Why and how to walk 200 miles
The reason for, and logistics of, weeks-long treks
I’ve done nine long multi-city treks (over a hundred miles) that are intellectually and logistically different from the majority of my trips focused on exploring one city by foot. I’ve done these long hikes three times in Japan1, twice in England2, and once each in Germany3, France4, the Netherlands5, and Belgium6.
My prior pieces on why I walk, how to walk, and how to travel have centered on those stays in one-city trips and I’ve gotten a lot of questions from readers about the logistics of these longer treks, so I’ll do my best here to answer those questions, as well as my thoughts about the differences in what I learn from them.
Why do these long walks?
As I wrote before, while walking is “certainly not the most efficient way to see a city, it is the most pleasant, insightful, and human. I don’t think you can know a place unless you walk it, because it isn’t about distance, but about content,” which is true of not only cities, but also a country.
Getting from Dortmund to Duisburg in two days by foot might seem pointless when you can do it in a half hour by train, but “it's not the destination, it's the journey” holds deeper truths than most cliches. Travel for me is almost entirely about learning, mostly about other people and cultures, with a focus on how we humans organize as the social animals we are. While you can get that from books, that process is filtered through other people’s eyes, and is also a narrow and dangerously formulaic way to understand the world.
Interacting with the world, as you have to do when walking, is an organic way to understand, one grounded in experience. It is also a more stochastic method of education, since you can’t predict what, or who you’ll encounter.
I’ve been reading the anthropologist James C Scott’s book Seeing like a State, about top-down ways of knowing, and in the last chapter he writes about the concept of metis, or “a form of practical knowledge, intelligence, and resourcefulness rooted in experience and context.” He believes that metis is a “better” way of knowing, at least when applied to urban design, agriculture, and other fields.
He contrasts that (in this and other works) with the more codified and formal techne, which is basically book learning.
To steal from a blog post, the definitions are roughly,
Techne is technical, scientific, and formal knowledge. It describes methods, procedures, and rules that can be systematically learned and applied. It tends to be codified, explicit, formal, standardized, top-down, abstracted, generalized, and universally applicable.
Metis is practical, experiential, tacit knowledge. It’s the accumulated wisdom or know-how that comes from practice or lived experience. It entails adaptability and the ability to respond intuitively in context. It tends to be local, situational, informal, decentralized.
As a guy with a PhD in physics who reads thick non-fiction in my spare time, I clearly value techne, but I firmly and adamantly believe metis is as valuable, and at times a superior, way to know, and might be the correct way to arrive at the capital t Truths of our world. At least it is the approach that will get us as close as humans can ever get to understanding the big questions.
It certainly is a better way of learning about what I care most about, which is what makes us humans human, which in my mind can’t be divorced from the social because that is one of our defining traits as a species, and metis is what dominates social interactions, and has for almost all of history, outside of modern universities.
Walking, especially very long distances, is not only about acquiring metis knowledge, but is also about learning what the metis of a certain culture is.
What struck me most while reading Seeing like a State was how much I agreed with the chapters on urban planning, which claim cities are more functional, at a human level, when designed via metis, from the bottom up, rather than via techne from the top down. There were large parts I could have written.
Cities better serve the residents when there isn’t a master plan or smothering regulation, but rather where the growth is allowed to be ad-hoc, which regulators see as chaos instead of self organized flourishing. They make the same mistake with interstice spaces which they see as something to fix by regulating them, or filling them in, rather than as small self-organized spaces for contemplation, or whatever else might go in them.
My treks have all been through highly urbanized regions, mostly river valleys with strings of cities formed when boats were the quickest transport, both out of logistical necessity, but also because I like to be around people.
These routes have plenty of “dead spaces,” miles-long tracts that either serve as the supply grounds for the cities, or once-rural areas that have lost their appeal as the city encroaches.
I’ve grown to have a fondness for these not quite urban, not quite suburban, not quite rural, ugly ducklings. They are the liminal spaces of our built world that are far more alive than they might seem, and they are under-appreciated necessities, the supply chain nodes that nobody wants to look at but every region requires to be operational.
To stretch the words beyond their meaning, these spaces also exist in a state of equal metis and techne, both in operation and organization. They are the transition between the rural, where metis historically has dominated, and the urban, where techne now dominates, although it hasn’t always.
That mixture is in my view the way to approaching any question, be it urban design, how to live, what is Truth, and why are on this earth in the first place. You can’t crack the big nuts, if you can ever crack them, unless you come at them from both intellectual directions, because they are the two primary ways we have evolved into living, and knowing.
