Wonderful things can happen when checking your email at 2am. This time, it is an invitation. Seven lines. Rather simple.
“Hi Yalies! No Fall Break Plans?
Ever dreamed of walking to New York City?
Well, you’re in luck.
You might be wondering: Are we sane—and are we serious? To the first, probably not. To the second, hell yeah.
Join us for an hour, a day, or the full journey.”
I had no plans for fall break, but I have never planned on walking to NYC. The walk is 77 miles long. The invitation features a stock drawing of a NYC skyline and three faces photoshopped onto a drawing of hikers walking towards the Statue of Liberty. The stops are New Haven, Fairfield, Stamford, New Rochelle, and New York City.
An older friend told me later, “I would have done this when I was young and still thought dangerous shit was fun.” It’s a ridiculous thing to do, doubly so because I am not athletic. If I were a man, my flat feet would be enough to dodge the draft, but I am a woman, so I was given bunions as well.
There are many reasons not to go. Luckily, I am young, stupid, and a bum enough to ignore them. So, despite my hesitation, I resolved to join anyway.
***
I joined on the second day, taking an Uber from New Haven to the outer edge of Bridgeport. I left in a rush, packing a phone charger, headphones, sketchbook, journal, and three days’ worth of clothing. I paused and added my computer to the bag—I have a grant application due later that night—and immediately regretted bringing it once I left my room. I was running late but managed to meet the group right before they leave the hotel. I fell into step with the back of the pack and began to walk.
Our trail took us along the Metro-North, so walkers could leave at any time. We walked across the sidewalk when we were lucky, and the side of the road when we were not. My feet hit the pavement hard, and I did my best to walk in the grass when I could. We walked past fast food stores that turned into mom-and-pop shops. We looped under overpasses and clomped through neighborhoods.
I got to know the people around me just a bit. Franciouse, a sophomore from Rwanda, brought her camera along with her. We immediately became friends. Sophia, who broke a branch off a tree as a walking stick let me have a sip from her jar of applesauce before giving me the rest. Eliana and Tristan are dating and doing the walk together. Rory used to lead hikes for FOOT and brought a huge pack of trail mix we all lived off of. Then there is Brian, who planned the trip, with Freeman, Michael, and Josh.
As we leave Bridgeport behind, something miraculous happened. The trees turned yellow and red. The sidewalk became a soft blanket of leaves. We turned onto a small path on the side of the highway.Lying on the sidewalk, the blue sky and bright sun hovered above us.
***
“We’re walking to New York!”
Brian, the leader of the group, makes sure to let everyone know. He shouts at strangers, receiving confused looks, or more often, cheers. Twenty people in hiking gear walking past a strip mall isn’t a common sight. Some cars honk as we pass. I wonder if they know what we’re doing, or just want to be involved in some small way.
***
As we reached the other end of the highway, Brian told us he got us permission to go along the railroad tracks as we make our way into Westport. We cut through some underbrush, and there we were, walking along the tracks. The sky is a blue bowl, and the wood and metal tracks of the Metro-North seem to stretch on forever. High above us, dark beams cut gracefully across the sky like trapeze artists twisting in an aerial dance. I feel as though I am in a snowglobe. The moment is so pristine, so beautiful, it must exist within a dream or glass casing. I tried to balance as I walked on rails, swinging back and forth.
***
We come to a bridge across the river, with no path to walk on but the railroad. I can’t help but think how odd it is. When I took the Metro North, I had never noticed a river here. Someone next to me suddenly points. He’s a freshman and I never learned his name. “Is that a train!?” He points ahead, and surely there it is. A silver and red MTA train is moving towards us on the other side of the tracks.
It pulls up on the far side of the tracks and stops. Countless minutes pass in the standoff. We stare and stare. Were there hours or just minutes in between those moments? The sun didn’t seem to move, as if also holding her breath. Slowly, the train lurched forward.When it reached us, the conductor flipped his window open. He was a thin white man, hair and visage hidden under a crisp black hat. His blue shirt was adorned with a radio, but everything else but his voice was lost to the distance. “Get off the fucking tracks!” he shouted. “I’ve already called the cops ten minutes ago!”
We run.
***
When everyone else was asleep, the ache in my temples and esophagus eases up. No one replies to emails at 3am. No one has to text back. Nothing is overdue. No one is talking to me or looking at me or thinking about me. These nothing hours pass blissfully by. I roll over in bed.
***
Westport is empty. The signs along the road, “Cedar Tree” and “Manatuk Island,” name each neighborhood we pass. The homes rise up higher as we pass and recede with the sidewalk. Each gate lay open invitingly. We blast music through the speakers, as if to ward off the silence. We play 2010s gangster rap. It does the trick.
Slowly, the houses go from three-story homes to two, then one. Hedges become gardens that are flattened into front porches. With people, there is noise once again. My ears pop.I can hear cars racing by, people talking and laughing. There are people standing under bus stops. Night has fallen, and before us is a sea of light. We had begun walking at 9 am that morning, and it was now 9 pm.
