It may seem that walking is merely obsolete transportation, superseded by faster, drier, effortless means. But never indulging in a good walk may be a fate more sad than never knowing the joy of a satisfying meal. Cheap and available in at least some way to almost everybody, walking is a precious opportunity to examine the mind-body connection.
OK, walking is good for you. But how often do you walk just because you want to, and not because you have to? How do you choose where? Might you walk more if it were easier to take a nice walk whenever you have time? Word is out, walkable places are in demand. Ads for real estate and travel destinations boast all they can and then some about it. But both the Apponaug rotaries (ADA compliant!) and Benefit Street are “walkable.” Obviously, every human’s decision to stroll through, or avoid, a given place depends on something besides a technical appraisal of walkability. That something is what 2 Feet 2 Bucks wants you to think about. What makes streets fit for recreational walking or running?
Start at your door. Walk down your street. At the first junction, is there…
A. One or more inviting, low-stress route(s) on which to continue?
B. Any non-perilous route that leads somewhere inviting without taking too long?
C. A safe enough way, but the distance to anything worthwhile seems a chore?
D. No place to walk unless absolutely necessary?
If you answered A or B, is the answer A or B at the next junction? The next? Could you repeat until you have had a nice long walk? If so, you are luckier than many. But is it an actual walkable neighborhood? How much walking within a 1- or 2-mile radius of your house might you choose to do, even when you don’t have to go anywhere? If the answer is, “Not enough to make a habit of it,” you either seldom walk for pleasure or you take trips to a management area, park, beach, mall or walkable neighborhood in a city or town. Where and how you walk governs important choices about what to do with your mind for the duration. The physical act of hiking a woodland trail or scrambling along a rocky shore easily absorbs most or all of your attention. Striding along an unobstructed sidewalk, path or beach leaves most of your brain’s capacity free to wander or focus. When walking, if we do not actively direct our attention, we tend to look downward. This serves well when footfalls must be carefully chosen, or to forage, to hunt seaglass, or when distraction from inner thoughts or meditative state is unwanted. But should you decide to stop looking down you had best be among interesting surroundings and scenery.
If any of your attention span remains idle after you sort through the details your senses bring you, you are not on a nice street for walking or running. Nor is it fit if motor vehicles claim more than a minimum of your attention. Seen this way, walkable neighborhoods are islands in the way parks and hiking areas are. In every direction, sooner or later you reach a boundary, a barrier like a shoreline or railroad, or the streets all become too dangerous or ugly to go on. RI is lucky to have some pretty big islands. Providence’s downtown plus east, west, and south sides are a fairly contiguous, attractive walkable area whose size and amenities are rivaled only by the hearts of a few much larger cities. This and other sections of Providence plus Newport, Bristol, and a few others are an underappreciated asset. The job of transit is to multiply the destinations available to a walker by linking islands and shrinking distances within large ones. “Places you can walk to” should not only be within a mile or two of your house. However constrained by your own walkable island, if it contains a stop on a frequent, reliable bus line, your walkable world is big enough to keep you busy exploring for a long time. “Walkworthy” as opposed to merely walkable means you can do this: Start anywhere, put the phone away and “follow your face.”
Observe people and everything else. At each corner pause to ask, which way now? What looks interesting? Which way is new? What general direction am I going today, if any? Obey the first answer that comes. Repeat until you get hungry or you think time to return might grow short. Sometimes you will say, “Oh I was already here.” Sometimes not. Talk to a stranger. Let getting lost be fun. Eventually, take your phone out and see what direction or bus takes you where you need to end up. If you have never done this, you have been missing out. Walking is for noticing. Try guessing at stories behind people and things you observe. A weird little sculpture or found object tucked into a garden. A bird song that seems odd, even if you don’t know much about birds. Why does that house have such a massive chimney in the middle? What might this place have looked like when these trees were young? Foodie city? Walk around and be amazed at the cooking smells in even the most average neighborhood. None of this content was “suggested for you.” Did you almost forget you can run your own algorithms? How often does no one but you decide what you notice? It’s good practice. Walking can undo psychic damage done by too much screen time. This is why there’s a saying, “Go touch grass.” Speed matters when errands and commuting are nothing but chores to complete as quickly as possible.
However, speed is of limited value when travel’s purpose is leisure and wellness. If you count the rewards not in miles per hour, but in instances of delight, discovery and pleasure per hour you realize that almost all of Rhode Island’s beauty is revealed at 2 to 4 miles per hour, and only some at 30 to 70. It really does pay to walk. See you out there! •
I write what I know. I hope that people with different abilities (a gamut from runners, joggers, cyclists < walkers >, wheelchair and other mobility device users) can find the information in 2F2B inspiring and helpful even if it is not directly from their point of view. Anyone who finds their enjoyment of active mobility depends on knowing things not addressed in 2F2B is urged to contribute that knowledge for an upcoming article. Thanks!
Illustration by Georgia Oldham
