DAYS 134 & 135 - Wheeling, WV & Waynesburg, PA - 2589 miles from home
- Esther Lisa Tishman
- Nov 16
- 5 min read
Every morning, before we start hiking, we circle up - take three breaths - and read "The Way We Walk." Part daily affirmation, part devotion, part pep talk for the 20 or 30 miles ahead. Go, Pilgrims, Go!!
The other morning, Bob paused as he read the lines about "Kindness." We earnestly wish to make connections across differences. I've been thinking about those words lately. To 'make connections across differences' is not, exactly, to overcome differences. It's not, exactly, to find the 'common ground' that homogenizes us... Much less is it, simply, to 'meet in the middle.'
The challenge of this earnest wish is carried in the word "across." Can I meet you, somehow, just exactly where you are? Can our differences remain - and can we nonetheless connect across the span between us?
Can we reach across the gap without striving to close the gap???
And so - I've been thinking a lot, lately, about bridges.
Day 134 was epic. We've had many powerful - dangerous even - experiences on the road. My crisis of faith when we lost our full-time driver. Encountering grizzlies. Crossing the Continental Divide in a hail storm. Crossing the Mississippi. Connecting with extraordinary, loving people in ten different states thus far... Oregon-Idaho-Wyoming-Iowa-Illinois-Indiana-Ohio-West Virginia-Pennsylvania.
And yet - in many ways Day 134 was our most epic to date. And, indeed, it was all about bridges.
The day started with the Bridge That Wasn't. The Blaine Bridge on Route 40, just outside St. Clairsville, OH. Bob had started hiking and I was driving to the rendezvous point, 14 miles away. And then, the road just ended at mile 13. There was a hole - and massive pylons - where once a bridge had been. Just a tenth of a mile away I could see the rest of Route 40. But no way across the chasm.
The "detour" was Interstate 70. I could easily drive it, but Bob certainly couldn't walk it. (Kids: do NOT try walking on interstates. Safer than some of the roads we've actually hiked - and/but not exactly legal!!)
So - I backtracked, and stopped at A+ Fuel: a small, privately-owned Exxon station - the "+" in the name is styled after the Cross. The lovely Alysha behind the counter helped me out: "Rehm Road will take you back around to 40. But it's dangerous! No shoulder and no one pays attention to the speed limit!" - I promised her I would check it out in the rig before we tried to walk it. And.... you know what? Rehm Road was perfect. Gorgeous even. Our first bridge of the day - the bridge that wasn't - successfully navigated.
From there, I navigated through a town called Wolfhurst. Passed a dry creek bed, where a little fellow caught my eye. The little fellow was really little. Crouched awkwardly on a rock. And no sooner had we locked gazes then he started mewing. Oh dang. I clambered down into the creek, and easily scooped him up. This kitty was just fur and bones. He clung to me, started head butting. Squirming but too weak to resist - too scared and hungry to purr - but kneading me and needing me clearly. I called Bob. We have to take this guy to the vet. Bob picked me up and we started driving. Navigating with a squirming kitty in my lap was not the easiest... and we got turned around... but 20 minutes later we were at New Horizon Animal Hospital in St. Clairsville.
Bob, I said. You won't believe it - but across the street is the gas station where I got help navigating Blaine Bridge! We left the kitten I named Hotspur with Brittany at the vet. Filled out paperwork. He would be safe now at the Belmont County Animal Shelter. Went back to visit Alysha to tell her about how great Rehm Road was - and about our encounter with Hotspur. "I'd adopt him, but I already have too many cats!" she said.
And then I continued my hike - walking across the Ohio River (Military Order of the Purple Heart Bridge) into West Virginia - and then across the amazing Wheeling Suspension Bridge: the first wire-cable suspension bridge in the United States. And then our route took us to another bridge that (almost) wasn't: the abandoned 22nd Street Bridge, suppposedly leading on to Chapel Road... but Chapel Road was the Road That Wasn't. Instead, a supremely creepy - but beautiful - abandoned path up into the hills, over crunchy leaves and discarded campsites... out again on to pavement with Bethlehem Boulevard.
"Boulevard" sounds lovely and tree-lined. Bethlehem Boulevard is, well, a freeway. No shoulder, fast and busy thoroughfare up into the hills on the outskirts of Wheeling. I crushed myself against guardrails, walked through brambles, drainage ditches, all the stuff. Up and up. We were truly in the foothills of the Appalachians now. And then I get a call from Bob: "Careful on Stone Church Road. No shoulder, folks driving like bats out of hell. A 2.5 mile uphill." I got this, Bobby! I'll see you soon.
And then, it was all about climbing the gorgeous Stone Church Road as the twilight began to gather. Folks had their headlights on - I had my reflective gear on. The daylight was still glimmering... faintly. And I made it safely up the big hill to the rig. (Our accommodations that night were the Holiday Inn in Wheeling, where there were the MOST DIVINE beds with downy duvet and down pillows, and before bedtime a HOT TUB. Just saying. A girl is blessed.)
Day 135 we knew what we were doing when we hit yet another bridge - this time a covered bridge with only 9'9" feet clearance (I'm not going to make THAT mistake again). These are the hills, baby. Cell coverage is spotty. Roads wind round and round. Covered bridges and loose gravel and no shoulder.
And yet of course, it was an absolutely glorious day of walking. We crossed from our brief stint in West Virginia - Almost Heaven - into Pennsylvania. Suddenly the folks we were meeting talked like family - like my husband and his siblings from Pittsburgh, like my Uncle Norman. Southwestern Pennsylvania. Maybe not almost heaven, but certainly almost home.
To butcher one of my favorite Robert Frost quotes: the only way through is across.