I see a Hispanic woman in a black sweater with the “juice” couture logo. We blend into one long shadow in the darkness. Her daughter stays close by her side as twenty strangers march by. I wonder what we look like to her—phantoms moving through the night? We reached Stamford, somehow We checked into our hotel, and I fell into a deep sleep.
***
My first step on the second day was fine, as was the third. On the fifth, however, the pain came back. It was the last full day. We were going from Stamford to New Rochelle. I’ve hurt my ankle a few times in the past, butI’ve never walked with both ankles in pain before. Learning to walk with a double limp feels like using stilts to walk on burning hot coal. It’s a balancing act:you can never be on one foot for too long.
The sign came out of nowhere, next to a bridge and between a highway. Green background with white type, “Welcome to NEW YORK. The Empire State.”
We collapsed on the ground around the sign and took photos. Some people began climbing it, and I gave Sophia a boost so she could hang from the bottom of the sign. She fell onto me before Franciouse could get a picture, but neither of us minded.
As we continued to limp forward, Eliana started talking about the mammoth. Her wine-red braids are tied up in the back of her head, and her hiking backpack has enough portable chargers and cords to give everyone a boost. “The mammoth,” she explained, “is what we’re hunting down.”
She had come up with a mental yardstick: Humans were endurance hunters, and here we are again, walking to feed our families and hunt down the mammoth. Rory’s trail mix had been running low, so it wasn’t hard to imagine myself as a hunter. My limp turns into a stumble, and what might be called a step.
Brian lets us know we’re going to have to add an hour to our walk—we’re going to be staying at his friend Alessandra’s house. Finding a hotel for all twenty of us has proven impossible. Rory taught us a chant to give us energy throughout the day. We all huddled into a circle and began to swing side to side. We start softly, intoning “oh-goh-la, bo-gu-lah,” slowly getting louder, until we begin shouting at each other, “OH-GOH-LAH BO-GU-LAH.” Sophia and Franciouse decide to go back home.
Alessandra’s two-story house stands on the edge of New Rochelle. It’s home to her parents, younger sister, and two huge barking dogs. It feels too small for all of us, yet we somehow manage to shove all the backpacks in one corner. Air mattresses appeared, and we ate pizza and played super smash bros. I don’t change or put on a bonnet—I fall asleep before everyone else does.
***
I wake up earlier than everyone else and make my way into the kitchen. I tiptoed over the people on the floor, on the sofa, piled on air mattresses. Everyone’s asleep as the soft morning light broke. The group has whittled down to less than fifteen. I sit down by the counter and draw sketches from a few photos we’ve taken over the past few days.
I started talking to Alessandra, and her father began to make Italian pancakes—a family recipe. Both of her parents are fishers, but her father fits the stereotype perfectly. He was gruff, has a thick New York accent and salt-n-pepper beard, and wears brown overalls. His shirt was faded and old but still faintly blue with a logo. “What kind of coffee do you want?” he bellowed over the sound of bacon sizzling on the stove.
I wave my hands. “There’s no need-”
“I asked, what kind of coffee do you want?”
“Anything is fine, really.”
“Good, ’cause all we got is Chock full o’ Nuts”
I blink. “What is that?”
He points to a huge plastic container on the side of the counter. Chock Full O’ Nuts, original flavor. I nod—I do love almond lattes.
***
We hit the end of the 3 subway line, now officially in New York. Our final push was from New Rochelle to Grand Central. The Bronx is a new country every block, Yemen to Saudi Arabia to Ireland to Guatemala. Has anyone ever walked across continents so easily before? The streets are full to the point of shoving, and I begin to lose the group to the crowd. Foot lockers and foodtowns are situated between delis. We pass by a woman selling shoes on a video broadcast on the street, a man with long dreads performing reggae on a pair of maracas. It’s loud, smelly, and crowded. But it was the most alive place we’ve walked through.
I think about this on the train ride back to New Haven. It was dark outside the windows, reducing each town to a blur: a view I had never questioned or thought to explore before. I felt proud. I never wanted to look out into the world with bored eyes again. What else was there to see that I had accepted as ordinary?
When we reached Manhattan, brick and mortar twisted into skyscrapers. The tall towers stretched into the sky like jagged teeth. Billionaire’s Row is visible even from the edge of the island. People are replaced with cars, and soon we’re alone on the sidewalk once more. I look up, and we’re on 139th Street. Then 82nd. We make a special stop for 67th, and begin counting down the blocks. Then we see it in the distance: A blue tiled roof with carved stone lit up from the inside out in the fading sun. Heaven will have nothing on the Grand Central Terminal at sunset. At least not for me.
***
The world once moved too fast around me. I questioned: Can I find another solace? Can I reawaken my connection with the world?
This walk did. We moved through spaces of the world that no one is meant to move between. We met people who are never meant to see each other face-to-face. I felt as though I had reconnected with something base and human inside of me. Something I should never lose again.
