Sorry for the long radio silence, but I haven’t been near a computer for almost two weeks, so couldn’t update.
I am writing from the newsroom of the Mineral Daily News-Tribune in Keyser, W.Va. Publisher Randy Lewis has been a great host and benefactor since I invaded his community yesterday afternoon.
I am healthy and well and making good progress. Since my last update I’ve travelled about 180 miles, and am into my third state. Feet continue to be happy and blister-free. The only real physical problem is actually a psychological one — after a few days on the trail, away from showers and clean clothes, I become pretty dishevelled, smelly, and whiskery, and I can’t stand myself. Brad Pitt may look pretty fine sporting a few days of stubble, but I just look like a wino. Worse yet, an old wino. Before I started this trip I shaved every day, so I really didn’t know what color my beard was. When I finally got to a mirror last week I learned that my beard is snow white. I’d look like Father Time if I didn’t shave at least every few days!
I spent most of the last ten days walking the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal towpath that parallels the Potomac River all the way from Georgetown up into West Virginia. Wednesday I crossed a rickety bridge across the river (far less majestic than it is around Washington, D.C.) at Oldtown, Md., into West Virginia. The towpath was generally flat and easy to walk. It is operated as a national park and the Park Service maintains very good campsites at regular intervals along the 180 miles of the trail between Georgetown and Cumberland, Md. I saw lots of bicycylists and a few day hikers, but only one other long-distance hiker on my journey. And most days I could walk for hours without seeing anybody. I knew I was not in the wilderness. Railroad tracks and highways parallel the river on both sides, so evidence of civilization was never hard to find.
The terrain along the canal was lovely. I usually had a view of the Potomac, and there are high granite bluffs on one side of the river or the other most of the way along. The canal itself, long unused and in disrepair, is nothing more than a tree-choked ditch for much of its length. There are some stretches still full of funky water, and these are home to a variety of wildlife. I passed the ruins of over 60 locks, locktenders’ houses, and other structures along the way. Made for good sightseeing, but was pretty sad. This canal, a magnificent achievement completed 150 years ago, is a forgotten ruin, and the hard work and ingenuity of the canal’s builders is discarded and worthless.
Wildlife along the canal was plentiful and interesting. The swampy water was turtle heaven, and I saw lots of mud turtles and a few big moss-backed snapping turtles. It is the season for baby ducks and geese to hatch, and I saw goose and duck families swimming and marching all over the place. On several occasions my presence stirred the protective instincts of mother geese that hissed and snapped at me and chased me down the trail. The water was also home to bullfrogs whose croaking provided some primative musical accompaniment, and one stretch was populated by big and remarkably active carp. In the mammalian department saw one otter, lots of woodchucks, chipmunks, and herds of whitetail deer. Stumbled across snakes sunning on the trail a handful of times, and every time these harmless critters scared the
hell out of me.
Stayed in dreadful hotels in Harper’s Ferry, Hancock, and Keyser. No computers, no washing machines, and access only to godawful food. Sleeping in a clean bed, shaving and showering, and a chance to recharge my phone and iPod made these stops worthwhile, but if you’re looking for nice accomodations, go someplace else! The hotel in Harper’s Ferry was partcularly egregious. In such an isolated location I had to take the only local taxi to the Wal-Mart in a nearby town to buy groceries and fuel, and the evil taxi driver charged me $40 for the ten minute trip!
I tried to listen to my little radio to keep my mind occupied, but the available stations play either country music, which I loathe, or Rush Limbaugh. I didn’t used to loathe Limbaugh, but after a few days of hearing his ignorant raving, I’d mcuh rather hear the bullfrogs
croaking. I play my iPod until the batter runs out.
Had one remarkable encounter on the trail. Last Wednesday I was walking on the towpath, yanking on my slipping shoulder straps for the ten-thousanth time, when a buckle gave way and the shoulder strap broke loose. I stood there completely dismayed and stumped as to how
to fix the strap. Without it my trip was over, and I was miles from anyplace where I could get any help. By amazing coincidence this disaster had witnesses — two long-bearded bicyclists wearing homemade brown tunics, whom I can best describe as Christian nomads. These two
guys — one in his late 30s and the other in his early 20s — apparently ride around saving souls and doing good deeds. The older fellow cadged a spare buckle from his companion, pulled out a big needle and sturdy thread, and contrived a repair to my pack that will hold me until I get back to Ohio. By their appearance they were the kind of people I would ordinarily dismiss as fringe loonies, but they were cheerful, helpful and kind, and they absolutely rescued my trip from disaster. Kinda makes a fella want to reserve judgement, doesn’t it? They sent me off with a serviceably repaired pack and a little red Bible.
Entered West Virginia early Wednesday, and in a couple of days the state has confirmed my darkest fears and greatest expectations. West Virginia is very hilly. The hills are steep and come at me in endless waves. Often the hills are so steep that I can take no more than 100 steps before I have to stop and rest, then 100 more steps, etc until I crest the hill. And I’m just getting started! In two days I’ll come to the front of the Appalchian Range, which will gain over 2,000 feet of elevation in just a few miles. The terrain is beautiful and inspiring, but walking here is absolutely agonizing. It looks like I’ll have another week-plus of very tough days before things level out a bit. I’ll just have to walk as far as I can, collapse for the day, and keep slugging until I get past the worst of it.
On the other hand, the people I’ve met here are wonderful. Even better than advertised, if that is possible. Wednesday afternoon, when I was totally gassed and ready to find anyplace to pitch my tent, a school bus pulled up beside me. I talked to the driver for a few minutes and he invited me to pitch my tent in his barn, nearby. Eventually this fellow, Phillip Dayton, and his wife, Nancy, invited me to sleep in their guestroom, grab a shower and use their washer and dryer. And they sent me on the way Thursday morning full of bacon and eggs! This hospitality to an old and smelly stranger is totally outside my experience, and absolutely humbling. And Randy Lewis, publisher of the Keyser newspaper, could not have been nicer or more helpful.
A couple of words about newspapers. When I stopped in Hancock I talked with Sandy Buzzard, general manager of the weekly Hancock News and nearby Morgan Messenger of Berkley Springs, W.Va. The Berkley Springs paper has been owned by her husband’s family since 1893, and they acquired the Hancock paper in the 60s. The Keyser paper is owned by Gatehouse Media, and its publisher, Randy Lewis, is a Thomson Newspapers veteran who has been in Keyser about five years. In both cases the papers continue to thrive, despite competition from larger regional dailies. Their focus is strictly local, and their base of ad support is not the regional malls down the road, but the merchants and car dealers and real estate people in their home markets. Both operations continue to grow advertising revenues, up 8 percent last year at Berkley Springs, but both publishers worry about retaining young readers. Attention to prep sports and other school coverage means that young people will read their parents’ newspapers while they are living at home, but readership among younger adults is declining. At this point neither is losing ad dollars to the internet, or to any other print competitors, but both publishers worry that longer term readership trends could make selling ads tougher over time.
A final word before I get back on the trail and climb another bunch of killer hills. A number of people have called me since I’ve been walking. I keep my cell phone turned off most of the time to conserve batteries, checking it a few times a day. If you call and get my voicemail, please leave a callback number so I can contact you. And thanks to everybody for your moral support, encouragement, and footcare advice! I’ll be in touch the next time I find a computer to use.
