The ADT East in 10, Midwest Beginnings
Excerpts from the Field
June 2, 2024
Outside Cincinnati
For the last 10 days and counting I’ve been averaging 20-25 miles per day, but I’ve clocked 23-25 on more than half of those days. Tonight I stopped at 24, but only because I found a sheltered opportunity to fully charge my batteries after days of tossing twenty percent on my phone in a bathroom or wherever I could manage before re-hitting the trail with a feverish urgency. I also stopped tonight because I discovered just a few miles ahead I would need to ferry back across the Ohio River after about a 10 mile stroll through Kentucky. I’d have to wait until morning.
Today’s walk culminated a much anticipated arrival into and exit from Cincinnati, though the real prize lies less than 20 miles from where I sit and write tonight, the western terminus of the eastern leg of the ADT and the beginning of whichever central section I choose to tackle first. I’ll arrive at this particular fork in the road exactly ten weeks from the day my feet stepped out of the Atlantic in Cape Henlopen, Delaware. I’ve been grappling the last couple days with how to fit words to what I’ve been feeling as I walk. My path today into Cincinnati began with driving rain that let up after about two hours, leaving a mostly clear afternoon to traverse the sleepy metropolis on a quite Sunday.
On the edge of downtown, and just before I crossed the Ohio River for my short stint in Kentucky, I stopped at a mobile ice cream vendor for a “Cookie Monster” sundae and a short rest. On the other side of the river I found a small pizzeria and stepped inside for some dinner that wasn’t ramen and a short top off on my phone once more. Naturally it was all too expensive for a traveler on a tight budget, but well enjoyed. I did manage to offset the cost a bit by finding my next two pairs of shoes on sale, a two for one kinda deal, with one pair now strapped to my pack, lightweight and cushiony running shoes more suitable for the long summer road miles ahead, rather than the stiff hiking shoes I paid too much for in West Virginia because I had no other options on-trail at the time.
I’ve been reflecting a great deal on the struggles, successes, moments and memories of these last ten weeks and some 1100 miles of “mixed method” hiking. Rather than a standard essay form, I think I’d like to present some of the images and excerpts (Instagram field notes) that keep dancing in my mind from a journey as rewarding as it has challenged me to my core, a journey in its infancy with so much unknown yet to come.
March 26, 11:57 am
Cape Henlopen, Delaware
Governor Bridge (Bowie), Maryland
On April 2, I made a mistake. I had spent my first week hiking hard with little regard for my physical condition or health. I had taken on an enormous task, a 6800 mile cross country, cross continent walk with a loaded pack. I had never done anything like this before, though I’ve been an endurance athlete my whole life. I think I felt the need to prove to myself I could do it, that I hadn’t just slingshotted myself across the country only to fail in my first week.
By April 2, I was tired and everything hurt. I pitched my tent that afternoon a little too close to a creek. That night around midnight, the water level rose several feet in a matter of minutes, nearly overtaking the bridge above. I woke to water all around me and a certain panic set in. Fortunately I’m good in those situations and I did what needed to be done, getting myself and my gear to safety, albeit soaking wet in the middle of the night. I had my electronics, including my camera, in my tent, where I did not expect to be flooded, so nothing was packed in a waterproof way.
I hiked to the nearest laundromat some 10 miles away, at which point an already festering cold had turned into a full-blown fever. I dried my clothes and checked into a hotel for the next two nights to sleep off what I could of my illness. The next morning, I sent my damaged equipment back home to see what could be repaired. My camera had been insured, so I expected that wouldn’t be a problem other than the time it would take to get back to me. My lens, on the other hand, would become a total loss.
That day my soaking wet feet got scraped and mangled, setting off a chain reaction that would lead to weeks of limping through soreness and severe tendinitis in my heels and my feverish cold would linger for a few days more as I hiked through Washington DC and onto the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Towpath. From that point on, Maryland became a state defined by suffering. As I look back at my photos this afternoon to try and figure out how to represent that part of my walk, I’ve discovered I only took a handful of pictures during that entire 200 mile stretch. My camera was off for repairs, but naturally I had my iPhone, which is more than up to the task. I didn’t just walk through injury and illness, I was hiking through depression as well.
