Day Thirteen, Gloom, Despair & Agony on Me

Went to sleep in a cold and steady rain and woke up in the sun's warming glow. It was nine o'clock and tractors were rumbling by on their way to tend my orchard. No one yelled at me; they just looked, open-mouthed, as if I were a space alien or a man wearing a chicken for a hat.

The skies were blue with white fluffy clouds. The weather was perfect for walking. There was a song in my heart but it did not stick. I felt like absolute crap. The road took me steadily uphill. Both little toes were throbbing. My new shoes hurt less than my old ones, but what pain they do allow is perfect.

Completed my two-hour walk to Trinidad(?!),WA in three and one half short hours, very much looking forward to a spot of breakfast. Turns out Trinidad consists of one somewhat understocked minimart and a resort of some sort a good distance off my road on the water. The fellow running the minimart, a Republican and more or less from my same neighborhood, was kind to let me rest there an hour or so and taught me something about motorboat racing. Cheers, Ken! Keep 'er keel side down.

Feeling no better after my rest, I was in no way encoraged by what amounted to a near vertical climb stretching two miles up towards Quincy. Even the trucks were struggling with that one. They weren't moving too much faster than I was. At the top I found a rest area; closed, it turned out. I walked around the gate, took off my shoes and sprawled across the lawn.

"We don't generally encourage that," said Hector, the man from the WSDOT who had come to open the place to traffic. He was very decent about it. "The grass is new, you see."

He was pretty busy but we talked a bit. He seemed like a very nice man. I am guessing Hector is a Mexican American. There are a lot of Mexican Americans around here. They came to pick fruit decades and decades ago and just sort of stuck around. Everywhere there are signs in Spanish and Mexican music playing. One hates to generalise about other cultures; it's a good way to piss people off. Nevertheless, I have reached some conclusions.

I like them. To a man, the Mexican Americans I have met have been polite, friendly, and demonstrated a good sense of humour. As I understand it they are a religious people, care very much for their families and work like absolute demons. Their music is good, their food is delicious and their women are beautiful. Throw open the borders, I say. If we have to send a few of our less productive citizens south to make room for them all, so be it. And I will almost certainly be one of the first ones deported.

My hour and a half at the rest area didn't buoy me up either. I was tired and starting to chafe. I limped on towards Quincy which kept getting further away. I would see it on the horizon, walk for an hour, and there it would be still. I was getting pretty hungry; I stopped once at a shop selling "Asparagus, Shakes, & Wine." I went for a shake. Blackberry. It was good but it didn't really help.

Quincy, though I confess I have never heard of it, seems to be a pretty good-sized town. Even after I reached the city limits, I still had to pass miles of fruit warehouses before I got to downtown. Ate, finally, at seven thirty or so and was seriously considering a fleabag motel but it was too late in the day to justify the expense. Instead I wound up in this, the worst camping site of my trip. I am between the highway and an irrigation ditch, glaringly visible from the road. I don't know if I'm allowed to camp here; I may be evicted at any time.

I am sore and I'm sick and I feel like crap and I could really do with a poop. But that would be contrary to the take nothing/leave nothing policy by which I justify my trespass. Better luck tomorrow, one hopes, one hopes.

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