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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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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Day One-Hundred-Sixty-Six, Tombstone

A man I met in Henderson told me it was going to rain. I chose to disbelieve him. My little computer promised clear skies. The rain came at four a.m. I was awake. I am going to sleep awfully early these days. There is not a lot to do in my tent after the sun goes down.

I don't so much mind walking in the rain, not if I'm going somewhere. Home to dry clothes and a hot shower. A little wet ain't going to kill you. But when you're just walking walking walking... Read your Victorian novels. Back then if you went out in the rain you were dead two chapters later.

The worst I'll get is a case of the snoofles. I might feel sorry for myself. But self-pity is always good sport and I've been snoofling since Nebraska. But I figured I'd wait until nine or so to see if it cleared up. I ate a Pop-Tart and read my Bible. I hacked some dead bits off my feet. I listened to Nicholas Nickleby and entertained dark thoughts.

The rain did stop eventually. I rolled up a muddy tent. And spent half an hour making a bridge to get back up to the road. I had set up in a sort of swamp, spongy but not too too damp. Now I was on a small island in the middle of a giant mud puddle.

It was eerily warm. Before too long the sun cooked off the clouds. And it was another summery day, if you kept out of the shadows. I hoped to find breakfast in Bethel Springs but there was not very much there. Just one big house, a few dozen small ones and a beautiful elementary school. It didn't look the least like a prison. It was the nicest thing in town.

Bethel Springs, Tennessee has seen better times. I'm told Elvis had his first concert there. And worse. It was home to Unionists in the Civil War. They did not get along with their neighbors. They moved the highway some years back. Now most of the businesses are closed. I counted one antique furniture/junk shop and a tombstone factory.

I've seen several of these in past few days, some bigger than others. I remember one in South Dakota with display samples out front. PIERCE was carved into one of them. I thought it was in very poor taste.

I was geting pretty hungry at this point. There was nothing to do but walk to Selmer. Which was up and over some steepish hills down four miles of country road. There is a trend in these parts, amongst those who can afford it, to live in enormous homes. Plantation style with great white columns. I don't think they're all antiques. But they're built substantially, as in back in the day. They must cost a fortune to heat. Dusting alone must set you back, now that you've got to pay your help.

The north end of Selmer didn't promise much. It got better soon. Selmer is a town of some five-thousand people. I found a great cafe. And had the best breakfast I've had in weeks, though they'rs famous for slugburgers. Which contain not slugs but soybeans and are unique to this locale.

I had a lot of fun sitting there, absorbing the local scene. Pat, my good hostess, was effusively friendly. Everyone was nice enough. It is, I'm sure, a Tennessee thing. I wish I had longer in this state. But I am by necessity just passing through. I don't stay anywhere as long as I'd like.

You might think Walking Across America is a good way to see the country. It is as far as riding an escalator is a good way to see a department store. It gives you some sense of the scale of the place. You see what they have on offer. But you don't make a lot of lasting friendships and a lot of it goes unexplored.

You do get to try on a lot of shoes. So there's that.

I hiked over to the library, some distance out of my way. I am still having some difficulty with my little computer. It's bleeding power. It's a software thing. And I don't know how to plug the hole. But I have learned something about the Droid operating system. It sucks.

Samsung sucks. Droid and Samsung suck.

The library was closed of course. I headed back to my road. And walked another ten miles or so. Maybe less. I don't know. I don't dare waste my battery power looking it up. Without checking my map I rarely have any clear idea where I am.

I am now in a vast hay field or on the very edge of one. Between a thinnish row of grasses and shrubs, as close as I can get to the highway. Cars can't see me once it gets dark. Hunters can see me for miles. It'll be harder come the weekend with more bullets in the air.

It is meant to be damnably cold tonight, at or around freezing. I guess I'll be warm enough if not as warm as I'd like. A bit bored though. These long long nights are a bit on the lonesome side.

