Monday, May 6, 2013

How to walk across the country (Part III: Packaging and shipping)




Now that we’ve created maps and bought food, we can begin to package our food rations and get them ready to be shipped.

Step #1: Get boxes

First things first: We need boxes. Perhaps there’s a cheaper way to do it than I did, but I chose to use Priority Mail boxes from the U.S. Postal Service. The boxes, themselves, are free, and can easily be obtained. You can pick them up at a local post office, but it would be wiser to have them shipped to you because your post office may have a limited supply. (Online, you can order as many boxes as you’d like and have them shipped to you for free.)

I used two box sizes. I used “medium flat rate boxes” (11” x 8 ½” x 5 ½”), and “large flat rate boxes” (12” x 12” x 5 ½”).

The medium cost me $12.35 to ship in the US (and about $35 to ship to Canada). I could easily fit 3-4 days' worth of food in the medium box, or tightly cram five days' worth of food if I was lucky.

Medium flat rate box

The large flat rate box cost me $16.85 to ship in the US (and about $66 to ship to Canada). I could easily fit 5-6 days' worth of food, and up to eight days' worth if I packed it in tightly.

Large flat rate box


Other packaging items needed: black sharpie marker to write on boxes, priority mail address stickers (that can be gotten for free at post offices), and one of those tape rollers, as you’ll be using lots of tape.

Step #2: Make a list of post offices on your route that you will ship to

To hike efficiently, you want to: 1. Carry as little weight as necessary, and 2. Put yourself in a situation in which you don’t have to worry about finding, buying, or picking up your food package every day or every couple of days.

Ideally, I think it’s safe to plan to fill your boxes with five days' worth of food. One day’s worth of food weighs about 2 lbs, and I think 10 lbs for five days' worth of food is a manageable load to carry. If you mail yourself, say, three days' worth of food, this will cost you much more in shipping fees since it will require that you ship many more boxes. Plus, you’ll have to stop at post offices more often, which will slow you down. This can be awfully inconvenient, especially since post offices are closed during evenings, and many aren’t open at all on weekends. This can create logistical headaches. So five days' worth of food is a nice middle ground. The weight and shipping cost will be reasonable, and you won't be burdened with the inconvenience of having to go to town every three days.

Since I planned on walking 20 miles a day, I tried to find post offices about 100 miles apart. I was able to do this sometimes, but for remote areas I had to pack as many as 8 days' worth of food when I was 159 miles between post offices. This means that many of my boxes will differ in size, in weight, and in content. And because of this, figuring out what goes in each box requires a bit of planning and simple math.

But before we get to that, look up the towns you’ll be walking through and find out if they have a post office. You can do this using basic searches on the US or Canadian postal service websites. If the town does have a post office, write down basic information (address, directions, phone number, hours, and how many miles till your next selected post office, and carry this information with you).

 

Most post offices, once they receive your box, will hold the box for between 15 and 30 days. After that many days, they will ship it back to the return address. Because you may be delayed on your hike and may not make it to the post office in time, you will want to take preemptive action before your hike to make sure post offices will hold your box, even after their normal holding period. One way to do this is to carry the post office's phone number and keep in touch with them. Most of the post offices I dealt with were run by one postmaster or postmistress, and they were all very nice and accommodating. I also think it would be helpful and courteous to send each post office a letter before you take off on your trip, explaining what you’re doing, that you’re on a big hike, and that the box they will receive will contain much-needed food. Because of such a letter, they will be less puzzled about the mysterious box, and they will feel like they’re a part of your journey. Suddenly they won’t care about their 15-day holding policy.

I printed 20 of these out and sent them to all my post offices before I began my hike.

Lastly, write on the box when the approximate pick up date will be, which I had yet to do on the box pictured below.


Step #3: Plan out every box

First things first: Make a list of what you need in every box. If you’ve gotten to this point, you already know what post offices you’re going to ship your food to, and thus how much distance you’ll have to walk between post offices (100 miles), and thus how many days you'll be walking (5 days), and thus how much food you'll need for every item in that box (5 oz of dehydrated milk).

I have 20 boxes to send, so that means I will have 20 bags of, say, dehydrated milk, and 20 bags of chips, and 20 bags of a lot of other stuff. To save time, you do not want to do one box at a time—bagging your milk, your chips, you dinner meals, and stuffing it in one box. Rather, you should take an assembly line approach. Make 20 bags of milk, then 20 bags of chips, etc.—and then pack your boxes.

Trail mix to the upper left, granola in the center, and bags of chips on the bottom. 

Here’s a photo of a section of my packing list. You’ll see that the amount I pack per box depends entirely on how many days I expect that box to last me.


Step #4: Package your food in Ziplocks

So now that you know you need 4 oz of milk for Box #4, 5 oz of milk for Box #5, and so on, we should create 20 bags of milk, writing what box number they are to be placed in onto the plastic Ziploc bag.

"2" is for "Box #2." Crushed chips inside.

Do everything you can to lessen your workload. For instance, mix up your trail mix ingredients in a big bin or box. I used the same box to crush and mix my chips. (Crushed chips take up less space.)

Mixing trail mix. 

Now that you’ve made bags of everything, you can begin to place everything in their designated box. 


