CHAPTER 1
NO EXCUSES
"One of the pleasures of standing in a gentle snowstorm and watching flakes drift slowly earthward is the muffling quiet that envelops you like a second coat. The snowfall seems to absorb the noise of the world and a soft silence piles up all around."
— John Grossmann,
Listen to the Sounds of Silence,
"Creative Living," Winter 1989.
Nothing Needs To Stand In The Way Of A Walk
For those in generally good health there is never a reason to miss walking every day. All that is needed to become a never-fail early morning walker is to sample the glory of a few sunrises, stand in awe of beautiful clear skies, meet an old friend or make a new one, savor the smell of fresh baking or pretend to be a kid again in the rain or snow and inhale early morning air that is always crisper, fresher, and cooler than later in the day. Bad weather, rain and snow storms are the best excuses in the world to bundle up, take a walk, and be a kid again. What child did not revel stomping and splashing in the rain or inhaling the beauty and fun of snow?
From the edge of the bed Nugget poked her face into mine. Smiling from both ends, she was telling me it was time to get up and walk. It was a winter Saturday and I had looked forward to walking an easy mile to the Baptist Church to have waffles at their annual benefit. Unexpectedly during the night a heavy snow had fallen and now the world outside was white.
In the guest bathroom, I put on my cold weather red flannel longjohns, sweat pants and Princeton orange sweat jacket. As I sat putting on my bad weather boots, Nugget nuzzled me and wagged her tail eagerly. It was our daily routine.
From the front hall closet, I wrapped a scarf around my neck, put on my rabbit fur hat with ear flaps, stuck my arms into my waist level winter jacket in which I kept my gloves, drank my regular lemon juice-flavored warm glass of water, got Nugget's leash, and headed out the back door. I was prepared for the worst.
Nugget darted out and plunged into the 14-inch deep snow emerging with a white snowy snout. Both of us floundered — she with arching leaps, I with slow, short steps. I tossed a fluffy snowball in Nugget's face to watch her react playfully.
The roads were not yet plowed and with not a car in sight we lurched through the snow down the middle of Mercer Street. A marvelous after-snow quiet punctuated the beauty of our white winter wonderland. Today could not be a saunter. It was going to be a physical effort making that mile walk to town. Twenty-five minutes later, huffing and puffing, we walked down Nassau Street through the ruts left by a few cars, then down Chambers Street to the side door of the black Baptist Church. After tying up Nugget near the entrance I became the first and only customer for their annual $3.50 waffle breakfast. I ordered a second breakfast and gave Nugget half a waffle and a sausage. She voraciously gulped her reward. Among the black hosts were several familiar faces who had arrived early to decorate the church. As we prepared to leave a half hour later, only three more customers had arrived. Sensing the benefit was not going to be a success because of the heavy snow, I wrote a supplemental check since the benefit was for Ed Smith, the church minister, and a fellow Rotarian. He was going blind and needed help.
Back home an hour and a half after we started, Nugget shook off the snow that covered her from head to tail, and I had my usual after-walk glass of water. Except for my commitment to walking every morning before breakfast, I never would have had such a vigorous walk, nor had such a tasty breakfast, nor experienced such an unexpected good feeling in support of a good cause.
"People who walk only when the weather is fine and mild do not know what they miss. They deprive themselves of the enchantment of mist and fog, the soft splash of rain, the velvet touch of snow, the wild challenge of cold and wind, and languor of summer heat."
Aaron Sussman and Ruth Goode, "The Magic of Walking"
The rain was pounding on the roof when I arose at 6:15 am one morning in the little English village of Lyme Regis in Dorset. I put rubbers over my walking shoes, covered my jacket with a raincoat and, carrying an umbrella, headed down the hill towards the water. The wind turned my umbrella inside out which I was able to reverse as a small dock came into sight with several fishing dories tied up along side.
Fisherman's nets that had been stretched out to dry were now saturated. Carefully coiled ropes were swollen from the rain. Forlorn looking gulls overhead floated motionless as they headed into the strong wind. Stark, rainy, and desolate — it was the stuff of a Winslow Homer seascape. I stood on the dock, back to the wind and rain, inhaling fisherman smells of dead fish, oil and grease. A moment later, while fruitlessly searching the littered rocky beach for relics, a strong smell of kelp and seaweed completed the seaside aromas. I was a young boy again sloshing my way through an intriguing seaside adventure.
On the way back up the hill to the rundown 19th century wood and stucco Three Cups Hotel, I found a novelty store where I purchased stamps and postcards and tucked a London paper under my arm inside my raincoat. A few moments later I arrived at the hotel sopping wet from the knees down, chilled after 45 minutes in the storm, and ready for a warm shower. At breakfast my wife and my 90 year old mother were subjected to a step-by-step report on my Lyme Regis morning outing. I sensed by their indulgence they thought me a bit unhinged. But for me, I had a memorable, exciting adventure walk.