Goodnight.

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Day One-Hundred-Sixty-Five, Best-Sellers

It was still dark when I woke up. I hadn't been shot full of holes. Nor had my tent, though it was fairly moist, and likely will be for the rest of this trip. It will dry itself in twenty minutes once exposed to the sun. But the days are short. I can't be waiting around. I have walking to do.

Five or six miles took me to Pinson (unincorporated), Tennessee. It was, through no fault of my own, a fairly unhappy walk. I'm strong and, if not completely healthy, I can overcome. But my gear is letting me down. My hat has gone all floppy. A broken strap on my backpack is causing me pain and my computer is pissing me off. After careful thought I think I may mention that Samsung really sucks.

Samsung is a Korean company. "Samsung" is Korean for "suck."

Pinson is home to the Pinson Mounds, graves some 2000 years old. I did not veer off my road to see them. I have seen burial mounds before. In Japan, believe it or don't. I can tell you exactly what they look like. They look like mounds. The Egyptians had it all over them when it came to burying their dead.

I had a big breakfast at the local cafe. I saw "chittlins" on the menu for the first time. And fried baloney. You can get it in restaurants. I stuck with my standard biscuits and gravy and eggs and sausage and toast. And hash browns, of course. A boy's got to keep fed. They did not have any pie.

But I lingered there for a good hour longer than I at all wanted to. I am still trying to juice my comouter. I believe I am losing the fight. I get it up to forty percent or so, turn it off for an hour, and when I turn it on it's at twelve. We all cope with stress in our own silly ways. I'd like to hit someone.

It is meant to be cold in a couple of days. I may just move indoors. And try to get this problem solved. And operate on my backpack. And send hate mail to the Samsung corporation, who, by the way, suck.

I walked on to Henderson, a neat little town only five miles away. My shoulder came back. It had disappeared for a while. So there was some sunshine in that. Morning drivers are the worst. Everyone's going to work. It puts them in a sour mood. They drive fast to ease their feelings. And toy with the possibility of murdering a pedestrian.

It was too soon to eat again. I wound up eating anyway. I had to kill time. I found a print shop to make me new business cards. They've got my name and my blog address. Walking Across America, they say. It makes it all seem more official and me seem less like a bum.

Everywhere else it's a four-day job. They did it in two short hours. And made a lovely job of it and didn't charge too much. Brothers Printing in Henderson, Tennessee. I'm sure they'll ship anywhere in the world. Send a little business their way. They gave me water, too.

And a Bible. You may recall I sent my last Bible home yesterday. And now I have another one. The Word of God is like gum on my shoe. I'm sure some of you will see this as a Sign. I think it's just Tennessee. Here they pass out Bibles. It's a regional thing. In Japan pretty girls in very short shorts distribute cigarettes and beer.

I stayed there fifteen years.

Whether or not it's a Sign From God, I'll hang on to this one. It is small and not too heavy. There are times when I do like to read. I lugged a copy of Walden with me, back when I had more daylight. Now there is a book I suggest you all read. I don't think Jesus would mind.

From Henderson I took off in earnest. I had to get some miles in. Now that it gets dark at five o'clock I really can't mess around. My feet hurt but I think I did twenty miles, or not too much short of that. And set up my tent by the side of the road, in some trees, in a sort of swamp.

The ground is soft. It is comfortable here. This deer hunting has me stressed. I am trying to outwit my murderer while staying invisible to traffic. My hope is that no one will shoot at the highway. Or shoot into the woods from their car. But the bullets are buzzing around me like gnats. It is what I thought Los Angeles was like.

There is real enthusiasm for hunting here. Deer must be delicious. Or hateful creatures unworthy of pity. Like snakes or Nancy Grace.

The day after tomorrow is going to be cold. I may just have fixed my computer. Which means I've got no reason to stay indoors. Damn you, Samsung Corp.


