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Frank Gray/The Journal Gazette
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If you were born in this country and have lived here all of your life, you probably think you know America. To the majority of us, America is the city where we live, most likely a big city of paved earth and traffic and stress.

Most of us, though, have seen only tiny parts of America, and even those who consider themselves well-traveled have only seen the high spots. We either fly over the great in-between spaces that make up most of the country, or we rush through them as quickly as possible in cars that seldom leave the interstate and have DVD players in the back seat so passengers don’t have to look out the window and notice the anonymous territories where half of Americans live.

There is another America besides the big cities and the tourist meccas, Joe Hurley has found.

Hurley, a 60-year-old retired newspaper columnist from Connecticut, remembers the America of the 1950s, when he grew up. But that period from half a century ago seems lost, replaced by a new everything, from new products to new attitudes and new beliefs.

Hurley wondered whether America has really changed that much, so he set out last March to find out – on foot – walking every inch of the way on what he believes is America’s oldest highway, U.S. 6, which stretches from Cape Cod on the tip of Massachusetts to California.

Sometime this afternoon, or maybe Tuesday afternoon (Monday is his day off) Hurley’s search will bring him to Indiana, or near the state line. It’s hard to tell exactly when he’ll arrive. When you’re crossing the nation on foot, you can only guess whether you’ll make it 15 or 20 miles in a day. Over the next few days he’ll be trekking along U.S. 6 in DeKalb and Noble counties and then just north of the Kosciusko County line, looking for the real America, or the America that is to be found here.

What Hurley has found so far is that there is a different America out there, a country different than the heavily urbanized East Coast where he has spent his life, where cities that started out as burgs 250 years ago have swollen until one city butts up against another.

He has also discovered that an earlier age is still alive – in the small towns that line the highway. “If you think the world was better back then, go to a small town,” he says.

The small town itself has come as a surprise to Hurley as he inches his way across the country, away from the metropolises of the East. He had no idea they existed, he said – towns without cellphones, because they don’t work; towns where lightning-fast computers aren’t routine; towns where televisions don’t bring in a zillion channels.

The biggest surprise, though, is the generosity of the people. As he walked through Connecticut and Massachusetts and eastern Pennsylvania, on one occasion in a driving rainstorm, only twice was he offered a ride, and one of those occasions was when he knocked on a door to ask if he was on Route 6.

Joe Hurley is a retired newspaper columnist from Connecticut who’s walking west across the country along U.S. 6. He’ll reach Indiana today or Tuesday.

After he passed Scranton, Pa., though, people became more giving.

He’s routinely offered rides. People call the police because they’re concerned he might be stranded. And people give him money.

Hurley isn’t looking for money. He’s writing a weekly column for newspapers across the country as he walks. But people offer it anyway, such as the young boy who gave him a banana and a dollar, the nursing home residents who took up a little collection, and the roadside restaurant where customers pitched in to buy him breakfast.
At first Hurley turned down the offers, but it was always awkward. Now he takes the donations, which are always small, and has learned to humbly say thank you, even though sometimes he knows he has more than the people who offer him aid.

Life is also slower.

“On the East Coast, everything is rushed,” Hurley says. “Here, people seem to have more time. Even in the grocery there isn’t the tension. People in line don’t feel compelled to rush because there are five people in line behind them.”

Prices are also cheaper, in some cases, he says, inexplicably cheaper. In a Coke machine in these parts, prices are about 50 cents. On the East Coast, a Coke will cost $1.25 to $1.50. It baffles him. It’s the same machine, he says. The same Coke.

Hurley stops along his march along U.S. 6 in Wood County to ask questions about something he hasn’t seen before – two giant wind turbines, the only ones in Ohio, each 391 feet tall. That’s good news. U.S. 6 in western Ohio bypasses most small towns. It’s nothing but a procession of roaring tractor-trailer rigs trying to get around the Ohio Turnpike and its tolls, so there aren’t a lot of stories to be had.

Hurley wonders whether they will let him in to see the turbines, but ends up getting a telephone interview with someone who knows all about them. That’s good news.

As Hurley leaves the complex, a car pulls up beside him and asks for directions. How do I get to the airport? The big airport?

We’re not a good pair to ask, he’s told. I’m from Fort Wayne and he’s walking from Connecticut.

“Walking from Connecticut!” the man bellows. “Here, have a glass of water.” The man gives him a new, cold bottle of water.” Hurley takes it ands says thanks.

After the man leaves, Hurley says, “See?” referring to the spontaneous generosity of strangers. “I’m getting better at that,” just saying thank you when offered something.

Hurley heads back to the highway. He’s still got at least 2,000 miles to go before he’s finished with his nine-month march. He’s looking forward to seeing ghost towns and Boys Town and ice cream in Davenport, Iowa, which is supposed to be the best.

First, he’s got to get past this stretch of U.S. 6 and its parade of trucks. Somewhere ahead is more of America.