A testament to the strength and resilience of the human body and spirit

Dancan R. Jamieson
Ashland University

As a child, Tom Turcich had a morbid fear of death despite living with his nuclear family in a tranquil suburban neighborhood in southern New Jersey. At seventeen, preparing to “live the traditional quiet life laid out for me” (p. 2), a friend answered his phone and learned that their mutual friend, Ann Marie, had died in a jet ski accident. Over the next year Turcich’s life changed as he came to understand he needed to stop fearing and get out and live. He wanted to engage with the world and its inhabitants in an up close and personal fashion. Believing this meant traveling in the simplest fashion possible, eliminating all forms of motorized transportation. Even bicycling would not allow the intimacy he craved, which left walking as the only option. Though he planned to leave after his high school graduation, his mother insisted he earn a college degree before setting off. This memoir of his experiences is only made possible by the author’s mental and physical drive, a common thread that runs through all sporting activity.

The Long Walk has two overarching themes: first, bloom where you are planted; and second, take the road less traveled. Spurred on by Ann Marie’s tragic and untimely death at the beginning of life, Turcich determined to take the road less traveled, even though his first words to the reader are to understand that by doing so, they will never be the same. “For the sake of your happiness it’s best for you to stay in your hometown” (ix), advice he wholeheartedly rejected outright. Setting off on April 2, 2015 from his home in Haddan township, New Jersey, Turcich, just turning twenty-five, crossed the Delaware River on the Ben Franklin Bridge to begin an odyssey that resulted in his being included in the Guiness Book of World Records when he returned home on May 21, 2022.

Though he struggled with feelings of remorse for choosing the road less traveled, wondering about who and what he had left behind, ultimately, he acknowledged it to be the right decision.

Originating in 19th century Great Britain before spreading to Europe and the United States, pedestrianism involved staged races in which men or women walked either on indoor tracks or outdoor roads for prizes. Examples include the Bunion Derby of 1928, in which walkers went from Los Angeles to Chicago, 2,000 miles (3,220 km) away. In 2003 a race from Lisbon to Moscow covered some 3,200 miles (5,150 km). Now known as race walking, it became an Olympic sport in 1904. Though not a racer, Turcich clearly should be included as a sportsman. The Guiness Book of World Recordsincludes ten individuals walking around the world, Turcich being the most recent. To qualify the walker must walk a minimum of 18,000 miles (29,000 km) on at least four continents, not necessarily consecutive and with no time constraint. In eastern Asia during the COVID 19 pandemic nations closed their borders, interrupting Turcich’s plans until they reopened. By his own count Turcich completed approximately 27,000 miles (43,450 km): he walked on five continents—North and South America, Europe, Africa and Asia, missing Australia and Antarctica (the book’s subtitle and dust jacket erroneously states six).

During the 1960s, one of the most liberal decades in American history, folk music reached its largest popular audience with dozens of individuals and groups writing and performing classic ballads as well as protest and activist songs calling attention to issues in American history that needed addressing. While this high tide quickly ebbed in the 1970s, a generation before Turcich’s birth in 1990, two singer songwriters wrote songs with diametrically opposed lyrics illustrating themes in the American (and perhaps universal) experiences around which Turcich builds this memoir. I don’t know his musical interests, but I have to wonder if he is familiar with either Malvina Reynolds (1900-1978) or Tom Paxton (1937-).

In 1962 Reynolds wrote “Little Boxes” in which she parodied the post WWII American suburb, based in part at least on a San Francisco neighborhood. Except for the colors “there’s a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one,” like Long Island’s Levittown which were white, “they’re all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same,” stifling the parents and children living there. The boys grew up, went to college to become businessmen while the girls grew up to marry and raise a family, all living the same constricted, mind-numbing lives. Alternatively, Tom Paxton’s 1964 “I Can’t Help Wonder Where I’m Bound” describes a wanderer who never seems to settle. To prevent that restless feeling, “nail your shoes to the kitchen floor, lace ‘em up and bar the door. Thank your lucky stars for the roof that’s over you.”

In his opening paragraphs Turcich suggests that the traveler grows and changes in ways that outpace those who stay put, anchored to their lives and careers, their “little boxes.” Despite the author’s best attempt to explain the journey and its rationale, he is able only to offer a glimpse or a shadow of what took place along the way. Though he struggled with feelings of remorse for choosing the road less traveled, wondering about who and what he had left behind, ultimately, he acknowledged it to be the right decision. Though he wanted to share the experience as widely as possible, he realized that no matter what he wrote, it belonged to himself and Savannah, leaving only a sampling of what took place along the way.

Beyond an interesting adventure, for me a good book, whatever the subject, evokes memories of my own experiences. To cite a few examples, while driving across Wyoming at night it was so desolate I stopped by the side of the road, turned off the cars’ lights and got out. Turning in all directions I could see no lights, no sign of human habitation. It was as if I was entirely alone in an abandoned world. Multiple times throughout his manuscript Turcich writes of such loneliness, except for his four-legged companion adopted in Austin, Texas. Nearing Mexico, which would be the first of multiple foreign and sometimes dangerous countries, he stopped to adopt a dog for protection. At an animal shelter he met two Australian sheep dog puppies who had been found that morning, trapped and terrified on the shoulder of a busy highway. When one of the puppies climbed into his arms, he adopted it, naming him Savannah. Though probably not much good for protection he offered companionship, something more important on the long, lonely parts of the journey.