I THINK it was a software issue. Droid, not Samsung at all. But they're all in cahoots. Samsung still sucks. If not now, they'll suck tomorrow.

I SET UP my tent next to an owl. He was sleeping so I tried to be quiet. Let's see if he returns the favor. I don't mind if he don't.

THERE WAS no pie today. I had ice cream. I don't like ice cream as much as I used to. That makes me sad.

THIS MORNING I walked past a prison. It was evil and scary looking. But it turned out to be an elementary school. I hope it's nicer on the inside.

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Day One-Hundred-Sixty-Four, Samsung Sucks (10x Fast)

I woke again to rifle fire. It was still dark outside. Technically they are supposed to wait until the sun comes up. But when a big buck's sticking his tongue out at you it is awfully hard to wait.

I camp in the woods. Deer live in the woods. The hunters are out in force. Most, no doubt, are serious men who more or less know what they're doing. But all it will take is one idiot. Back and to the left.

It is not as if I am back country. I stick pretty close to the highway. "People know better," I asked a hunter, "than to shoot across the road?"

"Well..." was all he could say. I was not reassured.

He moon was very bright last night. You could all but read in my tent. Even in amongst the trees. I woke up several times. In order to see if I had to throw up. It turned out I did not. Not just yet, at any rate. The feeling has not yet passed.

I shot down a side road to Medina, Tennessee, another very small town. I thought I'd be dining on Pop-Tarts this morning but they did have a fine cafe. I had one of my biggest breakfasts. It was delightfully cheap. But I did not leave there wholly pleased. I'm having problems with my computer.

It sometimes refuses to charge itself, or to hold that charge when it does. I'm bleeding power from somewhere or other. It is driving me nuts. I spent two or three hours plugged in today when I would have preferred to be walking. I've got eleven hours of daylight to work with these days. It's getting harder to meet my quota.

Which is twenty miles, should it interest you. Any less and I feel ashamed. If I still had eighteen hours of sun, I'd be doing thirty I'm sure. I am stronger than ever, despite my complaints. Today I walked twenty-two. But it could and should have been twenty-five. Hey, Samsung, you suck.

Out of Medina I headed south, along the back roads for a while. The highways are rather nice around here, but this was the shorter route. There was no shoulder and some dump truck traffic. I worry about country dogs. A black lab puppy snuck behind me and barked. I almost pooped myself.

He had a big bark for a little dog. I gave him a piece of my mind. I hope I didn't hurt his wee puppy feelings. I think he was just having fun.

My battery being what it is, I did not dare check my map. Too much of that and I would not be able to type up my daily report. So I pointed myself to what I thought was the south and sullenly walked on.

There are plenty of towns around here. I really can't get lost. I've got my Pop-Tarts and I've got my tent. I am good for two or three days. Once when I got lost in Montana I thought I was going to die. Or kill the weasels at Google Maps who had sent me so far astray.

Not kill. I exaggerate. I do it for comic effect. I doubt I'd do more than glare at them or make fun of them until they cried.

It was my chief ambition to make it through Jackson. It is a proper city. I had conflicting reports about how far away it was. Turned out I discovered a shortcut. It took me right there. Just about when I thought I was lost I hit the city limits.

Which don't exactly put you downtown. They extend their limits as far as they can. That way they can collect more taxes and sell more building permits. I was still in the countryside, but at least I was on the right track.

Eventually I got to some new houses. Big ol' suburban places. With twin master bedrooms and three car garages. I can't imagine who's buying them. For the same price half a mile up the road you can get thirty or forty acres. You might have to live in a shack for a while, but it would be money well spent.

Onward and up and into town my little road narrowed some. And traffic got much heavier. There was no sidewalk at all. It was a little hairy but the weather was nice. It was in the high seventies today. Seventy-nine, said a bank clock, but they inflate their figures.

