Day Two-Hundred-Thirteen, Homecoming

Find me in my tent some small distance east of Crestview, Florida.  In amongst the pines and palmettos.  The Panhandle's made of sand.  It smells like springtime.  It smells like Japan.  It's raining and my windows are open.

I did not leave the Knightens' until two o'clock.  It may well have been two-thirty.  Before I found the courage to strap on my pack and head back out on the road.  And to say my goodbyes.  That's never fun.  I kept it as brief as I could.  I am in their debt.  They must realise that.  I'll get them back one of these days.

I am not sure the long rest did me much good.  The bones in my feet are all crunchy.  I probably gained eight or ten pounds.  I never did get much sleep.  But that will all take care of itself.  I am happy to be walking again.  I haven't got far yet to go.  Florida is much bigger than it looks on a map, but it does not intimidate me.

I will lighten my pack when I turn right and start heading south again.  I am carrying an extra five or more pounds of wooly cold weather gear.  I've been winter camping since I hit Iowa.  It is nice to be warm once again.  There will be one or two more cold days, but nothing like I faced before.  It's a stroll from here.  Alligators be damned.  Let them be afraid of me.

It is, as I said, raining some now.  It is meant to rain hard all night long.  But I'll be dry enough, if not perfectly so.  It ought to clear up in the morning.  The weather here is Hobbity.  It is always fairly humid.  There are eerie fogs and violent rains.  It is warm overall.  Magical, if it pleases you.  An odd kind of paradise.

I'll be less generous when I get rained on.  My opinions can change.  It is storming abroad but I'm warm in my tent.  It nice to be home again.  It might smell like tom cat but I don't mind.  Home is a matter of heart.

Tomorrow I'll put in an honest day.  I've got Christmas cookies to chew on.  And a penguin mascot and half a ton of the very finest fruit cake.  I don't know what to expect from the road before me.  I did glance at the map some time back.  But it doesn't matter.  I'm headed east.  Sooner or later I'll stop.

Goodnight, everyone.  Dream well.

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Day One-Hundred-Ninety-Five, Late Than Never

WIt is not, contrary to popular rumor, Day 195 at all.  Technical problems, don't you know.  It's the morning of Day 196.  But it's not too late.  I can still just recall the magic of yesterday.

It was cold, dammit.  At least in the morning.  I hadn't slept too awfully well.  I shivered some and tossed and turned.  I was haunted by awful dreams.  In one the woman I loved married an idiot, fat with Art Garfunkel hair.  Because he owned five electric razors.  God only knows what it means.  In another an aligator ate my cat.  That one is easier to interpret.

It's no fun at all packing up in the cold.  There are all kinds of zippers and snaps.  All designed to send new kinds of pain shooting through my icy fingers.  But I managed.  I always do.  There was a gas station a quarter mile away.  Too far to do me much imkediate good, but I did not have to wait for my coffee.

And a breakfast biscuit at the attached Arby's.  I bought one more for a stranger.  A genuine hobo in real need.  He rather put me to shame.  I get treated like a hobo a lot these days.  It's an impression I've been inclined to forgive.  But sitting side by side I look for all the world like a soft living kid from the suburbs.

Which I am, but my hobo friend overlooked it.  I guess he just thought I was new.  And offered me all sorts of useful advice, none of which I hope to soon use.  A lot of it had to do with eating garbage and getting the best bunk in jail.  And defending yourself from the kinds of folks who beat up hobos just for fun.  And steal their shit.  Many are cops.  The worst of them, he says, are in Florida.

Which is where I'm headed at long awful last.  It took me a while to find my road.  I spent a day or two zig-zagging about.  I out-thunk myself.  I got too creative.  I put some faith in Google Maps.  Until I finally admitted defeat and settled onto 90 east.

I-90 will take you all the way to Seattle.  I've crossed it on this walk several times.  I even walked it a bit in Montana.  It's your most efficient route across the US.  But this ain't I-90.  This is State Highway 90.  It's a different beast altogether.

It is two lanes wide with no shoulder.  I spent most of my day in the ditch.  Wading through tall grass over very rough ground.  I'm feeling it in my weary old knees.  There was too a psychic cost.  I've developed an unreasonable fear of gators.  I cringe at each shredded tire.