One box's contents: food, sunscreen, maps, trash bag, etc.

You’ll also want to consider including other non-food items to save weight. Instead of carrying a big clunky bottle of sunscreen lotion for the entirety of your trip, send yourself a series of small travel-sized bottles. Other non-food items I included:
  • Aluminum  foil windscreens (10). These will last several weeks before the need to be replaced. I shipped myself one for about every 10 days.
  • Cat food canister stove (6).
  • Mini sunscreen bottle (6)
  • Lithium batteries for my for my iPad Bluetooth keyboard
  • A trashbag for every box. The trash bags were inserted into my backpack so that my contents inside were waterproof. (Be sure to get tall trash bags!)
  • Select maps for the area you’re about to travel through.
  • Book of matches
  • Water treatment drops

    I shipped about 10 aluminum foil windscreens and six cat food canister stoves. The cat food stoves were surprisingly hardy, and I probably didn't need so many spares. I think it's safe, though, to have a replacement ready after one month.

    Small bottles like this sunscreen bottle save weight. 

    Water treatment drops.

Step #5: Recruit a trusty friend/family member to ship your stuff

You will need someone to ship your items for you. Unfortunately, you cannot ship them all at once because post offices will not hold your boxes for months on end. Plus, your plans are likely to change while on your hike, and you might need your friend to include an extra item, or you might even decide that your route will not be taking you to this or that post office anymore.

So you need a friend to do this work for you. Try to make it as easy for them as possible. Have the packages all packed up. Have the address written on the packages. Give them all the money they’ll need for sending them out.

Priority mail boxes are shipped to their destinations rapidly (2-3 days). You will need to constantly be in touch with your friend, so that he or she can mail the boxes to the select post offices at the right times. I asked Josh, typically, to send about three boxes at a time, so that he didn’t have to be going to the post office every single week, or several times a week.

Extra notes: 

-Document everything in Word files and carry those papers with you. Give a set to your friend.

-Don't get the Ziplocks with the crappy zippers. These fell apart or broke more times than I can count. Also, be sure to get varying sizes (freezer bag, sandwich bag, etc.). 

These zippered ziplocks cannot handle wear and tear well. 

These are my dinner meals for box #2. Potatoes mixed with butter and bacon on the right. Southwestern polenta with bacon in the middle. Parmesan cheese on the left.

Dinner meals for box #4. Angel hair pasta, Ramen, and basil with parmesan cheese. I also shipped myself olive oil in boxes that contained noodle dinners. 

I packaged my olive oil in two types of containers. When I needed a small amount, I put them in these small baby juice bottles. If I needed more, I put them in a small Tropicana orange juice bottle. Both sorts of bottles worked excellently. 

I bought this box, as well as a box of Tropicana bottles at Sam's Club. Obviously the juice had to be drank beforehand.
Cost of 2012-13 Keystone XL Expedition so far....

Maps: $350
Food: $998
Shipping packages: $406
Total: $1,754


Friday, May 3, 2013

How to walk across the country (Part II: Food)



In Part I, I discussed how to map out your route using mapping software programs and websites. In this installment, I’ll discuss how to plan your food rations. But before you think about going out and spending $1,000 on food, you should ask yourself: What are the pros and cons of shipping food to yourself vs. buying food along the way?

The pros and cons of buying your food all at once and shipping it to yourself
Pros

-You can control your diet more. You can buy and pack nutritional and calorie-dense foods like Clif bars, organic butter, and polenta before going on your hike; these foods, in small towns, would most likely be impossible to find.

-You can be more organized and carry less food-weight. By carefully planning your daily food rations beforehand, you can better control just how much food you’ll be carrying. Plus, everything will be pre-packaged in Ziplocks, which will allow you to pick up your food package, throw your food into your backpack, and continue hiking that very day.

Cons

-Shipping is expensive. I shipped about 20 boxes to post offices along my route. Many of the boxes cost me about $17 to mail. A few of the boxes I sent to Canada cost me more than $60. If you buy food along your route, you can eliminate the cost of shipping.

-Lack of variety. Even if you plan a varied diet when packaging, you’re still going to wind up eating much of the same stuff day in and day out. By purchasing your food as you hike, you can more easily diversify your diet.

Why I chose to ship food to myself

In the end, I decided to ship food to myself because…

1.      I wanted to move fast and efficiently, and having to worry about buying food every few days would surely have slowed me down.

2.      I was walking through extremely remote terrain, and I wasn’t sure if the towns that I’d pass through would even have a general store, let alone decent camping food. In hindsight, this was a good worry to have.

3.      I wanted to ensure that I had good, nutritional items like energy bars, which I wouldn’t be able to buy just anywhere. Plus, I'd save many pounds of weight by buying lightweight food (powdered milk, powdered mashed potatoes). All things considered, I think it's just better to shell out money, buy all your food at once, package it, and ship it. 

Step #1: Figure out how much food you need

Figuring out how much food you need is a combination of simple math and educated guesswork. Ask yourself a few questions:

How many miles will I be walking? 1,700 miles

How many miles will I walk in a day? 20 miles a day

Factoring in how many miles you’ll be walking and how many miles you will walk per day, how many days will you be walking? 1700 miles/20 miles a day = 85 days [This was entirely wrong (I ended up walking 136 days) but I was able to find additional food at stores along the way, which worked out nicely.]