I walked the whole length of Jackson, Tennessee, population 65,000. On smaller streets, through neighborhoods. It is rather a jumble. Most of the houses I saw were quite old. A lot of them were fairly grand. But others among them are crumblng. They are all mixed together. There will be a series of mansions with circular driveways across from a check-cashing place. Or a muffler shop or a liquor store that closed ten years ago.

There are hills and trees and a whole lot of cars. There's a county and a federal courthouse. At length I reached the far edge of town. I walked on without stopping. I was on my wide highway again. I walked through two miles of countryside. Then the city of Jackson started all over again.

It was that same street you see in every reasonably sized city in America. A four-lane road with a turn lane or two, lined on both sides by junk. Carpet discounters and fast food shops. Strip malls and Walmarts and such. Car dealers and insurance offices and one or two Mexican restaurants. It went on and on and on for miles. At least there was a sidewalk.

I eventually stopped at a McDonald's. Hey, McDonald's, you suck. Your food, I mean. It was indeed a fairly good place to sit. I could refill my Coke. I don't know if it's allowed, but thet don't pay their people enough to yell at me. And I plugged my computer in to recharge. That charge did not take.

It is causing me all manner of stress. Really. It gnaws at me. One hates to grow repetitive but Samsung really really sucks. Sucks. Sucks sucks sucks. Sucks, I tell you. They suck. Or maybe it is those Droid weasels. I've got a power bleed somewhere. It is really making me angry, and anger doesn't become me at all.

Sweetness and light suit me beautifully. Always have.

I must have had some other adventures. I'm sure I gleaned an insight or two. But they are forever lost to the world. Because Samsung sucks. Find me now camped south of town on the very edge of a ravine. There is evidence that a hunter perched here not so very long ago. So long as they are shooting down and not up, I should be just fine.

I SAW my first cotton fields today. Fluffy. Even after the harvest. There is too a great deal of cotton along the edge of the road. Blown off trucks, I imagine, or maybe just loose in the wind. In either case, it's exotic to me, being a Yankee and all.

THE LADY at the register at a gas station refused to let me pay for my CocaCola. No discussion, no questions asked. Either I was the millionth customer, or she thought I was a hobo.

FORGIVE ME, I sent my Bible home. It was bulky in my pack. I already have a Bible but this one's inscribed my the Reverend Robert Waddle. I'll read it, I promise. When I get glasses. Or longer arms.

YOU'LL BE HAPPY to know I did learn something from my brush with this man of God. Fried baloney is good. Seriously. Try it and see if I'm wrong.

SAMSUNG sucks.

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Day One-Hundred-Sixty-Three, His Mysterious Ways

I woke up at seven after five hours' sleep. It would have been eight o'clock. But Daylight Savings has begun or ended. I can never remember which. So the sun was well up and it was warmish outside. The dews had dried from my tent. And I felt better rested than I really deserved. I set to work packing up.

My new friend Deepak would turn up at ten. I wanted to say goodbye. But I couldn't wait. I had walking to do. I am still racing winter south. Every mile I walk in the sun is one I don't have to walk in the rain. And I do dislike walking in the rain, and for that matter, saying goodbye.

I still have a very fine road for walking. I made my way towards Milan. My-lun, you'll recall, to most of its friends. Mah-lun may be closer still. It was an easy seven mile hike. I was a bit hungry though. Deepak had threatened me with breakfast, but I had imposed on his goodness enough.

About halfway there I passed a barking dog. She looked kind of pit-bully. But she wasn't so big and kept herself back. I did not let her worry me much. I was more concerned about the half wolf they had roped to a tree. She didn't bark at me at all. She just drooled and licked her chops.

A man came out to see what was up. I waved at him and moved on. He wasn't having any of that. "Are you hungry?" he wanted to know.

Now, how to answer. It's a trick question. I am not of The Hungry, no. But I was at that moment hungry indeed. "Come have a fried baloney sandwich."

