I have for many years been a reader of biographies, a habit I got into way back in the early 1960s after my parents purchased a set of encyclopedia, which included a series of biographies of famous Americans, one a month for a year. Since that time, I have read many a book with the stories of people’s lives, true stories; people who often are not considered the type of people one would write a history about. If not a full book of a person’s life, then documentaries that tell the gist of a person’s life, or at least a segment of a life, that stands out as remarkable, sometimes even astounding. Recently, I came upon a short film, or video, if you prefer, about a lady whose name quite frankly I have forgotten but whose story inspired me.
I wrote the opening and was called away and now as I get back to it I can see it won’t suffice; a bit more information will help make the point better, so here it is: Emma “Grandma” Gatewood was the mother of 11 children, the grandmother to 23 grandkids and the survivor of over 30 years of domestic abuse when, in 1955 at the age of 67 years, she told her children she was “going for a hike in the woods.” The hike she took was the Appalachian Trail, at 2,190 miles it is the longest hiking-only footpath in the world; when she completed the walk, she was the first woman to do so in one hiking season. And she didn’t stop there, in 1959 at the age of 71, she walked all 2,000 miles of the Oregon Trail, again alone, and she later became the only woman to walk the Appalachian Trail alone twice. That is a lady with some gumption.
I have read other such stories, back in 1979 there was a popular book in circulation called “A Walk Across America” written by a young man who, following a decade of assassinations and war and his own divorce, felt disenfranchised from America and on advice of a janitor at his college in Maine, he set off to walk first to New Orleans and then to the Pacific Coast. The author/walker, Peter Jenkins, accompanied by his dog Cooper, worked, when necessary, often staying for weeks with families along the route. Cooper, unfortunately, died after an accident on a commune; Jenkins continued alone.
I was about 28 years old when I read this book and seriously thought about something as challenging as setting out across the land without a set schedule or time frame. But life at that time involved marriage and fatherhood and all that is required to maintain that status, so the rigorous physical and mental training required to walk such distances was just not feasible. The only time I came close to such an adventure was in June of 1971, when my friend Steve and I hitchhiked to Fort Huachuca, Ariz., just shy of the Mexican border, to visit with our friend Hal, who was doing a stint in the Army there. (That little escapade is a story in itself, but no room in this column for it.)
In time, when no longer in a marriage, I was free enough and adventurous enough to live and work in such places as Las Vegas, Nev.; Branson, Mo.; Orlando, Fla., and even with old friends from Greenfield in Berryville (aka Barlvul), Ark. In all of these cases I had two overwhelming advantages, I was young enough to adapt to various jobs and locales; and I had a vehicle that would ultimately bring me back to the Valley. It should be noted here that such a lifestyle of numerous vocations does not lead to days of material comfort or security, but neither does it entail myriad complications accumulated with the maintenance of that comfort and security; but I digress.
The story, though, of Grandma Gatewood gave me pause when I looked at my present situation which, while far from dull, still can be routine enough to want a challenge if for no other reason than to rejuvenate one’s hopes for the future. I am no longer young, 72 years may not be old, old but it certainly isn’t young, or even young old, like the 55 through 65 group and, as many may have noted, I don’t own a vehicle with an engine or with more than two wheels, so auto road trips, of any duration, are out of the question.
So, if I want to do anything, it will be from the seat of a bicycle. It has been at least 18 months since I did my last single ride of any distance, from Roy’s Swiss Sausage Factory northeast of Greenfield proper to where I live here in King City, a distance of about 15 miles accomplished, with the help of the wind, in just shy of one hour. Not that many years back I made the round-trip version two or three times a summer, but the years catch up and taking the bus is far easier on old frames, both the bike’s and mine.
It seems to me small rides, challenges if you will, would not be difficult given the many roads available that are suitable, and legal, for bike traffic. I can bike both north and south out of King City, to San Ardo on Mesa Verde and Cattleman Road, or to Soledad via Metz Road or Central Avenue and Arroyo Seco Road; both as either round-trips or return on the bus system. Both those rides can be extended to Paso Robles and Salinas; and if west and east are considered as routes, there are Nacimiento-Fergusson Road and Carmel Valley Road leading to the Coast and the famous Loop starting, or finishing, at either Bitterwater Road or Lonoak Road. But I’m just thinking out loud here; we old people do that.
Take care. Peace.
