I launched a fun little project this winter called the #Wortley #SideWalkAbility report. If you’re outdoors a lot like me, you probably consult the Weather Network or your local radio station obsessively for up-to-the-minute conditions for roads, highways and even parking lots.

But they almost never mention sidewalks.

So I started pushing out a short daily-ish update about the sidewalk conditions in my neighbourhood, including a score out of 10, for the members of my Last-Minute Walk Club WhatsApp group and my five-ish fans on social media.

Several of my Last-Minute Walk Club members said the report was exactly what they needed for planning their winter walks. Others chimed in on accessibility issues. Everyone said it was nice to know if the sidewalks were icy or still covered with two feet of snow before heading out. It sucks to gear-up for winter walking only to slip and slide all over the place and realize you need to turn back and get your cleats. Or abandon your walk altogether.

I thought I’d stop the #SideWalkAbility report when winter ended. But as we ease into spring, it turns out that accessible sidewalks are important every season.

Here’s five reasons why:

First, construction season.

I don’t know about you, but I can’t count the number of times I get stuck by a ‘sidewalk closed’ sign and have to double back to the nearest intersection to cross the street safely. Why isn’t there a sign at the intersection before? I know it’s possible. I experienced it just the other day in my neighborhood: a ‘cross here’ sign at a safe intersection — with flashing lights, even — and then the ‘sidewalk closed’ sign at the actual construction site. So Very Helpful.

My friend Amber shared another classic construction fail. She told me about a temporary pedestrian crossing button installed seven feet up a pole — unreachable by anyone shorter than a professional basketball player — located close to a public school (not too many fourth graders with a seven-foot reach) and a popular non-profit serving folks recovering from brain injuries, many using mobility aids.

Second, the weather.

It’s not just wintery ice and snow that makes sidewalks, trails and pathways inaccessible. Rain, wind and extreme temperatures can affect our ability to get around too.

Just the other week we had a ton of rain. And then a ton more. The heavy rain totally flooded parts of the Thames Valley Parkway, a popular local paved pathway along the Thames River and my favorite walking route. But I didn’t know this until I got to the trailhead. I could have used a #SideWalkAbility report before heading out. Same goes for downed tree limbs or hydro lines.

Third, possums.

A couple of springs ago, I rounded a corner on the same trail and came face to face with a possum, his little face contorted into a ghastly, pointy-toothed smile. I couldn’t tell if he was alive or not, but he sure looked ready to bite. So I inched forward with caution and saw a thin sheet of ice covering the poor thing. The incident ended in a call to animal services but it would also have made a great #SideWalkAbility report to warn other walkers just in case he thawed out.

Fourth, people.

The joyful chaos of summer festivals is around the corner and that means road, and sidewalk, closures. Downtown flex streets become night markets, three-on-three basketball tournaments take over entire blocks, and enormous crowds of pedestrians flood the sidewalks and swell into the streets as they head to concerts in the park.

Much like dead critter alerts, it would be great to know ahead of time so I can re-jig my route if it’s going to be too crowded to get through.

And fifth, garbage.

Speaking of congestion, hip hip hooray garbage day! There’s nothing many of us love more than throwing trash to the curb, but please recycle your lids and bins off the sidewalk too. It’s a little thing, but it’s a big thing for people who roll and can’t easily get out of their wheels or hop the curb onto the street.

Construction, weather, people, possums, garbage are just a few reasons why I’m going to continue the #SideWalkAbility report year-round.

Here’s a few more. It’s the perfect volunteer gig. I’m passionate about all things walking and active transportation. I want to be useful in my neighborhood. But I don’t want to sit in yet another committee or board meeting. Turns out, I like my volunteering active, too.

Another beautiful thing about the #SideWalkAbility report is that it’s hyper-local, accessible, real-time reporting with the potential for direct links to city officials who can do something about accessibility issues. Anyone with a little social media experience can do it in their neighborhood.

And it could scale easily. What about a #BikeAbility report for roads and trails? Or a #RollAbility report for stroller-pushers, power chair riders, and other wheelers?

It’s clear to me there are tons of ways to execute this simple idea. I choose social media for now because it’s easy to use and share, but I’m open to trying other methods.

Would a web page be better? Is adding photos a must? How about video? What do you think about the score out of 10? (It certainly lends itself to fun emojis.)

So, how about it? Are you ready to become the sidewalk hero your neighborhood needs?

Whether you call yourself an active transportation activist, citizen urbanist, useful human, or no label at all, starting an #InsertYourNeighborhoodHere #SideWalkAbility report is a simple way to make our sidewalks and streets accessible to more people more of the time.

Don’t walk on by,

Jennifer

P.S. Stay tuned for my next post when I share How to Complain Constructively and Actually Get Shit Done. It’s something I’ve been wondering for a while…

Talking ‘bout a #SideWalkAbility revolution was originally published in Passionate Pedestrian on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I think my local neighbourhood buy-and-sell loves me. Just about every year I post gorgeous Canadian-designed ethically made winter boots for at least half what I paid.

Why does this happen? I buy great boots that fit. I go for a good walk around the store. I take them home full of hope. Then IRL, my new boots hurt my feet and/or don’t have the waterproofing or traction they promised. Another pair for the board.

I vowed this year would be different.

And lucky for me, a friend had a great suggestion just in time for my annual winter boot hunt: Start where you want to end up.

Simple answer: Winter boots that work. Now, how to get there? By understanding that the best winter boots for you fit your purpose, your weather, and your feet.