How many calories will you be eating a day? 4,000 calories [This was guesswork. When I'm not hiking I eat a lot, and when I am hiking I eat considerably more. If you’re my size (5-foot-9, 180 lbs), I would say 4,000 calories is an appropriate amount to plan for.]

Step #2: Make a daily meal plan

Once you know how many calories you need per day, you can make a meal plan. Obviously, you’ll want to include as much diversity in your diet as you can, but not so much that it makes organizing the meals impossible. Figure out how many calories each candy bar, trail mix bag, and dinner meal, etc. contains, and then make a plan that meats your daily caloric goal (4,000 calories).

Daily meal plan
Ounces
Calories
Breakfast: Granola/ Whole Milk
7 (4.5 cereal/2.5 milk)
840 calories
Snack 1: Clif bar
2.4
240 calories
Snack 2: Clif/Pemmican bar
3.1
225 calories
Snack 3: Pemmican bar
3.75
210 calories
Snack 4: Trail Mix
3
450 calories
Snack 5: Pringle
1/3 of can (2 oz)
300 calories
Snack 6: Chocolate bar
2.1
280 calories
Snack 7: Chocolate bar
1.6
280 calories
Snack 8: Pop tart
1.8
205 calories
Dinner
6.3
900 calories
Total
2 lbs 1 oz
3,930 calories

Now that I know how many candy bars, chips, granola, etc. I need a day (1.5 Clif bars), I can figure out how many of each I need to buy for my whole trip (85 days x 1.5 Clif bars = 127.5 Clif bars).

Step #2a: Figure out your dinner meals

I think a proper warm meal every evening is a must for any long-distance hiker, especially when hiking in the cold. So that I didn't get bored of my dinner meals, I planned for five different alternating meals. 

Meal 1: Potatoes
3oz of instant potatoes
1oz crumbled bacon
1oz cheese
1oz butter

Meal 2: Rice and Beans
2oz  Rice
2oz Beans
1 oz cheese
.5 taco seasoning

Meal 3: Polenta
3 oz of polenta
1oz of bacon
1oz of cheese
.5 oz of chipotle spice

Meal 4: Raemen and Pesto
3oz packet of raemen
1oz cheese
1oz olive oil
.3 garlic
.1 basil
.1 spicy spaghetti

Meal 5: Pasta
3 oz Angel hair
1 oz Spaghetti seasoning
1oz olive oil
1oz cheese

Step #3: Buy your food

Once I figured out what sort of food I’d be eating to meet my caloric goals and how many days I’d be walking, I could figure how much of each item I needed to buy. Here’s my shopping list:

- 270 chocolate bars
- 270 ounces of trail mix
- 15 cans of Pringles and 90 ounces of Fritos
- 225 ounces of fat powdered milk
- 405 ounces of granola
- .6 oz of alcohol for 90 meals: 54 ounces of HEET
 - 69 oz of instant potatoes
- 41 oz crumbled bacon
- 23 oz butter
- 46 oz of rice
- 46 oz of beans
- 120 oz of cheese
- 11.5 oz of taco seasoning
- 54 oz of raemen
- 3.6 oz of basil
- 3.6 oz of spicy spaghetti
- 54 oz polenta
- 9 oz chipotle sauce
- 54 oz angel hair
- 10.8 oz of garlic

I did my shopping at just a few shopping centers (Whole foods, King Soopers, Sam’s club, Albertson’s, and from other distributors over the Internet).

I bought most of this stuff at Sam’s club (after buying a $40 annual membership), and, by buying in bulk, I probably earned back the $40 membership fee, or I at least saved myself a great deal of time. I wanted good granola, so I bought all my granola for $3 a pound at Whole Foods (and pretty much emptied out their whole stock).

a.      Sam’s club (candy bars, trail mix items, bacon, membership etc.) $428
b.      Whole Foods (refried beans, granola) $130
c.       Albertons (Nido whole powdered milk) $21
d.      King Soopers (Parmesan cheese, chips, catfood canisters for stoves) $187

I also bought two brands of energy bars (Clif bars and Bear Valley pemmican bars). If you purchase large orders online or over the phone, they will give you a small discount. For Bear Valley, they will reduce the cost from $1.29/bar to $.90/bar when you buy more than 150 bars. I got a similar deal from Clif Bar, I think.

e.       Bear Valley Pemmican bars (150 bars) $135 + $20 shipping = $155
f.       Clif bars (156 bars) $145 + $7 shipping = $152

I also bought some dehydrated organic butter online for my dinner meals. There are many dehydrated products, and they can add a lot of nutrition and taste to your diet, but they’re very expensive.

g.      Organic butter powder (16 oz) $20 + $5 shipping = $25

Total food costs: $998 (estimated $11.75 of food/day)

Now that you have your food planned out, you can begin to worry about packaging and shipping your food resupplies, which shall be Part III of this series. 

Helpful links 

-Like the previous post, I learned much from Andrew Skurka's website (this entry in particular) and book, The Ultimate Hiker's Gear Guide, which is excellent, and which I'd recommend to anyone thinking about doing a long-distance hike for the first time. 


