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I compose dialogues and doggerel rhymes. I calculate cube roots. Once not so very long ago I tried to Name All Fifty States. I was not successful. I had to put on the light and reach for a pencil and paper. I wrote them all down alphabetically. I pictured the map in my mind. But over the next two days I could never come up with more than forty-nine.
I began to suspect a conspiracy. Conspiracies do exist. They tell us there are fifty states, but has anyone checked to see? I was ashamed of myself when I figured it out. I'd gone and forgotten Nebraska.
I guess it means something to football fans but it is often overlooked. It just isn't so very arresting. It's the Delaware of the Midwest. But Nebraska will forever have a special place in my heart. I walked just about the length of the state. I enjoyed the time I spent there. The walking was good, the people were kind and the prices were not too too high. And I swear to golly, a good dozen people stepped up to buy me lunch.
Which did even more than lighten my heart. It saved me a great deal of money. And kept me fed and happy and healthy. And made me fond of all things Nebraska. Disparage that great state in my presence and I will give you what for.
Washington, I was already fond of. Montana kicked my ass. I was just a few days in Idaho and but a long afternoon in Wyoming. In South Dakota I stuck to the pretty parts; I can't speak for the rest of the state. But Nebraska is now a part of me and me a part of it. I couldn't be better pleased.
I woke up in Homer and had a nice breakfast. I didn't go overboard. I had woken up several times with a very strong urge to throw up. You cannot, it seems, run a railroad on hotdogs and onion rings. And other things fried and a can of beer and a two- or three-day-old donut. I was fighting back a powerful wooze but I did not want to mess up their park. They had been so kind to let me stay. It would not have been at all proper.
A good hearty breakfast settled me some. I climbed back onto the road. And hiked thirteen miles, almost nonstop, to South Sioux City, Nebraska. North the whole way, you understand. That's just how things worked out.
It had been my intention to rejoin Highway 20 and follow it across the bridge. But at that point it had teamed with an interstate. It wouldn't accomodate me. So I had to keep moving, five miles north to what is known as the Pretty Bridge. It lights itself up blue at night. This afternoon it was just sort of bridge colored.
I had wanted to walk east into Iowa. The Pretty Bridge runs north and south. Before I crossed I stopped to use the mensroom at McDonald's. A fellow gets used to the wilderness life. You can pee anywhere. City walking involves strategy and a lot more self control.
I haven't been in a McDonald's for years. I remembered I quite like their shakes. But they're different now; they're not as good. I ordered a burger, as well. A mushroom Swiss, from their luxury line. Good Jimminy, it was foul. How on earth do they stay in business. They ought to be ashamed of themselves.
I did meet some nice people. Being Nebraskans, they insisted on buying me lunch. I am afraid I repaid them by shocking them speechless by telling them a dirty joke. Sorry. It wasn't obscene, I swear to you, and it illustrated a point. But I too soon forget that not everyone has lived my Godless life.
One fellow there was 88 years old. In 1942 he was ready to get drafted. He thought he should see a bit of America first so he spent thirty dollars on a Model A and drove it to California. I wish I could have heard more about it. It was a bold thing to do. This was, you remember, before decent roads and mechanical reliability.
He worried his mother and when he got home his draft board made him 4f. "We want to win this war," they told him. "Go home. We don't want you."
Or that's how he tells it. He got the last laugh. He's old but still going strong. And has within him that peculiar bug that makes people Walk Across America. And climb high mountains and create art and now and again fall in love.
The wide Missouri is not too too wide at the point where I crossed it. It was a whole lot bigger than it was in Montana. It was wider a few months back. A nice city park on the Iowa side was pretty well wiped out. I crossed through it on my way into town. Some workmen told me to leave. I was just following the sidewalk. It's not my fault I tresspassed on their soggy park. Put up a sign, for Heaven's sake. Some welcome to Iowa.
That bit of Sioux City has little to offer, now that their park is gone. There's what looks like a basketball stadium. The rest is industry. Stinking and decrepit. There are piles of debris and smoke from a rendering plant. The cracked and crumbling concrete streets reminded me of New Delhi.
I had a pretty rough five miles overland to get to the shopping mall. A nice girl at the Ramada Inn gave me fantastic directions. Not many people have that skill. She could see it from my situation. Walking is much different than driving a car. I would have been lost without her.
But even with her good help and her handy map it was not such easy going. Sioux City, Iowa's almost as big as Spokane and it is not designed for walking. You have to get creative in spots and the people in passing cars look at you like you're a weirdo.
I hit the mall and bought shoes in record time. They had an excellent selection. Every brand of hiking boot. I got the best ones I could afford. And if they don't work out they'll be dead in a month. That's just the nature of things. I left my Nebraska boots behind. They had walked as far as they could.
I was all but ready to sleep indoors, but I found again Highway 20. I made it to the edge of town and am camping hobo style. Civilisation surrounds me. They don't know I'm here. I am a man with skills.
It is meant to be another cold night. I am inclined to believe them this time. But I'll survive. I always do. Like the cockroach, only taller.
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