practice walk (33K) from Yangpyeong to Yeoju

Practice walks like my Wednesday-night-to-Thursday-morning 33K walk from Yangpyeong Station to the Yeoju Bus Terminal are essentially a shakedown cruise to allow me to see what I've forgotten and what I need to do for my upcoming walks. This walk was a good one, but it was mostly done in the dark, from 9:20 p.m. to 7:20 a.m. I've done plenty of nighttime walks before, especially along this very familiar route, but this walk felt more arduous than previous ones. Maybe I'm just getting older. The walk was also cold, though not at first: When I arrived at Yangpyeong Station, temperatures were still a few degrees above freezing, but right on schedule, at around 2 a.m., temps dropped to freezing, and they remained in that zone until after sunrise. There might have been a slight warming during the walk's final hour, but it wasn't much of a temperature rise. Sitting still in the bus terminal as I waited three hours for my bus meant that I wasn't generating any heat, so I started shivering; the bus terminal wasn't heated, and doors all over were opening and closing all the time.

So—what did I learn from this walk? I learned that I should've taken some things along with me to make my trek easier. Things like tape for my feet and Achilles tendon (to counter friction), a scarf (which I had cavalierly ditched at the last moment—big mistake), tissue to blow my nose (crucial!), and ibuprofen for my aching feet. These are all things I take during every long walk, so it was good to get this kick-in-the-ass reminder from Mother Nature.

It had been a while since my last time walking this route, so I was curious to see what might have changed in terms of construction, land development, etc. I was also curious to see whether the big pair of campgrounds that I pass along this segment would be open or not. As it turns out, the campgrounds seemed overall to be closed, which means the campground on Day 4 of my walk (near Gunsan) might also be closed. However, there were two vehicles parked out in the camping area with their lights on; these were either not-so-stealthy campers or just horny couples out humping. Private spaces are hard to find in a country as densely populated as South Korea.

I started off briskly enough, but I began to develop lower-back problems by the time I was at the 11K mark. Standing up after sitting down became a chore, and I was shuffling like an old man (well, I am an old man!) during the final 6K stretch from Yeoju Dam to the bus terminal. I had to piss a few times along the way; where I could, I used established restroom facilities, but in one instance, I had little choice but to do the deed en plein air. Which was fine: It was dark.

I was a tired, red-eyed mess by the time I reached the Yeoju Bus Terminal. The terminal itself was freezing since it didn't have any heating on, and the doors kept opening and closing as people entered and exited. Lots of breezes. I had to wait three hours for my bus (10:40 a.m. departure); sitting still in a chair meant shivering a lot despite my coat and the winter vest underneath it. But my feet were happy when I sat down and took a load off. Life is always about trade-offs: Suffer the cold but soothe the feet. The bus ride back to Seoul went by in a flash because I fell deeply asleep during the ride, which felt like a mere instant. I woke up in time for our arrival and stumbled out of the bus, schlepped over to the subway station, and caught a subway to my apartment. Got back to my place and soon fell asleep. Best sleep I've had in weeks, but I woke up too late in the evening to do anything.

For what it's worth, here's the complete photo essay of what was essentially a practice walk.

pedometer numbers from 9:20 p.m. to Thursday midnight

Friday morning. 56,870 steps total, but subtract maybe

3,000 steps for the walking I did after the trek.

As always, ignore all distances. My pedometer lies. It was only 33K, not 43K.

The map isn't totally accurate, but it is indeed 33K.

I rested a full hour total; ten-minute breaks for the most part, with a 20-minute break once I had reached the Yeoju Dam, where I traditionally sit and have a snack before doing the final 6 kilometers. So, if we do the math: 33K from 9:20 p.m. to 7:20 a.m., minus an hour for resting, means 33K in nine hours, or an average speed of 3.667 kph. Not fast, but about what I'd expect given the shape I'm in. These long walks always start out peppy and energetic, but I'm normally a shambling, zombified mess by the end. I'm lucky I managed to remain vertical. I did have a couple moments where I caught myself swerving drunkenly on the path, but sitting for a long period in the freezing air was just not an option. Hence the short breaks. It's sad, though: I used to be able to do 33K without stopping, and in the cold, I used to be able to do it without needing water or anything else.

