A few weeks ago a few friends and I decided to run from Hadashville to Marchand, MB via trails. In addition to my haiku of the day, I made a little 8-page zine to document the adventure.
This route had always been a curiosity to me. But for all the poking around on Google Maps, there’s nothing like actually dropping “into the map”, and experiencing trails on your own feet.
I often approach adventures on a backdrop of thoughts from books I’m reading or conversations I’ve had recently. I had just finished reading Frédéric Gros’ A Philosophy of Walking prior to this run, which offered a great perspective on moving slowly across a landscape on foot.
Thanks to Greg, Justin, and Gord for the adventure. You’re not crazy if your “crazy” is shared with friends, right?
Here’s another little zine I made from a map page, featuring a poem by Antonio Machado.
Caminante no hay Camino
Caminante, son tus huellas el camino y nada más; Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar. Al andar se hace el camino, y al volver la vista atrás se ve la senda que nunca se ha de volver a pisar. Caminante no hay camino sino estelas en la mar.
Traveler, your footprints are the only road, nothing else. Traveler, there is no road; you make your own path as you walk. As you walk, you make your own road, and when you look back you see the path you will never travel again. Traveler, there is no road; only a ship’s wake on the sea.
I first heard this poem in Brené Brown’s Daring Greatly, and have been reminded of it at times where I’m looking for a map for the path ahead. Maybe thanks to Frozen II (whose songs are permanently embedded into my mind, continually reinforced by our three little princesses), but stepping into the unknown, and doing “the next right thing” has been a theme of late. Maybe because the norms of our whole society have been shaken as well.
Inspired by Austin Kleon’s little zines made from a single piece of paper, I tried my hand. These are a lot of fun.
“For every runner who tours the world running marathons, there are thousands who run to hear leaves and listen to rain and look to the day when it all is suddenly as easy as a bird in flight.”
When I was a kid, I was enthralled by secret portals into other worlds. Books like The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and Secret Garden captured my young imagination. What if I could crawl into a tunnel, a cave, or an ordinary wardrobe, and enter into a secret mystical world?
I imagined carving a hole through the wall in my basement bedroom closet, where I could disappear into my secret world (aka: the storage room) at a moment’s notice. (Don’t worry, mom and dad, I didn’t touch the drywall.)
Unfortunately, knock on the back of most wardrobes in the “real world”, and you’ll find them decidedly hard and un-magical. And in the real world, my imagined secret cave in the storage room was filled with cardboard boxes and very real-world-smelly hockey equipment.
But a few years ago I listened to an episode of the 99% Invisible podcast called Secret Staircases, and my childhood dream was reborn. Charles Fleming has mapped the hundreds secret staircases that transport pedestrians between San Fransisco’s streets and neighbourhoods. Ordinary towns and cities are filled with secret portals between worlds, if you’re willing to look for them.
My prairie town of Steinbach doesn’t have any staircases, but we do have secret passages. Have you ever used one?
Well first of all, the “secret” aspect is fascinating to me — they’re not always easy to spot. Also, it’s delightful to leave the path of cars, and go my own way. I mean, when you go by foot you’re a lot more free to make your own path… but it’s always nice to know the city endorses certain ways to get around, we don’t always need to be alongside cumbersome vehicles. And it occurred to me one day, that maybe I could figure out a route in which I’d be walking the most secret paths possible. I still haven’t devised this route because I’m hoping I’ll discover more secret routes I can add to my map.
I also asked Erin about her favourite “secret path” to walk in Steinbach:
I feel like every “secret path” aficionado will say that it’s the back lane that runs from Willow to Main, behind Southwood Drive — the way the path bends is positively enchanting!
I use a secret path nearly everyday on my walking commute, giving me a daily dose of magic. My secret sidewalk transports me from a fairly busy neighbourhood street near the highway, in between grassy and fenced backyards, and into the quiet street I call home. Most people who know this neighbourhood only through their car windshield overlook it completely (I know this because of how rarely they slow down for the pedestrian crossing).
I took some friends on a walk through my secret path a few years ago, and as we entered the “new world”, I witnessed the looks of wonder and surprise on their faces. Right in the middle of our little town, we had transported ourselves into a new world.
I’ve compiled a map of all the secret paths I’ve discovered in Steinbach, connecting paths that are mostly inaccessible to vehicles and help one see a neighbourhood from a fresh perspective. Thanks to Erin for the invaluable additions to this map, and for opening my eyes to a whole network of “garden paths” that were mostly unknown to me previously. Also included are the “secret parks” in town, which are a delight to kids and grownups alike.
(If you know of one not listed, let me know and I’ll add it.)
If you’re looking for a dose of the magical in your ordinary day, try getting outside and finding a secret path in your own backyard. You might be surprised what you discover.
The Appalachian Trail stretch 2,140 miles along the Appalachian Mountains of the eastern United States, from Maine to Georgia. The idea of one long continuous trail was originally dreamed up by Benton MacKaye in the early 1900s to provide accessible wilderness experiences to an increasingly urban population.
As told by Robert Moor in his wonderful book On Trails, MacKaye was asked years after the trail was built about the ultimate purpose of the great trail, to we which he replied (in his own #walkhaiku):
to walk;
to see; and
to see what you see!
We think of hikers as walking trails with purpose, but we often overlook the purpose of the trail itself. Historically, trails formed from get from point A to point B as efficiently as possible. But as Moor explains, “hiking” itself is a modern invention necessitated by a need to connect with nature. Hiking trails aren’t designed for efficiency, but for connection. The journey, not the destination, is the goal of a good hike.
Along a similar vein, consider Craig Mod’s reflection after several “thru-hikes” of historic trails in Japan:
“If you want to know the story of a place, walk it. For to walk is to apply the rigor of process to place.”
