Day One-Hundred-Twelve, Shrouds

I woke up betimes but did not leave my tent. It was not cowardice; it was calculation. I was sure the sun would come out. It did not. It was another blustery day. I set out in search of breakfast.

Across the Trail I found the Udder Cafe, or Shoppe or Place or something. You'll know it when you see it; it's on Highway 275 and painted to look like a cow. And they put up a fairly impressive breakfast. The people are friendly and kind.

I sat down to a mere breakfast and a half. I was not in a two breakfast mood. I chatted some with Don and Scott, local Republicans. Gosh, but it was cozy in there. I was willing to stay there all day. There were lots of old folks who are always so kind. Friend Scott it seems paid for my breakfast. Thank you, sir.

I quite liked Tilden. I can't say just why. It is just a nice little town. There are maybe a thousand people or so and every one of them was nice to me. And the very next day was the Ribs Festival, a great barbeque in the streets. I imagine there would be beer, as well. I was offered a warm place to stay. But the road, the damnable road, has its first claim on me.

Winter.

I continued on my Cowboy trail. I couldn't say what time it was. My one watch died just east of Wenatchee and the sun was nowhere to be seen. There were roiling black clouds, low to the ground. It kept things pretty dark all day. It was as if it were perpetually seven p.m. and just about to get dark. It is disorientating. I did keep me moving. I was sure it would very soon rain.

It did not. Nor did it snow. I would not have been surprised if it did. There was no smell of snow in the air but it did have a grey snowy feel. What houses I passed had bedsheets and blankets spread over their vegetable gardens. I suppose it is just a matter of time before they place such a shroud over me.

Five miles on I passed Meadow Grove. I couldn't say if I stopped. With all due respect to the good people there, these towns are quite running together. Ah, now I remember, another nice little town, very small indeed. I asked if they had a laudromat. They did not. I moved on.

I am down to my last pair of shorts and the socks that hurt my feet. And, as everything has been damp, there has been a most unpleasant smell. A mustiness, overlayed with ammonia. I am hesitant to claim it as my own. Yet I am sure other people assign it to me. It precedes me wherever I go.

Stinking Across America. Please follow my adventures.

There was a laundromat on the east end of Tilden. I knew I must not stop there. I was in danger of spending the next six months there. It was all so cozy and warm. And I was determined to make it to Norfolk, Nebraska, twenty-two miles away. I'd had a very late start but that mattered not. There was nowhere to rest on the trail. Nowhere out of the wind and cold. There was nothing to do but walk.

You work up a sweat whether it's hot out or not. You have to keep that heat going. If you stop for more than a very few minutes you'll be very cold indeed. You'll get cranky. You'll feel sorry for yourself. You, I mean. Not me.

The Cowboy Trail split wide from the highway and took me to Battle Creek. I was surprised to see it was thriving town of some one-thousand souls. It is well off the road, kind of hidden back there. They don't much seem to mind. They have got a bustling seed corn plant and a brand new library. And a new high school. Folks from Norfolk are moving there to escape from big city life.

I should have stopped and had some lunch. But it was by then four o'clock. And they had fed me so very well in Tilden I didn't need any more. So on I went in the grey and gloom, with twelve more miles to go.

Five miles later my trail died. I guess a bridge was out. They spend a fortune maintaining the thing and I'm the only one who uses it. I found myself on a narrow farm road. I had no idead where I was. The corn was so high beside the road that I could not see anything.

I figured it out. I asked directions. I took good advice from Google. And made it to the edge of Norfolk, where I was detained by the law. Pulled over, rousted, forced to explain. Looked on with broad suspicion. I tell you it is disheartening and no proper welcome to town.

The guy was real nice about it. Someone had called me in. A red raincoat and a yellow hat. It suggest terrorism. Deputy Schmitz, I think he was called. He wore Coke-bottle glasses and a special pin that made him a firearms instructor. He was self-effacing and very polite, like the Canadians you see on TV.

Still, I object. I don't like producing ID. Pedestrianism is not a crime. And I was headed to a motel. Those Law & Order reruns aren't going to watch themselves.

I checked in to the EconoLux some time later. It is nice to be indoors. I enjoyed a three-minute swim in their very small pool and sat a bit in their spa. And had three baths and five showers and spread out my gear to dry. Life's good.

And I took full advantage of their generous Walking Across America discount. Let's give 'em a small plug here. EconoLux. Norfolk, Nebraska. The finest hotel in the world.
Goodnight.

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