Yangpyeong Station, with my train about to move on

down the escalator to the exit

Yangpyeong: "willow plain/meadow" or "sunny plain/meadow"

leaving the station and heading downhill toward the Han River

decorations

I'd hate to see a "dumb" bus stop.

first shwimteo of the walk

second shwimteo, immediately after

Haengbok (행복/幸福) + a character I don't know

Haengbok by itself means "happiness" or "good fortune," but I don't know the third character (reading right to left)... some form of the word for "pavilion"?

Yay! They've completed the boardwalk! Construction was an eyesore for a couple of years.

all glittery now

looking toward the direction I'll be walking (south)

new signage

Looking north. Nothing much seems to have been done to the bike path below.

"Charm(ing) Yangpyeong"

"Yangpyeong South Han River Terrace"

stellar cornucopia?

a new archway

the Yangpyeong Bridge (Yangpyeong-gyo/양평교)

I'm not crossing this. It's not part of the Four Rivers path and not part of my route.

Yangpyeong Bridge, 625 m in length, 12.3 m wide, constructed 1966-1971

Galsan Park

lowering my ISO, increasing my shutter speed

Notice anything missing?

In the above pic, the rabbit is gone. I guess they got tired of people's graffiti.

looks like something you might see in San Francisco

Ga + L + Sa + N = Galsan (this region's local mountain, I guess)

A new sheepie. Sickeningly cute stuff doesn't get graffiti. Unfortunately.

down the path, alongside the park

another cutesy spot, like during my recent 18K walk to Bundang

soccer in the distance

Soccer is not an American expression. It's arguably as British as football since it also goes back to the original name for the game: association football (Great Britain, 1860s). The (as)soci in association became socker, then soccer. The US, Canada, and Australia—guardians of the tradition—all call it soccer. The rest of the world stubbornly calls it football, footy, Fußball, futból, or le foot. Except in Korea, where it's 축구/蹴球/chukgu, literally "kickball" (from an old Chinese game), which sounds funny to Americans who remember playing kickball, the baseball-style kids' game in elementary school. See more about kickball here. Adult variants are also popular.

leaving the park and continuing on

This time around, I didn't take nearly as many photos. I normally prefer to preserve every detail of my walks, or at least as many as possible, but it was just too cold to keep whipping the camera out 300-600 times. So you're getting only 150 or so images this go-around.

Galsan Park has ended, but there's still parkland to pass.

"Danger! Watch your step: This area is frequently icy!"

The path goes right and down.

Most of this segment from Yangpyeong to Yeoju is flat, with a few gentle rises and ramps. But there's one hill that's a beast for someone in my condition, and it's coming up.

Even with the occasional shiny lights, the partial darkness is bleak.

In Korea, it's almost never completely dark: there's usually electric lighting or urban light pollution somewhere, often reflecting off the bottoms of clouds. And if you're away from cities, there's still starlight (which isn't visible near cities because of said light pollution). Finding your way through the dark without a flashlight is not hard in Korea. The only exceptions I can think of are certain houses at night and certain patches of forest where the canopy of trees can blot out the starlight.

onward

coming up on our first bridge, Hyeondeok-gyo/현덕교 (Present Virtue Bridge?)

As I've mentioned before, the term hyeondeok sounds Buddhist, like a monk's dharma name.

up that ramp to the bridge

Jupiter up top

I had to use my flash for the bridge to be visible to the camera.

the bridge's name in Korean: Hyeondeok-gyo

across

I have to turn left here

Different countries handle directional signs differently. In the States, we do what I think is logical by putting the sign before whatever turn it is that you have to make. In illogical places like Korea and France, that's not always guaranteed. In the above photo, note how the left-turn arrow comes after the turn itself. Living in a foreign country often means knowing where to look for things.