I ate 2-3 candy bars a day. I never once got tired of them. Mmmmm... Mounds Bars... 

I would recommend both the Pemmican bar and Clif bars. Advantage goes to Clif bar, though. The Clif bars don't taste as "dry" as the Pemmican, plus the Clif bars come in many different varieties. (Pemmican only has four varieties.) Naturally, eating the same thing over and over again makes it more difficult to eat, so it was nice to be able to have a subtle flavor change with the Clifs. 

Trail Mix. By the end of the trip I was throwing out whole bags of it because I couldn't stomach it any more. Part of the problem was that I bought generic ingredients from Sam's Club, when it would have been wiser to shell out more money for better nuts and berries at a place like Whole Foods. Plus, I didn't think at all about "blending" ingredients so that all the ingredients blended nicely into a pleasant taste. I just shoved a bunch of stuff in a bag without thinking about that. I recommend putting more time and thought into your trail mix than I did. 

Fritos and Pringles are incredibly calorie-dense. Fritos, though, can get boring rather quickly. I recommend mixing the crushed chips with other, more tasty, styles of chips, like Doritos. As a general rule, bring as much diversity into your snacks as you can with different types of candy bars, chips, etc.
Finding powdered WHOLE milk was a challenge. There aren't many powdered whole milk products, but Nido, which is often sold in the Hispanic aisle, and is often fed to children, works perfectly. It has a good taste and it's full of calories. You can go on their website and look up stores that carry Nido. 

Cost of 2012-13 Keystone XL Expedition so far....

Maps: $350
Food: $998
Total: $1,348

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

How to walk across the country (Part I: Mapping)


This past fall and winter, I walked 1,700 miles on a never-done-before journey across Canada and the United States. My route led me over remote and sometimes desolate terrain—farmland, grassland, hills and canyons. I had no guide or guidebook. No trail or road to follow. I had no idea how I would get water, if I’d get shot for trespassing over private property, or what natural elements I might have to contend with.

How much food should I pack? How many miles can I walk in a day? Is that cow going to sit on my face? I was at the same time attracted to and daunted by the unusual nature of my trip and the countless unknowns I was sure to encounter. While I knew I wouldn’t be able to figure everything out beforehand (like how I might cross this or that river), I figured, with some intensive planning, I could at least turn some of the chaos into order, some of the “unknowns” into knowns.

Because I thought a proper explanation of my trip-planning might be helpful for aspiring hikers, or just of interest to folks who followed my journey, I present to you my definitive how-to, beginning with how to map out a hike.

Step #1: Find a good mapping program

It made the most sense to begin by mapping out my path. By doing this first, we can figure out how many miles we’ll walk and what sort of terrain we’ll be walking over. Once we know this, we can begin to think about how much food to buy.

My route followed the proposed route of the Keystone XL pipeline. To my dissatisfaction, there were no good maps of the route that I could simply find online and print out. There were, I should say, maps of the Keystone XL route on the U.S. government’s website, but they were entirely inadequate. The maps had no color and they were much too “zoomed in,” only showing a few geographic features that would be of little navigational help to me. The Canadian Keystone XL map was even worse.

This is the crappy US gov't map of the KXL route. I used these documents, though, to trace the line on the Nat. Geo. TOPO! mapping software program when putting together my US maps. 
If I was going to have good maps, I’d have to map it out myself. To do so, I found two excellent mapping programs:

The first was Toporama, a Canadian mapping program that can be accessed by anyone online. It’s free and made available by the Canadian government. The only cost is printing out your maps at a professional printing service (i.e. UPS or FedEx Kinkos).

Toporama has a few drawbacks. For example, you can’t easily draw lines on the maps when on the website, maps don’t come with kilometer or mileage scale, among a few other shortcomings that would take too long to explain). But the pluses outweigh the minuses. The maps are free, colorful, incredibly detailed, and once you get the hang of it, the program is pretty easy to use.

Transcanada's Canadian maps of the XL were even worse than the US government’s, but, to my amazement, much of the Keystone XL route was already on the Toporama map system (because the Keystone XL would parallel preexisting pipelines, which were presented as dotted lines on the maps). This made figuring out my route much easier than mapping out the American part of my adventure.

This is a Canadian Toporama map. You can see the dotted line that indicates where a pipeline is already in the ground and where, conveniently for me, the KXL will be laid. I drew over it with a yellow line in Microsoft Paint. The only available map of the actual KXL was this horribly incomplete map, which did, though, help me confirm that this dotted line was in fact the line I needed to follow.

The other mapping program that I used (for the US section of my trip) is called TOPO!, which is sold by National Geographic. It’s expensive—$50 per state, but it was the only reasonable option. I could have downloaded US maps for free on the US government website, but downloading those maps takes forever, plus the borders of the maps cannot be shifted the way they can be on a good mapping software program. It’s often the case that, when using already-drawn maps, your route will run along the edge of one of these maps, which will force you to buy and carry many more maps than you’d like. (As a cheapskate, it pains me to say this, but when planning a journey, it’s wiser to just shell out the money if it’ll make things easier for you later on.)

