CHAPTER 1
NO EXCUSES
"One of the pleasures of standing in a gentle snowstorm and watching flakes drift slowly earthward is the muffling quiet that envelops you like a second coat. The snowfall seems to absorb the noise of the world and a soft silence piles up all around."
— John Grossmann,
Listen to the Sounds of Silence,
"Creative Living," Winter 1989.
Nothing Needs To Stand In The Way Of A Walk
For those in generally good health there is never a reason to miss walking every day. All that is needed to become a never-fail early morning walker is to sample the glory of a few sunrises, stand in awe of beautiful clear skies, meet an old friend or make a new one, savor the smell of fresh baking or pretend to be a kid again in the rain or snow and inhale early morning air that is always crisper, fresher, and cooler than later in the day. Bad weather, rain and snow storms are the best excuses in the world to bundle up, take a walk, and be a kid again. What child did not revel stomping and splashing in the rain or inhaling the beauty and fun of snow?
From the edge of the bed Nugget poked her face into mine. Smiling from both ends, she was telling me it was time to get up and walk. It was a winter Saturday and I had looked forward to walking an easy mile to the Baptist Church to have waffles at their annual benefit. Unexpectedly during the night a heavy snow had fallen and now the world outside was white.
In the guest bathroom, I put on my cold weather red flannel longjohns, sweat pants and Princeton orange sweat jacket. As I sat putting on my bad weather boots, Nugget nuzzled me and wagged her tail eagerly. It was our daily routine.
From the front hall closet, I wrapped a scarf around my neck, put on my rabbit fur hat with ear flaps, stuck my arms into my waist level winter jacket in which I kept my gloves, drank my regular lemon juice-flavored warm glass of water, got Nugget's leash, and headed out the back door. I was prepared for the worst.
Nugget darted out and plunged into the 14-inch deep snow emerging with a white snowy snout. Both of us floundered — she with arching leaps, I with slow, short steps. I tossed a fluffy snowball in Nugget's face to watch her react playfully.
The roads were not yet plowed and with not a car in sight we lurched through the snow down the middle of Mercer Street. A marvelous after-snow quiet punctuated the beauty of our white winter wonderland. Today could not be a saunter. It was going to be a physical effort making that mile walk to town. Twenty-five minutes later, huffing and puffing, we walked down Nassau Street through the ruts left by a few cars, then down Chambers Street to the side door of the black Baptist Church. After tying up Nugget near the entrance I became the first and only customer for their annual $3.50 waffle breakfast. I ordered a second breakfast and gave Nugget half a waffle and a sausage. She voraciously gulped her reward. Among the black hosts were several familiar faces who had arrived early to decorate the church. As we prepared to leave a half hour later, only three more customers had arrived. Sensing the benefit was not going to be a success because of the heavy snow, I wrote a supplemental check since the benefit was for Ed Smith, the church minister, and a fellow Rotarian. He was going blind and needed help.
Back home an hour and a half after we started, Nugget shook off the snow that covered her from head to tail, and I had my usual after-walk glass of water. Except for my commitment to walking every morning before breakfast, I never would have had such a vigorous walk, nor had such a tasty breakfast, nor experienced such an unexpected good feeling in support of a good cause.
"People who walk only when the weather is fine and mild do not know what they miss. They deprive themselves of the enchantment of mist and fog, the soft splash of rain, the velvet touch of snow, the wild challenge of cold and wind, and languor of summer heat."
Aaron Sussman and Ruth Goode, "The Magic of Walking"
The rain was pounding on the roof when I arose at 6:15 am one morning in the little English village of Lyme Regis in Dorset. I put rubbers over my walking shoes, covered my jacket with a raincoat and, carrying an umbrella, headed down the hill towards the water. The wind turned my umbrella inside out which I was able to reverse as a small dock came into sight with several fishing dories tied up along side.
Fisherman's nets that had been stretched out to dry were now saturated. Carefully coiled ropes were swollen from the rain. Forlorn looking gulls overhead floated motionless as they headed into the strong wind. Stark, rainy, and desolate — it was the stuff of a Winslow Homer seascape. I stood on the dock, back to the wind and rain, inhaling fisherman smells of dead fish, oil and grease. A moment later, while fruitlessly searching the littered rocky beach for relics, a strong smell of kelp and seaweed completed the seaside aromas. I was a young boy again sloshing my way through an intriguing seaside adventure.
On the way back up the hill to the rundown 19th century wood and stucco Three Cups Hotel, I found a novelty store where I purchased stamps and postcards and tucked a London paper under my arm inside my raincoat. A few moments later I arrived at the hotel sopping wet from the knees down, chilled after 45 minutes in the storm, and ready for a warm shower. At breakfast my wife and my 90 year old mother were subjected to a step-by-step report on my Lyme Regis morning outing. I sensed by their indulgence they thought me a bit unhinged. But for me, I had a memorable, exciting adventure walk.
It was very much like a description by Harrison E. Salisbury in The Good Health Magazine article from "The New York Times Magazine," April 16, 1989:
"To be certain, the world-class place to walk on the beach in the rain is Nauset Beach on Cape Cod, the rain slanting in, the gray sea boiling, the breakers crashing, the smell of kelp and brine, oilskins yellow and flapping, water streaming down your face, great gusts of oxygen hurling into your lungs, wild flights of cream-and-dun gulls, the air singing with salt, the sand firm and live under your feet. Roaring a chantey at the top of your lungs and not hearing a word of it. No excitement like it."
After particularly heavy rains, Princeton's Stony Brook overflows and covers Quaker Road. I had heard the heavy rain all night and wondered if the police would close the road. Sure enough, the next morning the road was barricaded permitting Echo and me to walk down the middle of what normally is a busy commuter road. A mile down the road we were at the edge of a temporary lake covering the road and fields on either side. The surging water, carrying along massive debris, was five to six feet...
