Day One-Hundred-Seventy-Six, Car Talk

Find me in the Ole Country Bakery in Brooksville, Mississippi.  It is coming up on eight-thirty and I'm ready to get on the road.  I can't, of course.  Because Samsung sucks.  Samsung is famous for sucking.

I woke up before the birds.  Birds are notoriously lazy.  When I went to sleep it was awfully cold but it was warm when I woke up.  It was still dark.  It wasn't the sun.  It was wind from down on the Gulf.  It wasn't exactly frisbee weather but it was warm enough.  Warm enough to dry my tent and get me out of bed.

I've never been much of an early riser.  I do my best work late at night.  But I can see why people like waking up early.  The world is pretty in the morning.  A little colder than I would keep it but there's compensation for that.  In the smug self-satisfied feeling you get from waking before everyone else.

Never mind that I got ten hours' sleep.  I walk hard.  I had it coming.  I crossed the highway to the Mennonite bakery and ordered up my biscuits and gravy.  And a ham and cheese biscuit for luck.  And a maply cinnamon roll.  And thirty-seven cups of coffee.  Not very big cups though.

Mostly I'm trying to put some charge on my little computer.  And do a little typing here to speed the process tonight.  So I can finish my daily report before it shuts down on me.

I say "Samsung" you say "Sucks":

"Samsung!"

"Sucks!"

"Samsung!"

"Sucks!"

"Yay!"

***************

I cannot begin to tell you how pissed I am at my Samsung Galaxy Tab.  I can't because it will shut down before I post this message.  Samsung, I hope you die.

***************

Find me camped in a pine forest across the street from something called Shuqualak, Mississipi.  Or something like that.  I can't look it up.  Because Samsung sucks.  It probably doesn't matter that much.  I'm not sure anyone lives there.  And it is going to be in the fifties tonight.  That is warm enough.

As I was leaving the bakery a nice man bought me donuts.  A good half dozen.  To sustain me.  They will.  He has my thanks.  He was there with his car club.  They were on some sort of grand tour.  He was driving a '73 Mustang, modified to look like a '71.  It is at best a subtle distinction but it was a pretty machine.

I hiked on in a fairly good mood.  It was early yet.  And the hopes I had for my little computer had not yet been dashed to the ground.  I had a bag full of donuts and a song in my heart.  The sun never really came out.  But it wasn't cold and I had managed to get Car Talk on my radio.

I had to hold it at a weird angle.  There was all kinds of static.  But gosh I love those car talk guys.  They always make me smile.  You don't have to wait until pledge week, you know.  Go ahead, write them a check.  NPR, I mean.  Not the Car Talk guys.  I think they're doing alright.

I hiked my ten miles to Macon, Mississippi and slid into town the back way.  Which added I guess a mile or two but I got where I was going.  I needed to find me a laundromat.  I was running out of underwear.  And my laundry bag was getting harder to live with and harder to fit in my pack.

Laundromats as a rule are fairly bleak.  They don't cater to society's cream.  Some rich gal might slip in there to wash a horse blanket or something.  But mostly they're for those of us who can't afford a washing machine.  Or toothpaste in today's instance.  What a disgusting place.

I was tempted to leave.  I felt insulted.  I feel demeaned by filth.  But I did need my underwear.  I did what I had to do.  But I will never have any warm feeling for Macon, Mississippi.

That town, I guess, has seen better days, a hundred and fifty years back.  They used to have a booming slave market.  It was a railroad hub.  They held lynchings at the high school.  I think they should close up shop.  The town is cursed and always will be.  What a ghastly place.  Salt the earth and pave it over.  Bury it six feet deep.  Or least get ahold of a bucket and mop and wash out the laundromat.

I had Chinese food on the way out of town.  I've been awfully hungry for rice.  But it was an all-you-can-eat buffet.  With Pepsi it cost seven bucks.  I am suspicious of buffets.  I think they're unclean.  I only had three heaping plates.  Which is two more than I really needed.  I like to get my money's worth.

It may be the last time I eat for a while.  I've got a long lonesome stretch up ahead.  I'll be lucky to find gas station wings between here and Meridian.  In Meridian I have to try again to get my computer fixed.  Or bloody the nose of someone or other.  I hope he's not too big.

My donuts I am saving for tomorrow.  They're no longer fluffy fresh.  They've compacted themselves into neat little cubes, like the donuts our astronauts eat.  Which is fine with me.  Already they're bringing all kinds of joy to my life.  My whole backpack now smells like donuts.  It usually smells like tom cat.

I tend to think I'm almost done with this hike.  I think I'm still west of Chicago.  Which in my mind I want to put in the middle, though in fact it is well east of that.  I am getting closer to Florida.  That cheers me less than you'd guess.  I was stupid to choose Miami.  I'm going to get gator et.

Most of your Walkers Across America follow a similar course.  They go from San Diego to Jacksonville.  It's what, 2400 miles.  Which is less I think than I've walked already.  And there are no gators at all.  And no pythons.  There are a few deserts.  Still, it seems kind of weak.

In the future when I'm a bergillionaire I'm going to build a sidewalk.  From Portland, Oregon to Washington, D.C.  With cafes along the way.  We will call it the James Trail.  You can use it too.

I don't really know where I'm going from here.  I'll hit Meridian in three days.  I had some notion of heading east from there but Alabama is a mess.  The roads I mean.  They're all squiggly.  It's like southern Missouri again.  I need to find an old truck driver to give me an education.

It seems I had something clever to say.  I'll be damned if I remember it now.  But I cannot sit and ponder.  My computer's about to shut down.  And there are dangerous beasties sniffing at my tent.  Wolves or feral hogs no doubt.  So as likely as not I'm about to be eaten.  In lieu of flowers, NPR.

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