Or rotted stump or beer bottle.  That's the thing about gators.  They hide.  They blend into their environment.  That's how you know they're there.  If you can't see them you're as good as dead.  I tell you, it has raised my pulse.

I'm told they won't eat you all at once.  First they drag you to their pond.  And hold you underwater until you get thirsty.  Then they stuff you somewhere.  And let you rot for a week or two.  Then they sip you through a straw.  Or a length of reed or what they have handy.  They grind your bones to make their bread. 

There is too the threat of fire ants, "far ain'ts" if you prefer.  I'm quick.  They ain't manage to get me yet, but there sure are a lot of them.  And mean as badgers, the arsonists.  They've got a hill every ten feet.  They may be the only thing there is keeping the gators in line.

I hiked as far as Elsanor, a wide spot in the road.  There are two gas stations, one closed, one running.  I was delighted to find they had food.  Real food.  Chicken gumbo with corn bread and turnip greens.  I ate a mountain of it and I ate it fast.  It was getting dark.

I'll tell you one thing about chicken gumbo.  It digests at the speed of light.  I was suffering severe abdominal cramps by the time I got up my tent.  Or got it half up.  I had to pause the procedure.  I had some business to do.  Oh, Lordy.  It could have been ugly.  It is lucky no one got hurt.

"Too cold for gators," or so I've been told.  I guess they hibernate.  The question is where.  I still feel nervous setting up my tent in the woods.  I think some of them just sleep in the woods.  I slept right on top of one.  I thought it was a log.  It messed up my back.  Gators are ornery critters.

And here I am, miles down the road in the small town of Seminole.  On the state line.  I'm at the gas station.  It's where I enjoyed my breakfast.  A proper breakfast.  At a gas station.  I couldn't have been better pleased.  And the nice lady at the counter called me Sweet Pea a dozen times.

I FORGOT TO mention the pelicans.  They are my new favorite bird.  Or second, after penguins.  They are just as ridiculous, but not nearly as well dressed.

LAST NIGHT the whole sky was sunset, not just a patch in the east.  All fluffy pink clouds on a baby blue sky.  Florida.  Miami Vice.

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Day One-Hundred-Ninety-Four, Jurassic Park

Find me at a Subway ( ! ) in Spanish Fort, Alabama, a few short miles from where I set up my tent.  It is well before nine, yet breakfast time, but it is best that I start typing now.  I no longer have the battery power to unleash it all in one spurt.

I woke up betimes after ten hours' sleep.  It was long overdue.  Indoor living was taking its toll.  I was of the Walking Dead.  I would not, in fact, have much minded another two or three hours.  But a boy's got to walk.  This ain't no disco.  This ain't no fooling around.

It did wind up raining last night.  There were unmistakable signs.  But I was not swept out to sea.  I didn't even get wet.  But it did enliven the sand at my feet and gritted up all of my gear.  And there was a robust wind which added some challenge to packing up my tent.  It came close to being swept out to sea.  I'd have missed it.  It's buggy here.

And not as warm as I wish it were.  Still I've suffered worse.  I was congratulating myself on a very fine spot for my tent.  My own little island between the sea and a swamp, inaccessible to modern man.

That is until I passed an alligator on my way back up to the road.  Rather startled me, he did, and he was thoroughly dead.  About four feet long with a malevolent grin.  I hadn't known there were gators here.  "Oh, there are hundreds," says the lady who made my breakfast.  Live and learn, what.

I think I could have taken him in a fair fight.  He might have chewed me up some.  But I'm hoping it will never come to that.  I am a Man of Peace.

I think I've left them behind for a while.  I made it across the bay.  And up a steep hill to Spanish Fort.  There are nice views up here.  But on the whole it's another fresh suburb.  It would not look out of place near Seattle.  I am thankful to be on dry land again.  I'm back to more familiar terrain.  Gators are just so much spice.  I'm told there are black bears too.

***************

Not nearly enough miles further up the road.  I had to stop and plug in my computer.  Certainly you could live without these reports, but I very much needed to check my map.  I got all kinds of turns on unnamed roads.  It would be easy to get lost back here.  But a good deal harder to find myself.  Follow the gator tracks.

I was nearly murdered by some ass in a Prius, gibbering on his phone.  I doubled back to find him at a light.  He was gone by the time I got there.  Which is better for both of us.  I was going to pound him to mush.

