Day One-Hundred-Thirty-Two, Leadbelly

As has been my habit this last couple days, I woke before seven o'clock. 6:58, or thereabouts. It really was dreadfully early. But I am going to sleep earlier, too. My whole schedule has gone mad. I once calculated that I am very best off when I sleep until just past eleven.

But my hobo lifestyle will not allow it. I am sleeping on borrowed ground. And have more or less committed myself to walking a bit every day. This is one of those projects that demand steady effort, like saving for retirement. Or so I'm told. It is nothing to me. I've never had a job.

I hear they suck.

My back did not threaten revolt today. I still fear for my second best knee. I thought I had pulled a thigh muscle but I guess it was just a cramp. My nose still snoofles but I'm used to it. I can remember no other time. All in all I'm remarkably healthy for a boy of my age and experience.

Six comparatively painless miles took me into Lucas, Iowa. Or outside of it to a gas station just up the hill from town. I grabbed a seat and plugged in my computer. And ate a burger that tasted like fish and some fries that tasted like paste. And two donuts, the second one for luck. They weren't so very good either. And it all did something strange to me. I have not been hungry since.

I think I've been stoppered or bricked up somehow. I am filled too with some dread. Dams burst and fortresses crumble. Disasters happen every day. Consistent and predictable digestion is the key to a happy walk.

No one should eat at gas stations. A good many people do. Truck drivers, the younger ones, eat there as a matter of course. I sat there for two hours, watching them poison themselves. I almost wanted to say something but my moral authority was gone. And will be for as long as I carry that burger, perhaps for the rest of my life.

I could I guess have had bagels cheese. I still carry them in my pack. But other than that I didn't have any choice. Lucas ain't much of a town. I'm certain it means well but there isn't much there. I might as well have been in Nebraska.

I liked Nebraska. Nebraska was good to me. No hard feelings there.

From there I marched another ten miles, onward to Chariton. I was walking tall and strong. I still wound up covered in dust. It is these blasted gravel shoulders. They are hard on more than my feet. A great column of dust follows every truck like some malevolent djinn. There is not a thing I can do to avoid it. It even goes up my nose. And into my ears and hair and mouth. It filters right through my clothes.

It was my further misfortune to catch up with a dump truck that was applying more of the stuff. I was worried even for passing cars. He had quite obscured the road. And was rolling along at about my pace. I was in that cloud for half a mile.

About when I hit Chariton the sun went behind a cloud. It wasn't cold but it looked like it was. I thought of checking into a motel. I have been ten days without a shower. I had grit in my pants. But it was expected to be warm tonight. I would hate to waste that indoors. So I resigned myself to a wet nap bath and went to a Hardee's restaurant.

Hardee's, for our international friends, is a fast food burger restaurant. I think they only exist in the Midwest. I liked them when I was a kid. But they have changed the menu and I wasn't hungry. I ordered some fries to be polite. And a great big Coke and sat in a far corner where I could plug in my computer. I left after an hour or so. I think I was creeping them out.

Then it was to a HyVee, that's a supermarket, for a few more jugs of sports drink. I didn't need anything else, though I do worry about my cheese. It was fairly warm today. It's gone a little bit squooshy. I'll have a slab for breakfast tomorrow and let you know how it turns out.

Next door I found a Pamida, a Walmart sort of place. So I was told; I didn't know. It was started by Pam and Ida. I went in and bought six pairs of socks and tried them on in the parking lot. The socks I was wearing I threw away. All of my old socks are dying.

My new socks were made by Fruit of the Loom. I am not wholly impressed. They are rough and thinnish. I should have known. I had one of their t-shirts once. And their briefs never fit me right. Something about the fly design. I always tended to escape. Like a naughty monkey from a flimsy cage. With mischief on his mind.

From Chariton I turned south. I am letting the season choose the course that I take. Whenever I have a good road south, that's the way that I'm going. It is not so cold now, and hasn't been, but I cannot afford to get complacent. As soon as it gets below freezing I quit. My whole trip will end in failure. It will at least be delayed until spring. I am nobody's snowman.

I put in another eight miles. I was walking until after dark. I cut it fairly close but I was sure I would find a pretty good place for my tent. I sensed it; I could not explain how. You'd need to have hobo skills. Which I do. I am camped comfortably between trees, on the edge of a meadow.

At least I think so. It was awfully dark. I may be in someone's front yard. All will be revealed in the morning, whether at gunpoint or not.

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