Or maybe that’s my bias showing, because that is how I approach the world, which is to walk long distances, then when done, sit in a bar, or 7-Eleven, and read books until I pass out from fatigue and get up and do it all over again.
I don’t want to leave readers with the impression I am a completely soulless egghead. I also enjoy these long walks for the hours I’m in nature, which provide the type of deep serene calm that can only come from being surrounded by majestic views.
Although I have little interest in week-long hikes through mountains, forest, and fields of amber grain, because beyond a few moments of, “Oh isn’t that stunning,” I’m left bored and find myself putting in my ear buds to listen to an audio book, but walks of a day or two that require engaging with nature in a way people have for the bulk of time, that is having to worry about thorns, rain, lighting, and even the occasional wild animal, can be exhilarating. And yes, educational.
Probably the most memorable walks I’ve had in the past four years were in rural England, through the Peak district and along the cliffs between Dover and Brighton, because the nature is both large enough to define the walk, but also contained enough that there’s always an English pub, one of the true peaks of civilization, at most five hours away.
Where to walk
Walking two hundred miles in two weeks means carrying all my stuff, which means the lighter the better, which means no camping gear, which means having a room to stay in at least every thirty miles7, which limits these treks to highly urbanized regions with high density in wealthy countries, which is the United States, Europe, and Japan8.
I also want access to trails, paths, and bike lanes, so I don’t end up walking for hours along the side of busy roads, as well as an extensive public transport system so if I get injury I’m not stranded, which further limits the possibilities, and excludes a lot of the US.
The routes that fit all of these requirements ends up being a map of world industrialization, which is mostly river valleys, or in the case of the Netherlands and Belgium, networks of canals.
These long navigable rivers have been central to the development of our modern world, and once you begin to walk them, you see up close how topography has shaped how we live. We really are a product of our geography.
The lack of good walking routes in the United States is because we are a very large country and have placed cars at the top of our transportation pyramid, and pedestrians at the very bottom. We have the space and geography to sprawl, and we have, and we’ve done most of that sprawling after the invention of the automobile.
Latin America’s lack of long walks is partly about geography, partly about size, but not only that. It’s another indicator, and an indictment, of their decades long under achievement, and what I see as the primary reason for that, which is a continent wide culture of low trust which Argentina exemplifies.
It is the same with almost all of Africa. As I’ve written before, walkablity isn’t only about infrastructure and density, but also about crime, and there simply isn’t the infrastructure and safety to do two-week-long walks in almost all of Latin America or Africa. That however doesn’t stop many locals from walking very long distances, as I saw at the Namugongo Martyrs Shrine, where groups who make pilgrimages of over four-hundred miles come to be there9. In many cases people make these treks, not just despite the hardships, but because of them, forced by a desperation to do what we humans have been doing forever, which is walk walk and walk some more.
Choosing the exact route
Once I’ve narrowed down a possible trek, I go to the maps to plot out a route. I use two sources, Waymarked trails, and Google Maps.
While Google Maps is an absolute godsend for planning a trek, its direction function doesn’t understand the realities of walking. It will send you down shoulder-less roads that are simply unsafe to walk, so you need to spend hours using the street-view function, to drop pins and see if that street it says is walkable is in fact walkable.
Waymarked trails is great for finding more rural routes, and to map out the walk down to the details, but it is really only useful in Europe.
For the UK, I use Slow ways, which is a crowd-sourced nonprofit that I am a big fan of. They deserve a lot more attention than they are getting.
Using these, I go into my treks with a rough outline, with the first few days pinned down, and then after that, it becomes less formal and more winging it, as I supplement my techne with metis, until by the end I am effectively taking a day by day approach, although with the caveat that finding a room to stay in on the weekends requires more planning. While booking a room at the last minute in England on a Saturday night can be tough, it can be close to impossible in Japan.
For lodging I try to find the cheapest place to stay which isn’t too inconvenient, because after twenty miles walking with a thirty-pound backpack, you can sleep in any bed no matter how uncomfortable it is.
Once again, Japan and England shine for this, which is another of many many reasons I think despite the obvious differences, Japan is the England of Asia.
How to prepare
Like for any physical task, you can’t go in without training, and if you go into a two-hundred mile walk without preparing, you are going to get injured, probably something to do with your feet.
Everything I’ve written before, on how to walk twelve miles a day, applies, but doubly so. What you wear really matters, especially on your feet, and you should never ever break in new clothes, or shoes, at the start of a long trek.
Because I carry a thirty pound pack during these treks the few weeks before my trip I start breaking in walking with the pack, building up my muscles, because especially when you get older, if you dive in without that tendons and muscles you never knew you had (hello sartorius muscle) let you know they exist and are not happy.
