Day One-Hundred-Sixty-Three, His Mysterious Ways

I woke up at seven after five hours' sleep. It would have been eight o'clock. But Daylight Savings has begun or ended. I can never remember which. So the sun was well up and it was warmish outside. The dews had dried from my tent. And I felt better rested than I really deserved. I set to work packing up.

My new friend Deepak would turn up at ten. I wanted to say goodbye. But I couldn't wait. I had walking to do. I am still racing winter south. Every mile I walk in the sun is one I don't have to walk in the rain. And I do dislike walking in the rain, and for that matter, saying goodbye.

I still have a very fine road for walking. I made my way towards Milan. My-lun, you'll recall, to most of its friends. Mah-lun may be closer still. It was an easy seven mile hike. I was a bit hungry though. Deepak had threatened me with breakfast, but I had imposed on his goodness enough.

About halfway there I passed a barking dog. She looked kind of pit-bully. But she wasn't so big and kept herself back. I did not let her worry me much. I was more concerned about the half wolf they had roped to a tree. She didn't bark at me at all. She just drooled and licked her chops.

A man came out to see what was up. I waved at him and moved on. He wasn't having any of that. "Are you hungry?" he wanted to know.

Now, how to answer. It's a trick question. I am not of The Hungry, no. But I was at that moment hungry indeed. "Come have a fried baloney sandwich."

That swung it for me. That's local cuisine. You can't get it at restaurants. Real genuwine Southern food. Served up with a jar of sweet tea. Another local specialty, and one I've quite learned to like. Ice cold tea, very strongly brewed, with a great deal of sugar in it. It's a lot better than our sissy Yankee iced tea, with its lemon wedges and its pretensions.

I met a man and his wife on their way to church. I did not want to make them late. "They'll wait," this good man assured me. They would have to. He was their pastor.

He was Pastor Robert Waddle. He was not always a good man. He wore his hair in a severe crewcut. He was some inches shorter than me. But outweighed me by a good hundred-twenty pounds. His eyes were close-set and black. There was "LOVE" tattooed across the knuckles of his left hand. I did not get a look at his right. He used to be a truck driver, and I think, beat people up.

His wife was Irene with big blue eyes, Sister Irene to her friends. She was all Love and enthusiasm. She told me about the Lake of Fire. She'd had her own troubles in the past. You'd never guess it to see her now. God saved her before he did her husband.

"I tried to stop her from going to church."

He'd remove fuses from her car. He would try to block her in with his truck. He did not want her flopping against him, to use the Dickensian phrase. But she one out, or maybe God did. Robert went on to crash his truck. And experienced Healing and Redemption. Now he is preaching the Word.

Pastor Robert must have been one Hell of a thug. I wouldn't want to mess with him. But I think he makes a fine preacher too. He is not wholly ignorant of sin. And is quite sincere. Between the two of them they made a very nice case.

I presented myself honestly, or I hinted at where I stand. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but I am not a man of faith. You might think I am experiencing doubt. Disabuse yourself of that. I have in fact no doubts at all. My mind is pretty well made up.

We joined hands and prayed before I left. We made a little circle. Well, they prayed. I just sort of stood there, but it was kind of neat. It wasn't some trim little Catholic prayer. They both pretty much let loose. Him in his words and she in hers. I tried to hear them both. They prayed for my safety and to open my eyes and to make my journey about God. Which it is to a certain extent. I do return to the theme.

They invited me to their church. I probably should have gone. There is nothing tame about their faith. They've got Healing and Speaking in Tongues. It ain't all formal; people really let loose when moved by the Holy Spirit. It all sounded rather interesting, but I had laundry to do.

And my interest was more anthropological. That may be the wrong attitude. I would have liked to watch from the balcony, but I'd be out of place on the floor. And I had some fear they'd all turn on me and try to save me then and there.

"Ask God for a sign and He'll give you one." When I left I gave it a shot. But I don't think I showed proper contrition. It was like, "Alright God, go ahead." I didn't even take my earbuds out. My radio is of course dead. But I am soothed by listening again and again to Nicholas Nickleby.

Walking in Nebraska I saw a cloud in the shape of a cross. Or it may have been an alligator, crawling up on a beach. So it was either a symbol of God's Perfect Love, or a warning not to go to Florida. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was a barium chem-trail. I think I need something less vague.

"His Sign will mean something to you but not to other people." I did just then find a sidewalk, stretching four miles to town. A proper sidewalk. In the middle of nowhere. But it appeared to have been there for some time. I followed it, appreciatively, all the way to a laundromat.

Where I finally got some washing done. And read the Book of Luke. And some Hebrews and a good many Psalms. Pastor Robert had given me a Bible. I really think I need glasses. That small print is getting sort of furry.

From there it was on to a hardy lunch. It was by then getting late in the day. But I needed a charge for my computer. It's getting very unhappy again. And, I am sad to say, my backpack is dying. I've MacGyvered a few repairs. It just needs to last another two months. Pray for it. I do.

You've heard me complain about my shoes. And my socks and my sleeping pad. And my sleeping bag and my poor old tent. Even about my hat. But I've had no unkind words about my backpack. It's about the best there is. There is no way I can afford to replace it. I'd have to settle for less.

Damn.

