"I've been looking at The 12 Hour Walk," Liz said at the end of dinner one night. This was about a month or so ago.
She had that look in her eyes that I know so well.
I suppose I would describe it as a medley of intrigue, inquisitiveness, and wonder sprinkled with a layer of playfulness and an underlying sense of adventure.
It's one of the things I love the most about Liz. Her sense of adventure. Her openness to new experiences. The joy she takes in going with the flow and relishing in the tangential paths that can enlighten a journey.
Since we first met, I could always count on those fantastic, often unexpected moments. Those opportunities to, as the Roman poet Horace put it, allowed us to carpe diem - "pluck the day" or, as it has been translated to "seize the day."
This was one such moment.
Liz went on to describe The 12 Hour Walk. And my initial instinct was: Sounds intriguing. But why can't I just do it while listening to an audio book, or a podcast?
She explained that it was about disconnecting from the digital world. Being alone with your thoughts. Attending to the world around you. Attending to your body and what it's telling you.
"But," I insisted. "That's 12 hours that could be put to good use while I'm out exercising and getting fresh air. I could listen to an entire audio book in that time. Or perhaps two different shorter books. Get caught up on multiple podcasts I'm behind in listening to."
She slowly shook her head. I didn't get it. But she knew I would eventually come around.
I can be that way sometimes. Initially resistant to a new idea. But once I allow it to sink in, it slowly starts to dawn on me, to mix metaphors.
The idea of doing a long walk was something I loved doing. In fact, last summer I participated in something like that of my own doing. I had an unscheduled weekend afternoon on a beautiful day, where I set off from my house in mid morning, with a loose plan of just exploring some of the nature trails and walking paths in the Waterloo and Kitchener area.
On this solo journey, I was listening to an audiobook - it might have been The Nature Principle by Richard Louv, as well as a few podcasts. My walk took me Northwest through our neighborhood and along the Forwell Trail system that follows the Forwell creek and goes through a beautifully densely wooded area that, despite the sounds of traffic from the nearby parkway and other streets, might lead you to believe you were walking through a forest, then further south along the Laurel Trail, that brought me, through mostly tree-lined, natural areas, to uptown Waterloo. I then spent some time browsing and purchasing a few books at Words Worth Books, a long-time indie bookstore. Then working my way further south, along the Iron Horse Trail to Arabella Beer Park in Kitchener where I sat at the bar for about an hour, had a burger, a couple of beers, and read through one of the books I'd bought at Words Worth about a local haunted location for a book I've been researching.
Then I got back on the Iron Horse Trail and followed it further south until I took a branch of it off to Victoria Park, where there was a cultural festival going on, which I enjoyed exploring.
From there, I went into downtown Kitchener, stopped in at KW Bookstore, where I purchased a magazine and a few old Spider-Man comics.
I then made my way down Victoria Street where I walked by a pizza place (Papa Joe's) that Alexander and I had ordered pizza from a few years back, and felt hungry again. As I considered getting myself a pizza, I noticed a large homeless encampment across the street in an abandoned lot that had been in the news a lot lately.
I thought about my friend Peter who'd been living homeless in the UK on and off for years, trapped in a system that never gave him a break. So I went into Papa Joe's and ordered four different styles of large pizzas to bring over to the people there.
As I waited for the pizzas I watched from across the street as the folks living there went about their business not all that different than neighbors in any community who were socializing. I knew that bringing a little bit of food wasn't going to solve anything for them. But I felt that, at the very least, showing them a little bit of thoughtfulness was at least a step in the right direction. There's so much more for us to do. But victory is won in small steps. And one small step is showing compassion for our fellow humans.
I then moved along Victoria to Descendants Brewery, where I had a bit of a snack and a couple more beers. Then I turned left on Lancaster and headed back in the direction of home, which was about another 30 to 40 minute walk.
This day last summer was perhaps less than six hours in total, but it was one of the most fulfilling and enlightening solo days that has continued to stick with me.
