I left Rochester angry. Nobody showed up to lay out the breakfast buffet in the Super 8. Don’t get in the way of a distance walker and his empty calories! I also departed with an added measure of enthusiasm. After reviewing the ADT’s route through the next stage, I rejected it in favor of an alternative approach that hewed more closely to the Tippecanoe River, passing through Leiters Ford, Delong (which had a glorious country store), and Monterey, while also joining the North Judson – Erie Trail a little earlier.
I wasn’t always so enthusiastic–or competent–about making my own way. Until the day I die, the scars from the first student walk on the Via Francigena, taking place well before anything resembling sufficient waymarking had been established, will weigh heavily on my mind. We got lost every day, and the blame was as much mine as the route. I just didn’t have the experience or the skills to manage that as effectively as I should have.
These days, by contrast, I routinely map out alternatives. I’ve carved a cottage industry out of churning out variants on the Camino del Norte, much to the consternation of my guidebook editors. And admittedly, gps is a game-changer; one hardly needs the route-finding skills today of the trailblazers of ages past. Nonetheless, there are potential hazards to anticipate and work around, especially in the US, where those hazards can come packing.
The main point, though, is that I got better. I improved. That’s worth acknowledging and taking some pleasure from, because it’s not easy.
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The alternative route that I charted turned out great–so well, in fact, that I rode out the adrenaline rush all the way to North Judson, a full 12 miles beyond my original plans for the day. I had hoped to pick up some extra miles today and tomorrow, in order to reach my hotel in Schererville as early as possible on Tuesday, but twelve is a big bonus! It was hot; shade was lacking; I ran out of water with four miles to go. None of it mattered. I cruised down the rail trail.
The scenery was unremarkable. At this point, it might be fairer to characterize it as monotonous, though that carries connotations that are far too negative. Corn and soybean fields, as far as the eye can see. Packs of deer bounding in the distance, or occasionally crossing the path in front of me. Bunnies, bunnies everywhere. The occasional beaver, waddling to safety. Robins and cardinals popping between branches, and at one point a red-bellied woodpecker twirling past. Aside from that woodpecker, I’d been living these sights for many days now, mile after mile after mile.
But one detail was new in that walk to North Judson–a solar farm off to my left. This would be repeated the following day, as I marched towards Kouts. I had previously encountered protest signs, calling for no solar farms on agricultural land. Another sign today declared, “Stop Solar Expansion! Preserve Starke County!”
Knowing what we know now about climate change and greenhouse gasses, it’s clear that it behooves us to transition to cleaner sources of energy. Coming from the Pacific Northwest, I know my gut instincts are hardwired in favor of most green initiatives. The more the better. This is an urgent situation. Opponents are easy to dismiss as old cranks who are prioritizing their own personal enrichment–or equally well cultivated ignorance–over collective good.
But I also vividly remember the morning I spent walking out of Castromonte, Spain in the dark, on the Camino de Madrid. All around me were flashing red lights and a ghostly whooshing sound. Turbines had been installed throughout the surrounding wheat fields, generating revenue that was crucial for keeping the aged village alive. At the same time, though, no night would ever be the same. The peaceful quiet, the stars shining alone overhead. That was gone. That price may well have been worth paying, for multiple reasons, but it was still a price.
So I was curious what the Starke County opposition was focused on. Here is their change.org petition. (Something we all have in common–running to Change.org for a petition!) They raise the following arguments: “visual impact, reflections from the panels, noise pollution, property devaluation, human health risks, fire safety, habitat degradation, water maintenance and drainage, and panel and end of life management.”
WSBT covered this more recently, noting that opposition has been rekindled due to issues with missing project documentation that could potentially free the solar companies from having to pay the county for the land use. The article notes that more than 22,000 acres are being leased. To some degree, opponents seem more resigned at this point about the inevitability of solar, asserting that, “the issue is not with solar power, it’s having everything done properly to keep the county safe.”
Maybe it’s all just NIMBYism at work. Even people in favor of green energy probably don’t want to live in close proximity to it. And maybe there’s fear about the continued downsizing of American farm lands, and the accompanying loss of a long-established lifestyle for small farmers.
There has to be a way to make this a win-win, though. These are not rich neighborhoods. For every mansion-like farmhouse I encounter, I pass five that have seen better days. And good lord, there is plenty of sun out here. But I also understand why people here would be skeptical about the promises being made by corporations appearing in town with big promises and no track record, all the more so given the political divisions underpinning this change.