TOPO! is an excellent mapping program. It will let you draw your route on the map (while on your computer), and you can move the maps around on your screen so your path is in the middle of the map you'll print out. And when your path is in the middle of the map, you can then use a number of geographic features like hills, lakes, and rivers to help you navigate. The other great thing about TOPO! is that when drawing your route on the map, the program will keep track of how many miles you’ll be walking. This comes in handy when we get to Step #3: Making a mileage chart. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; first comes printing out the maps.




This is the lower half of one of my TOPO! Kansas maps. It was printed out on 11x17 paper, double-sided, with color.


Step #2: Printing out maps 

I would suggest printing two maps for the area you’ll be walking over. The first will be a "zoomed-out" map that will give you a general overview (comprehensive road system, scattering of towns, plus some major geographic features like big hills, lakes, and rivers (1:200,000 for Canadian Maps and 1:250,000 for US maps.) The second set of maps should be much more detailed and "zoomed in." These maps will help you use gentle topographic features like small hills and creeks to navigate. (For Canada 1:50,000 and US 1:100,000). TOPO, by the way, will allow you to tinker with these scales.

Also, I’d recommend getting state and provincial maps as well. These can be gotten for free from any state’s tourism or transportation website. Just google “Free Kansas road map,” find the appropriate website, give them your info, and they’ll send you a map for free. I got all of my state and provincial maps for free.

Once you have all of your topographic maps, compile them in a Word document or PDF file, and have the file printed out at a professional printing service (i.e. UPS or FedEx Kinkos) on big 11 x 17 paper, double-sided with color. I probably paid about $100 for all my maps and about $350 when you include the cost of the state TOPO programs.

Step #3: Making a mileage chart 


This is my mileage chart of every town I come remotely close to. (This picture, I should point out, only shows a few South Dakota and Nebraska places of interest. Towns in red font were towns that had post offices, and those that I highlighted ultimately became resupply towns. To the right are the US mileage numbers (i.e. Atkinson was at the 576th mile of the US section of my hike).
Once you’ve drawn your route onto your maps, you can begin to make a mileage chart, which will be crucial for planning food drops.

I went over my maps inch by inch, writing down the mileage number of every major road, river, and town (i.e. The towns were of particular interest to me because I needed to find post offices (roughly 100 miles apart) to ship my food resupplies.)

Now that I have my maps and my mileage chart, I can begin to think about food, which shall be discussed in my next entry.

 Extra notes:

- Though I own a good backcountry GPS unit, I didn't bring it because I didn't want to carry the extra weight, I wanted to force myself to learn map-and-compass navigational skills, and I had an iPad, which can, in a bind, work as a GPS unit, which I'll discuss in a forthcoming post.

- Andrew Skurka has some wonderful and much more detailed blog entries on TOPO and Toporama. I learned much from him, and I recommend these two posts of his:

Friday, April 19, 2013

A hiking epilogue and a published book


So I’ve been running around the past couple of months. 

After I finished my hike in February, a guy named Woody Welch from New Braunfels, Texas picked me up and drove me to Washington D.C., where we’d attend a big climate change rally, hosted by the likes of 350.org and Sierra Club.  

The turnout was impressive. According to many accounts, there were upwards of 40,000 people. As encouraging as the size of the crowd was, I couldn’t help but feel a little stupefied, dazed, shell-shocked. Just days before, I’d been walking across the country, often feeling very alone in my opposition to the Keystone XL, but always with a sense of self-assurance and importance made possible by the innumerable interviews I did with the media, not to mention an enlarged blog following. And suddenly, here I am, surrounded by tens of thousands of people (many of whom dressed as polar bears), hoisting signs like “KEYSTONE XL IS STERIODS FOR CLIMATE CHANGE.” 

I was an insignificant atom among a shoulder-to-shoulder swarm of bodies and signs and banners. It was all rather eerie and surreal, and, as much as I agreed with the crowd's message, it was impossible for me to get swept up in the mob-like fervor which had gripped other participants. My ego was getting the best of me, as I’d recognized that my days of having some sort of “voice” on this issue were over, and that what I now had to say was just a faint vibration lost in a deafening chorus. 

Now that my adventure was over with, I had to go through the trouble of getting my life in order. I had car registration bills and taxes to pay, computer files to sort out and organize, possessions spread out across several states. From D.C., I flew to Denver so I could get my van and drive it and all my stuff home to North Carolina. I decided to hang around for a couple of weeks so I could spend time with Josh and play on his coed floor hockey team with the hope of helping them make a playoff run. But alas, the season ended in the semi-finals after a humiliating defeat. 

The next day, I drove across country through Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Kentucky, en route to North Carolina, which proved to be a fairly uneventful trip, but one made enjoyable by the many Radio Lab episodes I’d downloaded and listened to on my iPad.  

And so: I’m back at the place that most resembles home, North Carolina’s Acorn Abbey. David, since I’ve been gone, has become active with a grassroots anti-fracking group here in Stokes County, Lily the cat still hisses at me when I make affectionate advances, and the five hens I’d raised last year are all grown up (though one has been evicted by David for being a he). We’ve since added three more girls (or who we think are girls), naming them after 1950’s starlets (Bridget, Sophia, and Marilyn). 