Which is not what you want from your Man of Peace.  I still think it's the Right Thing to Do.  To stop him before he runs someone down, or at least make him earn the right.

A Prius.  Damn.  You expect that behaviour from mini-vans and monster trucks.  But it's hard to be a Liberal in America today.  We must hold ourselves to a higher standard.  What kind of mileage do you think you'll get dragging me under your car?  Will you be able to speak for our noble cause if you're missing most of your teeth?  Would it make me feel at all better about myself, beating up some scrawny little dork?

Yes.  Yes, it would.  Murder me at your peril.

I had lunch not too long after breakfast.  Fried fish.  It was disgusting.  Long life in Japan has made me a fish snob.  They do it much better than us.  Their babies are cuter.  We're better at baseball.  But just barely.  We'd better look sharp.

***************

I've had time to cool.  I no longer want to pound that boy into mush.  I'd be content just to scare him a bit.  Maybe break his nose.

***************

I've never spent much time chatting on cell phones myself, but I know what you're talking about.  You'd have us believe you're trading stock or discussing philosophy.  Or putting in that all important call to the poison control center.  But we both know that isn't the case.  You're talking mindless shit.  You're an idiot and so's your friend on the other end of the phone.  Hang up and watch the goddamn road.

***************

Well today was a wasted day.  I did get some exercise.  Walking dozens of miles out of my way on the back roads of Alabama.  Google sent me on a goose chase or two.  To one road that didn't exist.  And to another shut up tight with a gate and a third where the bridge was out.  I was trying to steer wide around Pensacola.  That is not going to happen.  I walked all day in order to get about four miles from where I began.

Poop.

It is meant to be cold tonight.  It is going to freeze.  Which would not so very much bother me if it weren't for last Thursday night.  North of Mobile.  The experts all said it was going to be thirty-seven.  It bottomed out at minus thirteen.  I've never been so cold in my life.

If that happens again I'm going to be cranky.  It was not just that unhappy night.  There was too the awful morning and packing up a frozen tent.  Literally frozen.  I was afraid to fold it.  I was sure it was ging to crack.  Like a rose dipped in liquid nitrogen.  My toes were fragile as well.  As were my fingers and every bit that in any way protrudes.  If that happens again I'm going to hitchhike.  All the way to Belize.

And I must say this gator has me upset.  I've been complaining about them for weeks.  But it was for me an academic exercise.  I never thought I was going to see one.  This changes everything.  Remember the Seventies?  Back then the damned things were going extinct.  Who's bright idea was it to bring them back?  Prehistoric lizards running amok.  What a stupid idea.

Cold, nearly killed, a long wasted day, you might think my mood is sour.  Not really.  I've been worse off.  Lemme post this while I still can.

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Day One-Hundred-Eighty-One, Thanks

It is meant to be fairly cold tonight, thirty-seven or so.  But I am not intimidated.  Our brave Pilgrims suffered worse.  As will I in a couple of days.  Again it will drop below freezing.  Winter. Just when I thought I was free, it pulls me back in.

I should be forgiven for thinking I had it beat.  It was nearly eighty out there.  And seemed every bit like a summer day.  I saw a chameleon.  Or some kind of lizard.  I wasn't alarmed.  I'm sure the snakes are still all abed.  They don't have hands to rub together when the weather turns cold.

The sky was blue when I left my motel.  I was there until check-out time.  Wondering if the holiday would excuse another day off.  I was still not well rested.  I'd had two sleepless nights, nursing my little computer.  It really ought to be euthanised.  Or put up for vivisection.

But I had to move.  It was too nice a day.  I did get a few things done.  I had a professional tidy my hair and invested in new underpants.  My earlier shorts have quite worn through, either from friction or stink.  And they're all that preserves my modesty on the rainier days.  Still it is a regretable expense.  I wish I could do without.  In the future when I'm really rich I'm not going to spend a dime on underpants.

I didn't spend much.  I got them at a discount underwear boutique.  That's the beauty of these larger town.  You can save if you've got time to shop.  I was less fortunate with my haircut.  That was done at the Walmart salon.  Behind glass so the waddling hoards could stop by and gawk at me.  I felt like a puppy in a pet store window, having his glands sqeezed.

A haircut is an intimate act.  I have a neurosis or two.  I'm shy around waiters.  I can't buy toilet paper.  I am afraid of vending machines.  And it takes some courage to get my hair cut, even when people aren't watching.  She wanted nine extra dollars to prune my beard.  I decided to let that grow.

