The plan today was pretty straight-forward. Wake up. Power through the first 20 or so miles to Mount Vernon (Indiana). Eat. Rest. Burn an hour or two. And then push through the remaining 10 miles of Indiana, cross the bridge over the Wabash River into Illinois, pitch the bivy, and declare victory on the day. Easy.
And here’s the thing: it really was pretty easy! I walked great all morning, cruising through backroads with almost no car traffic, and gradually wrapped my mind around the opening chapters of Marlon James’s Black Leopard, Red Wolf (that last one was probably the toughest part). While most of the countryside was as familiar as ever, I was struck by a series of small, independent oil wells operating amidst groves of trees, or within fields of crops, and then my progress was halted entirely by dozens of train cars loaded to the brim with coal. Ultimately, though, this was a mere distraction; I was merrily munching in Mt Vernon barely after noon had passed.
My pace held up after lunch and before I knew it I was within an hour of the river. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for a while; wrapping up my first full state and entering a new one was going to be an experience to savor.
Around that time, I emerged from what had been a particularly wooded stretch, and I got my first extended glimpse of the horizon. And it was clouds. Dark, ugly, menacing clouds. I’ve been very lucky with thunderstorms to this point, never really getting caught out in the open, but I had little chance of shelter here. My best bet was to gun it for the bridge. Every trail journal I’ve read involves hikers being welcomed into the small toll booth at the bridge for a quick rest. If I could make it there, I might ride out the storm. I churned my legs. I could do this. I passed the back of the “Welcome to Indiana” sign and knew I was close. I saw the road curving to the left in front of me and deduced that the bridge must be on the other side. I looked up: a stormwall surged directly toward me; thunder roared angrily overhead; a powerful gust of wind ripped first through the trees and then through me. It was about to get very, very wet. I hustled around the corner, looking eagerly for my tollbooth salvation… only to discover that no such thing existed! I later learned they removed the tollbooth in recent years when they determined that the bridge had been paid for. It was at that moment that rain began lashing the ground, lightning flashed across the sky, and thunder tolled appallingly directly overhead.
A truck suddenly pulled up alongside me. I didn’t even think–I just hopped in. “You don’t have a loaded weapon do you?” My savior’s first words caught me by surprise. “Nope, just a bunch of wet clothes. Is that a problem around here?” “I mean, I have one right next to me, so I’m not concerned, it’s just hard to know what to expect anymore.”
Steve was headed to Shawneetown and I quickly recalibrated. It was my plan to camp tonight and sleep in Shawneetown tomorrow; instead, I’d get a cheap room for a couple of nights and hitch back to the bridge tomorrow to walk back here. Not ideal, but workable, and dry.
Steve has spent nearly his whole life in Shawneetown. His grandparents are based here and his uncle is the mayor. As we pull into town, he quickly maps it out for me: “the worst people live on this side of town,” he says, pointing out the left side of the truck. “In general, I’d avoid talking to any of the people hanging out around the hotel; they’re most likely meth or heroin addicts.” To the right, “people are more decent,” and if you go further to the right you’ll reach the quality people. I ask him how long meth and heroin have been a problem and he says it dates back to the ‘90s; “I’ve seen a lot of people get their lives messed up.”
While Steve lives in Shawneetown, he works in the coal mines in Kentucky. I’m surprised. I tell him that I mostly read about coal mines in Kentucky closing; he says the mine he’s working in is expected to be in operation until 2080. I ask if the coal trains I saw near Mount Vernon were loaded with Kentucky coal, but he explained that all of that would have been extracted from Indiana, and that it will be loaded onto barges on the Ohio River. I ask him what he thinks about people who express concerns about the environmental impact of coal. “Most people don’t bring that up with me, because they know it’s how I make my living.” It’s a direct and fairly definitive answer; Steve drops me off at the hotel soon after. It’s a pay-with-cash kind of place, but it is, indeed, dry.
It’s just that the whole structure shakes every time another round of thunder crashes overhead.
Technical Notes
- I saw an ADT waymark today, on the University of Southern Indiana’s Burdette Park trail!
- H60150 is slightly incorrect–it’s actually a left on Old Mt Vernon Rd
- At the end of Heusler, I think you technically turn left on Franklin and then right on Lower Mt Vernon Rd
- While part of the walk near Bluff Rd is gravel, most of this section from Heusler is actually paved
- As noted above, there is no longer a tollbooth before the bridge into Illinois
