Looking for a Horse and Buggy

Horse and buggy cruisin' the strip in downtown Ligonier, Indiana.

When we entered Ohio, I went on the lookout.  I had thoughts of spotting the Amish horse and buggy in Pennsylvania, but it was a short transit and we really weren't there for too long.  We'd seen one horse and cart in New York, but I knew for sure we'd start seeing them in numbers on our transit through Ohio.

Mile after shoulderless mile we walked. The traffic was relentless. I looked furtively right and left every day.  I gazed into the horizon hoping to catch a glimpse of of the shining black buggy drawn by a dark horse. I saw cars and motorcycles, and an endless river of eighteen wheeled trucks.  I lost my hat to their turbulent wake three times in one day. We saw trains and cyclists and even another walker or two. No horses or buggies.

Eighteen days we spent transiting the state of Ohio at nearly it's widest east to west expanse.  Eighteen days and not a single horse and buggy appeared.

Today, at about forty-six miles into Indiana at the end of a hot and sweaty trek, I heard the distinctive clip clop and smooth rush of true horsepower drawn locomotion.  I was no longer on the lookout. I'd given up hope. I wasn't even thinking about the possibilities.

It was at that moment the long sought sight of the horse and buggy materialized. They overtook us quickly headed toward town. I picked up my pace.

Sometimes that's how life goes. I find myself seeking something. Searching high and low, only to be accompanied by the bitter taste of unrealized expectations. Eventually, I give up.  I'm no longer seeking that thing or experience that I wanted so badly.

It's at that moment that the thing I desire shows up, and with its sudden appearance, comes the glorious surprise of discovery that I would have missed if the object of my attention had shown up while I was still seeking.  There's probably a lesson in there somewhere, but my feet are tired. I'm going to bed.

Connections

What do you do when a couple of bedraggled hikers walk up your drive and ask you if they can set up their tent on your airport?  One of them looks like an old man working really hard to stay young at heart, and the other looks like Grizzly Adams without all the culture.

I used to think that many people would say something like, “We’re really sorry. We’d like to help you out, but the FAA and DHS just won’t allow us to do that kind of thing. Thanks for stopping by.  There’s probably a church of firestation in the next town up the road (ten miles away) that can probably help.

That’s not what happened.  What happened was they said sure, and Kate invited us into the house for dinner.  It’s the first home cooked meal that Dad and I have eaten since April 26th.

Kate, Rick, Snapper, and Jello - New Friends

During dinner we talked about love and loss, pain and survival, guns, cars, war, politics, faith, food, cars, airplanes, walking, places we lived and places we loved, challenges, victories, and how we all became the people we’ve become today. We shared.  We connected. We became friends.

After dinner, Rick led us to a hangar.  We weren’t going to sleep in a tent. We were going to be inside.  The accommodations, though modest, were perfect. We blew up our air mattresses, laid out our quilts, and had a great sleep after sauntering twenty four miles earlier in the day.

The Hangar - a Five Star Airport B&B

Catching some much needed rest - I wouldn’t have traded it for a room at the Ritz

We woke up early the next morning, packed up, locked up, and headed out.  We’d all talked about meeting for breakfast at a diner about four and a half miles down the road, and I found myself hoping that our generous hosts would show up.

As we approached the entrance to the diner, I heard a yell of greeting from my right and whipped my head around just in time to see Rick and Kate pull up on their Classic Softail Harley equipped with a sidecar. Over breakfast, the ties we’d made the evening before were deepened.

Dad strapping in for his spin around the block in the sidecar

We spent a couple of hours over eggs, toast, coffee, biscuits, and sausage.  Our new friends introduced us to the owner of the diner, and offered to give us a spin around the block in the sidecar.  The whole twelve hours were a completely unique and unforgettable experience.

Our departure was bittersweet.  The road heading off to the west called us, as it always does.  As we said our final goodbyes, I was left with hope that the great powers of the Universe would see fit that we all should cross paths again.

Thank you dear friends. Words alone are inadequate to express our gratitude.

Indiana

....and then, we were in Indiana!

Dad on the Indiana side of the state line near Butler, IN

Walking and Social Media Rest Day (W&SMRD)

Sunset on a Restful Day - The Plaza Motel - Bryan, OH

Walking & Social Media Rest Day (W&SMRD), but it ended with a really nice sunset.

Back to the asphalt tomorrow.

