Day Ninety-Nine, Brrrrr

At some point in the very wee hours the wind started blowing. Hard. Enough to threaten my poor little tent. Enough to trouble my sleep. It was not raining. There was no storm. It was just a good healthy wind. It had me pinned down. My bodyweight was the only thing saving my gear.

But I was, again, in a city park. I wanted to be up and out early. I pictured old men feeding pigeons and kids flying kites. A hobo might give them the creeps. You have to think about other people if you look anything like me. Look at the Sasquatch; he keeps to himself. It is simple consideration.

I stayed in bed and listened for sirens. At seven I finally unzipped. It took a good effort, I promise you, but I finally got everything packed. I still had all of the park to myself. The kids were in their storm cellars. As were the old men and likely the pigeons and anyone with any sense.

There was a man across the way, struggling with his own tent. I recognised it as the luxury version of mine, designed to endure higher winds. But that doesn't make it any easier to take down. I thought I'd offer my sympathy. Or even my help, if it came to that, though one does so hate to meddle.

He seemed to have it under control. He was Wayne from Sioux City, Iowa. After many long years as a cyclist he had upgraded to a smart BMW. Which is probably why he was nice to me. Cyclists can be somewhat unpleasant. We chatted a bit about life on the road. It is nice to meet people who understand.

Then it was off to the local cafe for a big plate of biscuits and gravy. That's my go-to meal but more often than not it tastes like classroom paste. But this man was a wizard; good gosh, it was good. A very pleasant start to my day. And noticably cheaper, thank goodness for that. Civilisation does have its advantages.

So I was fairly cheerful when I started walking. The wind had not yet died down. But I had a full belly and a good outlook. It was not hot at all. It was a fairly easy twelve miles to the next town down the road. Rushville, Nebraska, it called itself. Today they were having a parade.

For which I arrived two hours too late. Too bad; I rather like parades. One day I'll be honored with ticker tape. I can hardly wait. But today all I saw were a few heaps of litter. The marching bands had all gone home. A trailer marked "Shriners" passed me on the highway but there was nary a clown.

It has become quite fashionable in recent years to proclaim a hatred or even a fear of clowns. Let it be known that I hated and feared clowns before it was cool. I did, nevertheless, once want to become one. Self-loathing takes many forms.

There was in the park a classic car show. It was a thinnish collection. I love cars but nothing there much moved me. There was a pretty Corvette. But it was all of three years old. The second best was a Ford pickup. Maybe a '74. There were some older cars but my own neglected heap is better than most of them.

They did have a BBQ up and running but I moved on into town. Where a grumpy fat man served me a burger. It was good but not dramatically so. It was, however, noticably cheaper than similar fare up the road. I do like Nebraska prices.

I had about had it with Rushville. I never did get my computer charged. I was ready to leave. The town seemed to have peaked in 1935. What residents remained were off watching football, a game that bores me goofy. But it's huge here, even high school games. And the Corn Huskers started their season today. I guess that's why they had a parade.

[This is to replace a paragraph in which I explained, with some passion, why football is a stupid sport. But I am vulnerable out here and cannot afford to offend anyone. Especially the kind of idiot that likes football.]

On my way out of town I popped in at the Rushville Historical Museum. I enjoyed talking to the gentlemen there, but the story of the town itself is one of sad decline. The gentlemen rather seemed to know it.

Still leaving town I hit the grocery store to stock up on weeners and buns. And deodorant which I forgot to buy. I nice old man did give me money. I don't know how old. Very, I'd guess. But I do know he was nice. And he thought Walking Across America was a good idea and wanted to help out. I am moved by his support.

Not just the cash, you understand; though believe me, it really helps. It is just nice to meet folks from time to time who don't think I am an idiot. I am not an idiot, you know. Insofar as these things can be measured, I am actually fairly bright. I just do stupid things.

With alarming consistency.

From there it was another ten miles up the road. That's about the extent of my day. The weather was good and I was strong. I could have done five more miles. But those extra miles add up over days. They make my feet feel trod upon. And weaken my arms and puts kinks in my spine. This is a long-term project.

Find me now camped just off the road, five miles outside of Gordon, Nebraska. I am wearing my thermals and wrapped in my bag. The temperature is in the thirties. For our international friends, that's like 4-degrees Kelvin.


THE HORSES in Nebraska have so far been as encouraging as the cows. I thought horses were uppity creatures but in fact they are very nice. Montana horses are uppity. Washington horses are downright snotty. But Nebraska horses are very nice.

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