Day One-Hundred-Thirty-One, Darkness

You'll remember I met young Anthony, under a bridge in Montana. He was walking west from Long Island on his way to Oregon. I expect he finished weeks ago. He was making pretty good time. He could walk as many as thirty-five miles in a single day.

It astounded me at the time. I was at something of a low point that day. But I'm better now and if I had more daylight I could do the same thing. Not every day, don't be a goose, but now and then I feel strong. But with these short days it is all I can do to put in a mere twenty miles. I worry that after a month or so it will be closer to fifteen.

I could wake before daybreak but that hardly seems right. I know it's done all the time. But I don't think the spiritual damage to me would be worth the extra hour. And I need to tent up before it gets dark if I hope to know where I am. Which leaves me twelve hours to eat and rest and recharge my little computer.

And walk, of course. I guess that's the point. But it's not all that I hope to do. I like talking to people and reading plaques and visiting small town museums. And staring into rivers and taking naps in the sun and crashing the odd church picnic. If it were all about walking I wouldn't have bothered. That would be no fun at all.

This morning I woke before seven o'clock but I was not on the road until nine. At Meggers farm I had the chance to recharge my little computer. Which really is a thorn in my butt, if you will excuse that expression. It's an obsession, a compulsion, a gnawing fear; and fairly necessary, at that. I like a nice type at the end of a day. It gives me a purpose in life.

I spread out my gear on the Meggers' lawn. I've been packing rather haphazardly. It was good to get everything back in its place and get my tent folded right. I spoke briefly with the family dog, a fireplug of a blue heeler. Short and squat and muscular, she smashed her skull into my face.

As a friendly gesture, I'm certain of it. She's overflowing with love. But it made me shy about meeting the horse, another muscular beast. If he had decided to head-butt me it would have left a dent. He was friendly, though, and at least as scared of me as I was of him. I patted him on his silly nose and brushed away some flies.

He looked a little sad when I finally left. I was wrong to make him my friend. These separations are hard on me. I no longer look cows in the eye. Whoever said it's better to have loved and lost did not have my regrets. I will make of my heart a stone, cold and hard and heavy. And covered all over with lichens and moss, a shelter for earwigs and grubs.

I had a ten-mile run to Osceola. I was in no kind of shape. I had an undefined pain in my back and my second best knee had a click. My small breakfast had failed to satisfy. I had to stop several times. It was a nice stretch of road. Winding with plenty of improving hills and not too too many cars.

And autumn leaves, perhaps not yet at their height. They still make a pretty good show. Not untinged with melancholy. Such is the Nature of Life. Or Beauty, in any case. Beauty will break your heart. Or you, its. It does not really matter. Everyone's feelings get hurt.

Osceola, Iowa is a town of some three-thousand souls. It wasn't where I thought it would be. In my effort to conserve my battery I had neglected to check my map. It was at the top of a hill and too far away. I was by then fairly hungry. And so I was cranky. I soon decided I did not like Osceola.

I liked it much better after lunch. I had an expensive hamburger. It was that or Mexican food at a place that looked, frankly, unclean. I did live in India for a few years. I'm no stranger to dysentery. But there are some experiences you need only have once. Much more than that is just greedy.

I had too a piece of chocolate pie. I was not impressed with the crust. But I felt it was important to stuff myself. I would only eat once today. Supplemented of course with bagels and cheese. I restocked at a grocery store. Fareway, if it at all interests you. I bet they can sell you an S.

I loitered a bit in the city park, still trying to juice my computer. It was full of screaming kids, out on a field trip. They were writing down the names of all the businesses in town. It was a lesson in consumerism. One place was called Clarks Furniture. Everyone wrote it down. What does the new generation care about the lowly apostrophe.

Did you know that every time I type an apostrophe or a semicolon or a question mark or a hyphen, I pretty much have to call up a menu screen? But I do it. Because I care about you.

My afternoon walk went a lot more smoothly. I put in another ten miles. I'd have been glad to give more but it was getting dark. I found a spot in a hayfield. There was a barbed wire fence but it wasn't so high. It's hard to believe they were serious.

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