In less than a month my book comes out, so I’ve kept busy doing promotional work, like this New York Times 2,000-word adaptation of my book. The article was translated into Portuguese and re-printed in Brazil, so now I have thirty new Brazilian Facebook friends who’ve sent me a mailbox full of messages like, “Será um vencedor!!” which I don't understand, but nevertheless appreciate. 

Despite the relaxing and familiar setting, and despite my several recent successes, and despite my new Brazilian friends, it seems I'm forever doomed to be weighed down by uncertainties and anxieties. 

How will my book be received? Maybe everyone will hate it. Maybe it’ll be ridiculed by critics. Maybe internet forums and message boards will heave and splatter me with vitriol-filled and poorly spell-checked rotten tomatoes. These are the thoughts I daily fret over.

I googled “Walden on Wheels” a few weeks ago and agonized over two negative reviews—one of which called my writing “as thick as pancake batter,” and another which called the book “middling.” I worried that maybe these are the best reviews I was gonna get. It’s usually my first instinct to make the best of a bad situation, so I thought that these negative (but far from harsh!) reviews were going to have to be the ones my publisher’s marketing team will have to work with for back cover blurbs. Instead of “Inspiring!” or “A raucously funny adventure,” we'll have, in big letters, “Middling!” and “As thick as pancake batter!” 

I mean, everybody likes pancakes, right? 

The other day I went to the mailbox and found a big package in which three copies of my book were enclosed. I ripped it open and pulled out a copy. At first, I was a bit stunned to see my name on the front cover of a real book. For a moment, I became an aesthete. I traced the ball of my index finger over the book’s textures: the shiny-smooth and vaguely-embossed lettering of “Walden on Wheels,” the coarse grain cover, and the leaves of crisp parchment within. I flipped through the pages, admiring the layout, the font, the presentation. I laughed stupidly. If just in this one moment I could forget about all of my anxieties and savor the sense of accomplishment from having done the impossible: publishing a book. 

I held the book in my palm, and felt, in this one pound bundle of paper, several years of grief, desperation, anxiety, frustration, and despair, but also jubilation, inspiration, and ecstasy. 

I reminded myself that I’m a heretic, and that I ought not give a shit about what other people think, and surprisingly, this tactic, this little reminder, has worked wonderfully. The book, after all, like the hike, was always a struggle, but a journey worth taking, regardless of how gloomy the destination.






Friday, February 8, 2013

Day 146: Port Arthur, Texas--the final day

(Photo credit: Pete Churton)
How would my journey end?

Perhaps it would end heroically? I'd imagined that after months of toil and deprivation, I'd be on my last legs. Gaunt and haggard, starving and sun-beaten, I'd stagger toward Port Arthur's Sabine-Neches waterway, into which I was determined to place my final footsteps. Just before reaching the water, I'd collapse to my knees, and, drawing from the very last of my energy reserves, I'd commence to crawl the last few feet to the finish line. I'd hack out bloody phlegm and crap my pants without realizing it. Finally, with my last ounce of strength, I'd defiantly plop into the water, from which I'd be lifted out, like a limp piece of meat, by a throng of admiring fans.

But upon leaving Beaumont, Texas on the morning of the last day of my trip, I was so well rested and so well fed I could hardly zip up my pants. I'd spent the past two nights fattening up in a house on the northern edge of town, where I stayed with a guy named Pete and his wife Beth who fed me as much gumbo and beer as I could take. Pete and Beth had found my blog and offered their place to me, and I chose to extend my stay an extra night because another guy, Woody, offered to pick me up from Port Arthur on the afternoon of 7th.

So, on the morning of the 7th, I filled up a small backpack with food and water, laced up my boots one last time, and left Pete and Beth's home just as the sun rose behind a bleak, overcast sky. It would be a long day -- 26 miles -- and I had to finish by 4 p.m. so I could pick up a box of clean clothes and shaving clippers at the post office before it closed.

I walked along 11th Street through Beaumont's chain store commercial district. I could tell, as I cruised through the city, that over the past five months I'd turned myself into a hiking machine. The soles of my feet were smooth and tough. My legs, accustomed to the steady motion of a long march, no longer felt sore. My shins had healed, my knees felt well-lubricated, and my back and shoulders were sturdier than ever. My mind was no longer a factory or an art studio; it was a gentle breeze: at ease, peaceful, uncomplicated, perhaps even a little slower, a little simpler. I'd just walked across the country, and I knew, if I wanted to, I could keep going and walk across the world.

I took my first break on a store's empty parking lot. I was eating one of my last energy bars when a lady pulled up in her car to ask me if I was the guy who she'd seen standing on top of the overpass.

"No, I don't think that was me," I said.

"I thought you were going to jump," she said, dipping into her pocket to offer me a handful of money.

I continued on down West Port Arthur Road, hiking next to giant, white, cat food canister-shaped petroleum holding tanks, by the grown-over grounds of the Lucas Gusher of Spindletop (which, in 1901, triggered the oil boom in Texas), and alongside the occasional rusted pump jack, slowly nodding its head like an old man continually falling asleep and waking up during church service.