the left turn in question (see the arrow sign in shadow)

our big hill is coming up

starting up

I tackled this hill the way I tackled the hills last year: 45 paces up, then rest for 15 breaths. Rinse, repeat. Good thing it was a cold night: doing this hill in summer heat would almost certainly kill me.

the village of Andeok-ni (written "Andeok-ri," but pronounced Andeong-ni)

up, up, up

There were a lot more barking dogs this time around, including while I was going up this hill. Most Korean dogs are horrible watchdogs, not barking until I'm right up on their property, but some dogs bark while I'm still distant. I respect those ones.

relentlessly upward

whew... almost at the top

starting down the steep descent on the hill's opposite side

distant row of lights = Ipo Dam, several kilometers away

neighborhood, barking dogs in the night

the village of Gumi (Gumi-ri)

The bridge leading into the leisure-sports park has decoration resembling dharma wheels.

The saxophonist greets you at any time of day. 12:07 a.m.

Gaegun "Leports" Park

My Korean-fluent buddy Charles informs me that leports is a Konglish portmanteau for "leisure sports." I pass my education along to you.

public restroom guarded by a bull

This region is apparently famous for its beef.

Why they chose to light up the bull's ass and balls, I'll never know.

At a guess, the ass and balls are lit up to symbolize the bull's yang force.

walking toward the shwimteo where I traditionally rest

passing the cows, which remain un-graffitied

"My" shwimteo. I rest here for ten minutes and check my phone.

I have to go left to go forward. Keep the river always on the right. For most of this trek, anyway.

onward

I couldn't miss the opportunity to photograph this backlit shwimteo.

Ipo Dam, coming up.

Jupiter oversees all.

closer, ever closer

Ipo Dam's certification center

jangseung, in shadow

Jangseung are guardians, usually wood but sometimes also stone, that often stand on either side of a trailhead. They also sometimes appear in groups, as is happening here (and would be more visible during the day). I love the jangseung for their often-cartoonish, sometimes-mad appearance. They're usually smiling widely or outright laughing; my favorites are the ones with the huge, bulging eyes. You can visit most of my previous walk blogs, type "jangseung" into the search window up top, and find entries with jangseung pictures. When jangseung appear in pairs, it's usually a male-female thing; the male has the Chinese label cheonha daejanggun/천하대장군/天下大將軍, or "Great General Under Heaven"; the female is labeled with jiha yeojanggun/지하여장군/地下女將軍, or "Great Female General Under the Earth." Students of mythology and folklore know that divine pairs of sexual opposites are a pancultural thing, often reflecting what people have long seen to be the masculine and feminine cosmic forces all around us. Gnosticism had its syzygies; Hinduism pairs male gods with female consorts; the Greeks had their Gaia (earth) and Ouranos (sky); China has its yin and yang.

jangseung in the dark

stone jangseung with a sign in Korean saying 민족지킴이/minjok jikimi (guardian of the people)

playing with my lighting/shutter settings again

The left-hand jangseung says 문화지킴이/munhwa jikimi, or "culture guardian."

culture guardian, up close

the grounds by the dam

the observation tower-cum-coffee shop

a look across the dam's walkway

While it's always tempting to divert from the walk to do some exploring, I have to consider how much this is going to add to my distance, and thus to my eventual fatigue. Some people are healthy enough to just pop off and go exploring; I'm not one of those people. I make a plan and stick to it. It would have been nice to cross over the dam just to explore, but this was only the 15K point of a 33K trek, so I didn't divert. I have a ton of sites/sights I'd eventually like to explore... but not now.

Ipo Bridge (Ipo-daegyo/이포대교)

Ipo Bridge, looking right

passing under

A new building!

the tall sculpture that greets the campers who visit this campground

The sign says Narugujang chulipgu/나루구장 출입구, or "Naru Stadium Entrance."

But where's the stadium?

It's a long walk (but a short drive) up the road to the campground from the entrance.