Imagining how much more powerful extending that time, and not having any auditory/digital distractions - spending the entire time in my head, appealed to me more and more the further I thought about it.
Like I said, I don't always come around to a new idea, but this one appealed to me and grew on me. Liz read the book and talked about it, and we planned on trying to make it happen sooner rather than later.
Ideally, given it was 12 hours, we wanted to do it when the sun was out so we didn't have to deal with lighting/darkness issues, and we figured doing this before the days got too hot would work well.
So, we ended up planning it for Sunday May 28th.
We each used Google Maps to map out a rough first part of our journey, ensuring that we would be on separate journeys. Liz started her walk South East, deciding to follow a path along the Grand River which runs through the Kitchener/Waterloo area, and I opted to head North West from our home through a few neighborhoods and up to the beginning of a series of connected "nature" trails that cut through Waterloo and Kitchener.
We made a few slight changes to the "official" rules of the day.
Instead of going into airplane mode, we entered our phones into "Do not Disturb" mode and we made one another's phone an exception to that. This was upon my insistence, because I'm familiar with Liz's less-than-stellar navigation abilities, and also her penchant for wandering into danger. (She did, indeed have a few perilous moments during her walk - she made it out mostly unscathed, but more power to my justified paranoia - those are, of course, HER stories to tell, not mine, but she was not harmed in any way that prevented her from finishing out her day. These are just amusing "Liz adventure" stories to add to the existing family legends of her solo exploits)
I also insisted on bringing a notebook so I could jot down things that inspired me. This is the side effect of being a writer. Liz did the same thing, but she never pulled out her own notebook. I also said I would use my phone to take a few photos, and videos - not to stream to social media, just to record so I could later share with her some of the slights and sounds along the way)
I woke at 5 AM, fed our animals, put on the coffee, then started preparing for the day. I packed a backpack with two bottles of water (one frozen), a couple of peanut butter and jam sandwiches, a few cereal bars, a banana and a bag of mixed nuts. I also packed band-aids, a few neck gaiters (which I could wear over my bald head to keep it out of the sun), a change of t-shirt, a second pair of running shoes and socks (the runners I started with were the ones I wear without socks that have a very thin sole - they fit almost like gloves and I love - but for distances of more than 10 to 20 KM they can cause blistering.
We set off from the house at 6:35 AM heading in different directions with a quick kiss and wishing one another luck.
The first thing I remember about the walk was how chilly it was. It was supposed to reach up to 26 degrees Celsius (about 79 degrees Fahrenheit) by mid day. Not hot at all, but nice. But in the morning it was in the low single digits. Maybe 8 or 9 degrees - which would be about 48 to 50 Fahrenheit).
Thought it was cool when we stepped outside, I made a point of saying we'd be fine once we started walking briskly. But it took about 40 minutes for me to feel fine. I was quite chilly to start off with, reminding me why I never liked to go running in the winter months. I'd rather be too hot than too cold.
But my body temperature increased, and the day got warmer as the sun rose in the sky.
It was relaxing walking through the neighborhoods northwest of our home, and along streets I rarely went down. Traffic was extremely light; very few cars were out, and the most present auditory background was birdsong and the various birds sang their greeting to the day. This is a song that continued to accompany me throughout the entire day, and one I never tired of. It was melodious and beautiful.
Even early in the morning - not that early, considering I'm often up at 5:30 AM - but before 7 AM on a Sunday, I had started to spot a few other early morning walkers heading down a street far ahead of me, or bisecting the one I was on. There was a wonderful sense of connection to those strangers. Like we, better than anyone else, understood the magnificent joy of walking just as the sun had begun its journey through the sky.
This was when I thought back to an essay by Henry David Thoreau that had spoken to me many years back. One I even quoted from during one of my live radio studio spots when I was competing as part of the Talk Show Idol contest at a Hamilton radio station back in 2008.
