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But even with the quick start today was a failure, one which may prove my undoing. I needed to walk a good twenty-two miles. I don't think I managed seventeen. I've got food but I'm going to be hungry tomorrow. The next day hungrier still. And thirsty, perhaps, and I can't help thinking that winter is well on its way.
It's not cold, not very, but the days are shorter. I've got to stop at eight-thirty or so. And even then I am grateful I've got my hat. You can see it best after dark. One day it will hang in the James museum, next to my first banjo.
I walked all of five miles or so before I took my first break. And it was a hell of a break; I sat there for hours, entertaining destructive thoughts. "Better not eat all my food," I'd think, and then I'd get hungry. I'd crack open another can. "Better ration my water," and that would give me a dryness in the throat. "Better get going," made my muscles sore and put me in the mood for a nap. Perhaps it's the only talent I've got, engineering failure.
And I was attacked by horrid little black snake, about the size of a pencil. He stared at me from a mere six feet away and tried to look into my soul. I turned away at just the right moment. Better luck next time, servant of Hell.
There was a bright note as I had climbed into a culvert to get out of the morning sun. It wasn't one of those ratty corrugated steel culverts but a big one made of concrete. It was about five feet in diameter and fairly clean inside. It had the most marvelous accoustics; I sang for a bit and at one point I happened to fart. You have never heard such pure tone. I tried mightily to fart again but I just couldn't get one primed. Farts, you see, are a lot like Love. It's as much about timing as will.
And good nutrition and steady breathing and an open and generous heart.
I was seriously considering a walk back to Broadus. I could refit and try this again. Instead I walked another three miles, ate more and took a long nap. In the tall grass under a cottonwood tree. The place was stinky with spiders. I am not, please note, the least bit afraid of spiders, but something about these made me wonder if I should be. They were yellow and black and sinister and big enough to eat a kitten.
When I left there I was low on water. I walked another couple of miles. Then I took another break in some more tall grass and drank up all that was left. That was just a little alarming. I sat there another hour and tried to think about other things.
Two miles later I found a ranch, not too too far from the road. I am a little bit cautious of guns and dogs but I made my way to the door. Their dog, a border collie or one of its kin, was chubby, deferential and shy. Their cat, however, was all over me. He noticed I smell of sardines. I was well received and they refilled my jugs as if left-coast hippies come banging on their door every day.
By then it was almost six o'clock and I had miles to go. That's why I wrapped up my next long break after half an hour or so. The sun was low and there's no shoulder at all. It's a pretty good way to get squished. But every small mile I put in today is a big one I don't have to do tomorrow.
My feet hurt, sure, and I may have mentioned that my shoes are falling apart. And the heavy pack had made my legs a bit sore and I'd been up all kinds of hills. And I do do better on proper food, not on this pitiful fare. But my failure today has more to do with a weakness in character.
I want to be more like Kwai Chang Caine. You never saw him eating at all. Of course all he had was that burlap purse and a flute to lug around. But you never got the sense he'd be napping under a tree when he had btter places to be.
I did learn one thing. I will not have enough water. If I don't find a friendly ranch I am going to run out before I hit the next town. Maybe I will accomplish great things tomorrow. Maybe I never will.
CHEERS TO the lovely Tia and Terri. Thank you for filling my jugs. Love the cat. Love the dog. Thanks for living where you do.
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