HIKE EVERY CITY: Chapter 1

A cathartic, cardio-forward return to Philly

Back in late March, when my Covid-19 infection was at its most perspiratory, I had a vivid fever dream that involved two special places—the White Mountains, and Philly. I assumed that while my immune system was busy fighting that ripper of a virus, my mind retreated to toastier memories. Making the long climb to Nancy Cascades, or savoring some Sichuan dry pepper chicken takeout in Rittenhouse Square. I was left with a primal urge to pay a visit to both places. As my headaches subsided, I went to the White Mountains for a Mud Season weekend that involved waterfall hikes. And I decided to kick off my HIKE EVERY CITY tour of northeast cities in good old Philly.

The gist of HIKE EVERY CITY is simple. I go to cities and hike a self-designed urban hiking “trail” across green spaces in each of them. (For a quick primer on how to use Google Maps and AllTrails to identify green space connections, see last year’s primer on how to design a hiking route when visiting any city.) Philly presented an interesting challenge. Some cities like Seattle or Cleveland have large green spaces distributed throughout the city area, so that you’re never too far away from grass and trees. Philly is different. Its flagship green spaces are enormous. But so are the dense residential sections of the city, where finding a micro parklet is like stumbling upon a moist well in the desert. So how do you pull off a green space hike across a major city like this?

For my Philly hike, I focused on two XXL natural features. First, Wissahickon Valley Park, a 2,000+ acre gorge in northwestern Philly featuring rugged hiking trails and a rippling creek, and next, the Schuylkill River, which weaves through the city center and is flanked by a wildly popular bike path. And for a connective link between the gorge and the river, I set my sights on Fairmount Park, a gigantic urban park bisected by the Schulykill, with gardens and mountain biking trails. My hiking plan began to emerge:

- Enter Wissahickon Valley Park from the north side and hike all the way through the gorge to its southern terminus at the Schuylkill River.

- Cross the Schuylkill and traverse Fairmount Park’s maze of walking and biking trails.

- Re-cross the river and follow the Schuylkill River Trail to Philly’s Museum District.

- Climb the “Rocky stairs” at the Philadelphia Art Museum (the Mount Katahdin of the hike, if you will) and conclude the day with a banger view of Philly’s Center City.

I called my route the “Through The Woods, Over The River Trail.” Total distance: 13.9 miles, with almost 1,200 feet of vertical elevation gain. (CLICK HERE for a trail map.)

Rescheduling this hike from April to May due to Covid turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I awoke to glorious mid-70s temperatures and sun in South Philly, where I was staying in the imperial suite of my friends Robert and Lisa (who put Gloucester’s Dogtown on my radar last year.) May is easily one of the greatest months for an urban hike in the northeast, before the summer humidity turns the cityscape into a concrete broiler. I hopped on a bus to nearby Temple University, caught the 8:10am commuter train to Highland station on the city’s northwest side, and after swinging by Chestnut Hill Coffee Co to push a sugary almond croissant into my face, I followed Rex Avenue to the entrance of Wissahickon Woods. Coffee in one hand, a printed map in the other (you can print your own maps from AllTrails!) I felt like I was entering the maw of a Cthulu-sized monster made of deciduous trees, as pavement faded to dirt and stone.

Wissahickon Valley Park offers trails for visitors of different tastes and abilities, including a charming bike path along the creek at the bottom of the gorge. But for the sake of getting a real smack in the face from Philly, I opted for a combination of the Orange and White Trails, which scramble up and down the steep, richly wooded gorge slopes. I was grasping at nearby tree limbs to negotiate dodgy terrain, especially as I descended to Devil’s Pool, a jade body of water hidden between craggy walls. Soon after, I climbed winding stone stairs to reach the Fingerspan Bridge, a cage-like metal bridge tacked onto a cliffside that allows you to look down and admire a 40-foot drop to the creek. It was designed by Philly sculptor Jody Pinto, after the city’s Association for Public Art invited creators to submit their ideas for functional art in Wissahickon.

As I reached the southern section of the gorge, glutes searing, I crossed the creek on a stone bridge and followed the Yellow Trail higher into the woods. To my relief, the path became smoother and less riddled with trip hazards. But there was an irony to this space too. The north half of the gorge had been pleasantly busy with hikers and cyclists, while the southern woods were much quieter and sparsely used. And yet, signs of civilization slowly came into view: golf courses and ball fields at the edge of the woods. Bridges that spanned the gorge, from which I could hear the roar of cars as I passed beneath the bridge arches the trail. Even when the path emerged from the forest and wandered past the backyards of several houses, I didn’t see a soul. But a couple of lawn chairs staged beside the trail, at the edge of one yard, suggested that residents were fondly aware of the trail that ran past their domicile. Maybe they sit out here on sultry evenings with a glass of wine, watching wheezing, sweaty hikers go by, in the same way that you or I might look at roving Canada Geese from a park bench.

