- I’ll write about this more tomorrow, but people might want to consider turning right on to the AHT instead of left…
