Hey, I'm Walking Here!: Memorial Day Edition
Last summer, inspired by my father's near missionary zeal for walking (he regularly puts in 10-mile-days) and this, my family took an epic walk around Manhattan's perimeter. The walk cold be described in the following ways: looooong (30 miles, 12 hours, etc), blistery, sweaty, emotionally turbulent at times -- and may or may not have ended with my mother threatening total hip replacement surgery. But, even in pain, we all agreed that the adventure had been worth it. The diversity of the slices of life that we saw from our trek, down the East River to Battery Park, through the West Side Highway up to Harlem, over and down, was nothing short of staggering.
So when a posting for a 17-mile walk through Queens appeared in an online newsletter, I was instantly intrigued. It was billed as a "Pre-Memorial day walk" that would take us through memorials commemorating all the American wars from the Civil War up through Vietnam. Tack on a stop to a famous burger joint and a trek to the most remote neighborhood in New York and how could I say no? Plus, since it clocked in at 13 miles shorter than my previous major walk, it didn't feel like too impossible an endeavor.
A little leery of the idea of spending 6 plus hours with a group of total strangers, I lined up a companion in the form of Mike, my trusty former coworker turned good friend. We met at 11:30 outside the Duane Reade at the last stop of the 7 line, as instructed.
One frantic sunscreen-Â and energy bar- run through the mammoth Duane Reade later, I emerged outside to meet the rest of the group, including our all-too-aptly named leader, Moses. Besides him, Mike, and me, it was a crew of around 15 people who had heard about the walk in various ways--there's a Facebook group, some of them were walk veterans, some friends of group leaders.
War Memorial #1 emerged a few blocks away...and I'm embarrassed to say I honestly can't recall which war this first stone commemorated. My brain cells clearly fired off instructions to take a photo, without also instructing me to, oh, I don't know, process any information! (Post-script: after scrutinizing the plaque, I think I made out the year 1861, making it a Civil War Memorial.)
Here's the group admiring it, and quite probably, taking in more than me.
On we continued through residential Queens--I couldn't get over how far out it stretches. It feels nothing like the New York City that I know. And these neighborhoods so far away from a subway line that, for all intents and purposes, life there really can't resemble the NYC that we know. Imagine life in the city without easy subway access (even, grrr, its tenuous weekend service...) In fact, as this photo shows, it was downright bucolic in places.
Here's a Korean War memorial; there aren't a lot of these around, Moses informed us. Now That's What I Call War Memorials!: Volume Queens.Â
As we walked through the park, Moses took us on a detour to see something that, he promised, would be worth our while. It was a huge water drain, the largest in (wait for it) Eastern Queens.
I confess, not that I'm a huge drain aficionado, but by that point in the journey I was expecting a *slightly* more impressive superlative. Eastern Queens?! Not even Queens, let alone New York. Nevertheless, for posterity's sake:
We took a gander and looked down. Moses assured us he'd been down these things many times. It seems somehow appropriate that a guy who would charge himself with designing and leading a 17-mile walk through Queens would also be the type to slide into huge drains for goodness knows what reason. I was impressed by his take-it-to-the-streets cred.
The walk continued along these residential streets, the scenery changing only slightly from neighborhood to neighborhood, town to town...
I posed with a little man in front of a house, as did the incomparable Moses, below.
In Jamaica (as in, "This is a Jamaica-bound E train"), we stopped to admire this park.
The park also boasted a monument dedicated to the heroes of the Spanish-American War, always sort of a odd footnote in American history class. It does make one wonder how a memorial for that war wound up in Jamaica, Queens, and I give Moses props for uncovering it.
I wish I had gotten a photo of a plaque dedicated to the soldiers on the U.S.S. Maine that, at the bottom, assured its reader: "this plaque was not made with scrap metal from the U.S.S. Maine." It seemed like a curious assumption that a passerby would instantly conclude that the plaque honoring those sailors had been made with metal from their doomed ship; but at least we had the go-ahead to inspect with a 100% clear conscience.
Still, with a vigorous schedule to keep to, there was no time for much more than photos, a bathroom stop and water re-tanking. The streets of Queens beckoned, and a lunch break was nigh. If this was a school field trip, I would have been the hungry and/or fat kid, constantly pestering the teacher (Moses) about when we would be stopping for food, how far away the burger place was, etc. We were getting closer to food, he assured me!
Or were we?! Hollis Famous Burger was closed, so our answer to that rhetorical question posted on that awning was a tragically resounding NO!
We had to recover from our disappointment quickly. Mike and I re-grouped over ham and cheese flatbreads and iced-coffee at Dunkin' Donuts. The jolt of java and salty sandwich did the trick and I was ready to continue the journey along, yes that's right, some more residential neighborhoods.