That swung it for me. That's local cuisine. You can't get it at restaurants. Real genuwine Southern food. Served up with a jar of sweet tea. Another local specialty, and one I've quite learned to like. Ice cold tea, very strongly brewed, with a great deal of sugar in it. It's a lot better than our sissy Yankee iced tea, with its lemon wedges and its pretensions.

I met a man and his wife on their way to church. I did not want to make them late. "They'll wait," this good man assured me. They would have to. He was their pastor.

He was Pastor Robert Waddle. He was not always a good man. He wore his hair in a severe crewcut. He was some inches shorter than me. But outweighed me by a good hundred-twenty pounds. His eyes were close-set and black. There was "LOVE" tattooed across the knuckles of his left hand. I did not get a look at his right. He used to be a truck driver, and I think, beat people up.

His wife was Irene with big blue eyes, Sister Irene to her friends. She was all Love and enthusiasm. She told me about the Lake of Fire. She'd had her own troubles in the past. You'd never guess it to see her now. God saved her before he did her husband.

"I tried to stop her from going to church."

He'd remove fuses from her car. He would try to block her in with his truck. He did not want her flopping against him, to use the Dickensian phrase. But she one out, or maybe God did. Robert went on to crash his truck. And experienced Healing and Redemption. Now he is preaching the Word.

Pastor Robert must have been one Hell of a thug. I wouldn't want to mess with him. But I think he makes a fine preacher too. He is not wholly ignorant of sin. And is quite sincere. Between the two of them they made a very nice case.

I presented myself honestly, or I hinted at where I stand. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but I am not a man of faith. You might think I am experiencing doubt. Disabuse yourself of that. I have in fact no doubts at all. My mind is pretty well made up.

We joined hands and prayed before I left. We made a little circle. Well, they prayed. I just sort of stood there, but it was kind of neat. It wasn't some trim little Catholic prayer. They both pretty much let loose. Him in his words and she in hers. I tried to hear them both. They prayed for my safety and to open my eyes and to make my journey about God. Which it is to a certain extent. I do return to the theme.

They invited me to their church. I probably should have gone. There is nothing tame about their faith. They've got Healing and Speaking in Tongues. It ain't all formal; people really let loose when moved by the Holy Spirit. It all sounded rather interesting, but I had laundry to do.

And my interest was more anthropological. That may be the wrong attitude. I would have liked to watch from the balcony, but I'd be out of place on the floor. And I had some fear they'd all turn on me and try to save me then and there.

"Ask God for a sign and He'll give you one." When I left I gave it a shot. But I don't think I showed proper contrition. It was like, "Alright God, go ahead." I didn't even take my earbuds out. My radio is of course dead. But I am soothed by listening again and again to Nicholas Nickleby.

Walking in Nebraska I saw a cloud in the shape of a cross. Or it may have been an alligator, crawling up on a beach. So it was either a symbol of God's Perfect Love, or a warning not to go to Florida. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was a barium chem-trail. I think I need something less vague.

"His Sign will mean something to you but not to other people." I did just then find a sidewalk, stretching four miles to town. A proper sidewalk. In the middle of nowhere. But it appeared to have been there for some time. I followed it, appreciatively, all the way to a laundromat.

Where I finally got some washing done. And read the Book of Luke. And some Hebrews and a good many Psalms. Pastor Robert had given me a Bible. I really think I need glasses. That small print is getting sort of furry.

From there it was on to a hardy lunch. It was by then getting late in the day. But I needed a charge for my computer. It's getting very unhappy again. And, I am sad to say, my backpack is dying. I've MacGyvered a few repairs. It just needs to last another two months. Pray for it. I do.

You've heard me complain about my shoes. And my socks and my sleeping pad. And my sleeping bag and my poor old tent. Even about my hat. But I've had no unkind words about my backpack. It's about the best there is. There is no way I can afford to replace it. I'd have to settle for less.

Damn.

