I’m a bit embarrassed by the rage I unleashed in my last post towards the ADT designers. Not that I wrote it–I’m trying to be as genuine to the experience as I can in these posts, and that’s how it was–but that my mind went there. I spent yesterday evening trying to make sense of it.
Through a pretty massive exertion of labor, the ADT designers have tried to craft a route across the US that isn’t just linear, but instead provides a meaningful and compelling cross section of America; a route that is conscious of distance but not bound to pursue the most efficient approach at the expense of beauty, culture, or history. There’s no perfect way to do this.
And similarly, there’s no expectation that anyone walking the ADT will or should follow it every step of the way. Nobody with the ADT will begrudge me for parting ways with the route; people do it all the time! Besides, I was eager to take my brilliant shortcut yesterday! How can I justify that choice internally and yet also feel aggrieved by their route choices?
Perhaps this makes sense, perhaps it doesn’t–I can’t claim that there’s a logical consistency to it. Indeed, part of what I needed to do was tease out the breakdowns internally. Once I did, though, I looked at the gps tracks for today with fresh eyes and came up with a new plan.
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I enter the Ole Country Store in Sulphur, Indiana around 8:30am. I’m not supposed to be here; the ADT doesn’t pass anywhere near here. But I’m not really walking the ADT today! To carry over yesterday’s clock map, the ADT today travels from 3 to 9 in a clockwise fashion, but I can follow Indiana 62 almost straight across the clock, cutting out the curves all together. And in the process, not only can I get back on schedule… that’s right, I can push a little ahead of schedule.
I also get to have breakfast in Sulphur. Well, I get to have a bearclaw and coffee from a styrofoam cup with some artificial creamer. Good enough. The Ole Country Store has a little of everything, a whole lot of shelf space, and a half-dozen plastic chairs inside. When I arrive, the understated shopkeeper has just one customer hanging out, but that soon changes. My coffee is still coated with a thick, pasty powder when three more regulars charge in, two via truck and one via ATV. Styrofoam cups and plates proliferate, and the men settle in to talk shop. I’m happy to just observe, even if their technical discussion of farming equipment skims merrily over my head. This is just another morning in Sulphur.
On the walk in, I had been listening to Dignity: Seeking Respect in Back Row America by Chris Arnade. Arnade spent years traveling the country to talk with people in cities and other places that have been left behind. His go-to move is to plop himself down in the McDonald’s in each town and gradually connect with the regulars. I’ve already seen this on my trip–the cohort of retirees in the Hanover McDonald’s and the extended Latino family gathering in New Albany. In many American cities, it turns out, McDonald’s is the de facto community center, the most accessible of third places. In smaller spots, though, it falls to the general store or corner grocery to provide this service, but they are on the decline. I spent five minutes with the lady at Stephenson General Store trying to hash out if the Derby General Store remains in business. “So many places around here have shut down over the last few years,” she observes. And it’s easy to see why–pretty much every proprietor I’ve encountered is in their 60s or 70s. This isn’t a high profit endeavor, especially at this point when most people will do their big spending at the closest Walmart. But how far does it go in building and sustaining a community identity?
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I continue down Indiana 62 towards another endangered species. St Meinrad feels like an anachronism; when did I leave Indiana and end up back in Europe? The Catholic archabbey towers over the adjacent town, and the old monks totter around the extensive campus in black robes. Swiss monks founded the place over 150 years ago and it’s apparently one of 11 archabbeys in the world. (I didn’t know what an archabbey is either, so I went to Wikipedia; the “Archabbey” entry redirects to the “Abbey” entry, so I guess Wikipedia is clueless, too.)
Like rural groceries, we don’t have as many Catholic priests as we used to. In the US, the high-water mark since they’ve been tracking this was just over 59,000 in 1970. In 2015, the numbers were down to 37,000. And, of course, the US population has climbed significantly over that time.
In Dignity, Arnade describes how there are two places the people he describes as “Back Row Americans” are welcomed: the aforementioned McDonald’s and religious institutions. A long-standing atheist, he finds his views on faith shaken by the hope, community, and–yes–dignity afforded to the vulnerable by churches and mosques that he visits.
There are, of course, many religious denominations out there, and the decline of Catholicism is just one metric in the faith-based vocation, but neither country stores nor Catholic abbeys are on the firm footing they once enjoyed.
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It wasn’t a great walk today, but I walked great, energized and renewed by the audible that I called. And as an added bonus, tomorrow’s a short walk now. There’s no way to know what I missed on the official ADT, but I’m content with what I gained.
Technical Notes
- I didn’t follow the ADT, of course, so I don’t have much to say on this portion of the route
- However, it sounds like plenty of ADT walked have made the same choice that I did. If you’re considering it, know the following:
- There is very, very little traffic on Indiana 62. Most cars have shifted over to the nearby interstate.
- Sulphur is 9 miles from the general store in Leavenworth and has the Ole Country Store
- St Croix is 7 miles further; a gas station there has a sub shop
- St Meinrad is about 15 miles on from there