Today was Thanksgiving as you no doubt suspect.  That's why they fed you so well.  I could not spend the day with my family.  Some have you have been sorry for me.  But I'm fine.  What is cloud and what's silver lining is not always perfectly clear.

There was a holiday mood on the streets.  There were few people about.  Even at Walmart when I went to buy cheese.  Everywhere else was closed.  So I did feel some small self-pity.  I would not get properly fed.  But I would be nourished on martyrdom.  That's how I got so big.

I guess I do look like a hobo.  People looked out from passing cars.  As I stumbled down the edge of the road.  It was the same sad condescension.  I did my best to look forlorn so someone would give me pie.

I tell you, though, it's a slippery slope.  You can choose what mood to be in.  I just so happen to know what it's like to be in a months long depression.  There's a Beauty in sadness, don't get me wrong.  I value the education.  But better you should pretend to be happy, whether you are or not.

So it was in high spirits that I hiked out of town.  Higher still minutes later.  I had come across an open Waffle House, my new favorite restaurant.  They've got eight kinds of hash browns.  Eight.  And they serve breakfast all day long.  And pie.  And their coffee has a vaguely maply flavour.

So does their syrup.  And everyone's friendly.  And you get to watch them cook.  I'm going to have my wedding breakfast in a Waffle House.  I'll have them cater the reception.  All I am lacking is the bride.  I hope she likes waffles.

I didn't have any waffles myself.  I ordered my usual.  Which is, in review, biscuits and gravy, two eggs, sausage and hash browns.  Which turned out to be an awful lot.  I had not walked much the day before.  I hadn't earned my appetite.  I still finished up with pie.  It is Thanksgiving after all.  Think of those suffering Pilgrims.

It was all uphill from there.  I had quite overstuffed of myself.  But up I went for ten or twelve miles on Highway 145.  Which is the old road.  45 is the new.  They are more or less braided together.  Crossing each other several times.  I moved to 45 at the end.  It looked like it offered more places to camp.  The old road has too many houses.  Find me now in a private wood, eight miles north of Quitman, Mississippi.

A bit deeper in the woods than I like to be.  Remind me to wear my hat.  It is usually the last thing I put on, right before I ship out.  But it is a four-day weekend in hunting season.  I believe I will break protocol.

QUITMAN.  Quitman.  Quit, man.  It could mean anything.  I'm going to need my Message From God to be something less obscure.

MY MOTHER, a trained zoologist and veterinary physician, says that if I am attacked by a gator I should thumb him in the eyes and kick him in the groin.  Gators though were never her specialty.

THANKSGIVING.  I am thankful.  For all manner of things.  But I won't mention them.  It would be too much like bragging.  I am thankful to be on this trip.

"Chicks dig me because I rarely wear underwear, and when I do it's usually something unusual."

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Day One-Hundred-Sixty-Nine, Wildlife

I didn't sleep at all well last night. It was cold and my back was sore. Which is just about what you might expect from sleeping in a tent. But it's usually not so bad. I expect this was just a fluke. Something to help me appreciate the comforts of hobo life.

At some point in the very wee hours I heard a blood-curdling scream. Like something out of a horror movie, not a half-dozen yards from my tent. I was startled but not frightened. It did gnaw at me some. I couldn't imagine what in God's nature could possibly sound like that.

Then it hoo-hooed, which suggests owl. That was a coyote trick. Other coyotes soon after answered. From all points on the compass. Near and far. I was surrounded. There must have been dozens of them. I left them to their foolishness and tried to fall back asleep.

Which I did eventually, but not as soundly as I would prefer. It was all I could do to crawl out of bed, late at seven o'clock. After what should have been ten hours' sleep. Only three or four really counted. It was the sort of morning where you don't feel like making your bed.

But I can't indulge in that luxury. Everything has to get packed up. It is tedious and oddly stressful. I'm never sure everything will fit. Add mud or rain or rifle fire and it gets to be no fun at all. At least the sun was up by then. I wasn't too awfully cold.

A ways up the road was a gas station. I could have walked by without coffee. But there was too a truckers' cafe. The Jake Break, I think it was called. The waitress was kind, as was everyone there. This is Mississippi. I ordered the Hungry Man Breakfast. Plus biscuits and gravy. Plus pie.