I stopped at a Walmart on the way out of town. Walmart is a pain in the ass. You have to walk a half a mile just to get across their parking lot. But they have goid prices on Gatorade. I got me some moist towlettes. I meant to buy some deodorant. I got Pop-Tarts instead.

And took off walking, as fast as I could. I had but two hours til dark. And I needed to get closer to Jackson, Tennessee, a very big town indeed. It is going to be a trick to get through it before dark. I don't want to get stuck indoors. I want to save my motel stays for the next time it rains.

I walked until it was almost dark. Who did I meet but Deepak. Driving home from somewhere or other with his wife and their charming daughter. Who turns fifteen today, bless her heart. Join me in wishing her well.

Deepak Chopra, that generous soul, went and forced money on me. My pride has dimmed considerably. I'm not averse to charity. But he already gave me two sandwiches, a lot of Coke and a place for my tent. I didn't want to overtax the fellow. I do try to spread my shots.

"In celebration of my daughter's birthday." I had tried to turn him down. But I could not say no to that. Not with the girl herself sitting there. She seemed like a really good kid.

"God bless you," said Deepak when he left. I think he is a Hindu. But I need all the blessings I can get. I am getting them from all sides.

THE GOOD Waddles lost their trailer in a flood, earlier this year. I saw the picture; it was awful. The road I've been on was under several feet of water. God, though, looked after them. He replaced their losses "fourfold". Now they have a doublewide. It's nice but that's only a twofold blessing. I kept that observation to myself.

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Day One-Hundred-Nineteen, Toasted Buns

The sun was shining when I woke up. It wasn't so cold at all. Because I had slept for eleven straight hours. It was by then 9:42. That's late even by my standards, at least out here on the road. But I was fluey and needed the rest. I woke up more or less cured.

And my tent had dried out, even deep in the trees. And my tentpoles weren't cold at all. But I still took my time getting back on the road. I had gone and out-hoboed myself. And not for the first time. I come up with these spectacularly well concealed tent sites and then have the damnedest time remembering how I got in there in the first place. I was surrounded by prickle bushes. I sat down to contemplate life.

Back on the road my legs were weak. You expect that after an illness. Real or imagined. I had too a fairly uncomfortable blister. I should have doctored it the night before but I tell you it is really hard to generate enthusiasm for that kind of thing. It would have meant climbing out of my sleeping bag and skewering myself with nosehair scissors. It hurts and it hurts my feelings. Which is why I'm neglecting that same task tonight. Let it fester till morning.

I will be up much earlier tomorrow. I've left myself little choice. I am camped on the edge of Highway 20. The State Patrol may wake me up. I am quite invisible here in the dark but will be easy to see come the dawn. The shame of sleeping in in front of everyone ought to have me up by seven or so. We'll see, we'll see.

The earlier the better, I am inclined to think, though I know my tentpoles will be cold. I am scheduled to visit my friends the Smiths, whom you may remember as the nice family I met in southeastern Montana. They were delivering their daughter Grace to college when one of their wheels fell off. I stopped to offer impotent sympathy and they've been friends of mine ever since.

And great friends to have, it has turned out. You'll never guess what I'm wearing now. Fleece pants. I'm wearing fleece pants. It's cold but I have never felt so toasty. You'll recall that just yesterday I was lamenting the fact that there is no such thing as fleece pants. Good Mrs. Smith sat down and made me a pair. And delivered them to me here on the road, not two short hours ago. I almost cried.

Gosh, they're warm. I've got thermals too, but I have not bothered with them. I am perfectly warm in my fleece pants. I feel like a teddy bear. Yesterday, though, I said I would wear my fleece pants to parties, but I am afraid that is quite impossible. They're warm but they make me look fat. My thermals are in fact rather slimming. They just don't work as good.

The whole jolly family came out to greet me, less Grace who is off getting smart. There is Elsie, a flower, and Wyatt, a pill, and Anna, whose name I forgot. That delightful little palindrome made me chocolate chip cookies. I am chewing on one even now. And Mrs. Smith brought me soup, hot from the stove, chicken noodle in a styrofoam cup. And Mr. Smith, no doubt a little tired from his three and a half jobs, condescended to deliver them all. It was like Christmas, I swear.

Oh, and Grandma sent me socks. She worries about me, you know. I have not had the honor of meeting her, but it is her interest perhaps more than anyone's that keeps me from getting too foul and blasphemous in my blog. I don't know, even now, that she would approve of my every scribbling, but I thank her for her kind indulgence.

I didn't break any records walking today. Late start and lazy habits. I was able to visit but one small town, Correctionville, Iowa. It seems pleaeant enough but I did not stay long enough to find out how many people live there or learn how it got its name. I do know they used to have a grocery store but it burned down. Foul play is not suspected.

And I believe I have answered a question that has been puzzling me. As you know, I live on hamburgers, largely because they are cheap and filling, widely available and predictably digestible. But I've long wondered why, given so little variation in ingredients, some burgers are really good and most others aren't. The secret? Toasted buns. I swear that's it.

Anyway, I'm cold and my battery is dead. I must bid you goodnight. Thanks for tuning in.


I JUST KNOW that some of you are already planning to build an empire based on fleece pants. Well, I am afraid that invention is shared by Mrs. Smith and myself. And she may yet sue me for my half. It is a million dollar idea, though. You're right about that.

MOM?

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