Day One-Hundred-Eighty-Five, Shelter From the Storm

Find me in a coffee shop/cafe in Chatom, Alabama.  Cassanova's Hideaway.  Or Love Grotto or Passion Nook.  I know it is something like that.  It sounds like a different sort of shop altogether but it is not such a bad place.  It offers some big city sophistication to a town that needs all it can get.

I had the cheesecake, thank-you very much.  It was a man-sized serving.  And more than I needed, having already dined.  I had the meatloaf special.  With mustard greens and mashed potatoes and a small piece of not-so-good cake.

So why are you eating again, you wonder.  I assure you, it's not gluttony.  It's cowardice.  It's raining outside and I'm rather hoping it will stop.  I hiked twelve long miles to make it this far.  I tell you, it is nippy out there.  And wet and grey with flurries of snow or very very fluffy rain.

I was up at four-thirty.  I might have been off by six.  But I was waiting for the rain to thin so I could take down my tent.  But it still got packed wet.  Tonight it will be some degrees below freezing.  And it will ice over and my zippers will lock and I will be there until spring.  No sense in me being soggy as well.  I believe I'll have some more coffee.

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And that's about as far as I got.  It was still pissing down.  And so it went until a good ten minutes after I checked into a motel.  I am not making fantastic progress this month.  My whole trip's been a bit slow.  I am testing a theory.  I believe this can be done without experiencing hardship.

Not by me, certainly.  But then I am hardship prone.  I'm a gentle creature.  Two days in the rain and I turn into one great prune.  My calluses get all waterlogged.  I lose my baritone voice.  My underpants abrade my bottom.  My colour starts to fade.

So I'm all sponged off.  I dried all my gear.  What I didn't do is sleep.  And I've still got some suffering to endure.  It is getting to be awfully cold.  And I'm a bit cash poor.  I may lose a pound or two before December.  As hardships go, hunger is the worst.  But only when you're not soaking wet.

It'll be in the twenties the next three days.  I intend to survive.  But be prepared to hear me gripe.  You may dismiss it as whining.  But you'll be wrong.  I'm better than that.  I've got this down to a science.

But at what cost?  I've lost a toenail.  It may or may not grow back.  My feet have grown a size and a half.  My beard is turning white.  I can no longer read the very fine print.  My heart has developed a crack.

I like the idea of being eaten by a gator.  I mean the drama, the poetry.  The terror and pain I could live without.  At least I think so.  I've never tried.

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Day One-Hundred-Sixty-Seven, Mississippi!

Good golly it was cold last night. I dreamt I was in love. But was a bit chilly nevertheless. When I woke there was frost on the ground. Thick and hoary if I may use that expression. My tent was covered with ice. Inside and out and still it was warmer than the great out of doors.

I peered outside. A number of deer had gathered outside my tent. I was flattered by their faith in me but I encouraged them to go. And it took some doing. They wanted to stay. I worried they might draw fire. Five minutes after I scared them off I heard a rifle shot.

So one of them got it. He might have been safe if I had allowed him to stay. My cowardice cost him is life. I am ashamed of myself. That's the thing about human weakness. Someone always gets hurt.

I have woken before to a dusting of frost. It is easily shaken off. But in this case my tent was frozen solid. It did not want to fold up. And was crueler to my poor fingers than my tentpoles have ever been. I walked to Corinth, Mississippi and checked into a motel.

I did find some coffee halfway there at a small shop on the state line. They sell beer and lottery tickets. I sat there for an hour or so. And chatted with Miss Sue, a grandmother. She's in charge of things. The counter was dusted with lottery scratchings. People spent twenty dollars at a time.

A lot of people. No one won. This is Buford Pusser country. You might know him from Walking Tall. He was the local sheriff. He cleaned up the county. He beat people with a great big stick. The Dixie Mafia murdered his wife. It was all about gambling.

I'm told too there's moonshine in these parts, only a phone call away. Mostly out of tradition, I'd guess. I don't know how good it is. I'll try a shot if somebody offers, just for the science of it.

My motel is neither cheap nor comfortable, but I am warm and it is cold outside. I spread out my gear and the ice was still there, half a day after the fact. I got a little laundry done. I took two long hot showers. It will drop into the mid-twenties tonight. I am happy to be indoors.


MY BACKPACK is a little better off. I've just got to get used to the pain. Either I'll build some new muscles or I'll cripple myself for life.

MY LITTLE computer still has its problems. Samsung and Droid still suck.

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