Day 0 – Portland, OR to Logan, OH

I axed the planned trans-continental walk across the USA almost a year ago to the day. A couple of months later, I took a shot, hoping that some positive signs augured well for the future, and holding on to some optimism that I might still be able to push through an expedited itinerary before school resumed.

How silly all predictions and projections look from these past twelve months. Back in May, I realized after less than a week on the road that the worst was yet to come. I probably should have recognized that already, but I can forgive myself some magical thinking given the largely unprecedented nature of what we have endured. Driving home from that short-lived reboot–like most reboots, really–I figured my US walking was done for a good, long while. That prediction, at least, had staying power.

A year later, at long last, new and credible reasons for optimism have resurfaced. I’m coming off my first in-person week of teaching this school year. Turns out, it’s a lot more fun talking to people instead of a screen. Beyond that, my state, Oregon, prioritized teachers in the vaccination process, so I’m now fully vaccinated–a reality that would likely still be a couple months away, if not for that political decision.

I’ve surprised myself by how much at peace I’ve been with the aborted walk. When it comes to walking, I haven’t suffered many setbacks to this point; only one long-distance walk, my experience on the Lycian Way in Turkey a number of years ago, was halted early because I had surpassed my physical limitations. And I was a far weaker walker then. I don’t expect to fail.

I’m mindful, though, of the degree to which our ability to live comfortably with a past experience is predicated upon the story we craft out of that experience. I almost had the story pre-written for the trans-continental walk: a year spent traveling across the USA as we careened towards a deeply polarized and combative election. Along with that, a central part of the story for me was making the whole trek in one go. I did, of course, walk between Cincinnati and Denver in the fall, but that was to allow me to complete both sections of the American Discovery Trail through the midwest, while also making productive use of my year off. Had I started the trans-continental walk at the East Coast in August, it would have almost certainly been suspended by winter in the Rockies, forcing me to pick it up later. I wanted to make a continuous through-hike.

Both of those stories were obliterated by the pandemic. In the months since then, though, I have realized there’s another story to tell, a story about how America changes as it moves through these still-tense years. I walked in the fall of 2019, in February-March 2020 as the pandemic emerged, and May 2020 as it continued to unfold. Whenever I return, I realized, I’ll add new perspectives in new places. It’s not a static story, but one of–hopefully–a return towards greater cohesion.

One piece about the unfinished walk, though, has burned at me. If not for a big chunk of Ohio, I would have fully completed a substantial portion of the USA, from Delaware to Denver. That would feel satisfying. I could live with that. 

So here we are. Spring break is here, I’m fully vaccinated, and it’s possible to do Logan to Cincinnati, Ohio in the time available. It’s a dramatically altered itinerary, only getting the smallest bits and pieces of the ADT and the Buckeye Trail, and a hell of a lot more road. Add to that, in another unprecedented experience for me, I come into this with a bad foot, having suffered a negative encounter with a very sharp rock, obscured by a devious puddle. I don’t know how the foot will hold up to the sudden strain. There is, more than there inevitably always is, a non-zero chance that it won’t. And that spurs a grotesque–and yet somehow humorous–recognition that I could have this walk wiped out in WV/OH for a third time.

It’s not ideal. But hell, that’s the story of the last year, isn’t it? If I fail, I fail. Gotta keep trying.