Everybody Knows
This is Nowhere
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 57
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the distinct vibe of dudes whose evening
plans include a bar fight, so after a polite
interval Eric and I resume on our way.
B
y mid-December, I
decide to seek advice
from the experts. I
speak first with Cynthia
Elder, chief of business
development for the
state Department of Environmental Man-
agement. She gushes about Pulaski Park.
Located in Chepachet, its main en-
trance nearly at the Connecticut border (I
cross the state line on foot mere steps
from the parking lot), Pulaski is perhaps
best known for its ten miles of cross-coun-
try ski trails. It’s located within the larger
George Washington Management Area.
(The closest Dunkin’ is actually in Con-
necticut, about six miles away.) As Cynthia
promised, it is quiet and beautiful. I hike
for nearly eight miles, winding through
the George Washington Campground
area, and enjoy a peaceful lunch on the
bank of the Bowdish Reservoir.
Cynthia also refers me to her colleague,
William Walker, the supervising forester
for DEM. His general guidelines for the
most remote areas in Rhode Island are
west of 95, east of the Connecticut border
and north of Route 165. That encompasses
a pretty wide swath of the state, including
parts of Arcadia, Beach Pond State Park
and the Wickaboxet Management Area.
I make two trips to Arcadia, the state’s
largest nature preserve at roughly 15,000
acres, one of which is probably my deep-
est foray into the woods.
From late November to early January, I
cover many miles, walk many trails and
enjoy much solitude, but I never arrive at
a place that truly feels like the middle of
nowhere. Maybe it doesn’t exist. Perhaps
I’m expecting too much from a state
that’s so small and so crowded. Or maybe
it has more to do with a state of mind
than a position on a map.
Despite the futility of my quest, it does
have an impact on me. After weekends
spent crisscrossing the western half of the
state, forever in search of a point I can’t
seem to find, I crave that same sense of
solitude and discovery during the week. I
develop an ability to sniff out opportuni-
118 RHODE ISLAND MONTHLY l
APRIL 2020
ties for it and begin stealing moments of
it any time and any place I can.
After an evening meeting in East
Greenwich, I make a quick detour to God-
dard Park. Though busy by day, even in
winter, on a frozen December night it
offers enough quiet and seclusion to feel
completely alone (in a good way).
While killing time in western Cranston
during my stepson’s basketball practice, I
notice John L. Curran State Park on the
map. I decide to check it out. There are
scarcely any streetlights along the quiet
street off Pippin Orchard Road that leads
to the trailhead, marked by a tiny parking
area and signs instructing hikers to wear
orange. (You can hunt in Cranston — who
knew?) I walk a ways into the inky dark-
ness of the woods and could swear I am
somewhere other than the state’s second-
largest city.
My stepdaughter attends Girl Scouts
biweekly at a church in Warwick Neck.
They only meet for an hour, and it’s just
far enough from our house to make it not
worth driving home. I decide to use the
time to squeeze in a run, making my way
up Warwick Avenue and into Rocky Point.
You want solitude? Try an abandoned
amusement park at night in the middle
of winter.
There is one moment that stands apart
from all the others, however, and gives me
a new perspective on what it means to be
nowhere. I am running through a small
park near my house, which I’m deliber-
ately not identifying. There are only a
couple of miles of trails surrounded on
four sides by main roads, yet somehow I
manage to get lost almost every time. I
take a wrong turn toward a riverbank. As
I approach I see what looks at first like a
shed, and assume I have accidentally
wandered into someone’s backyard abut-
ting the park. On closer inspection, I notice
two tents flanking not a shed, but a shanty
and realize I have stumbled upon some
sort of homeless encampment. No one is
around, but it looks quite lived in, with a
cluttered table and a dumbbell set giving
the distinct impression that someone has
been here a while. I’ve been living in the
area for more than four years and pass
through the park numerous times, but had
never seen this encampment or heard
anyone mention it. There it is, a secret life
hidden just out of sight, proving that even
the middle of somewhere can be a pretty
remote place.