After another couple of hours, we refueled with yet more Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee. The guy working the cash register looked more than a little irked by the sudden presence of a bunch of baseball capped, sweaty people on some obvious sort of group trip/pilgrimage (but why here, you can imagine him half-wondering as he surveyed the strip mall surroundings), clamoring to use his bathroom.
There was one more stop, at a Vietnam War Memorial, before the scenery really changed.
Once we passed through this neighborhood, we were out in airport No-Man's Land, a part of our walk that involved us hugging the side of a highway while Moses blithely led the way. By that point, there was no turning back, and I don't mean that in an emotional, I've-come-this-far sense. We had quite literally passed the last subway, an F train some miles back, and I had no idea how to make it home. So I tried to curb the panicking voice in my head--and the literal panicking voice heard from Mike, pulling up the rear--and continued forward.
We were approaching the seaside, and marshes started appearing.
By the time we had passed the highway and reached the most remote neighborhood in Queens, I was in a somewhat jubilant mood. I have a long-standing fondness for jumping pictures and tried to capture one of Mike.
He was somewhat more successful in catching me airborne.
As promised, Meadowmere was pretty damn remote. The one house on the block we passed was condemned.
Here, Mike and I are, approaching Far Rockaway! It felt so bizarre to have walked from New York City to a seaside bar. The group had dwindled down to 9 at this point, and we stopped to enjoy some Pilsners and salt-water breeze at this bar.
While we lingered over drinks, Moses told us a little about how he'd gotten involved with Hey, I'm Walking Here! He'd met Matt Green, the guy who started the group, on a walk through all the major Manhattan bridges two years back. Describing Matt Green as a "character" doesn't do him justice: force of nature seems more like it. Apparently, as these walks grew more and more popular, Matt's response was to make the meet-up times increasingly early, and the walks further and further, so as to winnow it down to the most serious. On a more personal note, these 30-mile walks on the weekends apparently left him thirsting for more, so he ended up designing a cross-country walkathon, a 3,000 mile journey stretching from Far Rockaway to Rockaway, Oregon. It's sort of a grassroots group, so as Moses began to participate in more and more walks and as he got increasingly involved, he thought about designing his own. Voila, here we were, sweaty & Rockaway bound!
We promised ourselves we'd limit the drink pit stop to 15 minutes. Inevitably, that train pulled out of the station 45 minutes later and our weary feet were back on the road.
Once again, the walk got a little adventurous for my taste. At least this time, there was a rail between us and the traffic, but nervous murmurs about ticks were making the rounds through the group.
The light reflected prettily off the water, and the sun sinking ever lower, our walk continued. At this point, with night time fast approaching, my spirits began to flag a little. There was no indication from our leader of when we'd reach the promise land, coming in the form of street signs, burning bushes, parting of Red Seas (or announcements like "fifteen minutes till Rockaway!", which would have done the trick just fine).
We passed some local color: a decrepit, one-armed Elvis.
As the sun went down, we FINALLY arrived at Far Rockaway! Even in my disheveled, exhausted state I had to celebrate with an exuberant jumping picture.
 Here I am, photographed with my new friend Doug who had admired my jumping talents and asked to pose in the picture. (Side note: Doug was a wonderful, hilarious addition to the trip, chain smoking throughout. Every time we mentioned our final destination, he sang that rap song, "Do the Rockaway... lean back...now lean back..." This instantly endeared him to me.)
And yes, I am wearing a Red Sox cap on a trip around New York -- I took some flack for that decision but I haven't got any other caps. And as a Bostonian, I stand by the choice.
We debriefed with a video-camera interview on the train.
We also saw a fight break out between an angry mother (actually a self proclaimed "grown ass woman") and a guy, after the guy shoved this woman's son for taking up an extra subway seat. We were too bone-tired to do anything but stare on warily.
Farethewell, Far Rockaway! Hello, Manhattan,
This walk was perhaps less scenic than my 30 miler (*actually, my Dad insists it was 31) and -- perhaps simply by merit of the fact that it was almost half the length -- a little less jaw-dropping in the multitude of scenes that it presented. But it boasted charms of its own. By the end of the day I started to feel a kinship with the various characters who'd made the trek alongside me. It had been a great way to explore an area of New York I would probably never have seen--and explore it quite thoroughly, at that!
Also, I realized something that's pretty nice about long walks in general: they're satisfying and straightforward, a task that's ambitious but that you can nonetheless accomplish in one day. There aren't too many other "real world" goals that are that cut-and-dry. Though I'll be the first to admit that as accomplishments go, this one doesn't necessarily translate too well. When you try bragging about a huge walk, people will often look at you strangely. I know this from experience because my father tried (rather frequently) last summer.
No matter: I'm hooked, and just in time for summer! I'm contemplating one major walk per week, and Mike and I are already brainstorming a thematic walk of our own. We're thinking maybe Civil War, ending with Grant's tomb, or a Beatlemania-theme, perhaps. Who's with us?!