As I approached the refineries, each mile greeted me with a new smell. After the first wave of your standard, and vaguely enjoyable, rotten eggs stench, I was hit by the slightly more pleasant, but more unsettling, aroma of smoldering fireworks. Finally, the smell evolved into something more toxic, something more synthetic, a bubbling cauldron of chemicals, a bonfire put out by a gallon of Windex. My tongue began to tingle so I tried my best not to swallow.

I was in Mordor, on the last leg of my journey, heading toward the summit of Mount Doom: The Valero Refinery, with its billowing smokestacks and spouting towers of fire, where the XL oil would be refined and shipped off to foreign markets.

Unpleasing to the eye and nose as it was, I was happy to be here. I was learning. I was stimulated. I was traveling. To get to the heart of America, we cannot simply walk its forests and fields; rather, we must cut through its industrial underbelly and pull out and examine its ugly organs: its railways and refineries, its coal plants and pipelines. Its guts.

I felt a sense of acceptance looking at the litter, the pollution, the industrial wasteland. It wasn't that I'd come to accept these things as "okay," or that I'd become numb to them. It was just that I was sick and tired of constantly feeling angry and powerless and frustrated. I came to simply acknowledge that: This is how things are, and this is the world we live in, and I can't wish or curse these things away. The best I can do is to enjoy what's left, fight for what's right, and keep putting one foot in front of the other. And that's just what I did, kicking a cardboard box of Bud Light out of my path, and stomping over an empty can of Dr. Pepper.

I was approaching the Valero refinery. Pipes emerged from the ground like bamboo rods. Smokestacks puffed out white smoke. I was surrounded by an astonishingly complex network of pipes and steel and flaming towers and holding tanks. I couldn't begin to understand what each part did, how this whole place worked, or how much thought and labor and ingenuity went into building this place.

It was close to the same thing I felt at the beginning of my trip, nearly 136 days before, when I flew over the Tar Sands of Northern Alberta--the worst manmade environmental disaster in our history. There, I flew over the muddied waste pit that looked like it had been carved out by some planet-ending meteor. I flew over eerie yellow sulphur pyramids, smoking refineries, and a horizon-to-horizon wasteland where fish once swam, moose once browsed, and Natives once hunted. Yet, there, above all of that devastation, I'd hardly felt a thing. I was more concerned about dropping my camera out of the plane's window.

The human mind struggles to sympathize with a devastated landscape, especially one that was never our home. A whole ecosystem removed from the earth is an unbelievable sight. It's an abstract concept. And appreciating it requires more than just our eyes and ears. On first sight, we'll feel shock and awe and amazement, but I'd wager that only a few are overcome with the moral indignation that we'd originally expected to feel. It's not until afterwards, when we've had time to think it over, to reflect on industry's shortsightedness, to imagine the exodus of animals, and to consider the implications for our climate -- all nebulous, abstract things -- that we'll begin to feel what we'd expected to feel.

But, looking at this refinery, I felt something else, and I felt guilty feeling it. I felt impressed. I was impressed with its size and complexity, impressed with how many workers and how much labor had gone into creating this, impressed with how the human mind -- or a collection of human minds -- could build something so incredibly sophisticated. We are mining some of the toughest-to-get oil in the world, pumping it through a 36-inch pipe across the continent, and here we're turning it into fluids that run our cars and planes. I'm impressed, not because what we've done is "good," but because what we've done is amazing. As a member of this incredible species, I felt impressed, prideful, and, most of all, hopeful: If we can do this, what else can we do?

***

"HELLO!"

I was startled by a loud robotic voice behind me. I jerked my head around to see a cop talking into the microphone in his car.

He got out and said, "In Texas, you should walk against the traffic, on the other side of the road. You never know when a drunk driver will run off the road and hit you from behind."

"You weren't the guy taking photos of the refinery were you?" he added.

"Yeah, that was me," I said, looking ahead to the Martin Luther King Jr. bridge, less than a mile ahead, beneath which I was eager to place my feet and conclude my journey.

"They called up complaining," he said.

"Well, I won't be around long," I said. "I've been walking for 1,700 miles and 136 days. This is my last mile. I'm going to end my trip beneath the bridge up there."

"Were you that guy on Yahoo News?" he asked.

"Hmm... I don't think so, but I've been interviewed by other places."

He shook my hand and wished me luck. But less than a minute later, his and another policecar, as well as a large truck (perhaps a Valero security truck), had parked behind me with their lights flashing.

Oh, what now!? I thought.

"Sir," he said. "I was telling my partner what you were doing, and she wanted a picture with you."

With much glee, I took pictures with the officers and continued on. Pete from Beaumont was taking photos of me up ahead, and Woody, also a professional photographer, was also positioning himself ahead for shots.

When I got to Pete, who was standing by his car in front of the bridge, two more cops had pulled behind him and asked for his ID.

"The refinery is pissed," said the policewoman, exasperated.

"Don't take any more pictures of the refinery," said the policeman. "They don't like it."

It was 4:15 p.m., and I had to get to the Post Office before 5 p.m. so I was eager to get my feet in the water. There was a levee under the bridge that was surrounded by fence and barbed wire, so if I wanted to get my feet in the water, I'd have to cross this quarter-mile-long, unusually steep, definitely sketchy, no-shoulder bridge. Things began to feel a little chaotic. I wasn't sure if Pete was going to get arrested or a ticket, I was running out of time, and I had this last obstacle in front of me.