The essay is called "Walking" and I first encountered it when working as a bookseller and we were selling these mini 4" X 5 1/2" booklets published by Penguin Books in their "penguin 60s" collection. As part of Penguin's 60th anniversary, they released 60 little books of approximately 60 pages that sold for $0.95 USD ($1.49 CAD) - I imagine it was for 0.60 GPB - with orange spines. I'd purchased perhaps a dozen of them. But one of them was "Walking."
I've re-read it numerous times over the years. Like I said, it spoke to me. And it reminded me that there were other writings from Thoreau I hadn't yet read, but was looking forward to. I thought about how one of my favorite high school English teachers, Gary Fuhrman had written a quote from Thoreau in my yearbook - a quote I had to "grow into."
And that led me to, after months of debate and flip-flopping, decided what I would do for the main project in my forthcoming Masters of Creative Writing with a focus on Publishing project would be.
Over the next hour or so, a number of items for that project fell into place, and I even came up with a title. And heck, I even made a bunch of assumptions in my moments of clarity that, when I looked up later, were 100% accurate.
I wasn't even two hours into the walk and had already had such a huge aha moment that I knew I was onto something really good in this day's adventure.
And I was thankful I'd brought a notebook, because it meant I could jot a few things down in case I forgot them. (The reality of this writer's life, like many other writers, is that hundreds of ideas occur to mean, and I likely loose a couple dozen ideas every day before lunch because there are just too many kicking around in there to hold on to).
I'm not going to go through this hour by hour - that would not be compelling for you while reading this. But I did take note of the wild-life I encountered along the way. Mostly little critters.
Like I'd said before, so many different birds, not just visible, but constantly providing a melody auditory backdrop. A dozen or so rabbits, a few chipmunks, numerous squirrels, and even a turtle. I'd spotted the turtle on my first hour, about 3/4 of the way across a walking path bridge that was under construction. He was a good fifty meters away and was mostly a dark shape on the sand, and could have been a small log with a single branch sticking up high at one end. I paused, my first diversion on a day of beautiful diversions, and looked at him. The branch seemed to move a bit higher. Yes, it was a turtle. A started to walk closer, wanting to take a picture. I'd seen plenty or turtles in the wild in my childhood, as I practically grew up in the outdoors, but had never encountered one here in Waterloo. That was cool. As I moved closer he started to pull his head back in tight to the shell.
I spoke gently to him and got a bit closer, then snapped a quick picture. It's not like he was going to scuttle off quickly the way a rabbit might. Then, seeing how dry it was all around him, and how far (to him at least) the water was away), I wondered if water would be useful. So I pulled my back pack off and poured a generous puddle of water onto the ground directly beside him. He kept his head hunkered back inside the shell watching me with trepidation. Then I bid him a good day and backed away, showing him I meant no harm - as if he could understand that seemingly universal hands raised gesture one might show to other humans.
I ended up speaking to a lot of the little critters I encountered. I felt like I was intruding in their world and made sure to either greet them, or to let them know I was just passing through.
Something else I did on my walk was that I felt compelled to pick up some of the garbage I found carelessly scattered about. Two of my pet peeves in this world are those who litter and those who fail to use the turn signal. It strikes me as the ultimate in selfishness. But in any case, I didn't pick up all the litter I'd found, because I would have been weighed down significantly - as the trash receptacles to deposit the waste were few and far between. But I did, and would often carry some of the trash as much as a full kilometer before finding a garbage can either on the path, or at least on a slight divergence from the path. I might have picked up about a pound of trash. And like I mentioned, the sad thing is that there was so much more of it out there.
I considered the idea of organizing fun local trail walks in different areas of the city with the goal of cleaning up some of that trash. How could I motivate people to join in? Just out of the satisfaction of being community minded? Or could I come up with some system or reward, via a sponsor, or perhaps gamifying the experience. I put that aside as a neat idea to chew on another day.