I will end this section with another plug for what I almost always walk in10, including these longer trips, which is Teva Hurricane sandals. And no I am not being paid by them for an endorsement, it’s just that I’ve never had a foot injury in them and I’ve gotten over three thousand miles out of a pair before.
The only problem I’ve ever had with them was the one time in Germany when they broke.
How to pack (very very very lightly)
I’ve covered packing in how to travel, which is as light as you can, but since I’m now carrying my pack, it becomes essential.
I used to be able to fit everything I could into an old college backpack that lasted close to thirty years and got me around the world about eight times. It finally gave out somewhere along a walk in Japan, and I had to switch. To replace it I chose a slightly larger pack, an Alpaka Elements travel backpack, that I am very happy with and would suggest.
I bring only the following (sorry for being so geeky, but I’ve got ton of questions on this)
Two pairs of pants, one I wear on the plane, the other rolled into a log and tied tightly with a hair tie.
Two bright orange walking shirts, again rolled up and tied tightly with a hair tie.
Two nicer “dress” shirts to go out in at night, because nobody wants to feel a stinky slob. Again, rolled up and tied tightly with a hair tie.
A bathroom bag that is a large ziplock plastic bag, again rolled as much it can into a log and tied tightly with a hair tie.
Five additional pairs of socks and underwear, other than what I am already wearing, stuffed and filling whatever small free spaces exists in the pack.
My laptop, its charger, and an Ipad filled with books.
An extra battery for hard times (you use the phone a lot for a map), and various cords all which I wrap tightly with hair ties so they don’t snake around, which I put in their own small zip-pocket.
An umbrella stuffed in an outer side pocket.11
Four plastic bags to protect everything when it starts raining.
A small double ziplock sandwich bag with five Tide pods, because you have to do your own laundry every four or so days if you travel this light12.
An international power adapter, and my camera.
For winter walks I add two thermal undershirts and my fantastic bright orange PrimaLoft packaway jacket from LL Bean. I can’t recommend this jacket enough. It is good for weather from zero to fifty five, and it literally can be shrunk into a ball and stuffed into the backpack when the temperature rises.
My MVPs for packing light are the hair ties, Tide pods, and the LL Bean jacket. The elastic hair ties I end up using for almost everything, and you can’t pack light unless you do your own laundry.
I also throw out socks and underwear as I go, replacing them with stuff I buy along the way.
If you have any questions, no matter how trivial about these walks, please add a comment and I’ll do my best to answer them.
I am off next Wednesday to Warsaw, where I will be for a week. As always, if you are around I would love a companion for a walk, so reach out to me in the comments.
My next piece will take a little longer to come, given the logistics of travel, and because I don’t want to write a piece about Warsaw after only being there a few days.
Until then!
The longest I’ve walked in one day is exactly thirty miles and that was once in England and once in Japan, and in both cases I did it in the summer when there was plenty of light and I started at 5 a.m. and ended at 5 p.m. and took plenty of breaks along the way.
Korea also has most of this, although it is more rugged and less pedestrian friendly than Japan, which is why I’m planning a long walk there.
They had come all the way from Congo. Which, given how rough it is to walk in Kampala, is an amazing testimony to their strength, and their belief.
I switch to Keene hiking boots only if I know there will be a lot of snow and rain. If there isn’t I stick with the sandals, even in very cold weather, where I wear heavy wool socks.
People have asked me why I don’t use a tarp and I guess I hate feeling like my clothes can’t breath and the thing about walking in the rain is you simply have to accept you are going to get wet and you either do it, or sit it out under your umbrella or whatever shelter you can find.
Always use two zip-locks. You do not want a burst Tide pod to spill out in your pack. You really really don’t want this.
Chris you might consider ditching Tide Pods in favor of laundry sheets (eg Earth Breeze, Tru Earth, Hey Sunday). For a small load you don’t need more than a quarter of a sheet. We traveled with them for 11 months and they were definitely an essential!
I appreciate reading this after playing vagrant for 17 days on the Camino Primitivo. I made it easy on myself... I had bag transfer so my little pack held the day's resources: water, food, journal, poncho, first aid, hat, battery, layers and rosary. Everything got used... so a good enterprise in planning but also maybe none of it would have been necessary if I'd gone without. In any case, whatever keeps us comfortable enough to observe the walk itself... that became my understanding. I've done parts of the PCT and long day walks in lots of places. Whatever, wherever... it's the sauntering through our holy land and remembering how it's all holy. Thanks for sharing all the wanderings.