A boy has got to keep fed.

I spent an hour or two trying to fix my computer. It is worse than ever before. Any more I might say about that would not be fit to print.

From there it was on towards Booneville. I was making very good speed. It was neither warm nor cold. My legs were strong. I was listening to NPR. I bought a little radio in Corinth. It did not cost much at all. And it even works if I am careful to hold it at exactly the right angle.

Halfway there I split from my highway and picked up 145. Which is the road that used to be. It should take me to Tupelo. Where I hope to find a Verizon office. That's where they sell these things. And where they will tell me that they cannot help. And where I'll be cuffed for assault.

I stopped once on the edge of Booneville. This blasted computer again. And had me a gas station hamburger. The ladies who made it were nice. No great chefs, mind, but good people. I could refill my Coke for free. And did so until I got shivery and started hiking again.

To a Wendy's, not a mile up the road. I had another hamburger. Just to be polite. I needed somewhere to sit and plug in my computer again. Samsung, by the way, sucks, sucks. Make time to tell all your friends.

It was my good hope to get some miles in. It was a pretty good walking day. But with only an hour of daylight left I was five miles short of my quota. I thought about checking into a motel to work on my computer some more. But the one cheap place didn't have any phones. I do like to call my mother. Or have her call me. I am a good son, no matter what stories she tells.

Thirty bucks a night. Run by Indians. All the motels here are. I smell the incense and the lime pickles and it's like being in Delhi again. Which is no clear recommendation. Delhi is fairly unclean. And the service is spotty and the people are brusk. Lizards live under your bed.

Florida. It frightens me. It's being overrun by snakes. Rock pythons. They eat people. They've had alligators all along. It seemed like such a good idea. Seattle to Miami. Across this vast country diagonally. I'm having second thoughts. The best route down takes me through a stretch known as Alligator Alley. Somehow I don't like the sound of that. It sounds vaguely gatory.

Booneville, by the way, was a pretty big town. How big I cannot now say. I daren't waste power looking it up. Samsung, you should all know, sucks. It was getting quite dark when I got out of town. It went on for miles and miles.

Then there was a stretch of really big houses, deep among acres of land. Then medium houses on five acre lots. Then small houses jowl to cheek. Then the medium houses again. Then some trailer parks. Then I crossed a highway. By then it was dark. I thought about turning around.

Or walking all the way through the night, but there are some narrow bridges. It wouldn't do for me to get sqooshed. What would the gators eat? So I relied on my hobo skills. I found a wonderful spot. By the light of the moon, diffused by clouds. I really do have a gift.

I'm in a bowl, surrounded by river. I'm sure it is sometimes a pond. But the banks will protect me from rifle fire and hide me from passing cars. I may have some trouble getting out of here. And I'll get awfully wet if it rains. But it was just what I needed when I needed it and I found it in the dark.

It will be in the fifties tonight. I'm not too far bundled up. And I can leave my windows open which really helps dry my tent. I hear crickets and owls and passing trucks. There are varmints in the underbrush. And the coyotes are howling not too far off. I should sleep just fine.


I CAN'T spell Mississippi without chanting the letters to myself. I always put an extra 'S' in the middle. It just seems so much more rhythmical that way. Then I have to go back and erase it.

"PEOPLE THINK hillbillies are white, but there are black hillbillies, too."

I COULD really go for some Indian food. A fellow gets tired of burgers. But consistent and predictable digestion is the key to a successful walk.

SAMSUNG sucks.

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Day One-Hundred-Sixty-Eight, Voodoo

I am happy to be back in the woods. It will be plenty cold tonight. But no colder than it has been before. And not as cold as last night. Around one I walked to the Coke machine and bought a Dr. Pepper. I was very glad to get back to my room. I believe I made the right decision.

I didn't get much sleep of course. Indoors I never do. I was up all night monkeying with my computer and watching cable TV. I did too some light sewing. I think I am getting the knack. And I taped and tied my backpack up. And I did get some laundry done.

My one objection to sleeping indoors was that I was not too too worn out. I was a bit stinky but I've been worse. My legs were fairly strong. I just didn't want to freeze to death. Not even nearly so. And I tell you what, if it gets cold again, I'm moving back indoors.