But I was impressed with how my connection with turning off digital distractions and focusing on the world around me, all the stimuli, helped me see something I normally didn't notice. And it made me feel more connected to the space, more responsible for the space. Yes, I know it was other careful selfish people who'd made the mess. And since they weren't going to do it, I was going to help, for the community itself.
Something else I enjoyed during my walk relates to that sense of community, but also a sense of connection to strangers. I suppose they're related. But I greeted so many people that day. Hearty good mornings, and brief commentary about how beautiful a day it was, but also listening to others who were walking or sitting together on a bench as I passed. Snippets of interesting conversation. And I heard people conversing it what sounded to me like at least a half dozen distinctly different languages. I mean, yeah, I know English, French, Italian, and Polish when I hear them, but there were a few other languages that sounded to me like they originated in the Middle East and Asia. I loved the diversity of that.
Speaking of diversity, when I walked past Kingsdale Community Centre around 9:50 AM I spotted a pair of East Indian men in dress pants, dress shirts greeting people coming in to the building. It felt like some type of church service or similar religious gathering. Maybe I assumed that because it was Sunday and I was raised Catholic. There was a woman walking up to the men in a beautiful red, orange and gold trimmed East Indian styled dress. The smiles on their faces were brilliant, even from a dozen yards away, and the man and woman shook hands, like they were old friends.
I was suddenly struck with that old song from Louis B. Armstrong.
Such a beautiful song. Such a beautiful world. I had been thinking to myself the same conclusion Mr. Armstrong had come it. What a wonderful world. I played the lyrics of the entire song through my head and my heart glowed with the magnificent beauty of love and friendship.
Have I mentioned how great it was to be out and about and just looking and taking these things in?
I stopped shortly after that. And I should mention that, though I'd mapped out the first approximately half of that day's journey and was mostly following it, with a few slight diversions thus far, deciding to walk a large trail loop behind the Kingsdale Community Centre was the first of several fun additional paths I took.
And that's when I took my first five minute break. I sat down, ate one of my peanut butter and jam sandwiches, put on a bit more sunscreen, and jotted a few notes down.
Along with the notes about some of the things I'd seen and heard and my notes about the Masters project, I wrote this:
I kept walking South, returning to a naturalized path area (part of the Trans Canada Trail) that continued to follow along near Schneider Creek and in to Homer Watson Park.
That took me near the Grand River and a series of beautiful trails nearby. I remembered that Liz had been planning on walking along the Grand, and I had no idea of the timing, but I kept looking at clearings that revealed the trail on the other side of the river and kept looking to see if I could spot her across the way, thinking: "wouldn't that be neat if I saw her."
I didn't spot her, but I spotted plenty of beauty along the shores of the Grand River.
And then I reached the end of that particular trail, and my own pre-plotted map, at the end of the trail as it led to Old Mill Road.
The initial idea might be, if that had been six hours, to just turn back and head the way I'd come. That was one option. The other was just to explore for the next 6 hours and see where the path took me.
And that's where the fun really began.
Along my exploration I ended up a large slope at Windrush Park in Kitchener. I decided to climb to the top of the hill and caught a spectacular view of the north.
I then moved across the street and into what the map showed me was a densely forested area. The Topper Woods Natural Area. I followed a trail into it. This was a much narrower less-traveled trail, and perhaps half a kilometre into it the mosquitos were all over me. I realized then, that I should have put on or packed some bug spray. The mosquitos got so bad that I ended up jogging through the forest rather than enjoying the picturesque landscape and tranquil beauty. But as I ran the mosquitoes were so large and swarmed so thick that I could feel them striking me - not quite with the force I remembered a bee would feel like when you hit one while riding your bike - but a similar sensation, only a heck of a lot lighter.
I finally made it out with a number of fresh mosquito bites on me. Some time after that I took another break to change from my sockless thinner soled running shoes into thick soled runners with socks. I also changed my shirt, drank a lot more water, and put on more sunscreen. I jotted in my journal, then pulled a banana from my bag to snack on while I continued to walk.