As a passionate pedestrian, my purpose is clear: winter boots I can wear on my current fake walk to work, on future walks to real work, and on errands and fun walks with The Last-Minute Walk Club around the neighbourhood and paved trails.

I’m an active transportation enthusiast and walk, bus or bike everywhere. Except in winter. Call me a wimp, but I don’t have the courage (or gear) for winter biking.

So that leaves walk or bus, and both modes demand sturdy winter boots with a good tread, laces for optimal fit and, because fashion, looks good enough to wear under dress pants or a casual skirt. Let’s face it, here in Canada we often don’t take our boots off when we get to our destination. It’s too darn much effort.

Our winter weather is a roller coaster. A few weeks ago it was solid rain for days and flood threats. The next week we got two and a half feet of snow in one day. Then it warmed up. Then the temperature plummeted.

Our freeze-thaw-repeat weather cycle requires the multi-tool of boots to keep our feet dry and warm in snow, slush and rain–and provide good traction on ice.

And here’s where most winter boots fail me, but there’s hope.

When I first encountered the rate my treads lab, a research team dedicated to solving this slippery problem, it made me think of the Tilt-a-Whirl ride at the carnival. Instead of spinning cars that rise and fall as the ride undulates, picture a boot-tester in a harness standing on the sheer ice floor of an undulating shipping container-like box.

Like a Carny, a researcher sitting comfortably outside the ice-box controls the ride. The boot-tester walks on the flat ice floor. The researcher increases the slope gradually, recording the maximum achievable angle, just before the participant slips. This angle translates into a score out of 15. Seven is a pass, and only a handful of the 450 boots tested get the highest score: 11.

The conclusion: Top grades go to boots with IceFX technology. Nine of the top 10 boots have it, yet only seven score 11, and all are men’s. The remaining three score 10, including one women’s boot. We’ve got a way to go to improve anti-slip technology and make it accessible for everyone. Here’s the full ratings list.

You’ll have many winter boots in a lifetime but only one pair of feet. So don’t start shopping until you understand the unique characteristics of yours.

I have a hereditary bunion on my right foot passed on from my mom, who got it from my nana. Mine is the size of a bonker. Compound this with narrow feet, high arches, floppy ankles, a misspent youth wearing buffalo sandals and heels, and my feet are a mess.

I’ve tried countless orthotics and good quality shoes to correct these particular foot problems for over 30 years. Yet here I am in my late 50s with countless shoes and boots bought, tried and abandoned.

It was time to get better foot and footwear advice, and last year I found it: A one-stop-shop that builds orthotics on site, fits them to my footwear (purchased there or elsewhere) and offers free follow-up tweaks as needed. My excellent podiatrist is also the first professional to give me advice on shoes and styles.

My feet have never felt better.

I’m happy to report I had a boot breakthrough this year. I bought winter boots promising “a warm, waterproof, slip resistant boot that’s comfortable enough for everyday wear” well before the first snow.

I’m delighted to say they fit my primary purpose: winter walking. They’re a 9-hole lace up hiking boot look-and-feel featuring a super-supportive mix of stiff leather and technical fabric. Also darn heavy, but I don’t notice the weight after a few blocks. Bonus: their classic style works fine with jeans or dress pants.

And they fit my weather. I’ve tested them in every condition, from bare pavement to rain, snow, slush — and ice. I think that ratemytreads.com would still give them a failing grade, so I use pull-on cleats (YakTrax and Stabil-icers are two brands I’ve tried) for traction on icy days. So far, no major slips or falls.

And most importantly, they fit my feet. My new winter boots have a nice wide toe box with enough room for that bonker-sized bunion and my orthotics. With a few adjustments from my pedorthist, right and left fit snug, perfect for long walks.

So, sorry folks. At about four months and 400 kilometers in, these boots are keepers. But don’t worry, I have plenty more that will show up on my local buy-and-sell soon.

These boots are made for walkin’,

Jennifer

P.S. Three tips before I head out for a walk:

• When you find winter boots that work, try sticking with the same brand for shoes and sandals too — you’ll have better luck finding the same fit
• Ditto socks. I buy SmartWool socks in one style and weight for all my boots (and a thinner weight for runners and shoes)
• It’s not too late to catch a good deal at end-of-season sales…

Let’s talk about boots, baby was originally published in Passionate Pedestrian on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Did you know January 15 is known as Quitters Day — the day most people abandon their New Year’s resolutions? I’m happy to say I made zero resolutions this year. And seeing as it’s almost the middle of February, I’m over the hump of resolution-y expectations. Winner! Woo hoo!

New Year’s resolutions come and go but walking is something that sticks, so when I came across the concept of ‘dailyish’ from writer and reformed productivity guru, Oliver Burkeman, I was hooked.

According to Burkeman, ‘dailyish’ means devoting time every day or so to something that’s important to you. It’s not, he cautions, synonymous with just doing it whenever you feel like it. “Deep down, you know that doing something twice per week doesn’t qualify as dailyish,” he says. “While five times per week does, and in busy periods, three or four times per week might get to count.”

“So you’re still putting some pressure on yourself but, crucially, what you’re not doing is expecting the rule [or resolution] to somehow force the action.”

Love it.

This year, walking, writing and growing The Last-Minute Walk Club are things I’m trying to do dailyish. Walking is my primary mode of transportation, so daily is pretty easy. As someone with a disability, learning to write with dictation software instead of typing with my fingers is a little more challenging. Even though I’m putting in dailyish effort, it’s brief, and I can only manage monthly-ish output. And as for growing The Last-Minute Walk Club, we’ve doubled in size (to a small but mighty 13) since we launched back in December.

