Day Eighty-Four, Hawkeyes

Good morning. Here I am. It is six thirty. I woke up at six o'clock. I caught the last bit of a beautiful sunrise. The sky was blue and clear. I thought about another hour of sleep, but that wouldn't do me much good. I slithered out of my bag from the top so I wouldn't have to zip it back up.

I glanced to the west as I gathered my gear. Lightning hit the next hill. Out of the blue, you understand. I thought it was kind of neat. But over the next two minutes the sky turned black and the gates of Hell were thrown open. So here I sit, trapped in my tent by as bad a thunderstorm as I have ever experienced. Best case, I walk with a soggy tent. Worst, my trip ends here.

Any lightning close enough to fry my circuitry will toast my computer as well. So there will be no goodbyes. You are better off. I haven't got that much to say. Peace.

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The lightning lasted all of two minutes. Then it moved on to the north. It was glad at the chance to scare me a bit but I guess it had places to be. The rain stuck around for another hour. It was quite a good rain at that. Each big drop on the roof of my tent went POW like a rifle shot. It seeped in the corners and made pools on my floor. Packed up, my tent weighed a ton.

It has been my experience that these sudden summer storms occur in the late afternoon. Or the early evening when I take them as a sign that I might as well quit for the day. So this, let's hope, was a rarity, and I think a little unfair.

The rain was replaced by a 20 MPH wind, blowing from the southeast. Or precisely from the direction I'm headed. I had some idea of staying in my tent until it blew itself out. But it didn't, so neither did I. I was back on the road by eight-thirty.

It wasn't easy; just folding my tent took quite a lot out of me. And walking uphill with that wind on my chest used up whatever was left. I hiked three lousy miles then climbed down a ravine where I hoped I might wait it out. I made a fine breakfast of hamburger buns, slathered with aerosol cheese.

Now our international friends might not be familiar with aerosol cheese. Let me just briefly explain. It is like shaving foam, only it's cheese. It comes squirting out of a can. It is a bit pricey but so is regular cheese. If you're hungry enough it tastes fine. And it reminds you not to count America out. We invented all the best things.

The wind did not cease. The clouds were unworldly, swirls like something from Van Gogh. It was cold and I all but broke my neck climbing back up to the road. My next fifteen miles should count as thirty. It took all my strength to move. There were no special gusts, just a constant force pushing me back down the road.

Here and there the road would make a turn. For a minute the wind would die town. Then it would find me and start up again, hitting me square in the chest. Whichever direction I faced it came from straight ahead. It's enough to make a fellow suspicious.

I could never walk more than two or three miles before I was just worn out. And there weren't any really good places to rest. There are no trees out here, none. None. I did my best to climb into ditches or hide on the lee side of hills. But it didn't work; I was getting blasted no matter which way I turned. It was awfully chilly and for the first time in months I managed to sunburn my nose.

Six miles in I stopped in Hammond, Montana, hoping to refill my jugs. Hammond consists of a post office and... Hammond consists of a Post Office. Louise, a nice lady, the postmistress, gave me two gallons from her personal supply. It's a nice little post office, very well kept. They're threatening to shut it down. But it saved my life and I'm fond of it. Better to raise the price of stamps.

Of course now I was walking uphill, into the wind, with a very heavy pack. With the exception, perhaps, of Stevens Pass, it is the hardest walking I have done on this trip. But I had to put in some miles today. I was pretty much out of food. And water is scarce and it's lonesome out here. I've got to reach the next town.

Fifteen miles in, I found a culvert. This one was made of steel. I tried a repeat of yesterday's experiments but I just couldn't muster the strength. A little puddle had formed in the rocks at one end. I made friends with a frog. Actually I tickled him with a long piece of grass, trying to get him to jump this way and that. I think he thought I was annoying.

When I left the wind had died down to a more manageable ten miles per. And the sun had come out and warmed things a bit. I'm awfully glad that it did. A mile or two later I found a carload of Iowans, stuck on the side of the road. Three of their wheel lugs had broken off. I didn't even know that could happen.

I was hoping it would be something I could help them with. I want to be someone's hero. But the trouble is I don't have any tools. Or any mechanical skill. I can change a tire and repair a radiator using only a potato. And I think I can make an improvised fan belt out of duck tape and nylon stockings. But as it was all I could do was chat and distract them from their miseries. Outside of Death Valley, I don't think there is a worse place in America for your car to break down.

They were Darren and Marn from Storm Lake, Iowa, or not too far from there. They were with their three beautiful daughters and their rambunctious seven-year-old boy. They are delivering Grace, their oldest, a flower, to college somewhere near Great Falls. They are Christian and perfect, so polite and kind, it made me feel unclean.

Which I am, to some extent. I've lead an interesting life, and I have been a long time on the road. They were more help to me than I was to them. They gave me water and food. Cold water, a forgotten luxury, and pizza, of all marvelous things. In the end I had to abandon them. They prayed for me when I left.

I don't mean that vague promise to pray for me. I get that one almost every day. I mean right there and then, they prayed for me, the whole carload of them. On the roadside. It made me feel a little awkward, but they are wholly sincere. And awfully nice. I guess it can't hurt. It's not their fault that I'm without faith.

They did manage to get hold of a tow truck, at least. I was worried about that. Regular cell service seems to work, it is just the so-called 3G service, the one I rely on, which is useless. A few miles further down the road they passed me, riding on a flatbed truck. The whole family, still in their car, waving as they went by. It made me smile.

I also ran into Louise from the post office. It was great to see her again. She was with her husband; we chatted a bit. I got to meet Flossie, her dog. I doubt there are more than 100 people living on this whole stretch of road. And here I am on a first name basis with the leading citizens.

The sunshine, the pizza, the human contact, managed to buoy me somehow. Out of nowhere came my old four-mile pace. I hammered out eight more miles. For twenty-four, total. That's not a bad day. I am less than eight miles from town. And at the risk of jinxing myself, I believe I have conquered the longest, driest, lonesomest crossing of my trip.

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