It was very much like a description by Harrison E. Salisbury in The Good Health Magazine article from "The New York Times Magazine," April 16, 1989:
"To be certain, the world-class place to walk on the beach in the rain is Nauset Beach on Cape Cod, the rain slanting in, the gray sea boiling, the breakers crashing, the smell of kelp and brine, oilskins yellow and flapping, water streaming down your face, great gusts of oxygen hurling into your lungs, wild flights of cream-and-dun gulls, the air singing with salt, the sand firm and live under your feet. Roaring a chantey at the top of your lungs and not hearing a word of it. No excitement like it."
After particularly heavy rains, Princeton's Stony Brook overflows and covers Quaker Road. I had heard the heavy rain all night and wondered if the police would close the road. Sure enough, the next morning the road was barricaded permitting Echo and me to walk down the middle of what normally is a busy commuter road. A mile down the road we were at the edge of a temporary lake covering the road and fields on either side. The surging water, carrying along massive debris, was five to six feet above normal stream level. Low limbs of trees now in mid stream were bending against the water. Echo walked into the new lake, dog paddled this way and that, came out and shook hard. To the east a faint glow suggested the rain clouds would soon be passing. Returning to the road barrier, two cars and their frustrated drivers were turning around. I knew the road would be re-opened in a few hours when the waters receded. I'd enjoyed this walk before and knew it was only a question of time and elements before Echo and I could plan to have the road to ourselves again.
Long ago I dismissed bad weather, aches, pains, bronchitis, colds, tiredness, and late hours the night before as excuses not to walk. Once, after spending the night under observation in the Special Care section of the hospital for a false-alarm heart condition, I got up early and walked around the corridors. A nurse spotted me with "What are you doing, Mr. Hobler? Get right back in bed! People on this floor simply don't do things like that." Happily, I'd already walked my mile and checked out an hour later.
One afternoon I stepped off a curb, inadvertently twisted my ankle, and suffered a severe sprain. After a restless night, I woke up to consider my consecutive morning walking streak might end after 2465 days.
Gingerly putting my injured foot on the floor by my bed, I took one step and quickly pulled my leg back up. Getting from the bedroom down the hall to the guest bathroom was agony. I eased a slipper on my swollen right foot as Nugget nuzzled me, put on my left walking shoe, and limped through the house in great pain. It was one slow, painful step at a time to the back door. Was it possible to make it to the end of the driveway? Several times I stopped and considered returning. Step by agonizing step I went — 10 yards — 50 yards — 100 yards. Half way up the street I was adjusting to the pain. 3 miles later it was gone! And that effort, along with hundreds of others, provides me with one more walking memory.
I realized that day there are many people who are permanently or temporarily incapacitated for whom walking is a real effort. Each determined step for them may be a victory. Until that day when I may be totally incapacitated by hospitalization or serious illness, there will be no excuses for me not to walk every morning for each walk provides a mental, physical and spiritual uplift with daily thankfulness for being able to enjoy the wonderment of life.
CHAPTER 2
RIGHT AROUND HOME
"Once I've set out, I discipline myself to avoid all direct routes of any kind, to reject any sense of purpose, or progress, to resist all temptations to accomplish anything of foreseeable use. My sole aim is to be diverted from my path; to be caught by the first crocus or to loiter beside a stray daffodil."
Robert Finch, Crossing Paths, "The Walking Magazine," April/May 1987
For me, constantly walking from here to there and back is no fun. It invariably becomes monotonous, uninspiring and leads to few new experiences.
Looking for a different way to walk each day is the beginning of walking for the joy of walking. Starting from my doorstep there are hundreds of different walking routes.
For example: From my driveway on Mercer Road I can turn left or right. If I turn left, after one block I can go straight, turn left or turn right–three choices of direction. One block later I'll have another three choices–and so on.
With a little planning there are dozens of different routes in the immediate area that make walking an adventure. For variety tomorrow reverse today's route. Going beyond the immediate neighborhood opens up hundreds of different route combinations that can provide a new world of walking experiences.
Whether in the country or city, you'll likely have to walk on roads from time-to-time. It's best to walk against traffic so you can take evasive action if necessary. If, as I have sometimes done, you are creatively thinking about something, bring your mind back into focus before you cross a road. At least twice in my many years of walking I awakened from my walking reverie just in time.
There is no question that the regularity of my regular morning walks has come from the stimulation of seeking different routes while keeping my eyes and mind open to enjoy whatever comes along. Chances are that wherever you live — in center city, in suburban towns, or in the open space of country villages — there are many paths to provide variety in walking.