Tonight it'll be a balmy thirty-three. I can live with that. And I think there's a gas station just up the road where I can get some coffee. Which is vital when my tent starts to look like the Fortress of Solitude. Not so much to drink but rather to wrap my hands around.

I walked a bit around Corinth yesterday, looking for the laundromat. There are some pretty old houses and not unfriendly dogs. They have a nice library. And tree-lined streets, often with sidewalks. Everyone says hello. Except one pretty girl. I said hello to her. She walked on without speaking.

Which is her right; her duty, perhaps. I was not the least bit offended. You get used to loneliness. Hell, it's what fuels my art.

Eleven o'clock is check-out time. If it's ten I make them push it back an hour. If I'm going to waste money on luxuries I want my full portion. I had planned to walk south straight out of town but by then I needed feeding. I crossed the street to the Corner Cafe. It was my second time there.

And so I was greeted like an old friend. Gosh, they were nice to me there. I had the hamburger steak and "fried taters" and big scoop of "kraut and sausage." And the apple cobbler, of course. I had the peanut butter cake yesterday.

It was rather empty today. Everyone was off at the parade. Celebrating Veterans' Day. It's a big deal around here. Mississipi, per capita, has more veterans than perhaps any other state. It's that perfect storm of bravery and patriotism and a perpetually depressed economy.

I had planned to go to the library. It was closed of course. So I meandered out of town, reading the historical markers. Corinth was a railroad town of great strategic importance. Which led to the (Second) Battle of Corinth in which a thousand men died. Another six-thousand were injured. There were forty-five thousand men in the fight. And it was a sort of continuation of Shiloh which was a great deal worse.

I am not wholly ignorant of the history. We may as well thank Ken Burns. But the Civil War has always struck me as being long ago and far away. And it was just as long ago here, but a whole lot closer to home. Which accounts for a general Southern refusal to forget that part of our past.

I still think the good guys won.

I saw some leftover parts of the parade. One or two flag-covered floats. And some military vehicles from Korea or the WWII. I went to the American Legion Hall to admire an old half-track. It looked a little rickety. We've got much better stuff now.

I got to talking to Buster, a biker. He told me a stew feed was on. I'd been fed but I've always wondered what goes on at the American Legion.

The place was packed. The wives greeted me with looks of sad condescension. And made sure I had beef stew and tea and a big piece of chocolate cake. I think they thought I was a hobo. I'm pretty sure everyone did. But they were very nice to me. I introduced myself to as many people as I could.

The tables were bussed by rough young men wearing green and white stripes. They are trustees from the local prison. Naturally we had to chat. God willing, I would never have another chance to talk with a prisoner.

Most of them were a little wary but they greeted me as one of their own. "Got any pot?" I was asked more than once. My hobo reputation had spread. I spoke at length with one fellow, imprisoned for cooking meth. He seemed really decent enough. He had made some wrong turns in life. I don't think locking up drug addicts is quite the right way to go.

I had to pry my way out of there. I would have just as soon stayed. There were plenty of crusty old veterans to talk to. Everyone was very nice. I met Buster again and his friend, a Marine, who had served in Japan. And in Desert Storm, which I know less about. His name was Doug Fortune. He has three daughters; Miss Fortunes, he calls them. He's fond of them nevertheless.

A block up the road I was lost again. I stopped in a shop to ask directions. And wound up being greeted warmly again. I stayed for a couple of hours. It was Boundless Blessings. They sell incense and crystals and other such paraphernalia. They cater to "Christians and Pagans and Wiccans," but not necessarily in that order.

It's all voodoo to me but they were kind. They gave me some CocaCola. And when I was leaving a Miss Andrea said I had a good aura. I was wearing my glow-in-the-dark hat at the time. I might not get all of the credit.

It was coming on four when I left there. I walked for all of an hour. I made it only five miles today but it did get me out of town. And it is meant to be warm tomorrow. It should be a pretty good day.


I THINK I know what is wrong with my computer. I won't bore you with the details. But I can fix it, I'm pretty sure. And it won't cost anything.

YOU NEVER hear anything nice about Mississipi, not outside of the state. And the folks here are not unaware of that fact. I think it's time we all cut them some slack. Mississippians are good people. I'd say as much in court.

DR. PEPPER is foul. How do they sell that stuff.

I HAVE PLEDGED myself to walk to Miami. They've got gators down there. Even now I am camped in a swamp. Send me your happiest thoughts.

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