The Last Leg

By Andrea Appleton
POSTED JUNE 29, 2007

In the early morning drizzle of June 4, two friends set out from Staten Island on an epic walk. They carried a map, spare socks, and a GPS unit. They had five boroughs and 150 miles ahead of them, not to mention a lengthy to-do list that included such tasks as eating 10 different ethnic cuisines and making a funny face at a shark.

Five days later, a lone figure in a backpack hobbled around the curve of Park Row and collapsed cross-legged near City Hall. Matt Green’s toes were blistered, his arches aching. It was 10 p.m., and there were already over 150 miles on his pedometer. “I have flat feet,” said Green, 27, a civil engineer. “I knew that would be a problem.”

Green’s companion, Rob Moncure, also 27, soon met up with him there. His ankles were still puffy after dropping out at Mile 83. “With flip-flops, it doesn’t hurt so bad,” he said. He had come to walk with Green on the last leg of “a grueling quest to conquer the wild streets of Gotham,” as their Web site described it.

But first they had to check another item off the list. Green scribbled some notes, a final draft of mock demands for the mayor. Then he stood and approached the locked gates. It wasn’t the steps of City Hall, but close enough.

“Mayor Bloomberg!” he yelled, to the amusement of a lone cop standing guard at the City Hall gate. “I have walked all through the city and I have a few requests I’d like you to listen to.” Green solemnly read a dozen demands,  including rebuilding Ebbetts Field and lowering the fines for honking to liven up quiet streets. Nodding to the officer, he set off down the block. Battery Park, the end of the line, beckoned.

What some might call masochism, these guys call a challenge. Last summer, Green and friend Don Badaczewski made headlines by riding the entire subway system in record time (24 hours, 2 minutes). This year, Green and Moncure (who flew in from California for the walk) toyed with the idea of walking the length of Broadway before deciding on a more ambitious trek.

To avoid paying for lodging or exploiting personal connections (another self-imposed rule), the pair relied on the kindness of strangers: at a Brooklyn church; a Jewish center in Queens; The Society for Ethical Culture in the Bronx; and the home of an Astoria man from couchsurfing.com, a Web site for travelers seeking shelter. 

As he limped down lower Broadway, Green reflected on his long trek. “Every neighborhood that I’ve kind of wanted to visit, I was able to go to in less than a week,” he said. “But my favorite part’s gonna be in about a mile and a half.”

By this time, the duo had performed most of the feats on the checklist, including riding a camel (at the Bronx Zoo) and tapping out “What hath God wrought”—the first telegraphic message ever transmitted—on Samuel Morse’s tombstone. But one remained.

The pair, accompanied by subway enthusiast Badaczewski, descended into the Bowling Green station. Green put his hat down on the platform, for donations. Then the trio launched into a barber shop quartet-style rendition of “Meet the Mets.” The few commuters did not applaud, let alone reach for their wallets. But item number 28, “Perform music on a subway platform”? Check.

Now just a few short blocks remained. “We’ll walk to the water,” said Green. He tottered to the end of Broadway and into Battery Park, down the walkway, and past a late-night cluster of fishermen. He and Moncure reached the water’s edge, and raised their arms in exhausted victory. It was 11 p.m. on Day 5 and Green had trudged 157 miles.

He flopped onto a bench. “Okay,” he asked, “who’s gonna carry me home?”

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