In Einstein's Footsteps
Shortly after the start of my early morning walks I "discovered" the Institute for Advanced Study woods just down the road a few hundred yards. Previously, I never had an occasion to walk in this almost pristine woods through which people like Einstein and Oppenheimer — and our growing-up children — had once walked. Wandering through the 600 acres of woods, crossing over its streams, and along the Delaware Raritan Canal, suddenly I felt was a thousand miles away from civilization.
After four or five walks through the woods on many trails, I decided to try to plot them. How many were they? How far from this one to the next? What was the total mileage of all of the trails put together? Had anyone ever thought to make a booklet showing the paths to encourage walkers to explore every part of the woods?
Using my pedometer for measurements, I returned day after day to draw a map of the 15 or more trails I discovered. I began to feel like an early American pioneer laying out a map of uncharted frontiers.
Nugget was always finding narrow new paths branching out from the main path that offered new exploring opportunities for us both. Day after day, I returned to further explore and measure each new trail.
Frequently deer bounced through the underbrush. One day I tiptoed past two men with binoculars studying birds in the trees. Another morning I spotted a young couple on the ground in their sleeping bag and on another, a young couple was having breakfast along side the canal.
Over several months I walked and re-walked the wooded trails checking and rechecking my distances. One day with great pride I walked into the administration office of the Institute of Advanced Study holding my completed map in hand.
"May I help you?" the receptionist asked.
"Yes," I said, "My name is Herb Hobler and I live over on Mercer Street. I walk each morning and in the last several months have walked all over your beautiful woods charting each and every path. They total 8.2 miles. I thought perhaps you would like to have a copy of my trail map to reproduce it for others."
Smiling graciously she said, "Oh, Mr. Hobler. We are so grateful for your thoughtfulness and efforts. We are most appreciative. Perhaps you would like this little guide we have already put together."
I compared their map to the one I had diligently and carefully recorded. It was an almost exact duplicate of every curve, distance and intersection I had laid out. Fortunately I did not know about their trail map earlier, for my morning explorations had been a far better adventure without following a map.
* * *
It was an early spring Sunday morning as Nuggett and I rounded historical Nassau Hall on the university campus where the Continental Congress met in 1783. There, just below the bell tower, were 10 to 12 men bowling black balls about the size of a softball. One man would roll his ball 20-25 yards and, after it came to a dead stop, another man would roll his black ball to try and hit it.
The men, most of whom looked over 60, had swarthy complexions and definitely were not dressed for church.
"What kind of game is this?" I asked.
"Itsa calleda Bocce" responded one man. "Itsa an olda Italiano game.
We beena playeda hera twice a month fora years."
As I watched the game, better understanding how a second or third player would gain point position by knocking balls off the course, one younger man commented:
"Many of these men are immigrants, but Dad came over from Italy about 1910 and he used to play this game with other university employees way back then." It was then I recalled how many Italian immigrants had helped build university dormitories in the 1920's and 30's. There was something very special watching the fellowship and spirit of these men playing their native Italian sport on the campus they helped to build. It was an unexpected and rewarding fifteen minute interlude in my walk.
* * *
Princeton University's athletes and campus facilities have provided many unexpected early morning pleasures. One fall morning at 7:30 I came upon the 150 pound football team practicing. Another day the girls field hockey team was about to leave by bus. Almost any early morning the various men and women's crews are out practicing on Lake Carnegie. Saturday mornings in the winter at 7 am dozens of 8-10 year-olds are playing Pee Wee Hockey at Baker Rink.
Jadwin Gym is an extraordinary sports complex. On the below-ground level is a huge dirt floor large enough for the football and baseball teams to practice in inclement weather. Eight tennis courts are on the same floor. In floors above are squash courts and training rooms while on the upper floor is a huge area housing the basketball court and stands for 7000 fans. A few feet from the court is a complete indoor track facility.
Nugget trotted along side me one Sunday morning when I veered off my usual route to walk to the back side of this huge building. Cars were parked up and down the hill and in the parking lot beyond. What possibly could be happening at 7:30 am on a Sunday morning at Jadwin? Certainly it wasn't a basketball game or squash tournament.
A large basement doorway was open, large enough to drive in a big truck. I stepped inside to see a totally unexpected sight of young women in horse show regalia riding their horses around the outside perimeter of the dirt floor. I climbed up some steps so as to look down on the scene of perhaps 30 horses and riders warming up for a horse show. Around and around they trotted as maintenance men moved different hurdles into place. After watching for ten minutes, Nugget strained at her leash watching the horses so we departed so as not to disturb them. My decision to alter my route and explore the rear of the building had provided me an unexpected and pleasurable experience.