I stopped at a Walmart on the way out of town. Walmart is a pain in the ass. You have to walk a half a mile just to get across their parking lot. But they have goid prices on Gatorade. I got me some moist towlettes. I meant to buy some deodorant. I got Pop-Tarts instead.

And took off walking, as fast as I could. I had but two hours til dark. And I needed to get closer to Jackson, Tennessee, a very big town indeed. It is going to be a trick to get through it before dark. I don't want to get stuck indoors. I want to save my motel stays for the next time it rains.

I walked until it was almost dark. Who did I meet but Deepak. Driving home from somewhere or other with his wife and their charming daughter. Who turns fifteen today, bless her heart. Join me in wishing her well.

Deepak Chopra, that generous soul, went and forced money on me. My pride has dimmed considerably. I'm not averse to charity. But he already gave me two sandwiches, a lot of Coke and a place for my tent. I didn't want to overtax the fellow. I do try to spread my shots.

"In celebration of my daughter's birthday." I had tried to turn him down. But I could not say no to that. Not with the girl herself sitting there. She seemed like a really good kid.

"God bless you," said Deepak when he left. I think he is a Hindu. But I need all the blessings I can get. I am getting them from all sides.

THE GOOD Waddles lost their trailer in a flood, earlier this year. I saw the picture; it was awful. The road I've been on was under several feet of water. God, though, looked after them. He replaced their losses "fourfold". Now they have a doublewide. It's nice but that's only a twofold blessing. I kept that observation to myself.

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Day One-Hundred-Sixty-Two, Hilltop

The fog rolled in while I was typing last night. It was thicker still in the morning. Pea soup, like they say, which reminded me, my mother makes a fine pea soup. Which is not the ideal walking food, but warms you from the inside out.

I could have done with a bowl or two. Damn it was cold outside. Usually you can shake it off but the fog makes it stick to you. And your tent. My own tent was sopping wet and remains so even now. And my tentpoles were something evil. The kind of cold they have in Hell.

It was tempting to stay in my tent all day. I was fairly slow packing up. I had a nice spot between the railroad and the woods. No one could see me there. Which in the end is what got me up. I think it's a Saturday. At the very beginning of deer season. I heard several rifle shots. Not very nearby but close enough. A good bullet will go for miles.

Or until it hits something.

I would take my chances on the road. Fog's not ideal for walking. But I have a very wide shoulder here and the drivers are well-behaved. I made my way to Sharon, Tennessee, a few miles down the road.

I cannot tell you what road I'm on. It keeps changing its name. 45 or 43 or 372. Or Main Street or Broadway or God-knows-what. I think it is all the same. In any case, it veers around Sharon. I left it to walk through town.

First impressions mean everything. I've always resented that. I don't think the very Magic of James is easily seen at a glance. But Sharon left a positive stamp. The fog was just cooking away. But remained in the corners and with the sun shining through, it seemed like a magical town. With tidy houses and Nature all about, small but with a friendly downtown. I asked a courteous stranger for directions and made my way to the cafe.

It's the same awkward moment every day. First impressions again. In a small town everyone knows each other. I stand out like a fart in church. I ain't huge but I do fill most of a doorway. Then there's my day-glo hat. And my shaggy beard and my awkward bearing. And my red raincoat. Everyone turns and looks at me. Forks stop halfway to mouths. I am a timid creature at heart. It makes me feel like an ass.

I make friends soon enough but not this time. Every table was full. So I turned abruptly and walked back out. They'll be talking about me for weeks.

I made my way to City Hall, in a modest storefront next door. I asked a very nice man who looked like Lyndon Johnson if there were anywhere else to eat. I was hoping he was the mayor. I like meeting mayors. It makes me feel important. But he was just a Baptist preacher, moonlighting as a clerk.