I hope dailyish resonates with you too. It feels much more forgiving (and ultimately achievable) than hard-and-fast, pass-fail resolutions.

And for walkers, success is built right in. You get to do what suits you that day: a long walk or a short walk, fast or slow, sidewalk or trail, one buddy or a group. I love the variety of walks many of The Last-Minute Walk Club members are talking about. Some prefer super last-minute (ahem, usually me), while others want to schedule a regular gig. A few have proposed a one-way walk to a destination like the market or downtown, or floated an invite to join their regular morning route. Walking meditation? Silent walks are ok too!

Feeling inspired?

If so, here’s a little encouragement to take that first step: Think about what’s important to you about walking. Is it making new walk-friends in your neighbourhood? Carving out time to connect with a cherished friend you already know and don’t see enough? Getting some human interaction and great conversation in these still-screenful-post-pandemic times? Fresh air and nature? (Yes, even in winter.) Achieving your fitness goals?

Whatever your reasons, if you have neighbors with a love of walking in common, why not start there, perhaps dailyish.

Happy walking,

Jennifer

P.S. The Last-Minute Walk Club is a micro community of Wortley Village neighbours who live close by — a 20 minute-or-so walk away — and like to walk. We use WhatsApp to connect with each other for impromptu solo or small group walks in the area. Membership is invite-only, but I’m happy to help you set up a Last-Minute Walk Club in your neighbourhood too, feel free to DM me.

On swapping resolutions for ‘dailyish’ was originally published in Passionate Pedestrian on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Well, it’s official! The Last-Minute Walk Club has launched — with an in-person meeting AND an inaugural walk, no less. We kicked things off with a small but enthusiastic group of six people. Two had to cancel right before the meeting. Another wasn’t sure if their train would be on time, and I was running late. It was par for the course.

In the end, the four of us settled down to coffee and a snack at the Bicycle Cafe, the perfect place to launch this crazy idea. (And if you’re not sure what this crazy idea is, you can read all about the craziness here)

We started the meeting with an important question borrowed from motivational interviewing: If you got what you needed by the end of our time together, what would’ve happened?

One person said community. For them, The Last-Minute Walk Club is about building a micro community of neighbours walking with neighbours. Lots of head-nodding and excellent discussion followed. It might be neighbours you know and/or it might be neighbours you don’t know yet.

But getting to know more walkers who live close by is a big part of the magic.

Now, it was time to figure out the other parts. We looked at the top results from a quick survey completed by our small but mighty group. Although six results are perhaps not valid statistically, IMHO, they count because they’re all from the target audience.

Here are the highlights:

• 62.5% want to walk twice weekly
• 71.4% prefer one buddy per walk
• 42.9% are up for the occasional group walk
• 87.5% want to walk 5km/60-minutes
• 87.5% want to walk at a good clip
• 87.5% prefer the sidewalk, followed by 75% paved path and 62.5% forest trail
• 50% are available post-walk for a coffee or beer

Next, we segued into some guidelines:

We decided we need to live about a 20-minute radius from each other — the time it takes for a short walk to meet up at the nearest intersection. As a non-driver, it was important to me to ditch the fuss of cars or buses. I believe this makes The Last-Minute Walk Club more accessible for everyone else, too.

We decided the original premise holds: A last-minute walk starts with a simple message like: “Hey! Want to go for a walk at 4:00?” keeping in mind a 30–45 minute lead time from walk request to meeting up.

Once they had a match, we decided individuals would start a one-to-one conversation to work out the details: nearest intersection, distance, pace, route, whether to grab a drink or coffee afterward.

We decided that we’re ok with adding friends of friends — a bigger network increases everyone’s chances for a walking buddy.

Now that we’d roughed out the magic ingredients, our next priority was to operationalize this idea. After a brief discussion about text message pros and ticketing system cons, the group landed on WhatsApp as the preferred way to communicate. We pulled out our phones, exchanged numbers, created the group, tested it with a message and — miracle of miracles — set up the first Last-Minute Walk Club on the spot.

Honestly, if I had to figure out how to create a group on my own, I would have wasted the whole afternoon and still ended up calling a friend — proof of the magic of meeting friends in person and, even better, the magic of friends you get to walk with.

So, after a productive first meeting and some fine snacks, it was time to part ways. One person hopped back in their car to get to another meeting. The remaining three of us ambled home along a short stretch of the TVP from the Bicycle Cafe to York Street, then south through Wortley. We disbanded at a common intersection, having enjoyed a walk and each other’s company, looking forward to many future walks.

All in all, a perfectly imperfect launch of The Last-Minute Walk Club. I had my work cut out for me to sign up the remaining inaugural members (full disclosure: it took a few weeks). Since then, we’ve made a few matches and had a few walks. Now it’s time to grow (and go).

Happy trails to you,

Jennifer

P.S. I started The Last-Minute Walk Club with the thought that it could be a turnkey idea. This notion came up organically during our meeting as well so I’m documenting our steps to share in future posts. DM me if you want to chat about bringing this idea to your neighborhood too.

And we’re live was originally published in Passionate Pedestrian on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Make a plan. Change a plan. Abandon a plan. I don’t know why it’s so hard to get together with friends these days.

And I’m just talking about going for a walk.

