Day Twenty, That's a Month in Some Countries

I am Here

Only fifteen or sixteen miles today, but I do come prepared with excuses. They are:

1) I slept long but not especially well on surprisingly hard ground. Also, a weakness in my character prevents me from knowing whether any one small patch of ground is level until I pitch my tent there and try to sleep on it for eight hours. I kept rolling out of bed. And it was cold. And my feet hurt. And I was lonesome in a healthy kind of way. I did get to hear the coyotes howl, so that was kind of cool. It is eery but not particularly scary. It makes me feel like a cowboy.

2) The wind was howling again when I finally woke up, which made taking down my tent look like one of the misadventures of Lucy and Ethel. It is built on much the same principles, and of the same materials, as your higher-end box kites and more than once threatened to abandon me for the next county.

3) As I hit the road the skies grew dark and a cold and bitter wind blew. It threatened to rain but never quite did, preferring to leave me in dread. By time I got to Davenport I was very very cold.

4) Davenport was not, as I imagined, some five-odd miles away but was rather some six-odd miles away, that extra mile making all the difference. It is slowly beginning to dawn on me that my feet cramp up awfully overnight and that my longer runs are best saved for later in the day. Just now I walked three hours straight and I felt fine, but that two hours in the morning almost crippled me.

5) Drinking two-and-a-half gallons of icy root beer on a blustery day can rather chill a fellow. I was worried the caffeine was keeping me up nights but maybe I ought to switch back to Coke.

6) Lunch was not absolutely all I hoped it would be; it wasn't quite up to my standards. Mostly it made me want to poop. Now for the longest time I have known that when I am sleepy or hungry or otherwise fail to have my immediate physical needs met, I can get a little cranky. But all shivery and having to poop, I was in a very bad mood indeed. If I wasn't a bit shivery and didn't have to poop now I wouldn't be burdening you with any of this. Anyway, in my condition I was determined not to walk another step. To accomplish this I had to double back through almost the whole little town of Davenport to get to a motel I passed on the way in. It was a seedy little place with all sorts of nastily worded signs saying "No smoking! This means you!"

Now I had no intention of smoking in their poxy little motel, but frankly I did not like their tone. All I wanted was a place to poop and soak my feet, maybe turn up the heater and watch a few movies on cable. Anyway, they were closed and now I was really cold and footsore and I really really had to poop and thought I just might have to cry. There was a bed & breakfast and though I have never been to one of those places they sound awful and things weren't as bad as all that.

Then I found a laundromat and had a very nice poop there, thank you. And I took off all my clothes and put on my swim trunks and a clean shirt and washed every overripe item I had. And I talked to a nice local lady who drove a Saab, a car I have always admired because it is elegant yet peculiar.

It is very nice to have clean clothes. Never take them for granted. By the way, I still haven't heard back from those jerks at the Super 8. Man, that pisses me off.

7) I never did find a good place to charge up my little computer. Them Davenporters is stingy with their outlets. I did get fifteen or twenty minutes at a bakery where I bought a maple bar and to go, a perfectly lovely loaf of bread. But it wasn't enough. Having anything less than a full charge weighs heavily on me and slows my steps.

8) I took my time folding my clothes and doctoring my feet and reorganising my pack. It was four when I finally left town. And I felt good and strong and I was making good time but then, about three miles shy of Reardan I noticed a good many farmhouses, closer and closer to the road which meant I wouldn't find a good place to sleep until I was through town and out the other side, by which time I would be overtired and it would be quite dark.

So here I am, on another grassy hill overlooking the same highway, three-and-a-half miles outside of Reardan, Washington. By this time tomorrow I should be on the outskirts of Spokane and I guess staying in a motel because Spokane is a big city and its outskirts probably don't offer much room for a tent. There is a big Air Force base there so I am hoping rooms will be cheap.

I have conquered eastern Washington. Peace.

SPOTTED: No snakes today but I did see three yesterday. Two were squooshed, not rattlers but every bit as foul. I am glad they're dead. The third was that harmless sort of garden snake they have everywhere, the vile, hateful, disgusting little beast. God, I hate snakes. They ruin Nature for everyone.

PASSED: By dozens of cyclists. They weren't carrying any gear. I guess they get that trucked ahead for them. All they had was their little water bottles and their garish jerseys and their foo-foo little shorts. Almost none of them ever say hi. Bunch o' jerks.

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