The End of the Beginning - N2N-TCP Comes to an End

The End of the Walk - Clinton, Iowa

If you’ve read Dad’s last post, you’ve probably sussed out the fact that we’ve come to the end of the walk.

I’m a little saddened to see this effort come to an end, but I’ve got nothing but gratitude for how things have turned out.

I’m grateful for a safe journey journey along the way. Apparently, the Universe really does look out for fools.

I’m grateful for the overwhelmingly positive support we’ve received from the people who have taken their time to share our adventure and their own experiences both virtually and actually. When the sun got hot, the rain pattered down, the packs got heavy, and the feet got raw, your words of encouragement and optimism helped us get up the next morning and take one more step, walk one more mile, and thoroughly enjoy your company. I wish we had made it the full way across, but know that we could not have gotten as far as we did without your support.

I’m grateful for the wonderful people we’ve met along the way. I think that sometimes it is tempting to give into cynicism and question the future of our communities. The news is full of tragedy and fear, but that’s not the story we saw as the people we met greeted us with generosity, friendship, and encouragement. From the friendly honk, a firm handshake or hug, or a place to stay for the evening, the good people who have crossed our path have proven that there is great reason for optimism. The near constant darkness that filters in through the airwaves doesn’t represent what’s really going on out here in the real world. Of course there are tragedies and challenges….some of them really quite daunting, but I’m convinced more than ever that the goodness outweighs the rough spots by a very wide margin. Our new friends and acquaintances have restored my sense of hope that we’ll be able to face the challenges before us together and prevail in the long run.

Finally, I’m grateful for the nearly uninterrupted five months I’ve gotten to spend with my Dad. I’m very proud of what we accomplished together, and I’ll be forever grateful for your help, support, and true friendship along the way. 

The end of the beginning is underway, and what happens next is anyone’s guess.  A bit like a Willie Nelson song, today, I left Dallas on an Amtrak headed south. I’ll be making my way back to Maryland by the long way round. 

As the N2N-TCP winds down, I want you all to know how much your participation in our pilgrimage has meant to us. As we plan the next chapter in our adventuring, I’ll stop back by here every now and then to give you an update. Until then, I hope to see you all “out on the road.”

n2n - TCP. coming to an end

Following my return to Texas for treatment of my foot injury, I rejoined my companion in Cedar Rapids, IA --traveling up in my Tacoma pick-up.  Continuing recovery of my foot necessitated changing our trek’ing approach to incorporate using the pick-up as a support vehicle. This facilitated continuing the trek westward.  As we advanced toward Newport Nebraska, I was advised of problems (4 ea) that, in aggregate necessitated another return to Texas for personal presence in resolution. One of those problems was continuing indication of a problem in the pick-up.  

An understanding of the necessity  for vehicle support as we advanced, and uncertainty of problem resolution delay, Newport, Nebraska became the west-bound termination point of our journey. 

Resolution of the problems, particularly repair of the pick-up, took until August 14.

I greatly desired to return to Yorkville, IL and walk to Cedar Rapids, IA -- this, in my mind, 
 would in some measure count toward us making the traverse Newport RI - to - Newport, NE (n2n-TCP Rev) a combined effort.  My companion concurred.

It was not to be !!

About half way (56 miles) to the Mississippi River at Clinton, IA, I began to develop blisters on the previously-injured foot.  By the time we had crossed the Mississippi and reached our Clinton, IA objective (an additional 50 miles), the blisters had spread across the ball of my foot, were growing, and were very difficult to walk on.   This was a situation/condition my doctor had strongly cautioned me (following the first injury) to not let occur.

Crossing the Mississippi River

Following a night’s recovery time, and agonizing deliberation, I concluded it was expedient for me to quit the effort.  My companion concurred. It was, and continues to be, a decision that 
brought/brings tears to my eyes !!

But, it was the correct decision.

In making this decision, there is some consolation:

1) We dreamed and dared greatly, and pursued our dream.

2)  Truncation of the trek was a consequence of injury -- not short-coming in my ability or willingness to fulfill the dream.

3) My companion walked every step of the 1,761 miles from Newport, RI - to - Newport NE.

4) I managed to walk 1,240 miles, from the Atlantic Ocean (Newport RI) to the west side of the Mississippi River (Clinton,IA).  Half-way across the United States.

5) I experienced achievement of  two of my principle N2N-TCP objectives, connecting with great people along the way and testing my capability to meet this kind of challenge. 

6) We  established a solid foundation of future adventures.