Sure, there’s lots of reasons why plans fall through the cracks. You get COVID. Again. It’s raining hail the size of golf balls. Again. You’re just plain exhausted. Again.

It’s enough to make you want to give up — even on walking.

But a walk with a friend is what I often need most, and the fresh air, camaraderie and conversation always makes me feel better.

So why is it so hard to make a walking plan that sticks?

Maybe the pandemic made us forget how to hang out.

Maybe we have too many ways to connect about connecting. Do I send a text? Ping a peep on Insta or Facebook? Or do I — OMG — call and leave a message? It’s just plain ironic that we have so many digital ways to connect but can’t seem to make it happen in person.

Maybe it’s an age thing. Life seemed simpler in my 20s, 30s and 40s: school and work, family and friends, run/walk/yoga/bike, attempt to blog about walking. Repeat.

But then life got busier, and before I knew it, I was hanging on to the caboose of a runaway train called your 50s.

Time sped up. Close friends moved away. Parents got older. Kids in my life scattered across the country. Cars, fridges and washing machines broke down. People and marriages too. Work got more demanding. Disability came knocking.

Life feels so much noisier now, crammed with more memories, more distance, more distractions, more complications, more stuff — all the things that come with being on the right side of the grass.

And I’m grateful.

But I could sure use a little bipedal Zen: a long walk with a good friend.

Back in the day, I was lucky to have a couple of solid walking buddies and our conversations went something like this:

Me: Walkies?

Friend: Yes!

Me: Meet you in 10 minutes.

Friend: Yay!

Fast forward to present day and I want to replicate those qualities we shared — close proximity, motivated to walk regularly, pretty flexible schedules — only this time with a larger group of individuals.

I want to start a walk club. But not just any walk club. I’m calling it The Last-Minute Walk Club.

Now, how?

Here’s what I know: It’s a club in the sense that it’s a group of like-minded people, but also not a club — kind of an un-club in fact — because there are no dues or fees, silly songs, bake sale fundraisers or sitting for two hours on uncomfortable chairs in a stuffy library basement meeting room.

Think Fight Club for walkers but without the fighting. Or soap.

I also know it’s a club made up of a small group of friends and their friends. Don’t get me wrong, I love meeting new people but I love the people I don’t get to see enough, even more. For me, The Last-Minute Walk Club is a way to catch up with them more often.

And finally, I know that making it work is based on the serendipity of buddies who have the same time and motivation to go for a walk paired with a convenient way to connect on short notice.

What I don’t know are the details. How many friends makes a good-sized pool of potential walkers? What’s the easiest way to connect? Is there an ideal distance/time it takes to meet up? Who decides the route? What happens if you need to bail?

Part of the magic is putting this idea out there and seeing where friend groups take it.

So over to you, dear reader/walker.

If you’re someone near or far away who likes walking for leisure, health or active transportation, but finds it difficult to make walking plans that stick, I’d love to hear from you.

How would you create your own Last-Minute Walk Club? Where would you find your people? What technology might you use?

Let’s NOT make a plan.

But please do leave your thoughts and ideas in the comments.

The Last-Minute Walk Club was originally published in Passionate Pedestrian on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

It’s just a bridge, right?

Utilitarian

Pedestrian by nature

But so full of possibilities

That first step, I was wiggly with excitement

I wanted to run across (as-if, with these feet)

But resisted (it’s still a construction site after all)

So I strolled

And took in the view

Halfway, you can follow an entire length of river

Sparkling and dancing like it’s happy to be seen again

Before it curves East, as it has for hundreds of years

Hey! There’s a guy fishing

You marvel at how massive yet comfortable Labatt’s is

Solid old yellow bricks

Work yard full of modern trucks

Stop, and throw your tears over the side

(No one can see you when you’re facing the river)

Get an eye-full of garbage on the bank

Where the trees haven’t filled in yet

Look with anticipation at the crumbling bike path

And hope it’ll be new soon, too

Ahead, there’s home

Behind me, downtown

Still just a bridge

But each step across feels like a little more freedom

About a bridge was originally published in Passionate Pedestrian on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

So how’re ya now?

Those of you who know me know I’m a big fan of Letterkenny, a purely Canadian, quirky, creative and often crude comedy show about a fictional town in rural Perth County — population 5,000 — and the problems they face.

The list of problems is long. Unrequited love, turf wars between the Hicks and the Skids, challenges for Board Chair at the local Ag Hall, rival hockey teams chasing ‘ships. Even a haunting at the local bar (pickled pig’s foot, not skull).

If you think this sounds a bit like Shakespeare, you’re kinda right.

What I love most about Letterkenny is the wicked wordplay, the lyrical lilt, the bawdy humour, the fantastical scenarios and, seeing as it’s a comedy, a happy ending to every episode — even when that’s a good ole Donnybrook between the Locals and the visiting Citiots at a gay wedding.

To be fair, as pedestrians here in urban London, Ontario about a hundred kilometres south of Listowel — the real Perth County town that inspired Letterkenny — we face a lot of problems too.

Specifically, dog-walkers, sidewalk hogs, drivers who think a stop sign is a suggestion, fully grown adults riding their bike on the sidewalk. And geese.

Getting from point A to B every day can be hell.

They say the first step in solving a problem is naming it. So crack open a Puppers and read along, Letterkenny-style.

I’ll start with the dog walkers. Settle down haters, I want to be clear: I love other people’s dogs. Dogs are not the problem. It’s you, when you don’t stay in your lane.