A startlingly steep descent down stairs, back to the bottom of the gorge, took me to the point where Wissahickon’s creek spills into the Schuylkill River. I had traversed the woods! And my right knee was feeling a bit ornery. Not ready to throw in the towel just yet, I took a half mile detour from the trail to Wissahickon Brewing Company, where I felt obliged to order the Devil’s Pool Double IPA and the cheesesteak pierogies from Mom-Mom’s Kitchen, an adorable food truck offering cuisine from Poland by way of Philly. Half an hour later, I was back on the trail and my joints were springy and happy.

The Falls Bridge over the Schuylkill River was a rusting beauty, but on the other side, I was confronted with Neill Drive, a road that offered no sidewalk on either side. And I had to follow this road a short distance to reach my entrance to Fairmount Park. The shoulders were wide enough to accommodate cyclists, so I zipped along as fast as I could, keeping my eyes peeled for cars. The road was surrounded by undeveloped woods and I saw no signage for park trails, which made me wonder if the AllTrails map showing viable paths around here had been inaccurate. But sure enough, at the intersection of Neill and Falls Road, a thin ribbon-like dirt trail entered the dense trees. I hopped onto the path and in minutes, I was in the middle of an electric green inferno.

Fairmount Park’s trails are shared by mountain bikers and hikers, and I honestly can’t remember feeling so pleasantly disoriented in a city park. At times, ambling on these trails, I felt like I was in a winding tunnel of leaves and shrubs—the sort of place where you expect to pop around a corner and find gnomes. It’s almost the park equivalent of a Rorschach Test. Some folks will find these labyrinthine trails fascinating and others will feel creeped out. I encountered cyclists and joggers on occasion, but for the most part, I had the trails to myself. The monotone rush of the expressways near the forest reminded me that I was still in Philly, but the Jurassic Park vibe of the woods here still evoked a feeling of spacey disassociation from the reality that I was in a major city.

That sensation of traveling through a leafy wormhole was shattered when I arrived at Montgomery Drive, a cross-park road that was unnervingly busy, with no crosswalk. (There are many things I love about Philly, but the dominance of cars is not one of them.) With no other option, I signaled that I was about to cross to an oncoming driver, who stopped. Then, holding up that lane of traffic, I signaled to the other lane. Three cars roared past me, and the fourth vehicle finally yielded. Cortisol surging, I continued into the park’s horticultural center, where I stretched my hamstrings in a gazebo, hopped across a chuckling creek on stones (the bridge was broken) and at one point, I climbed through a self-service entry/exit gate in a deer exclusion fence.

The sudden sight of Philly’s Center City and its towering monoliths was a shock to the system as I re-crossed the Schuylkill River via the Girard Avenue Bridge. Far below, I could see sculling matches being waged on the water, with the rowers heading toward Downtown Philly. And soon after descending stairs from the bridge to the waterside Schuylkill River Trail (which meanders 18 miles from Philly to Mont Clare) I arrived at Boathouse Row: a base camp for all the schools and colleges that compete here. And outside the UPenn boathouse, I ran into none other than Corlis Gross, a dear friend, former Appalachian Mountain Club coworker, and now a rowing coach extraordinaire. We hung out on the docks, laughing, updating, reminiscing, and bemused by the odds that we had just beaten, crossing paths like this. All of which goes to show, you never know what or who you’ll walk into on an urban hike. That’s the beauty of an active city.

The final push to the Philadelphia Art Museum stairs was a gallery of more surprises. On a clifftop boardwalk connecting the river trail to the museum grounds, I awkwardly squeezed past a pair of newlyweds having their wedding photos taken in the middle of the boardwalk. At the back end of the museum, I heard the chime of an ice cream truck and forked over $4 for a cherry flavored popsicle that suggested what Batman would look like if he were infected with rabies. (Worth every penny.) And as I headed toward the Rocky statue, watching tourists line up to pose with the Italian Stallion, a pair of GROUNDHOGS emerged from a stone wall on my right! Goddamn groundhogs!

Climbing the museum steps was almost a comedown after this beautiful trifecta of urban hiking encounters. But who could resist this final vista at the end of the trail?

I’m writing this from a cafe near Rittenhouse Square with tired legs and plans to eat that Sichuan chicken I dreamed of. Tomorrow I board an Amtrak train to New York for a TWO-DAY hike across Manhattan and The Bronx, which will add up to 28 miles. Two days will be enough to recuperate. My mind and body are ready. The cities beckon!