"I'm going to try and walk it," I told Pete, who was still being interrogated by the police. "If it's too dangerous, maybe I'll turn back."

I hopped onto the bridge and walked the narrow 18-inch-wide elevated concrete guard on the left side. I looked at my watch, and realized that I was running out of time, so, between the sense of urgency created by my logistical conundrum and the excitement of ending my journey, I took off on a sprint up the bridge. While running, I looked down upon the elevated grassy levees, then the wide waterway, and finally the gloried, lush wetlands of Sabine Lake, which looked all the more prettier having just passed through Port Arthur's Hiroshima-ed industrial district. I didn't care about preserving energy or being in pain tomorrow. This was the end, and I had the freedom to give it my all. So I ran, and I ran hard.

I left the bridge and, saturated in sweat, continued my jog on Pleasure Island, running toward a small mosquito-infested park where Woody and Pete (who didn't get arrested) were stationed with their cameras. I descended the muddy, eroding bank, took off my boots, and sunk my feet into the water--the final step of the journey.

I had imagined this moment many times on my walk and I had already experienced the emotions that this moment might bring, so I didn't really need to experience it again. Each time I had imagined the end, I'd come close to tears thinking about all the people I'd met. Ron in Wyoming, Harold and his giant Mormon family in Alberta, the Caswells in Saskatchewan, Patty and Lewis in Montana, Rick and Heidi in Nebraska, Harold and Maralee in Kansas, Dusty and Darcee in Oklahoma, Pete and Beth in Texas, and the hundreds of others, and I would feel this deep sorrowful love for my fellow man, and this anachronistic, but very real, pride for being North American. I'd think about how I came on this journey to learn about pipelines, but how I would learn more about the goodness of mankind.

Oh, and the dear prairie. How I'd think about walking over you, feeling the long grainy tails of your green grass waving against my legs, the cloud mountains, moving mountain chains, sailing across the deep blue sky, the chatter of coyotes, the groans of cattle, the stars, oh the stars. I'd feel melancholic thinking about you, about how I have you yet don't have you at all. This life is so mortal, so finite, and I wish I could keep coming back to see you every year, forever, and savor your sights and these joys over and over again. Then you'd be mine. But I can't, and I'll have to be content with these memories and this sweet sadness--the sadness of having done, but not having the lifetimes to do again.

I'd think about how the Thoreau in me is cynical, critical, misanthropic; at peace in the company of pine needles, but crabby in the company of men. But also about how this trip has brought out the Whitman in me -- a lover of all things man and nature -- and how sometimes I just want to exuberantly catalogue all the professions of mankind in an epic poem, along with the clatter of our tools and the babble of our speech.

I'd think about America, and about how the history of the place would come to life, and how my very path would be the rolling parchment onto which our history has been scribed. I'd felt the ghost of the Pawnee horseman at my shoulder. I'd seen the arms of the pioneer building his homestead. I'd heard the laughter of the Creole Cowboy. I'd admired the craftsmanship of the pipeliner, and marveled at the genius of the engineer.

When I think of the men and women of North America, I don't think we need this pipeline. A pipeline is built to send a resource from a place that has a lot of something to a place that doesn't. But civilization won't collapse without oil; it'll collapse without clean water, healthy soil, and a stable climate. What we ultimately need, it seems, is what no pipeline can bring because it's already here. Walk across America, and view the paths that were once been blazed by hand tool, the wilderness tamed by pluck, the tree roots yanked out by grit, and see, within us all, the deep reservoirs of goodness, the wellsprings of love, and you can't help but believe that -- with our nimble hands, inventive minds, compassionate souls, and a good pair of feet -- we can go far.

***

Below, the photos have been taken by myself, Pete Churton (formerly a photographer with the Beaumont Enterprise), and Woody Welch, also a professional photographer, who's based in New Braunfels, Texas (where I am now). Woody and I will be driving up to Washington D.C. in a few days to take part in the President's Day anti-Keystone XL rally. You can view Woody's photography at woodywelchphotography.com.


Triumphantly placing my feet in the Sabine-Neches waterway. It's here where the tankers from the refineries ship the oil to foreign markets.
(Photo credit: Woody Welch)


The walk to Beaumont.

Pete, his neighbor Jesse, and me.

Walking toward Port Arthur.












Port Arthur refineries.


(Photo credit: Woody Welch)










Several policecars stopped to inquire what I was doing.


My "interrogation." The officers were actually really nice, as were all the officers I met along my trip. I probably had upwards of 50 encounters, all of which were pleasant except for one in Nebraska.

(Photo credit: Woody Welch)




(Photo credit: Woody Welch)


(Photo credit: Woody Welch)

Port Arthur levee, picture taken from bridge.


Railroads from bridge.



Running along the Martin Luther King Jr. bridge.
(Photo credit: Pete Churton)


Sabine Lake wetlands.

Pleasure Island park.
(Photo credit: Woody Welch)

Placing feet in the Sabine-Neches waterway.
(Photo credit: Woody Welch)

(Photo credit: Pete Churton)

(Photo credit: Pete Churton)

(Photo credit: Pete Churton)

Before.


After.