Let me explain. Where I live, it’s convention to drive on the right side of the road. The sidewalk is like a road for pedestrians. Ergo, it should be no surprise I walk on the right-hand side.

So it bugs me when someone walking in my lane expects me to move. But mostly, it bugs me when they think I should move for their dog.

And don’t get me started on the poop.

Next, there’s the people-sized plug. You know, that person earbuds-in listening to a podcast about being nicer to your neighbours walking ever-so-slowly in the middle of the sidewalk who drifts from side to side like a goalie protecting the crease. They act shocked when you come around them on the left. Even after you holler a cheery, “On your left.”

Or the parent with the double-wide SUV-sized stroller that takes up the whole sidewalk. Sorry, baby on board! No room for you.

Or the good-ole-five-across, a group of people so deep in conversation they’re oblivious to anyone coming or going. We don’t stop for nobody!

What is it about all this sidewalk-hogging that gets my goat?

It’s the aggressive self-centredness that says, “It’s all about ME!”

If you think people are self-centred, try birds. Canada geese DO NOT CARE. They will stand/sleep/lounge right in the middle of the path. They will not move for anyone. They will poop everywhere, making our parks treacherous for toddlers and precarious for pedestrians.

This total disregard gives me a new hate for Canada’s most narcissistic bird. To be honest, I like them best in September, flying in perfect vee formation to Florida, just ahead of the retirees also flocking south.

Which brings me to another bi-pedal problem, literally. Let me set the scene: it’s a sizzling hot summer day. I’m walking along the path (on the right-hand side, natch). Thundering toward me is a massive group of runners spanning the entire width.

Then, out of nowhere, a cyclist with barely a skinny-tire-width to spare roars around the runners, heading straight at me. Our eyes lock.

Moment of panic.

I wave madly and curse loudly.

He looks at me like I’m the problem and swerves, crisis narrowly averted.

As I’ve said, I’m willing to share. But, see above, life is so much easier — and safer — if we all stay on our own side of the path/road/sidewalk.

And speaking of sidewalks, unless you’re eight and learning to ride a bike, stay on the road. It’s kinda the law.

And finally, there are people who could be pedestrians, or are sometimes pedestrians, but mostly drive.

Some of them badly.

Take, for example, the sliding half-stop or the “…but I stopped here last week Bud, why do I need to stop here now?”

I see this move all the time at a stop sign in front of a 30km/hr school zone. Hundreds of parents are dropping kids off at the primary school, gaggles of teens are shuffling to the high school next door, there’s construction everywhere, plus a few of us walking or cycling to work.

Nobody’s paying attention. Everyone’s in a rush. It’s a gongshow.

Which brings me to more bad driving, this time at a quirky four-way stop that’s got all the things NOT going for it: east-west is a popular thoroughfare, north-south makes an awkward jog, and the only other routes downtown are under construction.

Sure, all this chaos makes drivers pause and try to figure it out. They even look at the black lines on the bright yellow sign that show the awkward jog. Then they signal to turn left and drive straight through.

Proof there’s no good signage for a wiggle.

The beautiful thing about being a pedestrian is the shared space. Whether that’s the sidewalk, the bike path or the road, we’re out there in community along with other pedestrians, cyclists, drivers and the geese.

And despite all the problems, dangers and calamities we face, interacting with each other is the best part.

Take Chuck and Cathy, friends I’ve talked about a few times. We met like many walking friends do: you notice each other on the same route every day, progress to a shy smile or wave, then soon it’s “so how’re you now?”, followed by a quick chat. Now we share vegetables and the occasional beer on the back porch.

And Diana, new to our hood, now a regular. During our quick chats as we cross paths en route to work, I’ve learned she’s an amazing volunteer, busy most weekends tree planting or hitting the streets with 519Pursuit, an organization that brings socks, snacks and so much more to people living rough in our community.

Finally, there’s the dog dudes, two older gents with tattoos, earrings and dogs as perfectly weathered as they are. Just today we progressed from a smile and nod to saying “hi”, commenting about the weather (so very Canadian), and me asking if I could meet Dog Dude Number One’s dog.

“Yes, but she can be shy sometimes, and grumpy,” he said.

Me too.

These are the people in my neighbourhood. And like the folks in Letterkenney, we share spaces that are sometimes chaotic, often messy, and frequently tricky to navigate.

So what’s a pedestrian to do?

My friend Jane says let people be people, they will anyway.

I say learn to work with them when you can, and walk around them when you can’t.

Same goes for the geese.

P.S. Sadly, Letterkenny aired its final episode in December 2023. Happily, the team behind it has gone on to create Shoresy. Pitter patter…

Pedestrian Problems was originally published in Passionate Pedestrian on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

At 17.2°C, July 4 was the hottest day on earth ever recorded. If 17.2 doesn’t sound that hot, I’ll put it in context: this was the global average.

Here in southwestern Ontario, the humidex hit 38 degrees. It was almost impossible to walk, making me impossibly cranky as my mileage plummeted from 7 km a day to a short trot around the block.

When the weather’s too hot to handle, what’s a passionate pedestrian to do?

Don’t hit the hammock just yet. From walkin’ it old school (parasol, anyone?) to wacky and wonderful ways to use watermelon, these five tips can help you beat the heat.

Tip 1: Put a lid on it.

One of the most conventional ways to stay cool is to keep the sun off with a good hat. My favourite floppy bucket hat shades my whole face and neck. For dressier days, I like good old-fashioned straw. You can’t beat a wide brim, natural fibre and a loose weave — a stylish combo that keeps the sun off and provides airflow, too.

