Day Seventy-Five, Ramble On

I slept rather thickly and woke up with the dawn to findj my tent half full of mosquitos. I can't say how the little blood-garglers managed to get in there. They weren't chewing on me yet. I guess they musf have hatched in the night from eggs somewhere on my person. I squarshed as many as I could find, which was not the motherly thing to do.

I took my time packing up my tent. I was hoping to dry it out some. It stormed, as it will, throughout the night and the winds had distorted the thing. This is maybe the second or third time I have come within one lucky gust of unrelieved homelessness.

I chatted a bit with a fellow camper. He weren't such an awfully bad guy. I wonder if much of that Crow standoffishness doesn't come down to a cultural inclination to mind one's own business. It's a bit off-putting but not a bad thing. I'm a little too curious myself.

From there I limped east, not west back town, a mile to US 212. Find me now in the anteroom of a dilapidated Exxon station and Indian trading post. Trading Post is what they call their souvenir shops and I do not blame them at all. Kind of classes things up a bit, gives them some frontier charm. I haven't bothered to poke my head in. I'm poor and my pack's heavy enough.

I am squatting on the floor behind a mechanical horse, trying to juice my computer. There is a KFC (known locally as "that red and white place") which will open soon and where I hope to find some brand of breakfast. I have given up on pestering the doctors with my trifling problems. All they can do is carve on me a bit, which will leave me with a wound to heal. And tell me to stop walking for a week or two, which won't help me much at all.

My toe is happier than it was yesterday. It did let me sleep last night. I have taped it up as well as I can and now just hope for the best. Busby and the Cheyenne reservation are twenty-five miles away. I should be able to do that in two hot days, even at a painful limp.

I have met a few Cheyenne this morning and they've been friendly indeed. Perhaps because they were panhandling, bumming cigarettes and begging for rides. The first one got a dollar off me. I found it in the parking lot of a casino on the way up here and I knew it was destined for something. I should have put it all on red.

KFC's open. A feast awaits. Thank you for keeping me company.

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I ordered two sandwiches at the Kentucky Fried. I thought I'd stuff one in my bag. I wound up eating the both of them and a tub full of coleslaw, as well. I like coleslaw, I really do, and there's no reason why I should. It seems like one of those creepy foods that only old people eat.

I then hobbled up the dry dusty road and across to the Little Big Horn Memorial. I quit when I got halfway up their long road. They wanted money to get in. God knows what we're paying taxes for. What you're paying taxes for, at any rate. I then met a good Crow acquaintance who slid me in the back door. When will the federal government learn that the Indians know this land better than they do.

It ain't much of a value for money. The Dry Falls center in Washington State was much better. Yet it was crowded with all kinds of tourists and motorcyclists. I might have enjoyed it much better if I hadn't spent all that time reading the Wikipedia article. I like Wikipedia, I really do. Someone ought to give them boys a Nobel Prize. It is the Internet at its very best and the starting point of my every research.

There are those who slander Wikipedia, by the way, those who claim it is full of inaccuracies. What they don't seem to understand is that they are under an obligation to correct any mistakes they find. That's how it works, people working together for the betterment of all mankind. You hardly need be a Bolshevik to see the good in that.

I thought the rangers up there were a little snotty, as well. The place is thoroughly overstaffed. I am awfully fond of their hats, though. I wonder if I could work there. There is a slot at most of these places for a fellow to give expository talks. These are deliivered with some animation. I think I'd be good at that. The fellow they had was a little snippy and didn't quite have his groove. One sentence, "It was an all day battle that lasted six hours," is going to gnaw at me for the rest of the day.

This was not in reference to Custer's bit, of course. His battle lasted not all day nor six hours. It was over, in the words of one Indian present, "in the time it takes a hungry man to eat a meal." They were then free to mutilate the corpses at their leisure.

There are better ways, of course, to express negative feelings, but hell, I ain't one to judge.

For I am now across the street, eating again. The boy has got to stay fed. I planned to just have a cola or two but the very pretty waitress Jedi mind-tricked me.

"You want a burger with extra fries, don't you."
"I want a burger with extra fries, don't I."

It was good of her to make the effort. I would have given her anything unto half my kingdom for but the smallest of smiles. I had been thinking of weaning myself off food like I did sunscreen, but that is rather like jumping out of a plane with a smaller and smaller parachute in order to teach yourself to fly.

A full belly is the very key to staying strong out here and yet I am still losing weight. That's not a too awful thing in my case, but I was startled by my reflection this morning. If I get any scrawnier the big kids are going to start picking on me.

I still ain't sure I want to hike up the road. My toes are not at their best. I know America ain't going to walk itself but I confess to being just a little bit nervous about being caught out there on two bloody stumps. This can be fairly inhospitable country, as Mr. Custer learned to his peril.

But as I stated above, it is just twenty-five miles. I guess I can limp half of that. It's three o'clock now. I will give it five hours before I throw up my tent. I am not quite sure where. I am quite sure the stories of murder and robbery are exaggerated by weak and frightened people, but some small caution is called for. But I'll figger it out. I always do. In spite of my fool self.

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Find me now camped between pine trees, down a bank on Highway 212. I say again, pine trees; there ain't many of them but it is a big change from the last week or so. And there are small rock cliffs to break the monotony of miles of rolling plain. I am halfway up a very steep hill and almost halfway to Busby. I did twelve miles and that was enough. It involved some measure of pain.

They say childbirth is rather uncomfortable. I know heartache can slow you down. This is more like a bruise on a paper cut which doesn't sound too bad at all. Make it a deep bruise on several paper cuts. Rub on some battery acid and knuckle punch it at intervals. That ain't such a very bad description.

I kept my teeth gritted, I tell you that, but I tried to maintain my stride. It was tempting to let my big toe take all my weight, but that wouldn't have done it any good. And it would have hurt my ankle and then my knee and so on and so forth from there. It is amazing how these things can compound when you let yourself get just a little out of alignment. I would like to state, for the record, that when this is over, I am never going to walk anywhere ever again. I'm going to get me one o' them electric scooters that are so popular with the old folks these days. I may hotrod it just a little, but I'll keep it outwardly stock.

But for now it is walking, walking, walking, to Busby, Montana and beyond. Lest you think that is some brand of metropolis, let me assure you it's not. It is at most a gas station. I've got conflicting reports on that. From there it is on to I think Lame Deer, though I can't swear either way. As I type this I am out of Internet range. Not so much as a blip.

I have been fairly impressed with my Verizon service on this trip. They ain't shy about charging you for it but they have delivered more or less as promised. I wouldn't have dared thought. Cheers, Verizon, you slick-dealing, fast-talking, money-grubbing bastards.

It was not an altogether bad walk, by the way; I mean aside from the bone crushing pain. It is nice to be off of the interstate. I was three miles in before I noticed people were waving at me again. I am afraid I left a few greetings unanswered. Sorry. And a few people stopped and offered me rides which cheers me in some small way. I explain and most people understand. "Good luck, brother," said one Indian guy. "I will pray for you."

I would just as soon people not pray for me. I ain't into all that myself and I don't want to put them out. But I do like it when people call me brother.

There is a thunderstorm just rolling in. It is expected to last for twelve hours. But I've still got some water and weeners in cans. I'm not much bothered at all. The cicadas are noisy but I like them, too. They remind me of my life in Japan. And somewhere in the distance a lonesome cow is wishing me the sweetest of dreams. Goodnight.


CHEERS TO Mr. Cyrus Stewart. Thank-you for your kind support.

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