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Walking: Part II
NATURE COLUMN BY Wolfgang Rougle
Walking is not just the best way to get around town, but also the best way to
get across the country. In this age of six-hour coast-to-coast flights, it’s
important to affirm the miraculous hugeness of our continent. The best way to
do that is to feel it beneath your feet.
Rebecca Solnit, author of Wanderlust, called walking “a way to make the world
big again.” To learn about Montana or Florida on your laptop may be
convenient, but I am not sure it is in the best long-term interests of the
human mind, or the human soul.
Our minds must confront the vastness of the earth if we are to properly divide
its resources and cherish its rarities. Our souls need the same confrontation
in order to share in the human birthright of awe.
I’ve never walked across the whole country, but I’ve walked
several-hundred-mile stretches of it, and I can heartily recommend that most
primitive mode of travel. I don’t think I really knew the meanings of sun,
rain, wind, and corn nuts until they were all I had.
Just six generations ago, the choice of feet for a long journey would have
been unremarkable. The only other options were horse, boat, or train; and in
many parts of the world, fully nomadic societies were still intact.
Long-distance walking has been basic to the experience of humanity for all but
the past two centuries.
In fact, bipedalism itself is one of our most extraordinary human attributes.
Here in North America, only bears and the largest cranes can stand so tall and
still have two limbs left over. Next time you go for a walk, think of how
you’d live if you had to use both hands and feet in every stride.
You can learn a lot about the world by backpacking in wilderness areas. But
wilderness areas exist because the vast majority of America is not wilderness.
If learning about America holds any interest for you, it might be a good idea
to turn your steps out of the woods and walk along the roads and through the
towns.
Contrary to popular belief, walking across America is legal! All public roads
except freeways are fair game for the pedestrian. Sleep is legal on most
public lands, including, in many small towns, the downtown park.
If you find yourself surrounded by private property when night is falling, you
need only knock at a door and ask to sleep on the lawn. I’ve never been
refused, and have made some beloved friends this way.
In my travels, I’ve been stopped only twice by police.
One officer earnestly pointed out to me that I’d have better luck hitchhiking
if I walked with traffic instead of against it. I explained that I was truly
heading north, that I’d be happy to get there on foot, and that we were
standing underneath a “No Hitchhiking” sign. He repeated his advice but
finally drove away amazed that anyone could be so dense.
The other fellow found me relaxing in the shade after a brief and harrowing
walk along a state highway. He grinned at me as he approached.
“Apparently, in today’s society,” he said apologetically, “you make some
people nervous.” He was responding to a tip from an alarmed motorist. Deputy
Scott gave me his card so I could prove I was harmless to any other alert
citizens of Saline County, Kansas.
The greatest pleasure of walking, for me, has been the vindication of my
conviction that strangers are not bad. I’ve never been cheated, attacked, or
even leered at during my many months on the road as a solitary young woman.
I’ll never forget a woman I met in a small town one Sunday morning. Seeing my
backpack and guessing the truth, she whispered, “Girl, you must be crazy. I
could never leave home and walk around like that. It’s not safe.”
Her face bore bruises the size of saucers. Someone had beaten her up last
night, and I’d be willing to bet it was at home.
I firmly believe that the world outside my house is as safe as the world
indoors, and on the whole, I prefer the life of a non-captive animal.
WOLFGANG ROUGLE wants to
hear about your pedestrian adventures. If you don’t have any, go out and make
some! Reach her at wdrougle@ucdavis.edu.
This article first appeared in The California Aggie. |
