Day Three, Goats Gruff

Find me under a bridge or next to one outside of what might be Carnation, Washington. I have walked something like twenty-five miles. I didn't mean to, of course. I thought I would stop at eighteen or so and ask some friendly landowner to let me set up my tent.

In daylight, you understand, the way I practiced it. On a soft patch of ground with flowers around and maybe a puppy to play with. But I didn't meet any landowners, at least not friendly ones. A woman at an RV park offered me tent space for forty bucks. She had a spittle moustache and the place looked like something Scooby and the Gang ought to be looking into one of these days. Later a man with an obscenely neat little beard looked at me like I was a hobo. And I showered and shaved this morning. He smelled like beefy curry.

I did meet some nice folks--on bicycles, no less. I must endeavour to conquer my predjudices against the cycling breed. And I walked through Issaquah which I had always dismissed as another ghastly suburb of Seattle but which is in fact a charming little town. A bit self-consciously, perhaps, but I wasn't there long enough to question their sincerity.

And I learned a few things, namely:
*Lutheran churches are always built on the left side of the road, facing downhill. God only knows why.
*Nothing good ever comes with a road with the word "hill" in its name. "So-and-so Hill Road" or "Such-and-such Mountain Highway"... forget about it.
*Goats poop more like dogs than they do horses, but they lack the dog's endearing sense of shame.

So on that bright and educational note, I will let you go. Thanks for tuning in.

Found: two dimes, one penny

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