I few entries from that break read:
"6 hrs in - feet sore, blistered. Legs sore. "I can't go on, I will go on.
"Did I mention my feet are KILLING me?"
"Forest Ridge/Edge trail - MOSQUITO FUCKING CITY!
"Bring bug screen next time"
Not long after I made my last pee break stop (and the first one not in a naturalized area) at a Tim Hortons at Old Carriage Road and Pioneer Drive. I also bought two bottles of water there. I sat for a moment at one of their tables and consulted the map to see where I wanted to head next. Since I was beyond the 6 hour mark I figured I should start meandering back in the direction of home.
I considered a quite consult of Google Maps suggestion, but didn't want to just take roadways home. So I re-adapted the route to take a different path through a naturalized area off Homer Watson Boulevard (this one was NOT, unlike the last area, a haven for mosquitos), then back-tracked along part of the same route I'd taken along the Grand River on my way back. This time, I stuck to the main trail instead of taking the looping and more hilly smaller trails that led closer to the water.
I reflected on how, just a few hours earlier I'd been spry and willing to rush off and quickly move up and down hills. But now I was feeling tired and my feet and legs hurt in multiple places, and staying on the main path was sufficient.
Same spot, same person, same day, different mindset.
What's that old line from Heraclitus? "No man ever steps in the same river twice. For it's not the same river and he's not the same man."
Something like that. (And in the interest of full transparency, no, I had no idea it was Heraclitus who said it. I had to look that up. Apparently Heraclitus was a Greek philosopher. There's a joke somewhere in there that he has a friend in Rome named Biggus Dickus)
I took much of the same way back, with a few diversions off the main path just to keep the views interesting.
It was during this part of the journey where I ended up bawling my eyes out. Just openly blubbering while I walked. Partially I was going through song lyrics in my head - and yes, as I was whispering the lyrics to the Harry Chapin classic "Cat's in the Cradle" the waterworks started.
"When you coming home son?"
"I don't know when. But we'll get together then, dad, you know we'll have a good time then."
I can't ever really hear that song without getting a little verklempt.
But I was mostly weeping in pure joy for all of the great fortune I've had in my life, all of the amazing people in it. Those who are still in my life, those who I am no longer connected with, and, of course, those I've lost along the way.
It was a happy, joyous moment, as I reflected on how rich a person I am for all of those amazing people, and just how blessed and lucky I am for having known and knowing these people.
Though I was glassy eyes and snotty faced, I was feeling an incredible burst of good old solid greatness in that moment. It was very cathartic moment of emotive bliss.
Damn, I'm one lucky son of a bitch.
I stopped in at a gas station on Courtland and Manitou Drive, completely parched, even though I'd already drank most of the two bottles I'd bought not that much earlier at the Tim Horton's. I'd also poured some of the cold water on my head and splashed some into my face a few times to try to cool off.
When the clerk asked if I was also buying gas I said, no. I'm walking. And I've been walking since 6:30 this morning. (It was likely some time around 2 or 2:30 PM by that point) I briefly explained The 12 Hour Walk to him about it, and he thought it was fascinating.
I moved on.
And drank a lot more water.
Speaking of which, here's the funny thing about that hearty intake of fluid. In the first four hours of the walk, I must have stopped to take a pee in some remote/non-visible wooded area at least a half dozen times. But that pee I'd mentioned at the Tim Hortons was the last one I took until I got home that night - despite drinking, in total 8 bottles of water. I suppose I was significantly dehydrated by that point.
I kept on keeping on, still enjoying the sights, sounds, and neighborhoods I had never even known about, never even driven through in many cases. But I was in pain, and tired, and overheated, and just plain ready to collapse.
