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The sun never really came out today. It was up there, just behind the clouds. Clouds so thin you could see blue through them. It did keep the world fairly dark. And so humid it felt as if the air itself might soon explode into rain.
It had me convinced that I had woken up early. In fact it was half past seven. Which would have killed me in my civilian life. Now it means sleeping in. But I was exhausted. It was a struggle to get all my gear packed up. Google had promised me a Sunoco station two miles down the road.
Two miles is nothing. I can walk it backwards, blindfolded with one leg in a cast. I'd been afraid I might have to walk seventeen before I got fed again. I had been much too long without proper nutrition. I know many get by on less. But I tell you I need every one of my six-thousand calories a day.
I settled in for two heat-lamp biscuits. I'm not even sure what they were. They had on them egg and possibly cheese and a square piece of something fried. It might have been chicken or fish or potato. I honestly could not say. It was hot and heavy and just what I needed. I had mine with mustard.
I had three gallons of Coke as well. It was early enough for coffee. But I could feel that sugar restoring my tissues, like watering a wilted daisy. It is what they give you in hospitals. They pump it in through an IV. And charge you God knows what for it. All my refills were free.
I wound up staying two-and-a-half hours. My time is not always my own. I had to plug in and put some wind in the sails of my little computer. Typing these reports is never easy. They determine a lot that I do. Where I stop and for how long and when I get to go to sleep. Ask any quantum physicist or documentary filmmaker. You change the very nature of things when you set out to observe them.
You might be surprised how much thought I give to that little conundrum. Perhaps a bit more than is healthy. I think of trees falling in forests and trying on sunglasses, FOX News and a life lived alone. Nothing is as it seems. Every step you take creates a new universe.
Seriously.
I never would have made it seventeen miles. I would have but it would have sucked. It was rather a struggle even once I was fed. My legs were reasonable strong. I had plenty of water. My feet didn't hurt much. Sometimes walking is hard.
I don't write a lot about walking here, the actual left-right-left. I'll give you my mileage when I remember, and when it makes me look good. I report on my stops, the people I meet, the thoughts that creep into my head. My hopes, my fears, the things I eat. Where I put up my tent. But I am leaving a big part out of it. Walking, walking is key. I am Walking Across America. The rest of it is just noise.
It was not such an interesting stretch of road. It wasn't bad, certainly. But it was too much like what I saw yesterday. The humidity didn't help. All I could reflect on was tree farming. I think they are doing it right. Thirty miles of trees. Loggers working full speed. In thirty years they'll be back where they started. They chop 'em down and plant new ones, just like growing corn.
I've never seen so many log trucks. I wave at every one. And they wave back. Now and then they'll give me a blast of their horn. Nice people. They're sure making a mess. Bits of bark line the roads. There are branches all over the place, fallen from passing trucks. When I can I pull them out of the road. Call it a good deed if you must. But the road is for cars and the shoulder is mine. I don't like it when they swerve.
I'm making it safer for whoever walks behind me. I'll leave him too this advice: What, you want to Walk Across America? What are you, out of your mind? Get a job, fall in love, raise up some kids. Find a place to call home.
A few of us are compelled to do this. You cannot talk sense into them. If I had been born an Irishman I'd have walked across Ireland. And I would have finished six months ago. And I would have been duly proud. The America part is arbitrary. Walking, walking is key.
Many people I meet know someone who knows someone who rode their bicycle across America. What are you telling me for, I wonder. What's that have to do with me? It's like people who confuse China and Japan. They are much different countries, I swear. Japan has more in common with Canada. It is not wholly unlike Korea. But at heart they don't really like each other, so keep that one to yourself.
At length I made it to Cross City. Cross City is a timber town. From the very beginning. They used to cut cypress down. And some brand of pine that doesn't exist anymore. They made money at it too. And still do, but less. It's a trim little town of maybe 1700 people.
I had forty-five minutes to enjoy a sandwich and plug in just a bit more. It was pleasant; I would have liked to stay longer but I was cutting it close. I don't like to set up my tent in the dark, not in these gatory woods. As it was that is just what I did. I think I am fairly safe here.
You might think I'm being silly, my fear of gators. Let me make one thing clear. I am not afraid because there might be gators everywhere I turn. I'm afraid because there are gators everywhere I turn. You learn to cope with your own bogeymen. In this case my fears are real.
I just don't want to be eaten by gators. We all have our likes and dislikes. I just think it would be an awful way to die. Lonely, if that makes sense. Disregarded. Seen as mere meat. It would be like having a job.
Before I left home I figured I had a fifty-percent chance of being killed on this trip. I'm sure my odds were better than that. But I think abstractly; I don't attach numbers to things. I can, of course. I'm no nitwit. I just never got around to it. I had other things on my mind.
So I left home prepared to die. Now it looks as if I might not. Which is good news in a lot of ways. I wish I'd made future plans. But I'll survive. I always do. Crocodiles be damned.
CROSS CITY, Florida has the most beautiful Dairy Queen I've ever seen. Its architecture is ordinary, but it is surrounded by spectacular trees. Live oaks. I've learned to love them. I'm camped under one right now.
THE WEATHERMAN promises rain tomorrow. Usually he's more CYA. He allows for mistakes; he hedges his bets. He'll give you a ninety-percent chance. But not this time. He is promising. It is going to rain.
HELL, it's raining now.
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