Day Sixty-Seven, The Smell of Defeat

I never quite found my groove today. I walked all of seventeen miles. That it was harder than the twenty-four I did yesterday means nothing to you. What you want to see are results. My best intentions are a fart in the wind. So what if I gave it my all. There are winners and losers, you want to say. You've got no time for excuses.

I do wish you'd be more encouraging. I'm doing the very best I can. If you look at the facts of this journey on paper it is surprising I have good days at all. Walk to your mailbox and back fifty times, carrying a middle sized dog. That represents a mere fraction of what I do on my very worst day. If it is hot, wear a sweater. If it's cold, strip down. And do it wearing your sister's shoes.

I had a five mile hike into Columbus, Montana. I was not feeling too well at all. Nine hours sleep had failed to rest me. Ninety degrees felt like more. And a mile in my road shot straight uphill. God knows what they were thinking. It could have stayed by the river and all would be well, but no. They want you to suffer.

Columbus is a rather pretty little town. It is trim and there are lots of trees. And what is more it is genuine, not put on to impress the tourists. Folks are friendly. I stopped infor lunch at the New Atlas saloon. It is just about 100 years old and about the best such place I have been to yet. It has wooden floors and a tin ceiling. The back bar is intricately carved. The walls are lined with dead animals of every local species. There's a bison and deer and a two-headed calf, and all manner of wildcats. A good woman called Jamie was kind to me and kept the cola flowing.

It did give me the opportunity to reflect on the science of taxidermy. I guess some taxidermists are more skilled than others. A few of those beasts had expressions on their faces you would never see in nature. Or maybe you would. Who knows what goes on in a poor animal's head when he realises he's about to be stuffed.

I was befriended by Earl, a kindly old gent and what you might call a local character. He had a long white beard and a sour remark for everyone who happened by. "Shut up, Earl," the folks would say. It didn't slow him a bit. I saw in him a glimpse of my future, should I manage to live much longer.

I was too invited to a Texas barbeque, by a Texan, no less. It seems he comes up here in the summers to escape the 105 degree heat. 100 degrees is more his liking and he finds the sagebrush soothing after looking at all that mesquite. I can't help but wonder if he couldn't have saved some money by staying home and just buying a new hat or something. I liked the way he talked, though, I tell you whut.

Still I had to pass on the barbeque. I thought I should do some walking. The way it worked out I should have stayed. It would have been a lot more fun. But I am above all a creature of duty. You won't catch me drinking beer and eating well when I can be walking up and down steep hills on narrow shoulderless roads with blisters on the tops and bottoms of my toes. I was born to endure.

I wish I weren't. I was ready to quit just five miles outside of town. But that would have meant a ten mile day. I couldn't have lived with myself. So I plodded on, cursing each step and wishing I was anywhere but here. You know, my life was actually pretty good for a while there in the late nineties. How did I come so far undone.

There was one bright moment a few miles later. A fellow stopped me on the road. I guess I had walked by his house and he jumped in his car for the sole purpose of offering me a ride to the next town. "I've walked this road before," he told me. "It's a long one."

I had to turn him down of course, but it lightened my step just a little to know there are nice people in the world. "God will take care of you," he said. I hope to golly he's right.

So find me now again on the praire, near the tracks some five miles west of Park City, Montana. The skies are bright with lightning and I half hope all hell breaks loose. I have three-quarters of a gallon of water, half a loaf of bread and two cans of cocktail weenies. I'd be glad to stay in tomorrow.

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