Day One-Hundred-Nine, Nature's Bounty

I packed up a very soggy tent. It had not rained overnight. But an hour or two before the Dawn's Early Light the sprinklers did come on. I would like to think they were on a timer, that it was not a deliberate attack. Because otherwise I slept undisturbed in the Atkinson city park.

It is my practice, when weather permits, to keep my windows open. It prevents condensation and brings in some fresh air. I need all of that I can get. Take a whiff of my poor little tent and you'd think I was keeping a cat. You get a little stinky when you're on the road. My conscience is more or less clean.

The deluge had stopped by the time I got up. I went out in search of breakfast. I'd been told my best bet was the cafe/stockyard on the far edge of town. It's where the cowboys gather between auctions. You can eat there if you'd like. The prices are good, the service is friendly and the food is agreeably big. I contented myself with just one breakfast and a double order of hash browns.

I like a crispier hash brown myself. But beyond that I cannot complain. They could, I suppose, make the coffee a bit stronger, but that is a regional thing. It does make me worry about Middle America. The bars close at ten o'clock.

I lingered a bit to mingle with the staff and recharge my little computer. I was back on the Trail at ten-thirty. It was not such a very early day. I was in no jolly mood for walking, anyway. I think the humidity is at fault. That and ill-fitting pants. No one knows how I suffer. I am doing it all for you.

I am Walking Across America so you don't have to. I am freeing you for higher things.

It was an easy ten miles to Emmet, Nebraska. Easy may not be the word. It felt like a very unpleasant six miles. There is something to be said for that. Emmet is a dozen or so neat houses and a repair shop for farm equipment. There was to the Hay Company/Post Office. They had a soda machine. I went in and got myself a can. I felt like some sort of crook. There was no one at all at home. I could have helped myself to stamps.

It was a Royal Crown cola. It tasted like bugspray. I drank it anyway. It is my understanding that they stopped making RC as part of the compromise by which we extricated ourselves from the Viet Nam war. So it did have nostalgic value. My only regret is that they were out of Fresca.

I ate Swiss cheese and hot dog buns, the same thing I'll have tomorrow. I have been carrying around two last cans of weeners but I've had about enough of them. It has cooled down some; I can buy proper cheese. It doesn't last too too long. But overwarming sharpens the flavor and makes it easier to chew.

Then it was on to O'Neil, Nebraska, a city of some twenty-four thousand. I did not get to see much of it. I just wanted to get out of town. A Gotham like that is no place to camp and it was getting late. I replenished by bun and cheese supply and climbed back on the Cowboy Trail.

I made it another three or four miles, which is where you find me now. Camped in a thicket behind some kind of antenna, in a marijuana patch.

"Oh, James, you're so silly!" you want to say. Am not, I quickly respond. I am wholly serious. I am camped among the pot. There are no men with shoguns, no punji sticks. It shows no signs of cultivation. It is just sort of growing here, and growing fairly well. If I were more mobile I'd take some with me, for scientific evaluation. But I am not so equipped; I'll let it be. Pot never hurt anyone.

Peace.

MY LITTLE radio tells me it is going to dip into the thirties again tomorrow night. And that there'll be frost. If only I had something to smoke.

ONE STATE MOTTO, no doubt there are others, is "Living in Nebraska is Fun!" How many other places can make that claim. How about a little respect.

I AM COLD, even tonight. Nobody knows how I suffer.

CONTACT ME and I'd be delighted to send you the coordinates of where the grass grows green. This offer is not available to law enforcement. Marijuana prohibition is ridiculous, you know it yourselves.

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