Jay's "Adjustments, #1"

The current Google Map projection indicates our over-all trip distance to be 3200 miles. So at 900 miles (EOD June 04.) we're about 28% through.  We're progressing too slowly. Part of it was and is conditioning, which is improving. I did not comprehend or prepare for the hilliness we encountered crossing Massachusetts and the eastern 2/3 of NY.   That was hard sloggng. The environment since Day 1 has also been a factor: frequent rain, (but more significantly, the constant "swampiness" of the whole region we were crossing), and the "cooler than normal" temps discouraged tenting. This was complicated by the unanticipated reality that almost all  the potentially suitable tent sites were on property posted "NO TRESPASSING.". This resulted in us doing daily planning/execution that permitted us to utilize "covered shelter" accommodations (read that: motels, B&B's, etc. Moving at the blazing walking pace of 2.2-2.6 mph, the range we could plan to accomplish was shorter than we preferred. Hence, progress to destination was impacted.  And,consequently, ADJUSTMENT IN EXPECTATIONS needed to be addressed.    {Josh handles that better than I do.  But, Expectation Adjustment is not over). Since slightly more that half way across NY, the terrain has been getting flatter,  making walking less effort. (Since entering Ohio, it's becoming very flat.) So we need to take that into account. Intermittent rain continues, mostly at night.   Availability of covered accommodations is becoming more scarce. But, the fields are still quite muddy. "Posting" of the land is far less common. So, the beat goes on.   And to quote one of my favorite singers: "...now don't get me wrong, this is not a sad song, just events that I've happened to witness." (For those of you with more sophisticated music preferences, that comes from Jimmy Buffet's "Growing Older But Not Up."   More ADJUSTMENTS type stuff later. (Unless I'm overwhelmed by a flood of negative comments.  In which case, I may just turn "infrequent blog postings" to "MORE INFREQUENT  blog postings". Or, as Jimmy might say, "...now don't get me wrong, this is not a sad song...")    Jay,    Cheers,   and may you experience dryer environments.

Recharge Position

Dad letting the blood drain back into his brain from his legs.

It may look like he's lying down on the job, but this is his recharge position....gearing up for the final push on what ended up being about a twenty four mile day from Napoleon to Bryan, OH.

We're taking a day off tomorrow.  He was ready to press on, but my dogs are barking.

Hope everyone had a good Tuesday!

Epic

Jay Price - Hiker - Wrapping things up in Napoleon, OH

The man in this photo hiked 29.93 miles today from Bowling Green, Ohio to Napoleon, Ohio with a twenty five pound pack. He was still smiling at the end of the day. Not bad for a Monday.

That is all.

Distance

The asphalt ribbon of highway stretches into the horizon.  There’s not a dip or a rise or even the slightest curve. Cars zip along going east and west passing us with a whoosh and the whine of one hundred and twenty horses of emissions controlled power.

US Highway 6 Stretches into the Distance

I pick a tree out of the smudge of shrubbery as far away as I can see.  That’s the target. That’s where we’re going to get before I check my watch.  We’re taking breaks for a handful of trail mix and schooner of tap about every hour.  When we make it to the tree, it won’t quite be time for a break, but we’ll be close.

“Ready,” I ask.

“Let’s go,” comes the reply as flat as the road.

We strike off, the gravel of the shoulder scrunching under each step.  Dad falls in behind me. I know that he’s there because his left shoe has developed a bit of a squeak.  Scrunch, squeak, scrunch, squeak, and the whoosh and the whine of a six car convoy headed east drowns out everything but their own airy advance.

I look up.  The tree’s still there far in the distance standing guard at the place I will check my watch.

I glance to the left. The drainage culvert is full to the top with mocha brown water.  It looks like it’s just sitting there except when it enters a concrete culvert to pass under the road.  Then, you can see the relentless flow, but in the mile between crossroads it just looks like it’s just sitting there soaking up sun.

The fields on the left are flooded. Standing water sits between rows of last year’s harvested corn stubble.  Some folks east of here have managed to sow this year’s crop of corn, but not here.  The fields are too wet, and you can feel the clock ticking down to the time it will be too late to plant.

The fields on the right are lush and green with winter wheat.

“Will all this standing water damage the wheat crop?” I ask.

Scrunch, squeak, whoosh.  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

We’ve told all the stories we have for today. The only thing left is to walk.

I glance up again and look at the tree.  It’s a little bit clearer….a little bit closer….the miles are clicking away.