In fact I did collapse onto the grass on the front lawn at Sheppard Public School on Weber Street. I wanted to sit on some large stones, but there were a bunch of kids playing on them. And so I kept my distance. But found a shady spot and laid down on the grass. Oh, it felt so nice. I felt as if I could simple close my eyes and fall into a restful sleep.
Not all that far from there (though by that time, it felt like a significant distance) I stopped at a tiny park/playground area bench at the corner of Mansion and Lancaster.
In my journal one of the things I wrote was:
"Exhaustion isn't a big enough word."
(Yes, that's a reference to Planes, Trains & Automobiles)
My GPS told me I was about an hour's walk from home, but I figured with the slow pace I'd been walking it might take me 2 to traverse it.
That wasn't the case.
I purchased my last two bottles of water from another gas station at Lancaster and Victoria, then moved slowly, but not slow enough, on my way back towards home.
I ended up taking a series of divergent side roads getting to the neighborhood. But regardless of how many additional crescents and paths I took, it felt like I was still going to arrive home too early.
Finally, on Auburn street, maybe a half a kilometer from the house, I leaned forward resting my arms/elbows on a tall chain link fence on a walkway that ran between two yards to the next street (there are a huge number of paths like that in the curvy sprawling neighborhoods in Waterloo). I really wanted to sit, so I just rested while standing.
The garage door in front of me to my right suddenly opened as a black jeep approached the house and pulled into the driveway. The man driving the jeep paused in the driveway directly beside me and he asked if I was okay. I responded that I was; and I was just resting. I was too tired to explain The 12 Hour Walk to him. He nodded then pulled into the garage. But when he stepped out of the car, he called out again asking if I was sure I was fine. If I wanted to sit down. If he could refill the water bottle I was clutching that was down to about an inch.
I realized I likely looked like an old man, covered in dust, dirt and sweat, and perhaps on the verge of a stroke or heart attack.
I'm in awe of the kindness and compassionate response of a stranger. Beside, though I have a distinctive look, I wondered if he realized this was the guy from the "skeleton house" about half a kilometre up the street.
As I was thanking him and assuring him I was fine, I spotted Liz coming around the corner up the street.
I waved to her. She approached, and one of the first things she said was: "We're not supposed to meet for another half hour. At home."
I agreed, but said: "What the hell? Let's walk together this last little bit."
She was too exhausted to protest. We shared brief highlights of our journey as we wandered through the neighborhood, frustrated with how slow time was passing, and how quickly we were still walking despite the pain. We ended up doing a first circuitous routes before finally getting home at 6:35 PM.
We took a quick selfie, then shower, and got into the hot tub in our back yard to share with one another the stories of our unique and fun adventures that day.
I thought that was cool. And that somewhere in there, is likely some sort of metaphysical force at play. The one that drives two unique souls together at the right time - the way fate did that with Liz and I meeting one another. Because I'll be honest, while we click in so many fantastic ways, and sometimes I wish we'd met much earlier in my life, I often wonder if either of us would have been ready for the other had we met at any other time in our lives.
I reflected on how this day would not have been possible without Liz not only bringing it to my attention, but patiently prompting me, over the course of a few weeks, to take the idea seriously. And how I don't always get it at first, but it eventually comes to me.
I remember sharing the Rush song "In the End" with Liz early in our relationship. Those lyrics came to me again on the walk:
It just takes me longer.
I can feel, what you feel.
It just makes you stronger.
You can take me for a little while.
You can take me, you can make me smile...
In the end."
Sometimes we choose the paths we take. Sometimes the paths choose us. And often, we end up walking down the right path at exactly the right time. And that's when the true magic happens.
Both on this day, for each of us. But also in general, in the life paths that brought us together.
All things being equal, I finished this walk sore, exhausted, and blistered. But so mentally rejuvenated, inspired, and empowered.
And I can't wait to either do this, or at least something very similar, again.
An audio adaptation of this blog post is available for Patrons of the Stark Reflections on Writing and Publishing Podcast.
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