Then there’s one of the most unconventional, by today’s standards at least — a parasol. This beauty caught my eye at our local Pioneer Village gift shop. People have used parasols for centuries. Why not try it? Turns out they’re not wrong: the wide coverage shades your whole body, from face to knees.

It’s surprising and delightful too. More than once, people have stopped to tell me they love it. It feels a bit like a secret weapon: cute, effective and makes people smile.

Tip 2: Cover it up.

Hot on the heels of tip number one (wear a hat) is to cover up even more skin. My go-to is a super-light, hip-length black t-shirt.

After many years as a work staple under a blazer, it’s now my walking staple, popped on top of whatever I’m wearing that day.

Besides keeping the sun off, it prevents backpack rash on your nice clothes for you walk-to-workers out there.

Other good alternatives? A loose-fitting, long-sleeved button-up shirt gives a little more airflow. And if you’re out for a sweaty fitness walk, there’s smartwool or SPF-rated technical shirts that provide full coverage, and wick away sweat at the same time.

Tip 3: Get by with a little help from your friends.

I’m lucky to be part of an online writing group and many of these folks are avid walkers, too. We’re in good company. From Thoreau to Toews, writing and walking just seem to go together like coffee and conversation.

So I asked my writing peeps: how do you maintain your mileage when the temperature soars? To a person, they said: when the mercury goes up, the mileage goes down.

Although they sure had some good tips to stay cool.

One memoir and fiction writer who lives on Canada’s west coast deals with everything from extreme humidity to wildfire smoke. Her trick is to winkle a family member out of bed at 5:30 a.m. for a walk before it gets too hot. Daphne Grey-Grant, group leader and Publication Coach, heads to a leafy forest close to home.

Both also admitted to skipping their daily walk altogether and retreating to a shady tree with a good book. But as professional writers, neither can stay there all summer so they employ some good office hacks too.

Daphne’s lucky to have a treadmill desk but unlucky it’s located in a devilishly hot, top-floor home office. She works as fast as possible in front of a fan and a bowl of ice. She also pops her sheets in the freezer, putting a new twist on a good night’s sleep.

The other writer’s heat-hack is… fruit. The other day she wrote with an eight-pound chilled watermelon on her lap — not exactly practical for walking, unless you chop it into chunks and make ice cubes.

More on that, next.

Tip 4: There’s nothing wrong with being basic.

Water bottle. Pack. ID. Charged phone. Along with good walking shoes, these basics work for any walk whether it’s 90 degrees in the shade or minus 20 in the sun.

Now, how do you lighten the load, especially when it’s hot?

First, try a smaller water bottle. I usually walk for an hour, sometimes an hour and a half, and a tiny 8oz kids’ water bottle works great. Add watermelon ice cubes from Tip 3 above and you’ve got a snack along the way.

Next, match your pack to your walk. A fanny pack that goes around your waist — thanks 80s revival — will hold at least your wee water bottle, ID and phone. Speaking of ID, whether you’re carrying a fanny pack or schlepping all the gear you need for school or work, bring a visible card that says ‘my name is ___ in case of emergency call ____’ just in case you succumb to heatstroke.

Finally, lighten the load mentally, too. Stash your cell phone and simply focus on the sights and sounds around you. Walking can be about escape sometimes, not fitting in one more podcast, checking for texts, or running errands. That being said, some of my best writing happens when I’m out for a walk. Dictating a text message to myself sure is handy.

And inside those walking shoes? Try wool socks. I know it sounds crazy on a hot day, but they naturally wick away moisture, keeping your feet cool and dry. They also come in every style, from no-show for running shoes to knee length for hiking boots. Sure, they’re an investment — and worth every penny because they last for years.

Tip 5: Know when to fold ‘em.

Sometimes the weather really is too hot to handle.

Seniors and kids have the hardest time adapting to extreme heat, which can lead to heatstroke and even death. So, if you’re on the high side of 50 like me, listen to what your body is telling you — and that might be to give your walking routine a break.

Personally, there’s nothing I like better on a stinking hot day than hopping on my trusty 3-speed and heading for the bike path. Zooming along on two wheels delivers a breeze better than air conditioning and a view virtual reality can’t beat — in my case, a winding river, green cathedral of 60-foot trees, other cyclists and pedestrians (even one with a parasol!).

No bike? There are lots of other cheap-and-cheerful ways to beat the heat. Find a friend with a pool (free), head to your local lake (sometimes free), or check out a City splash pad (also free) or City pool (minimal cost, and often free if there’s an extreme heat event).

No water? If you’re lucky to have air conditioning or a cool basement, roll out your yoga mat for some vinyasa. Or, dust off those free weights you bought during the pandemic and get back to your at-home routine (ahem, note to self).

Pick up the pace.

Remember July’s record for the hottest day ever? We surpassed it in August. In fact, scientists say 2023 is already the hottest year on record.

I can believe it. In Northern Africa and India this summer, the combination of heat and humidity created 50-plus degree days, making outside uninhabitable.

After a few 38-plus degree weeks here in southwestern Ontario, we’re greeting each other with “chilly, eh?” while forest fires rage on Canada’s hot and dry West Coast and water bombers work in the far north to maintain a safe perimeter around Yellowknife.

Paulo Ceppi, a senior lecturer in climate science, says one of our greatest superpowers as human beings is our ability to adapt.

Even so, we can’t heat-hack our way out of this.

