Day One-Hundred-Fifty-Three, Media Darling

It was indeed not raining when I woke up, but it was plenty wet. Inside and outside my tent. I packed an extra ten pounds of water. And set off again on my lonely road. It was not such a grand day for walking.

It was cold, to begin with, and threatening rain. The skies were layers of grey. And I was feeling a little scraped up from my long walk in the rain. A boy do chafe in spite of himself. I had blisters between my toes. Which made me nostalgic for the good old days when I was young and foolish.

Everything about me was sopping wet. My dripping old pack weighed a ton. And smelled cheesier than I like it to. My straps weren't sliding well. And my load was misbalanced, high and off to the left. It did unkind things to my back. Thirteen or fourteen miles, I figured, before I'd be safe from the rain.

I walked it. I was fairly heroic. I limped on on blistered toes. And cursed and grumbled. I dared not look at the sky. It was rotten, I tell you. I was in nine kinds of pain. It was easier than you might think. It is not like I had any options out there. It was too cold to stop and rest. So I walked. It was uncomfortable but I had no decisions to make.

I met Pastor Lee on the road. He runs a garage in town. He promised me coffee when I got there. It was a warming thought. The garage is Mowear Motorsports of Fredericktown, Missouri. They had some cool old muscle cars and one elegant Corvair. And a body man that looked like Jed Clampett. That's what I like to see. Missouri. Hell, yeah. It don't disappoint. I spent two hours there.

Not just standing around in the way. I had to get interviewed. And photographed for the local paper, known as the Democrat News. It has been around since 1870. Republicans read it now. At any rate they are making me famous, at least in this little town. Thanks to Robert Vanderbrugen, gentleman of the press.

I say this little town because I am still here. I had laundry to do. It was five by the time I got done and I still needed to eat. Lee said I could camp behind his shop. I figured I'd come far enough. My feet were a mess and it was getting dark. I retired to dinner.

Where I met Dustin, a tugboat man on the Mississipi, River. And Brian, a dissatisfied soul and sawmill employee. The invited me to watch the World Series with them. The Cardinals are involved. And drink and smoke and create that mood that really makes baseball fun.

It was a hell of a game, if you're into that sort of thing. Seriously. Game Six. Look it up. This is the first World Series there's ever been where I knew which team to cheer for.

Long story short, I crashed on Brian's couch. His cat slept on my chest. I woke up early and a bit bleary-eyed. Which is how you find me now. So I won't trouble you with any insights. Sometimes life is just about drinking and smoking and watching baseball.

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Day One-Hundred-Eighteen, Fur Hats

This fellow I spoke to--Don, I think his name was--inTilden, Nebraska said that some years back he and his young son took to sleeping in the tree fort. There was no trouble in the home. Winter was coming and they just wanted to see how long they could do it, to see how tough they were. Tough enough, I imagine. Don said the secret to cold weather survival is to train your cat to sleep on top of your bald head.

This is the sort of thing you have to be On the Road to learn. And appreciate. I have filed it away for future use but it doesn't do me much good now. I don't have a cat or a bald head. Or a son or a treehouse. All I've got is a tent and bitter feelings and a few symptoms of the flu.

Mere influenza cannot undo me. I don't as a rule catch cold. The trick is to deny it when it appears. It will soon enough go away. Your mind and body will conspire to cure you, rather than make you a liar. So I don't have the flu and I ain't going to get it. I am a superman.

My little computer, and it has been dishearteningly accurate about these things, says it is going to be 37 degrees tonight. It makes it 42 now. If this is 42 I do not want to know what 37 is going to be like. A lot like last night, I'm inclined to guess. I did not like that so much at all. It hurt my feelings. It made my toes ache. It took all the fun out of peeing.

I did find a Goodwill on the edge of Sioux City and invested in a new fleece pullover. It is a sad shade of green and covered in cat hair. It cost $3.75. It is thick and warm and the sleeves are long enough to pull over my fingers. I think it's money well spent. I wish I could find a pair of fleece pants. I would wear them to parties.

I do have my thermal underwear and a warmish brand of hat. And a fairly good sleeping bag. I may just survive yet. But I have come to appreciate the difference between survival and comfort. They'll sell you all manner of outdoor gear on the boast that it will keep you alive down to this temperature or that. But they never tell you how unpleasant it will be.

It will be unpleasant.

I didn't make a great deal of progress today. I am sure I fell short of my quota. But I was a little fluey and I am wearing new shoes. I needed too to recharge my computer. Which I did not wholly succeed in doing, but I should get through this brief essay. I do not intend to type at you long. My nose is starting to drip.

Drip.

My new shoes I guess are doing OK. I do have a shiny new blister. I haven't bothered to look at it yet. I've got worries enough. It will either be better or worse tomorrow. Such is the nature of life.

Drip.

Highway 20 in Iowa is a well used four-lane road. The paved shoulder is too narrow for walking. There is gravel on the side. It is fairly rough and would have killed me in my last shoes, but my new ones are a little heavier. But still my feet get knocked around quite a bit inside the shoe itself. Uneven surfaces are the devil. Blisters are his imps.

I had breakfast at a Perkins restaurant. I thought it was going to suck. I just wanted to get some coffee. I wanted to hold the warm mug. But it was nice, not expensive and the coffee was really good. The food was pretty but soulless. I've certainly eaten worse. They had some beautiful pies, as well, but I'm still fighting a wooze.

What really impressed me was my waitress. She was really good. It is a joy to see someone excel at their job. I speak in all seriousness. Her timing, her attitude, her skill with a tray. It was poetry. I doubt one in ten-thousand Americans are as good at their job as she is at hers. She should give seminars. I found myself wishing I had my own restaurant so I could hire her at twice the pay.

Of course the girl at the Goodwill was pretty competent too. Maybe it is just an Iowa thing. Maybe Iowans take pride in their work. Good for Iowa.

Anyway, I am a couple of miles past Moville, Iowa, camped in a small patch of trees. Not a great spot, but it'll do. There are critters without. Raccoons I guess, or maybe a skunk. No one I want sitting on my head.

I've got thirteen-odd miles between me and breakfast. Let's hope it's a stronger day. I've only to pee and then I can sleep. Damn, but it is cold outside. What would a NASA astronaut do in a stuation like this.

CHEERS TO the Man of God who bought me lunch and the snacks salesman who gave me free samples.

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