I had wondered whether this campground was going to be open. Had it been open, I would have seen tons of campers (UK English: caravans) at the various campsites, but aside from two vehicles that had a sneaky look about them, there was no one. Closed. Will my chosen campsite near Gunsan (Day 4 of my walk) also be closed next week? If it is, I'll be camping there anyway, and out before 6 a.m.

a tributary flowing toward the Han

South Han River Bridge (Namhangang-daegyo/남한강대교), looking left

looking right, toward the Han

Looking straight ahead; I'll be resting here as well.

After this bridge comes a long, arguably boring stretch.

After the South Han River Bridge (approx. 18K into the walk) comes a stretch of path that goes on for about six or seven kilometers. I like the quiet, especially at this time of night (the above photo is from 2:34 a.m.), but I can see how people not used to this sort of walking might find this stretch unbearably dull. It's pretty much nothing but river-plus-farmland on the right and nothing but farmland on the left. Frankly, I sometimes find it dull, too.

But I found it entertaining this time. There were dogs barking at me from a distance, and the dinosaur croak of some gawky, long-legged bird (egret? heron? crane? I get them all mixed up). There was the weird, creepy yowl-roar of a neoguri ("gnaw-goo-ree"), or raccoon dog. As creepy as a Korean neoguri sounds (they live by creeks and rivers), the sound itself indicates the animal is being social and not hunting: hunters are usually silent unless they're pack hunters. I even heard the goofy cawing of a horny cock pheasant. Yes, I said cock. Anyway, long stretches like this one were made for marching songs and shanties to keep the boredom away. Too bad I lost my ability to hold a tune after my stroke.

a glimpse back and left at the South Han River Bridge

When the bike lanes are empty (2:37 a.m.), I usually walk there.

Normally, my ethic is: everybody stay in your own lane. Bikers, stay in the bike lanes. Walkers, stay in the pedestrian lanes. Don't be a rude fucker. But I have to say, the bike lanes are usually free of mud and pebbles; they tend to be better kept than the pedestrian lanes, especially along the section shown above. So when there's no one around, I prefer to walk in the bike lanes: it's easier on my feet.

starkly lit tree

wide shot for context

the red, crescent moon

looks white from a distance

trying again with my "pro" settings

I just can't seem to stay away.

Is my forearm hair growing longer? Am I growing fangs? Nah, not that kind of moon.

I didn't photograph most of that 6K-7K stretch. At the end of it, I can hear the roar of the second dam on this trek: the Yeoju Dam. The path suddenly veers left, then—at the glowing arrow below—it veers right and across a bridge, up a brief hill, and on to the final 2-ish-K stretch to the dam itself. It's almost a kilometer across the dam, and by this point, I was reassuring myself that I could rest once I was across. Crossing the dam would also mean going from the river's east bank to its west bank.

roughly, "Yeoju Bike Route"

the bridge to cross (phone cam's "night" setting, different from the "pro" setting)

Despite the slight ambient light, it was still pretty dark.

a dimly visible, modern shwimteo

another "night"-setting shot of the final footbridge before the dam

the dam in the distance

approaching the ramp up to the dam

1K to the Yeoju Dam certification center

Sorry for the lack of focus. A lot like my life, really.

the structure that I think of as "the Klan hood"

looking south at the moon and Sejong Bridge in the distance

across the dam

too dark to get a good shot of the Hunminjeongeum on this side

the Yeoju Dam certification center

The first time I do any long path, I always collect the stamps that you can get at these certification centers. They're all red, phone-booth-like structures that you can step into; they come equipped with rubber stamps and ink pads that remain miraculously wet (and never seem to get stolen), and if you're a biker with an official passbook, you can place a stamp inside the passbook as evidence that you did in fact pass by that way. The stamps are of interest to me only the first time I pass by a given certification center; after that, it's enough simply to know that I've been by. Because I've done this particular route so many times, I have no interest in collecting another stamp. A photo will suffice.

Hunminjeongeum on the other side

This side is better lit.

Sitting on my traditional bench, photographing the dam.

