Waxing Gibbous Moon
Complaining about mistakes in the ADT turn by turn directions is an annual ritual for cross country hikers. Every journal you read mentions this problem. In fairness, we ARE talking about plotting a course across a continent. There are bound to be a few errors or unforeseen/unreported changes. I get it.
But it still sucks when you’re on foot and you follow the directions carefully and what was supposed to be a 15-mile cruise turns into a 26-mile boondoggle.
That’s what happened today. It started out fine. There was a brand spankin new covered bridge. Bobalooie and I could fit underneath it with room to spare. It has an ADT marker on it, but it’s not on the official route. Huh?
There was a cool stream that made me think of my Geomorphology class way back when. If I remember correctly, this is a pretty nifty example of headward erosion.
There was a crafty rock wall by a creepy old cemetery next to Hopewell Church. I hope everyone there is well.
There was a little old bridge with a weight limit of 8 tons. I felt very safe.
But not long after that, chaos ensued. Simpson Road stopped being called that and inexplicably started calling itself Gray Road. Clever road name, Mr. Road Namer. Aren’t almost all roads gray? That was right before the washed out bridge and Bobalooie’s muddy, possibly illegal end run through a farmer’s field. Shame on you for trespassing, Bobalooie.
I asked these guys for an explanation, but if they knew, they weren’t telling.
To make a longass story short, this mystery route spit me out onto Stateline Road, the north-south boundary between Ohio and Indiana.
Problem was I had no clue where on this border I was or how far it was to Dixon Road, the point where the ADT “route” intersects Stateline Road. I hoped it was 5 or 6 miles away, but it was longer. A lot longer.
Much later, right about the point where I had walked almost 15 miles mostly along the purgatory that is Stateline Road, angels arrived in the form of a group of hardy bicyclists spinning along on their Saturday ride.
They stopped. Stories were shared. Smartyphones were consulted ( I was too fried to make sense of mine). It was decided by the leader of the pack, a young woman named Amy, that I still had 11 more miles to the Motel 6 in Richmond IN. It was furthermore decided that a phone call to Craig and his sporty Toyota Tacoma might just solve the issue.
So Amy, Tad, Mindy, Angie, and Rob kept biking and I kept hiking and what do you know, pretty soon I passed Dixon Road with its flashy ADT plaque. Huzzah.
After another mile or so, Craig and his buddy Keith, both ultra-distance runners, drove up with a turkey, bacon, avocado, and jack cheese sandwich on a ciabatta roll just for little ole hungry me. Righteous men!
I finished it just in time to hop out at the Mo 6 and forget all about the weird parts of my Ohio experience. I choose to remember with fondness all the super humans who helped me through the snow and rain and crazy dadblasted directions.
All’s well that ends well. I’m in Indiana. So far, I have walked 704.1 miles.
Peace, Love, and Tomorrow,