Ceppi stresses the accumulation of extreme heat events this summer are a wake-up call — and a chance to act. We’re continuing to emit large amounts of greenhouse gases and this is continuing to drive global warming, he said in a recent interview with CBC radio. “And the only way to bring this to a halt is to bring emissions of CO2 down to zero.”

As a single pedestrian, even a passionate one, it’s easy to throw up your hands and say what can I do?

As just one example, lots. By choice and by luck, I live in a community that’s walkable to local shops and work. I walk or bike for everyday tasks or take public transportation when I can’t. As a non-driver, I rely on the kindness of family, friends and coworkers for longer trips and compensate with gas money, meals, or coffee. I choose less: buy less, buy local, buy quality and make it last.

Still, I know none of these are enough.

Real change happens at all levels of government and it’s time to push elected reps to commit to policies and practices that will get us to zero emissions.

We can’t wait any longer.

Too hot to handle? was originally published in Passionate Pedestrian on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Five Man Electrical Band frontman Les Emmerson’s popular 1970s song ‘Signs’ struck a chord with many of us back then and still does today. Emmerson wrote the song as a rant against all the signs blocking out the beautiful scenery on a road trip along Route 66 in California, and the corporate America they represented.

Fast forward to 2023 and as pedestrians exploring our urban environment, you can’t get away from the signs.

If Les felt overwhelmed back then, I’d love to hear what he’d say about the thousands of street signs, traffic signs, lost cat and garage sale signs and sandwich-board signs sporting funny sayings clamouring for our attention today.

Not that signs don’t serve a purpose. They’re an important facet of our urban environment — literally and figuratively. Literal signs tell us to stop at road crossings, signal danger, and tell us the many places we can and can’t go.

Figurative signs are all around us, too. As the world wakes up for spring, snowdrops bordering gardens and bright blue Siberian squill blanketing the hills tell us it’s time to get outside for a good, long hoof.

So what effect does all this information have on our mood and experience when we’re out walking?

Signs, both literal and figurative, can be a welcome pop in otherwise boring urban environments full of pavement, concrete and honking cars.

It’s delightful when we come across a kid’s sidewalk chalk drawing, the first daffodils poking through last year’s leaves and debris, a funny billboard, or someone’s creative graffiti on a traffic sign — all things that have the potential to surprise, enchant and fascinate.

“The notion of fascination, the idea of curiosity and awe…we know that those psychological processes are really good for our mental health,” says Jenny Roe, environmental psychologist and author of Restorative Cities, in a recent interview with CBC Spark’s Nora Young.

Roe goes on to say that nature, street art and interesting building façades can also trigger these processes.

I’ll add signs to that list.

Here are a few I’m finding fascinating right now.

Funny signs.

I wonder if these guys were thinking of Les’ song when they made this one. There are signs that delight and then there are signs that surprise and delight. It’s OK to be funny, sign. You don’t have to instruct me or tell me things or warn me or give me permission. You just need to make me laugh.

Reminder signs.

Seriously, slow down. Not just for the kids, for everybody. My good friend Cathy — octogenarian, daily 10k walker and personal inspiration for healthy ageing — was the victim of a hit-and-run at a four-way stop we pass every day. Insurance covered the new teeth, new glasses and an ambulance ride but nothing can cover the pain, mental anguish, and difficulty of crossing that same intersection after someone’s hit you with their town car. Thankfully, Cathy’s got grit, for real, and was back out walking a month. So slow down. For everybody, yourself included.

Mixed messages.

Of course, signs serve a purpose. They help us understand important things such as the road is closed. That the bridge ahead is also closed. That the sidewalk is closed too. And look, there’s a pedestrian route if you just follow the arrows. But which arrows? Like Les encountered on his road trip in California, more doesn’t make the message better — or clearer.

Clear signs.

Feeling lost? The answer might be right in front of you.

Creative signs.

What makes us want to deface signs? I think it’s a ‘you can’t make me’ reaction to the general bossiness of signs, a quick and effective ‘stick it to the man’ move or perhaps a protest against boring efficiency. Most of all, I think it’s an assertion of person-ness: I am here, sharing my creative expression in the most public of art galleries, the street.

And be honest, a little graffiti adds just the right amount of zhuzh, don’t you think? Les would approve.

Happy signs.

What is it about kid art that makes us so happy? There’s joy and exuberance built right into the bright colours and chunky lines. Confidence too: I’m king/queen of the sidewalk. This is my art and I’ll share it with you, my adoring public.

Tomorrow’s rain will wash it away. The next day’s sunshine will bring the kids out to make more. Stable Diffusion can’t touch that.

Curious Signs.

Getting back to Jenny Roe’s comment about fascination, this one gets me every time. I’ve dropped in for lotto tickets, the newspaper when they used to sell it, emergency pop and chips. But I’ve never had the courage to ask about the art gallery. Next time I’ll bring a friend.

Heartbreaking signs.

To me, this sign says “I am here” in a society where so many feel unseen.

Natural signs.

The first daffodils poking through the debris of last year’s garden are a sure sign of spring. There can be frost, ice, or three inches of snow and these determined little buggers will poke their way through, aching for May sunshine and growing taller with each longer day. I love their tenacity, their happy yellow faces and a reminder that life is an inevitable cycle: we’re born, we grow and we die. The trick is to do it with this much joy.

So the next time you head out for a walk, look for the signs. You might just find yourself enjoying the same old routes in new and interesting ways.

P.S. Here’s the song that inspired this blog. I see you bopping your head.

