Pique-nique à la français

Again I wake up to the haunting sound of falling rain, but unlike yesterday’s morning deluge, this one persists. Within an hour I’m thoroughly soaked, but warm and happy to discover that sneakers with superior socks (the $11/pair kind) do work. So do all those modern hiking fabrics. Today’s route is literally and geographically a straight shot due north on old scenic Allentown Road. The route starts off wide (it’s near civilization) and progressively narrows and deteriorates (we’re no longer in Paris but in the provinces). The sidewalks slowly disappear and then the road’s shoulders follow in empathy. What eventually is left (the road itself) appears to be disintegrating at the edges by truckers who prefer this parallel option to the Northeast Extension (no tolls). My jobs becomes quite rudimentary–watch out for oncoming traffic, yield quickly by stepping aside, and try to move forward in between those two moments. My survival instincts kick in big time. What is it with America’s addiction for big vehicles going at breakneck speeds on small country roads? (Brother Robert, breathe in, breathe out. I remember your words like a mantra: “Be safe!”) My Belgian friend and former Shipley colleague Colette graciously offers me “un pique-nique à la française malgré la pluie et la distance qui nous sépare.” I graciously accept. I’m elegantly and more than adequately fed. I’m so grateful for this European scene in “La Pennsylvanie Profonde.” With Colette, it’s always an opportunity to eat well and laugh a lot. We do both. Fortified and totally re-energized, I find the afternoon’s 7.5 miles a mere appetizer on the Camino de Nathaniel mileage menu. Sorry, no profound thoughts today during my meanderings except one persistent thought–stay alive. I know you wholeheartedly approve of that one. Mileage to date: 113

Happy May Day?

I wake up to the sound of hard rain and wonder what this day will be like. Trust in the unfolding, I remind myself. It will be what it will be, (but please don’t let it rain all day!) I head to Horsham Clinic wondering if the weather’s sadness reflects Nathaniel’s experience here in December 2010. The exquisite grounds of this former estate, now a clinic, have become a container for the deep pain and suffering of those who reside within its walls. In contrast to yesterday’s red-carpet welcome at Brooke Glen, my arrival here seems to be a surprise. Apparently my detailed letter of explanation sent several weeks ago lies “on hold” in the in-box of an administrator’s office. I mention to Denise, the receptionist, that her position, in my opinion, is the most important here (although her paycheck probably suggests otherwise). A smile, a warm welcome, and caring words can do much to soothe the troubled people and their families, friends, and caretakers who pass through the clinic’s front door. I decide to leave, and suddenly a ray of sunshine flashes through the window and falls directly on my backpack. Nathaniel totally agrees; we need to get out of here. Country back roads are tricky in Bucks County–the elegant estates that abound find no extra change in their owners’ pockets to support sidewalks for pedestrians. SUVs rule! At the corner of Limekiln Pike and Horsham Road, Mary Ellen, the cashier at Wawa, listens to Nathaniel’s story and wishes me well. How inexpensive a smile is, but what high octane it can be for the wanderer’s feet and spirit. Steps and more steps and steps forever. An encounter with Janet in Hatfield refreshes me despite the bad news that hotels are rare in this town. I swallow hard the pill of 3 additional miles I had hoped not to walk, but the Holiday Inn at the road’s end offers an oasis I badly need and deserve and shamelessly take. Happy May Day! (total mileage to date: 94)

