I could safely shut off the gps today. While the Flint Hills Nature Trail will eventually extend from Council Grove to Herington (if you believe Google Maps, it already does!), it remains a work-in-progress for this volunteer-run organization. As such, the ADT’s approach to Herington is simple: follow Highway 56 from Council Grove directly to Herington. That’s it. There are no real towns or shops or much of anything along the way, just miles and miles of prairie. While temps ultimately peaked near 100, they were slow to wake, and so much of my walk was relatively cool, blessed with a consistent breeze and low humidity. Plus, since it’s Sunday, auto traffic was minimal. Just me and the crickets.
Well, and the roadkill. Today, it was mostly possums on the menu, garnished with the occasional turtle. Apparently, I left the armadillos behind in Missouri. Deer populations have thinned out as well, as the tree cover has dissipated.
By contrast, litter was largely non-existent, a striking contrast to conditions in Indiana, in particular, where highway shoulders were essentially coated in fast food detritus. While the Katy Trail in Missouri was clean as could be, the approach into Kansas City was bleak, with whole truckloads dumped onto significant arterials, stained mattresses and bags of old clothes spilling into the road. I don’t know what shapes the impulses of a population to toss garbage freely from their vehicles, and one road shouldn’t be extrapolated to represent a whole state, but there are some really notable differences in play in the handful of states I’ve visited thus far.
Most of the vehicles that passed me today were trucks, some porting boats to the lake or golf clubs to the course. Occasionally, though, a travel trailer or RV careened past, probably enjoying the open road as much as I was. These seized my attention all the more in light of my recent reading of Nomadland, by Jessica Bruder. Bruder spent years following a group of transient elderly workers, many of them displaced from their homes during the financial crisis and compelled to move into vans, trailers, and other wheeled accommodation, and pursue short-term employment around the country.
The book focuses on Linda May, a 60-something grandmother who spends months working for Amazon’s “CamperForce,” in addition to seasonal employment as a campground caretaker. Amazon has established a network of temporary facilities around the country, where employment spikes around the holiday season, drawing in mostly elderly workers in their RVs. What Amazon might lose in physical capacity it regains in a compliant and reliable workforce, along with tax benefits accrued for hiring from a vulnerable population. The warehouse work, though, is physically intense, often entailing some 15 miles of walking each day, combined with lots of lifting and carrying. Generic painkillers are available for free and that’s pretty much the full medical coverage offered. Linda May leaves her first season with Amazon with a bum wrist which takes a couple of years to fully heal.
Bruder’s subjects take pains to not portray themselves as victims. They are crafting new chapters in their lives in which they see themselves taking back control of their destiny, pursuing adventure and novelty and laughing in the face of a system that failed them. And yet, there’s also an uneasy recognition that this lifestyle is not sustainable, that their bodies are already being pushed to their limits, and that they’re largely flying without a safety net. For a year or two, there is some exhilaration to be found in the freedom of movement offered by a house on wheels, along with a growing community that offers connections that many have lacked for decades. But is there a future in it?
They are out here, in Coffeyville, Kansas, and in Campbellsville, Kentucky, and in Murfreesboro, TN, and I’m sure Amazon will be spreading into other rural communities that can absorb hordes of RVs. In lieu of pensions, this is the new retirement plan for many Americans, at least until Amazon’s warehouses are fully automated.
And in the meantime, I will continue to enjoy the more classic style of American road trip, unencumbered by employment concerns. Another quick walk today earned me my third pizza buffet in four days. The Herington Pizza Hut is quite lively on Sundays, with people packed in tightly around the TV and watching football. Not a single pizza was flesh-free, but I was more than happy to make a half-dozen trips to the salad bar. The ingredients are limited, but the one selling point for a Pizza Hut salad bar is hard-boiled egg; I’d guess I packed down five or six eggs’ worth, single-handedly emptying out the container once and necessitating a refill. I washed those salads down with an unknown number of mozzarella sticks and called it a meal.
Like many of my CamperForce counterparts, one big meal will have to do for today.
