There is but one activity that takes less planning than a walk…and that is a nap. We’ll celebrate the joy of a good travel nap in the coming weeks but, first, we look back on some memorable moments of putting one foot in front of the other. It’s a low effort, high reward kind of thing.
For this week’s Three-fer, we’re joined by Kelly Kealy (and if there’s a name that’s more fun to say, I haven’t found it). A travel guide editor who holds an MFA in poetry–”one of the world’s most practical degrees”–Kelly’s (way in the) past work experience includes a summer as an elevator operator at Monmouth Park Race Track. (A job that sounds like it came straight out of the extremely excellent flick Adventureland if, say, Adventureland was at a horse track. OK, it’s different.)
Kelly's shore thing. Photo by Steve Kealy.
I grew up a fifteen-minute drive from Sandy Hook, New Jersey. My birthday is in January and, the year I turned 16, some friends and I held a mock Polar Bear outing at the beach. We ran around in bare feet, jeans cuffed high, surf up to our calves. I like to get back to the Hook in winter and walk until I can’t feel my face anymore. There’s a neat beachfront holly forest; its roots keep this erosion-prone sand spit from ending up in New York Harbor. The way the birds take to the winter berries–like cats to catnip–and spread the seeds to wherever they fly next, I’m guessing holly propagation isn’t an issue. During visits home, I like to get in a couple of salt-sprayed, mind-clearing miles near the water line. I think about what it is we take with us when we leave a place.–Kelly
Silence of the rocks. (And insanity of the climber ... see that tiny orange dot?) Photo by Sophia Dembling.
The travel writing racket frequently requires traveling with groups of other writers. For this introvert, that’s exhausting. So I’m always relieved when a hike provides the opportunity to escape the gang for some me-time. That’s why, when my group arrived at the outcrops and hoodoos of Vedauwoo, near Laramie, Wyoming—a spot popular with rock climbers (are they INSANE? But I digress…)—I leapt from the van and with swift step, forged a path to solitude. Lest I sound churlish, let me assure you that I was not alone in wanting to be alone. Occasionally I came upon another from my group perched on a rock, in tranquil contemplation of the view. I tiptoed past without a word.—Sophia
A carnival treat for riders on the N and W lines. Photo by Jenna Schnuer
With my doc appointment over and my evening plans hours away, I decided to skip the subway ride from Astoria to Chelsea in favor of a walk under the elevated N and W tracks and over the Queensboro Bridge. Along the way, gas stations and car repairs and industrial this and that and international markets filled with pickled herring and jarred olives and feta cheese by the pound and then…a church carnival. Make that, a carnival in waiting. The rides were up but, on that Friday afternoon in May, local kids were still at their school desks. So, for a brief time, the carnival was all mine. Until, at least, it was time to get back to my walk.–Jenna