We know change is necessary, but improvements can’t be made with simple force.
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I paid a quick visit to the Fingerhut Bakery on Monday morning before departing North Judson, where I was introduced to the delightful “Maple Nutty,” and then was quickly immersed once more in the corn and soybean fields. My original plan had been to stay in Kouts, the next town over, 19 miles away. Given the previous day’s successes, though, the plan shifted to Hebron, another nine miles further.
That change brought some added uncertainty. Whenever possible, I like to scout potential camping areas on Google Maps. It’s never a guarantee, but it offers a target to aim for, and a source of some comfort that I might have a reasonably secure, inconspicuous, and maybe even sheltered spot. The late change, though, meant I was going in mostly blind. I had enough time to fire off emails to a few churches in Hebron, asking if I might be able to pitch my tent in the corner of their lots. All turned me down, some more kindly than others.
I took a long break in Kouts at the Family Express, chugging a root beer and weighing options. It was another hot day with minimal shade. I’d spent the past six hours winding northwestwardly on streets on a grid pattern, like climbing horizontal steps through the corn. I checked the weather and thunderstorms had suddenly shown up in the afternoon’s forecast. I stumbled out of Kouts, more than a little demoralized.
There’s not much to say about the walk from there to Hebron. Cars, road kill, humidity. At one point, I was so sleepy-tired that I plopped down in some shady grass and promptly passed out, taking a 30-minute nap. That worked wonders, though, and I felt rejuvenated for the final approach into Hebron.
Turning right onto Main Street, I realized I was passing Town Hall. In a spur-of-the-moment move, I burst through the door and approached the two women inside with enthusiasm. “I have what I bet is an unusual request,” I said. The women didn’t even bat an eye–they immediately informed me that the police department had a place for walkers, and no, it wasn’t a jail cell. There’s a gazebo behind their office that they make available for people like me. I was astonished. I hustled down and caught the staffer at the police department as she was headed out the door. She pointed me to the gazebo and also noted that the bathroom inside was available 24 hours. Paradise! I celebrated with a blizzard at DQ.
I’m utterly incompetent at asking for help, and only modestly better than that at talking about myself. I knew, when I set out on this trip, that I would have to improve at both of those things if this were going to be successful. It would have been easy to retreat a bit when the church outreach failed so badly. I could have seen myself getting soaked in the evening downpours in a field somewhere, ruing the lack of generosity and kindness out in the world. Instead, I just needed to suck it up and ask one more person.
To change, I didn’t need to ask for help. I needed to keep asking.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
There’s an incredible kind of momentum that gets built up when you open yourself up to the world. This morning, I walked into the Family Express near Crown Point, grabbed a coffee, and announced to the woman at the counter that I’m walking across the US. She was duly impressed. As I walked out, another staffer asked if I had enough water–he was ready and eager to grab more bottles of cold water for me from the cooler. And then later, after I popped back in to use the bathroom, the clerk asked me if I wanted anything to eat–they would gladly take care of it.
The day’s walk was an easy one, my reward for the hard work performed the previous two days. Even an hour-long rain delay didn’t prevent me from a shockingly early noon-time arrival. (I unknowingly crossed into the Central time zone yesterday, and that helped!) But I pulled the same maneuver, walking into my hotel, smiling, and announcing that I was walking across the US. The clerk was shocked, amazed, curious. She noted that check-in time is 3pm. I smiled and said I understood. But… then she kept typing, found a different room that was available that she could slide me into at no extra cost, and suddenly I was in the shower. And hey, maybe she just didn’t want me stinking up the lobby for three hours. That’s fair. But I think she wanted to be kind.
There’s a part of me that feels a little guilty–like I’m being manipulative and capitalizing on people’s kindness. I can’t deny that there’s a tactical aspect to my approach in hotels. Every clerk has some discretion when it comes to checking in people early, and a good story is likely to trigger that discretion. At the same time, though, I’ve come to realize that I’m bringing something into their lives as well–something unusual, distinct, a break from the typical routine. Over the course of the next day or two, how many times will they mention their encounter with me in passing to other people?
Circumstance brings us into contact with… handfuls, dozens, scores of strangers every day. And through reticence, privacy, shyness, discretion, fear we hold back the different parts of who we are, the stories we have to tell, and instead settle for perfunctory exchanges that eliminate all possibility of connection. What’s hiding beneath the surface in so many of those exchanges, though, is curiosity, kindness, and goodness.
I bet even that person who slept in at the Super 8 is decent enough.