Into the Desert of Solitude

Walking with friends is a wonderful addiction. As part of today’s withdrawal plan, I lose Uncle Chris, Aunt Helen, and cousin Chris at the corner of Coulter Street and Germantown Avenue. Cousin Kathy stays with me to the top of Mt. Airy, and then begins my desert of solitude. I knew this would come eventually. Heavily organic Chestnut Hill (even though I’ve never tasted organic dry cleaning) distracts me from my acute withdrawal symptoms. With a delicious “con leche” and “croissant au chocolat” from the Baker Street Bread Café, I accept my new walking status which is here to stay for awhile. When I reach my next stop, low blood sugar clouds my thinking and perspective, and it is definitely time for me to eat. A tasty picnic lunch and good conversation with Dr. T. C., Nathaniel’s therapist in Chestnut Hill help me to see life anew. Now for part 2: the haul to Fort Washington. Suddenly, all sidewalks end. OK, I can still do this: think Cheyney and its environs. Then the where-can-I-pee question pops up. Definitely not at a bank, because apparently that’s a security risk. Did you know that? (Officer: “Is that a loaded gun in your pocket or just a full bladder?”) But Planet Fitness in Flowertown offers me relief without my having to sign up for membership and a training plan. As I approach Brooke Glen Behavioral Hospital, I stupidly prejudge my welcome. When will I ever learn? How graciously the CEO and staff welcome me in, although Nathaniel’s in-the-middle-of-the-night passage there was so brief that November 2009 night. Around a huge conference table with ten people listening to Nathaniel’s story with open ears and hearts, I could feels his forgiveness soaring through me, and mine too. Nathaniel left by the back door that night, but today I exit by the front filled with the love and blessings of the group (as well as with a huge check for IOCDF).

All You Need Is Love

Serendipity and love are the day’s themes. I meet Judy, friend Anny, and cousin Nate at Market East to walk today’s segment. Passing Love Park, we pause for a photo by the fountain, then head to Boat House Row where we run into the Shipley crew team. What a surprise, having just seen the same students two days earlier in Bryn Mawr. They don’t recognize me, not because I look particularly disheveled or road worn, but because they just aren’t expecting to see me again. Their warm smiles rekindle the love I felt on Thursday at Shipley. The city is out enjoying Kelly Drive and the river, and so are we as we converse in pairs, as a foursome, and then switch off to a new walking partner, almost like a dance. Conversation flows from the mundane to the profound. It’s a good thing that we pass up the hotdogs on sale under a tent near the waterfront, because Judy spots a sandwich board advertising the Trolley Car Café. “Let’s eat lunch there.” Instant consensus. The quaint brick building just off Kelly Drive is packed, so we find a seat on the outdoor patio, reminiscent of so many stops on the Camino in Spain: balmy weather, no agenda, great company, a welcome chance to sit down and rest the feet. We watch the owner plant pepper starts in an outdoor garden bed right off the patio, and then notice solar hot water panels line the roof of the café. How have we managed to find a sustainability haven for lunch? We end up conversing with the owner – clearly a kindred spirit – and Judy begins to tell him about the pilgrimage. Turns out he knows Uncle Chris, Aunt Helen, and the Paulmiers, who will host Judy and me tonight, his kids go to Germantown Friends School, and he is best friends with Judy’s second cousin, Michael Beer. Coincidence? Design? Serendipity? On the Camino, everything always seems to tie together. We have a great dinner at the Baynton Street B&B and the next morning attend meeting for worship at Germantown Meeting  – a needed Sabbath for this pilgrim.  (Saturday: 11.4 miles; total to date 64 miles)

El GPS o La Flecha Amarilla?

Nathaniel’s dear friend Drew Farquhar meets me punctually at 9:00 and off we go to U of Penn. Three miles into the walk, I have a sudden revelation. The only way a GPS works is if you turn it on. Therefore, I now have two confessions to make: 1) Yesterday’s walk map lacked a black line from Bryn Mawr to Ardmore. Can you guess why? 2) Today’s indicates we started from Falls Bridge, but where are the 3.2 miles that we walked from Manayunk? Can you guess why again? Bingo! One has to turn the darn thing on. So, GPS-less, Drew and I still manage to walk confidently. In Spain on the Camino de Santiago, the yellow arrow (la flecha amarilla) indicates the path, so pilgrims are constantly reassured that they are going in the right direction. Although the Camino de Nathaniel is young in pilgrimage-route years, a yellow arrow magically appears before us on Kelly Drive. So even without technology, we know we are going in the right direction, because the yellow arrow says so. It eventually leads us to two anxiety treatment centers in downtown Philadelphia where I have scheduled appointments. From now on, I’m definitely trusting my instincts first, yellow arrows second (if they happen to magically appear), and finally the GPS — if I remember to turn it on.

(Webmaster Judy’s note: check out these great photos on the Shipley Website of their stunning send off for Denis on Day 3 of the walk.)