Sunday, November 27, 2011

Day One-Hundred-Eighty-Four, Drowned Rats

It rained last night.  Cats.  Dogs.  Buckets.  Bathtubs.  Barrels.  But I didn't care.  I was too wiped out.  My tent does leak just a bit.  Especially when I leave my windows open.  I'd neglected to batten down.  I thought the fresh air might do me some good.  As it turned out it did not.

But it stopped at six-thirty or so, and stayed stopped until almost seven.  By which time I was back on the road to Bolinger, Alabama.  Three miles off.  No considerable distance.  Though it did seem further in the rain.  By the time I hit the first gas station I was soaked to the shorts.

My new shorts, my discount underpants.  I'm still making my mind up about them.  They don't preserve my modesty as well as I'd hoped, but they are, well, flattering.  I suppose you should lead with what assets you have.  I may just find a bride yet.

I settled into the gas station and had me some biscuits and grits.  It was my first food in a day or so.  It still was not very good.  But I choked it down and plugged in my computer and studied my map for three hours.

I'm in a mess.  It is going to get cold.  Damn cold, maybe twenty-five degrees.  For three, maybe four days in a row.  And tomorrow it is supposed to snow.  It looks like I'm headed to Mobile again.  I wish to golly I had known.  I've come miles out of my way.  And once there I may or may not have the bridge I need to cross the bay.  If not, I double back 150 miles.

My little computer's still pissing me off.  In Mobile they might fix it.  But I doubt it, the dipshits.  It's not why I'm headed there.  I'm trying to stay near towns.  So if I indeed freeze myself solid I'll have somewhere indoors to thaw.  And drink cocoa with marshmallows and cuddle up in front of a fire.  With someone who loves me, if only for a while.  I'll leave her one of my toes.

I made it a mile from the gas station, a third of a mile perhaps.  I figured I really ought to have lunch.  Breakfast had failed to satisfy.  So I had some catfish, which I don't much like.  It is better with cocktail sauce.  I know it's a beloved local fish but it tastes like an old canvas tent.

My day without food did not do me good.  It's left a void in me.  It's as if there's a gear with missing teeth in the machine that is my digestion.  It's affecting me emotionally.  My innards have turned against me.

The catfish did very little help.  I searched for something more benign.  But when in Rome you eat lasagne.  In Alabama everything's fried.

I was hoping it would stop raining.  It didn't.  It wasn't too cold.  But I was still in awful shape when I got to Millry, Alabama.  I resigned myself to a low-mileage day.  I stopped in a laundromat.  It was supposed to be in the forties tomorrow and I had nothing dry to wear.

They've revised the forecast.  Now they say the fifties.  And they're no longer predicting snow.  Which is good of them.  I was concerned.  It may not even rain.  Breakfast is thirteen miles away.  That's a pretty good jog.  Almost as far as I walked today, in the rain, every step.

I DON'T dislike grits.  Even pasty gas station grits.  They helped me choke those biscuits down.  In the future when I'm really rich, I'll have grits once in a while.

IT IS MEANT to be thirty-seven tonight.  That's up from twenty-eight.  I like this trend.  The cold seems to bother the locals more than it does me, and it bothers me a lot.

Published with Blogger-droid v2.0.1

No comments:

Post a Comment