Day Two-Hundred-Thirty-Seven, Quackery

I walked something like twenty-eight miles today.  I am a superhero.  Now twenty-eight miles is nothing at all.  I'm pretty sure Oprah could do it.  If someone towelled her off now and then, and someone else carried her purse. 

If I'm bragging it's about my skills.  I used the Hobo Force.  To find a place for my tent well after dark.  I've got suburbs on three sides.  None of them more than fifty yards off.  Nobody knows that I'm here.  Or won't until morning.  Then we will see.  I think I may get away with it.

I didn't set out to walk far today.  I was shooting for nineteen miles.  I meant to pull up just short of Lake Wales.  I had some decisions to make.  My road gets just a bit tricky from here.  I'm on the horns, as they say.  It's gators or suburbia.  I'm not sure which one is worse.

In a way walking is easier here.  I'm always sure to get fed.  An icy Coke is never more than five miles off.  Camping is what makes it hard.  I may have to spend all next week in motels.  It gets crowded when you hit the coast.  I don't want to spend any more than I have to.  I am, it's official, poor.

Since I left Ocala it's been one great big town.  It thins out a bit here and there.  I am passing more and more acres of orange trees.  There is that smell in the air.  I was surprised to see how many oranges you get.  We grow them for sport way up north.  And one shrivelled fruit every two or three years is a cause for celebration. 

But these trees, I tell you, they produce.  They are covered with hundreds of the things.  It makes you wonder why they cost so much.  I guess because they keep whacking them down to build more golf courses.  And strip malls and Walmarts and other such things.  I'm sure their intentions are good.  But I've been around all kinds of old people and they don't smell nearly as sweet.

Nor do I, truth be told.  I spent two hours at a truck stop this morning.  They did have showers there.  But they wanted ten bucks and I did not want to fall into the trap of soft living.  I'll get rinsed off in a couple of days.  I made do with breakfast.

At Denny's.  I miss my small town cafes.  I miss my biscuits and gravy.  Made right, with secret ingredients.  Love, or cigarette ashes.  Denny's makes their food beautiful, but they don't make it very good.  I had a hamburger topped with an egg and hash browns.  It was not even pretty.

Filling though.  I had thirty-nine Cokes.  My waitress was most understanding.  And too pretty to be working at Denny's.  I hope she goes back to school. 

I left there at a leisurely pace.  I had no plans to walk far.  I'm doing my best to smell the flowers, or the oranges, as the case may be.  I really don't want to finish this journey.  The future does not frighten me.  It would if I gave it a moment's thought, but I'm having fun where I am.

I lunched a few miles down the road.  This time at a Subway.  Yeah, I know.  But it's cheap and they always have outlets free.  You can refill your Coke.  (Root beer after noon.)  I sat there until four o'clock.  Which left me plenty of time for six more.  I had come all of thirteen miles.

I was feeling good when I reached Lake Wales.  There's an orange juice plant outside of town.  It sure smelled nice, not like paper at all, or vinegar potato chips.  Those can be nasty but this was most pleasant.  The trucks roll in day and night.  Carrying millions of oranges, just thrown in the back.  Not pretty, like the ones on the box.

Oranges are sometimes picked by slaves.  I bet you didn't know that.  It is the natural consequence of subcontracting.  Each level squeezes the next.  Until the only way to show a satisfactory profit is to keep your workers locked up.  Pay them nothing.  Make them afraid.  Sometimes America sucks.

I had my eye on a good camping spot.  I had found it on Google earth.  I thought it was pine trees but it turned out to be oranges.  I don't want to camp in an orchard.  They are irrigated, for one thing.  And patrolled.  If not, there are workers, whether they are paid or not.

Also the arrangement of the trees makes it hard to hide my tend.  So I walked on.  And on.  And on.  It was by then quite dark.  I walked through Lake Wales, across two bridges.  I'm lucky I didn't get squished.  And I was resigned to walk all night, until I at last found this spot.

I'm kind of a mess.  I'm sore, I'm tired.  It's fifty but I'm awfully cold.  And a bit nervous about my surroundings.  I hear people on all sides.  And I have developed an unseemly rash.  It makes me walk like a duck.

Goodnight.

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