Day One-Hundred-Twenty-Nine, Alps

There was no frost on the ground this morning. It felt like there ought to be. Damn, it was cold and my tent got soggy, windows open or not. There were trees between me and the morning sun. It did not do me a lick of good.

I spent a good twenty minutes blowing my nose. You'll never guess what I found in there. Green and gooey with a consistency not unlike peanut butter. Smooth, not chunky, be glad for small favors. And there was a lot of it. You would almost think it would be worth something as an industrial lubricant. Or dried and fashioned into salad bowls or maybe unbreakable combs. All I'm saying is that there's potential there. This idea is my own.

I clawed my way back up to the road, past a NO TRESPASSING sign. Strongly worded with all kinds of threats. I had not seen it before. I had angled in from some ways up the road. They have got to place their signs better. Or invest some money in landmines and dogs. I can't do all the work. But I picked up my litter and honored the place. One day there'll be a plaque. A sort of historical monument. James Harry Pierce Slept Here.

Among other things, but I buried it. At least as well as I could.

In a couple of miles I found De Soto. There was no place for me to eat there. I had two ghastly sandwiches at a mini-mart, and two great big cups of coffee. And sat there for hours, charging my computer. I met a pretty girl from Virginia. Who was travelling with her German Shepherd dog, that symbol of romantic love.

It was warm when I got back on the road. It was by then about noon. And my road continued straight uphill, for miles and miles and miles. It would dip now and then just to keep me sharp but up, uphill was the gist. Today I scaled the Iowa Alps, nasty steep little things.

Shy of De Soto I'd passed under I-80, a sort of hillbilly line. It is said that the bottom third of the state lacks sophistication. But it is pretty here and noticably different. There are trees and hills and a lot less corn. There are a number of rivers. It is more or less what I always imagine when people talk about horse country.

I am still I think now in Madison County, famous for its covered bridges. This is where Clint Eastwood filmed The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. I haven't seen any of these bridges myself. You are directed to them by signs. But they are always five or ten miles off the road. I'll look them up online. Or not. I have a number of interests and never have time for them all.

But like I said, it was a pretty walk. A bit too pretty perhaps. I too often wanted to sit on my pack and stare off into the trees. It has been a while since I've seen autumn leaves. We admire them in Japan. But there you have sake to keep you warm and I was younger then.

I made it eventually to Winterset, birthplace of John Wayne. There still exists his actual house but it was half a block out of my way. Had it been a covered bridge I would have taken the turn. I got a look at the neighborhood. It looks like Duke grew up fairly well off. I'm certain they had a maid. That and his actions in WWII made him a Republican.

I had to move through Winterset fast. It was getting dark. Which in the summer it does slowly and by degrees. Now it's just on and off. I had just enough time to stop at a supermarket and buy bread and cheese for the road. And sports drinks. I would have bought donuts but they did not have any maple bars.

Maple bars are Nature's Perfect Food. In the future when I am really rich, I'm not going to eat anything but maple bars. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, maple bars. Go ahead, see if I don't.

I shopped at a FAREWAY. I have passed several of them. They occupy abandoned SAFEWAY stores. They have only to purchase an R. Which is noticably shinier than the other letters. This is the first one I've been to. I had been under the mistaken impression that they sold golf equipment. Power of suggestion and all that. I feel kind of dumb.

I raced out of town, asking directions of a man with a German shepherd dog. Ever since yesterday morning I feel really nervous around these creatures. But I found my road and here I am, in the worst tentsite imaginable. I climbed an evil barbed wire fence for the privelege of camping in weeds. Prickly weeds on lumpy ground, punctuated with sticks. But it was late and beggars don't choose. I'm cold and sleepy. Goodnight.

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