On another occasion, a sheriff’s deputy stopped me late one night as I drove home on a quiet country road. As I handed him my license and registration, I looked over my shoulder to see his partner standing behind my car with his service revolver pointed at me. I have no recollection of the reason for the stop, but it did not result in a ticket or a warning. While nearing the end of his walk, crossing the United States from west to east, Turcich camped one night on America’s Great Plains. Armed officers with drawn weapons approached his camp site to determine who he was and why he was there. Fortunately for both of us, not all interactions with law enforcement were so confrontational. While walking in Scotland constables gave Turcich sausage biscuits. Comparing his experiences with mine, once in Michigan a sheriff’s deputy stopped me because he noticed something hanging out of my car’s trunk. Though tucked away decades ago, Turcich’s encounters immediately brought my memories to light.

What he learned firsthand is that regardless of the wars and conflicts in multiple places around the globe, people are generally kind and welcoming.

Next is the recurring theme of the kindness of strangers encountered along the way. Only a few times did he face danger at the hands of another human being. The vast majority of his people he met for the first time resulted in their opening their homes, belongings and lives to him. While I enjoy walking, my longest continuous trek took me from Ashland to Mansfield Ohio, a distance of twelve miles, during which time I needed no assistance. By bicycle, however I’ve ridden alone from Ashland, Ohio to Provincetown, Massachusetts, approximately 900 miles (1,450 km), and in a 3,200-mile (51,500 km) group ride from Los Angeles to Boston, along with hundreds of “centuries,” day rides of 100 or more miles. In decades of cycling, I found people to be both friendly and accommodating. Motorists give me plenty of room when passing or wait patiently if the road is too narrow to pass immediately. Frequently, I would be stopped along the way by strangers interested in my activity. In Kansas, a farmer working in the field jumped off his tractor to talk with me. The year before he had seen dozens of cyclists riding the same road, and he inquired if I knew any of them. In Connecticut a sudden rain shower erupted and I ducked into an open bay in a service center. The mechanic asked what I was doing and when I told him I was cycling from Ohio to Massachusetts he responded, “you, know you could have taken a plane!”

Though potentially open to danger or injury, most pedestrians and cyclists rarely have negative encounters. A drug dealer and pedophile once approached Turcich, and while he had a few run-ins with people who intended to rob him, the vast majority of people everywhere proved to be thoughtful, kind and giving of their time, talent, skills and resources. Few individuals intentionally set out to do him harm. Pitchers, except in rare occasions, do not intend deliberately to hit a batter. Only rarely do footballers (or in the United States soccer players) intentionally take out someone on the opposing team.

In the planning stage for his grand adventure, when Turcich sought someone to modify a baby carriage to carry his supplies, he ended up with a publicist, a sponsor and a custom-built carriage. Given the remoteness of large portions of his route he needed to carry several days of food and water for himself and Savannah, in addition to maps, computer, phone, clothing, first aid supplies and camping gear, including pots, pans, stove and gas, equaling ninety pounds, three-fifths of his weight, for weeks and months on end. Even on flat, well-paved surfaces this is an incredible journey; to follow poorly paved paths up and over mountains in all kinds of weather makes it almost incomprehensible. His physical and mental stamina is awe-inspiring. What he learned firsthand is that regardless of the wars and conflicts in multiple places around the globe, people are generally kind and welcoming. There were harrowing incidents and dangerous occurrences, but spread over seven years they appear miniscule. This endeavor is a testament to the strength and resilience of the human body and spirit that bodes well for the future of humankind.

The World Walk is not without its shortcomings. Compressing seven years and 27,000 miles (43,450 km) into a few hundred pages is a monumental undertaking; it took Thomas Stevens two volumes of several hundred pages each to describe his three-year journey in Around the World on a Bicycle (New York: Century, 1888). Turcich might have paid more attention to transitions between continents and countries. One chapter would end in one place and the next would find him in another location. While the maps in the photo section are very nice, they do not offer sufficient detail as to how he went around the world. An appendix which included a more detailed daily guide to his location and progress would have given the reader a better understanding of the journey. He glossed over the impact of the COVID 19 Pandemic which left him stranded when Kazakhstan closed its borders. Due to severe illness, he flew home for treatment and recovery before returning to the trek. On other occasions, he stayed put for a variety of reasons—his family visited him in the Crimea, and there were romantic engagements which stopped temporarily his forward progress. I realize all this would have made the book significantly longer but it would have strengthened his narrative. Still, it is an incredibly inspiring story for all readers, but especially for those who enjoy the triumph of the human spirit.

Copyright © Duncan R. Jamieson 2025