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I walked twenty miles today. I meant to stop after fifteen. But habit can be an irresistible force. I did my best to sabotage myself. I tried to sleep in. I took long breaks. I plodded along in the gutter. But I've got to face facts; I am too powerful for my very own good.
The idea was to edge up on Ocala, Florida without marching into town. If I did I would get stuck in a motel. I have used up all my vouchers. The green ones with the dead Presidents. I was too long in Tallahassee.
Which is a shame because it is going to be cold tonight and I am sleeping outdoors. It is a triumph of my hobo skills. I am inside the city limits. Or if not I am certainly close enough for the police to have jurisdiction.
It may be in fact too soon to brag. We'll see if I go undetected. I type this with my bag up over my head so nobody sees the blue glow. I think that's why most hoboes don't carry computers. They are too quick to give you away.
Find me camped in a jungle on the edge of a swamp on the edge of a lot for sale. I am surrounded by motels and gas stations and at least one mobile home park. I hear children laughing and dogs barking. No parent would want me here. But I mean no harm and I'll be gone soon enough. That is if I don't freeze to death.
The swamp came as something of a surprise. I almost waded right in. The water is thick with a greenish slime. It looked like a flat spot for my tent. It was dark. I backed off thirty yards. I am probably safe from gators. They might be dumb but they've got enough sense to burrow in each time it freezes.
Freezes, yes. Literally. In Florida, no less. It is expected to drop into the twenties tonight. The locals are fun to watch. It was up in the fifties this afternoon. I was comfortable in my T-shirt. But they're all bundled up, hugging themselves in down jackets and wooly hats.
As I am now. This may well be the last very cold night of my trip. I'm doing it right. I've got on my thermals, top and bottom, and my teddy bear pants. And two fleece pullovers and my adorable warm hat. I've still got some layers to go. But if the locals knew I was sleeping out here they would think I was a demon. Or a god.
Between you and me, I'd rather be indoors. I'm working on a powerful stink. If I don't get rinsed off eventually no one will want to be my friend. And I'm sore, powerful sore. I could do with a very hot bath. And I'm stuck full of thorns and cactus bristles. I really need to be tweezed.
I had a fine camping spot last night. I'd chosen it from space. But Google don't show all the details. It was a briary place. Tromping through the underbrush I got myself pretty scratched up. And a number of these little kamikazes are still buried in my flesh. I'm a prickly pear, a pin cushion. I pull them out when I can. But I may just learn to live with them, a reminder of life on the road.
They took a lot of the fun out of walking. That's why I stuck to the ditch. Walking on the shoulder is interactive. I wanted to be left alone. But the ground there was soft. The grass grabbed at my ankles. I was starting to get shin splints. An indignity I've avoided for most of this trip. It was bound to happen sooner or later.
I've been walkng uphill for a couple of days. I guess Florida peaks in the middle. I have a theory that this is a good thing. Crocodiles have short legs. There's bound to be fewer of them up here, and those there are will be all tired out.
Ocala is "The Horse Capital of the World." That is an official distinction. Determined by the International Association of People Who Decide That Kind of Crap. Five other cities share the honour. Which you'd think might promote bickering. I guess they all get along.
I did pass miles and miles of horse farms; pretty, self-satisfied places. They employ almost fifty-thousand people. Who says our economy is dead. If it has a fault it is that it is geared towards things like investment banking and marketing, nuclear missiles and horses. God forbid we should produce something of any conceivable use.
Don't get me wrong. I'm sure the horses are lovely. I've even eaten horse once. Raw, no less. If something's worth doing I believe it's worth doing right. I'm glad there are horses. I'm sure they make lovely pets, but a dog improves your quality of life. Horsemanship just gives rich people an excuse to wear tight pants.
Don't be mad, my Montana friends. These are snooty, Eastern horses. I had the privilege of eating my lunch within earshot of three horsepeople. What a pack of asses, I thought. They sat comfortably in their chairs. And spoke of weekend trips to Paris. They were stupid and foul-mouthed. I liked that my hoboness seemed to unnerve them. It saved me the trouble of giving them all slaps.
"But caring for horses is very hard work." Most Americans work hard. But they are not self-consciously elitist. They're not so insufferably pleased with themselves. Few of them can offend me with the way they sink into a plastic chair.
Lunch itself was fantastic. Gosh, what a lovely surprise. I found the Yum Yum Kitchen at a crossroads, wedged in amongst horse farms. It's in a fifth-wheel trailer like the kind they use to sell corn dogs at the fair. But cleaner. And friendlier. And oh the food. I had some beef over rice.
That's a staple in Japan. This was different. With onions fried just right. And diced tomatoes and fresh herbs. I tell you, I almost cried. It wasn't expensive either. Low overhead, I guess. But lovely, lovely, proper cuisine, like rich people get to eat.
In the future when I'm really rich, I'm going to eat like rich people.
And on that bright note I'll let you go. I've got to burrow in for the night. It's cold and I'm sore and my battery is just about used up.
Happy dreams.
OCALA is also the Lightning Capital of the World. I don't think my hometown is the capital of anything.
I TRY TO greet everyone I pass with a hello or a good afternoon. Sometimes they ignore me. When they do I stop in my tracks and give them a "Hello, I say!" in what might be a menacing tone. Then they say hello. It is my way of Making the World a Better Place.