West Virginia would become a state of restoration, albeit through continued struggle and perseverance.
April 20, 2024
Antioch, West Virginia (UMC shelter)
I am honored to rest where others have rested before me and will most certainly rest again.
West Virginia has been a fun experience. People here are very aware they live along a specific cross country trail. Many wave and honk. Many more stop and talk, even share stories of past hikers they’ve encountered. I feel fortunate to be apart of this history…truly unique.
As a side note, I’m beside myself. After nearly a month out here, I’ve automated so much of my routine…suddenly I don’t know up from down, so much less I need to consider and complete on this rare but appreciated night of ease.
Thank you for this night
May 6, 2024
Veto Lake, Ohio
I’m in the midst of yet another sleepless night out here on the trail. I’m sitting tonight in a place of story, particularly a story close enough to touch my own. I can feel the presence coursing through me. I’m not alone. Our images, our lived shadows, they superimpose. And if we’re willing and ready, we can defy logics, to live in conversation, to pass where once passed before, not in series but across a temporal space, our anchor this place, but also the task, the journey, the wandering towards discovery, towards becoming.
How does one sleep when surrounded by friends in the midst of their own perseverance? To reach out, to exclaim…
I’m here with you. I always was.
thruhiker on a sleepless night
the gift to awaken
May 19, 2024
Londonderry, Ohio
Photo taken on May 16 in Hocking Hills, Ohio
May 22, 2024
Pike Lake State Park, Ohio
A sweltering, humid day yesterday on the Buckeye, I managed 22 miles, in part, motivated the last few by the promise of a root beer float. Covered in sweat, I set up camp in a rather dank space along the single track, the bugs swirling about ready to suck my blood. I threw up my tent fast and hurriedly climbed inside, zipping the door to close out those who would creep inside unwelcome. No sooner the flap zipped tight, those pesky mosquitoes were buzzing about my screen. I stripped it all down to dry out and cool off from a very long, hot day. Little by little, I found the energy to eat, drink, and slowly drift away.
My morning began sluggish, no doubt my body still a little short on water, but the heavy cloud cover seemed to promise a cooler start to my day. I found my energy not far down the trail as the rain began to pour and the thunder clap. I spent my morning navigating difficult single track in increasingly soggy conditions in order to arrive at a state park where I would be able to fill my water, find shelter from the rain if needed, cook some food, and maybe even charge my batteries. Indeed I found opportunity for all the above. My midday would be a restful one as I prepared for the afternoon hike to get as far as I could before finding a spot to hopefully catch a good night sleep.
The repetition and routine out here has become like a pendulum…rocking, rocking, a steady rhythm in time and space. I barely give thought to most of what I do throughout the day, the endless small labors that seem tedious and overwhelming to those who watch me pass by, barely register on the radar of my life, yet sustain the very same, as I could not survive the task without such attention to every detail, a praxis of care.
thruhiker moments, struggles and ponderings
June 2, 2024
Bromley, Kentucky
Day 69. 24 miles, but probably not done. I hiked into, through and out of Cincinnati…into Kentucky, and in a couple more miles, back into Ohio, that is until crossing into Indiana shortly after. This is a confusing time for all of us. What a whirlwind day, hiking through a metropolis, stumbling into another state and back I am in small town America, you know, where you can still find an outdoor power outlet turned on and unlocked. And that is where I am right now, charging a few batteries, catching some rest off my feet before probably heading on towards that long anticipated fork in the road. This little shelter/pavilion I’m sitting under is all lit up with florescent lights and a sign warning of security cameras for the purpose of recording “all activities…to aid in the prosecution of any crime committed against this facility.” I’m really just charging batteries, drinking water and catching up on a bit of writing…so we’ll see. To be continued…
(Note: I stayed in this picnic shelter all night reading, writing and sleeping just a tad)
June 3, 2:54 pm
Elizabethtown, Ohio
Day 70. The fork in the road. I’ve spent the evening and will spend the night in this momentous place, my future divergent. Tomorrow morning I will walk north.
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Comments 1
So glad to have updates, hear your words, and see your progress! Love and Peace from Judith and Dave