Yesterday, during a torrential downpour, I felt dampness underfoot and discovered my well-worn pair of sneakers had a hole in the sole.
(Have you ever noticed that you don’t discover a hole in your shoe until you’re out in the rain? Just like you never discover you’re out of coffee until that morning when you desperately need a cup. But, I digress.)
By the time I got to the office my sneakers were water-logged and ruined. So, I added a trip to the shoe store to yesterday’s to-do list. I ended up going to Famous Footwear, where I made a beeline directly to the clearance rack and bought this perfectly good pair of size 13 walking shoes for only $35. I’m no runner or roundballer, and I really could care less about style. Shoes are a consumer good where I can easily save a few bucks by going the discount route.
I can also report that it’s nice to have some extra cash in my wallet, and that my first few walks in these El Cheapos were perfectly satisfactory.
For the last year of so, every day on my walk to work and on the way home I’ve faced this same scene at the corner of Rich and Third Streets in downtown Columbus. They’re putting up a new building called 80 on the Commons. I’ve watched the construction of the building with interest, but walking past the site has been a royal pain.
They’ve closed the sidewalk and one lane of Third Street so construction workers and equipment have room to work. As a result, we pedestrians have been shunted off to a narrow temporary walking lane with a chain-link fence to one side and a row of orange barriers to the other. And just on the other side of the orange barriers, so close that walkers could easily reach out and touch them, are cars, trucks, and buses speeding down Third Street. Third Street just happens to be one of the main ways out of downtown, and it’s always jammed with fast-moving traffic.
It’s unnerving to be so close to the traffic, and it became even more so when I was started walking down the channel one day this winter and discovered that some driver had smashed into the row of orange barriers, crushing a few of them and knocking the rest out of line — which made me have to climb over the helter-skelter barriers to get to work. I thanked my lucky stars that I wasn’t walking down the lane when that incident occurred. Interestingly, they didn’t appear to replace the crushed barriers, they just made the barrier row shorter — which means that when you emerge at the north end of the row the orange barrier row ends before the fencing does.
The temporary walking path has gotten pretty disgusting, too. Trash gets blown into the channel or is dropped by thoughtless jerks and gets trapped there, so you’re always picking your way around the newest food wrapper or soft drink can to be added to the debris field. You’d think that somebody on the construction crew or from the City of Columbus would be responsible for picking up and disposing of the trash, but the interests of downtown walkers apparently aren’t a high priority.
The signs on the chain link fence have been telling me that 80 on the Commons is coming in the summer of 2018. Well, it’s the summer of 2018 already — and I’m still waiting. It looks like they are finally getting ready to end construction and reopen the sidewalk. I’ll be grateful to finally see the way clear to the office again.
There are some fine walking paths and hiking trails on Deer Isle and Little Deer Isle. Yesterday we decided to try the Dunham Loop, which follows country roads that circle Dunham Point. It’s a popular stroll that is about three miles long. Yesterday some of the fellow travelers on the Loop included two mothers pushing strollers and three young people who were using rolling skis to get in some summer training for the winter cross-country skiing season.
The Dunham Loop gives you a taste of some of the varied sights Deer Isle has to offer. After you park your car you follow the road past a small marina and dock, and then bear right into the woods, where you get to breathe deep the tangy piney scent of some of the towering trees and enjoy the deep shade. Along the way, from time to time, you catch a glimpse of the rocky coastline and the water through foliage.
The road then emerges from the wooded area into an open area where the water and hills are visible on the horizon, down across rolling pastures and pine trees along the shoreline. This is an area of beautiful old farmhouses and barns — one of which had an antique pickup truck parked in front, to complete the image. After the forest, you’re exposed to the bright sunshine, and it feels like there’s lot of elbow room.
Another right turn — on the Dunham Loop, you’re like a NASCAR driver in reverse — and you head up another country road to see more pretty homes, and a pond with lily pads and a croaking bullfrog. The road dips and rises, and it”s so quiet you can hear the cross-country skiiers clattering in the distance behind you. It’s almost a surprise when a car passes by.
Another right turn, and you’re back on the road toward the harbor and the boats. There are kids playing with dogs at one of the houses you pass, where a mother holding a baby is filling an above-ground pool with water. The road moves downward and ends at a pebbled beach dusted with oyster and mussel shells and a boat-filled vista overlooking some of the neighboring islands. The Loop has been completed, and it has been a wonderfully simple and pleasant journey indeed.
This morning I walked down to Mandalay Bay, which anchors the far end of The Strip. Saturday morning is a good time for a walk in Las Vegas — the crowds are gone, and other than a few joggers and some muttering people lurching out of the casinos, you’ve pretty much got the sidewalk to yourself.
The end of The Strip is a bit strange. Unlike the other end, where the modern Strip morphs into Old Las Vegas in a haze of Strip malls, construction sites, and cheesy wedding chapels, the Mandalay Bay end is more abrupt. You’ve got a fake New York skyline, a fake castle with multi-colored turrets, a fake Egyptian pyramid and Sphinx, the golden Mandalay Bay towers, and then . . . desert nothingness. Guests at Mandalay Bay look in one direction and see a gambling fantasyland, and look in the other and see a desolate waste.
I’m a big fan of walking in all of its many forms, but I think I may like beachwalking best of all.
Beachwalking has all of the positive attributes of walking generally — fresh air, exercise, feeling your body get into an almost mechanical rhythm while your mind has the freedom to roam wherever it wants to go. But beachwalking has a number of plus factors, too. It’s pleasantly hot, for one thing. There are soothing surf sounds and seagull cries in the background, rather than traffic noises. You’re barefoot, and you feel warm sand between your toes. And if you’re on the right kind of beach, you can walk for miles, uninterrupted by crossing streets or cars or traffic lights or other reminders of civilization. It’s an opportunity to work yourself into an almost trance-like, zen state.
Yesterday I walked for miles on a basically empty beach, plodding along until I came up to a stone jetty and had to turn around and trod back again. I thought about nothing but sand and sea and the distant goal. It was a wonderful journey.
The “Walking Lot” is the newest long-term parking option at the Columbus airport. Unlike the other lots, it’s not serviced by transport buses; you have to hoof it to the airport. As a result, it’s less expensive than the other lots.
We used it today, and given that it was close to full, others obviously are using it, too. It’s reasonably close to the airport, just past baggage claim. You won’t have a bucolic walk to the terminal, as cars and transport buses speed past and taxiing and landing planes contribute to the overall volume, but you’ll get some exercise and save a few bucks, besides.
I’m glad they’ve added the “Walking Lot” to the mix. Anything that gets more people walking will always get my support.
Every morning on my way to work I cross over the combined roar of the I-70/I-71 traffic on the Third Street bridge. I use the same bridge to get home at night. The bridge is a key part of my commute because it is one of the few avenues for pedestrian traffic from German Village and the south side into downtown Columbus.
On Monday, I noticed that part of the bridge was blocked off by yellow construction tape and some skinny orange cones. When I went over to investigate this development, I saw that chunks of the bridge appeared to have fallen off. A glance suggested that, with one ill-timed stumble, a luckless walker could go pitching through the gap and tumbling down the hillside to the traffic stream below.
Since that close examination, I’ve given the orange cone area the widest berth the sidewalk will allow. And, because you can’t help but think on a walk, I find myself wondering about what the problem with one part of the bridge means for the structural integrity of the bridge as a whole. What if the bridge started to crumble just as I am walking across?
That thought has helped me to pick up the pace on my morning walks. But I’ll be very relieved when this personal, visible, and unsettling reminder of our national infrastructure problem gets fixed.