It's funny, I always thought Baptist preachers were mean. Maybe it's just the ones on TV. I don't mean as they are portrayed in drama. I mean the ones with their very own shows. But this guy was helpful and had kind eyes. I hope he likes my Baptist joke. It is either the basis for a fine sermon, or my ticket to the fiery pit.

There was another place on the edge of town, where it meets the highway again. Everybody was friendly there. A nice man picked up my check. He told me I was walking for a reason. He said someday it would all make sense. He figures it is all part of God's plan for me. I would like to believe that he's right.

I left there in a very fine mood. It helps when people are kind. And the fog was gone and as promised, it was a beautiful day. My feet were happy and my road was good. My pack felt fairly light. I hiked five short miles to Greenfield to get some laundry done.

Their one laundromat had since closed down. I personally blame the Chinese. And most of the shops in their small downtown had put themselves up for sale. It would have been wrong to leave that sad town without having one piece of pie.

The pie cafe was full of hunters, all decked out in their gear. Camouflage jumpsuits and orange baseball caps. I've never seen so many at once. Let's hope they all know what they're shooting at. There are Jameses abroad in these woods.

I moved on, still in a very fine mood. My feet were a little warm. All I've got left is my extra-warm socks. I had to stop several times. And take off my shoes to cool them off. It was up in the 60s today. Sweaty feet can get blistery. I have blisters enough.

I walked past Bradford and Idlewild, "where the men are idle, and the women are wild." I planned to stop just short of Milan, My-lun to its friends. I had to be careful not to get too close. The Army makes its bullets there. Their woods are patrolled by genuine soldiers. They shoot people on purpose.

As it was I did not make it that far. I stopped at a gas station. Known as Hilltop. It is run by one good Deepak Chopra. An Indian American, in Tennessee via New Delhi. Where I lived for a few short years. We had plenty to talk about. He is just my age but a married man. His daughter is pointed at Harvard.

Deepak's known as Romy in these parts. Deepak was too hard to say. And somehow he has managed to establish himself as a Pillar of the Community. He greets most of his customers by name. The others he calls "my friend." Because sooner or later they are going to be. He is just that sort of guy.

I met Spencer, a Bradford cop. I wish I had gotten his picture. He was huge and armed and dressed all in black. He had a very fine nose. We talked for a while. He's an insightful man. I was glad for the chance. I have never talked to a cop before without him running my license.

I thought it might be easy to be a cop here, but no, they've got their share of crime. Not counting traffic atrocities, meth the biggest thing. He did not, however, make the boastful claim that Bradford is the Meth Capital of the World. Almost every other town does. Someday a competent authority ought to settle that matter for good.

They can't all be the Meth Capital. Better they should be ranked. Number two might want to try harder. Number one might want to coast. Those that are further down the list might just want to give up for good. We cannot all be champions. Some races are better not run.

I met Joe, a mountain of a mountain man. He used to work for Boeing. And Tommy, a "gun-totin' redneck" who is going to nursing school. And Carmen and her mom or grandmom, and a girl in a short skirt. And a number of deer hunters, all of whom seem to have met with success.

I was there for five hours. Friend Romy kept giving me pop. And a couple of sandwiches. He'd have given me more if I'd asked. Poor fellow, he wants to be a millionaire. He is a good businessman. But doesn't have that mean-spiritedness which too often leads to success. People can't pay for gas, he opens his wallet. He gives candy to the kids. He greets like a brother every odd hobo that comes limping up the pike.

Find me now camped behind his station, next to the diesel tanks. It coming up on one a.m., but I think I get an hour back. Or lose an hour. I forget just which. Daylight Savings boggles my mind.


I THINK this morning's hash browns were fried up in butter. Interesting.

I KNOW it's ungodly, but between you and me, I've always wanted to punch Pat Robertson in the face.

THANK YOU, Mr. Boaz, pronounced "Boze", for making sure I stay fed. And for his prayers. I'm not sure they'll take. But every little bit helps.

AND THANKS to Romy, mine excellent host. God Bess America.

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