Six more kilometers to go. This is the 27K mark of my trek. At this point, I'm feeling more relaxed because the walk is winding down to its conclusion. In 3 km, I'll be at the footbridge that marks the 30K point, a psychologically significant landmark. After that, the rest of the walk is all in town, not nearly as pretty as what had come before. But I like Yeoju as a city; it's got plenty of history and lots to offer. I haven't seen one thousandth of it, just as I haven't seen one ten thousandth of Seoul despite having lived there for over twenty years.

This time around, though, I'm achy as hell and wishing I had brought some ibuprofen. Standing up from my bench is something I don't want to do, but I know I have to keep going if I don't want to freeze. Stopping anywhere for too long, in this weather, is a recipe for the shivers. So I push myself to my feet, mentally grumbling the entire time, and once again shamble forward like an automaton, tired but determined to finish. It's like this for every walk I do that's over 30K in length. And Day 1 of next week's walk is 40K, with a 34K walk on Day 4. Yay. Luckily, Day 5 is the final day, and it's relatively short.

starting up the rise, past the dam, and toward the moon

Construction in this area seems not to have gone forward at all.

earth mover or excavator in the dark ("night" setting)

the walls of mystery

led on by the green faerie lights

my "beacon building"

The building in the above photo is significant because I normally see it from a distance back during the "boring" 6K-7K stretch. It's a landmark that means I don't have much farther to go, so it gives me hope. It's funny too, to see how the building at first doesn't seem to change size much even as I'm approaching it. Such is the nature of optics, I guess. In fact, the building initially seems tantalizingly close—closer than it actually is. Most large objects and landmarks are like that, I've found. You can't allow your hopeful brain to be seduced by such things, or you'll become impatient and frustrated during your walk. Just take it all in, step by step.

it's obviously a bit after sunrise (6:21 a.m.)

approaching Sejong Bridge (Sejong daegyo/세종대교)

Sejong Bridge (Sejong daegyo/세종대교) marks the point where we move from greater Yeoju City to downtown Yeoju. Once I cross under that bridge and find myself at the footbridge into downtown, I'll be at the 30K mark of my trek.

Sejong Bridge, and one of my final looks at the moon

The blue paint spatters on the ground suggest a story of some kind.

past Sejong Bridge, up a final hill, and over to the footbridge, the final big landmark on my trek

The footbridge!

Almost there. And it's still freezing despite the appearance of the sun. (6:39 a.m.)

a second "vee" of geese, flying vaguely north for the end of winter

A first "vee" of geese passed overhead before I had the wit to pull out my camera. Lucky for me, a second flock came by, and I snapped two images despite stiff, frozen fingers.

the same vee

And here we are: the 30K mark. Three more kilometers to go.

The Hari Footbridge.

Normally, the generic term for footbridge is yukgyo, but in Korean, the above name plate calls this a bodogyo/보도교. The word bodo/보도 is from the Sino-Korean 步道, meaning "step-way." So: a pedestrian bridge. Yukgyo, bodogyo—poh-TAY-toh, poh-TAH-toh.

Et on traverse.

The boardwalk that used to be here has been ripped out. I imagine it'll be replaced. Rising sun in the distance.

I tried capturing this with a lower ISO and a faster shutter speed, but the sun basically disappeared, so this is the only sunrise shot you're getting.

I don't think I've ever photographed this before. Tank...?

Sorry for the unprofessional tilt.

After about 1.5 km, I pass City Hall. My cue to turn right and into town, toward the bus terminal.

There's always construction.

At last, we come to the end.

Puffy cheeks, puffy (red) eyes, puffy fatigue. The look of a man who had to urinate in the dark. The horror.

Back at my apartment: hat head. All that gray.

Thus ended my 33K practice walk. Sleepy bus ride back to Seoul, sleepy subway ride to my place, sleepy schlep up the stairs, then a too-long "nap" until 8:30 in the evening. I had thought I'd do a practice walk with my backpack on Friday (which it technically is as I'm writing this), but I believe I'll save the walk for Saturday. I then train out to Daejeon on Sunday, and the official walk starts on Monday, going from March 16 to March 20.