Signs of Spring was originally published in Passionate Pedestrian on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I don’t watch The Walking Dead. Even so, as the popular series lurches through our collective consciousness, I can’t help being aware it’s about zombies vs. humans in a post-apocalyptic world and the complex social interplay that happens when people are fighting for survival.

So what do zombies have to do with walking? And worrying?

Re-animated corpses from the underworld, zombies are driven to maniacally, mechanically eat human flesh even though they’re undead and can’t feel or taste a thing.

Those of us in the waking world, however, are very much alive. But we worry so much about endless to-do lists, past arguments, future conflicts, what to eat for dinner and who’s going to make it (surprise: you again) that we walk around slack-jawed and moaning like zombies, and don’t experience life around us.

I’ve arrived at my destination more than once, not sure how I got there.

To be fair, we’ve had a lot to worry about lately. COVID-19, climate change, ridiculous grocery bills, social isolation, increasing homelessness, poverty and mental illness. In my hometown, calls for mental health support to 211, a 24/7 hotline for information referrals to social programs and services, are up 50% over this time last year. And we think we’re through this pandemic thing.

So what’s the antidote for us walking worried?

I might have just the magic elixir. Peel yourself away from the screens and come for a walk with me. I’ll lead you through an easy technique called five senses that my friend Marg, a social worker by trade, taught me.

It’s a simple countdown that keeps your brain and body grounded in the here and now.

And it starts with identifying five things you can see.

Today, I start with easy things: a red car, a stop sign. As I come around the bend, last night’s heavy snowfall blankets the forested ravine I pass on my walk to work (and my fake walk to work) each day.

Yesterday’s blue tent is gone. For a beat, I think the person sleeping there found a warm place to stay. Safe.

Then I scan to the other side of the ravine and see the tent nestled in the treeline sloping to the river. There’s a mattress stacked against one side, a barricade against minus 25-degree nights. As if the physics of that were possible. So no, not safe. Moved to the other side of the road.

Next, I take a deep breath, refocus, and listen for four sounds. On my typical urban walk that could be birds chirping, boots scuffing the pavement, the crunch of leaves or snow underfoot. Today, it’s super-cold and dry. Fresh snow squeaks like yipping puppies. The mailbox clangs as I post a card to my father for his 80th birthday. The crows ca-caw back and forth, plotting their morning business.

Finding three things to smell at the tail-end of winter is hard. The flowers aren’t out, the trees aren’t budding and, thankfully, the dog poop is solid.

Adjusting my scarf, I catch a hint of ski wax. The beat-up leather mittens my mother gave me are saturated with it. The smell brings back so many good memories of whole days cross-country skiing, shushing along groomed trails, cutting through fresh snow. Sparkling light filtered through dense forest. Beautiful.

Passing the highschool, the unexpected smell of aftershave jolts me back to the here-and-now. I didn’t think the kids were into that anymore but it seems youthful peacocking is alive and well. Life is good.

Touch also takes some creativity when you’re on a walk, but I can almost always find at least two things. Today, it’s the snug feel of my boots now that I have new laces, the burning ache in my left toe, the softness of the lining inside my winter gloves.

And then I’m home. Time for breakfast and the fifth sense: taste. Sure, I could bring snacks, but I’d rather walk in anticipation. Today breakfast is steel-cut oats loaded with chocolate, pumpkin seeds, spicy cinnamon, ginger, turmeric and a pinch of nutmeg, the sweet taste of clementines and hot, perfectly bitter black coffee.

Sitting at our kitchen table, I’m content. When I focus on life around me, everything else falls away and I lose myself in new ways to describe everyday things. This morning, I noticed the cheerful yellow and blue fire hydrant I’ve walked past hundreds of times. And the distinct sounds the garbage truck makes: the low whine as it goes by, the sharp whistle as the tires brake for each stop, the deep ka-thunk as bags, cans and bottles hit heavy metal.

Sure, I know my problems will be there when I get back home. But often a solution is waiting too, even if it’s a clear head and perspective that worries are like a fast-flowing river: you can’t swim in them all the time and it’s okay to get out and rest.

I love how Rick Rubin says it in this interview with Malcolm Gladwell about ‘The Creative Act: A Way of Being,’ the famous music producer’s first book: “If you have a problem…do something that takes your mind off of what you’re trying to solve and engages you in something else. And most often…the part of you that’s in the way of solving the problem loses its control over you.”

For me that something else is walking. Engage your senses along the way, and you’ll discover beauty, joy and fascination with every step. Your problems might just solve themselves.

If you get home and still have worrying to do…

Psychologist and blogger Nick Wignall says schedule a worry session. I know. I laughed too, more than a little maniacally. Which means I might need to try it.

Here’s how it goes:

· set a timer for 10 uninterrupted minutes every day

· grab a notebook or piece of paper

· write down EVERY worry, problem and fear — write fast, write messy and don’t stop for solutions, full sentences or spelling

· when the timer goes, put down your pen and tell yourself you’ll get to any worries you missed tomorrow

This free-flow of words feels a lot like mind mapping to me, something I often do before writing. Like a mind map, it feels good to get it all down on paper.

According to Wignall, that’s part of the magic: “By purposefully acknowledging your worries and writing them down, it signals to your brain that you’re aware of the most concerning and important issues in your life, and that you have a reliable system for staying on top of them,” he says, “…over time [your mind] will stop encouraging you to cycle over and over them.”

The Walking Worried was originally published in Passionate Pedestrian on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.