In summary:  IT WAS A GREAT AND FULFILLING ADVENTURE!!   

It was foundational to establishing a very positive, compatible and enduring relationship between my companion and me.   It has been a remarkable educational and developmental endeavor. It will also prove to have been foundational to future adventures.  

“Sometimes The Dragon Wins” -- and so it may appear to have been in this engagement.

BUT, DON’T SWITCH CHANNELS!!

WE EXPECT TO BE BACK AFTER A SHORT INTERMISSION!!

Mississippi River Crossing

Today was a milestone day as Dad completed his seventh state on the journey and crossed the Mississippi River from Fulton, Illinois to Clinton, Iowa. He covered just over seventeen miles putting his total since departing Yorkville, IL at just over one hundred miles walked in seven days. That’s an average of a half-marathon plus a mile every day for the last week. He’s got some old man toughness for sure!

Onward to Iowa

He’s also pretty smart. When I made the Mississippi River Crossing, I chose the bridge on US Highway 30 and didn’t make the trek north to Fulton. With about a twenty inch shoulder and nothing separating me from oncoming traffic but a chipped white painted line, I didn’t really enjoy that crossing very much. At the time, I didn’t want to add the extra distance it would have cost to cross on the more northern route from Fulton to Clinton. It turns out, that extra distance added up to a grand total of one point three miles. This crossing….well, it was a mixed use pedestrian and bike lane that kept the traffic at bay with a Jersey barrier and a handrail.

On the west side of the bridge, he even managed to find a diner for lunch. 

So basically he’s tough and smart, and still loves his diners.

I’m grateful that I was able to walk with him as he accomplished this milestone. It was also quite nice to be able to enjoy the scenery without worrying about being smashed by a car.

Barge Traffic on the Mississippi River - Clinton, IA

We’re taking a rest day tomorrow, and he tells me he has his own story to tell about this milestone, so I’ll leave the rest to him. Today was a very good day!

Nachos Beware

We woke up at around five this morning, and Dad was out on the road for an early start. The temperatures were down in the high fifties, and there was the faintest hint of a fall like crispness in the air. It’s the kind of morning that makes me glad that I’m a morning person and a whole lot different then when I made my way through this area about five weeks ago on my own.

Dad pounded out another sixteen miles today, and he had things wrapped up by just before three pm. He’s holding up amazingly well, and if things come off as planned, he should be crossing the Mississippi River tomorrow on the bridge between Fulton, Illinois and Clinton, Iowa.

I should probably let him speak for himself, but by all appearances, he’s getting back into the groove of putting away miles and actually finding enjoyment in the experience. His foot has healed, and it doesn’t seem to be giving him more than the ordinary trouble associated with pounding away on it day after day. He also appears to be settling into the mental mindset that makes the long distance amble not only endurable but enjoyable. 

I’m also enjoying the opportunity to revisit old miles. Driving the water wagon makes it a different experience for sure, but the last time I was in this area, I was operating under the assumption that I would not see the land and the scenery again anytime soon. It’s good to see some of the same people and catch up on what’s happened in the last several weeks. I enjoy seeing a convenience store and knowing that they are one of the few in this area that carry grapefruit Bubly. Crossing a bridge over the railroad and remembering that I watched a train rumble through heading west in the early morning before the sun got too hot brings a flood of memories back to the surface of all that we’ve been allowed to see and experience along the path.

It’s also good to have the opportunity to experience new things in largely the same environment. Today, we ate dinner at an outstanding barbeque restaurant named Smoked on 3rd in Sterling, IL. I believe it’s one of the best meals we’ve had in the hundreds of places we’ve visited. 

Nachos Beware - Sterling, IL

I guess Dad thought so too because he tackled a big plate of pulled pork nachos in a way that was both awe inspiring and a little bit frightening. Hey….he’s gotta fuel up for tomorrow because if things go to plan he’ll be crossing the Mississippi River and heading into Iowa.

Sunrise Reflections

Sunrise Reflections - Dixon, IL

Uneventful Day

Yesterday, Dad banged out the most difficult section of the route from Yorkville, Illinois to Cedar Rapids, Iowa. He put in twenty miles, and instead of falling asleep, he’s reading some John Sanford fiction right now. Pretty amazing.

Other than that it was a pretty uneventful day. During one of his rest stops, a lady named Margie stopped beside us on a country road near Brooklyn, IL and asked us if we were there to clean out the forest. It wasn’t quite as unusual as being asked if we were prospectors on the outskirts of Cleveland, but it was close. If I’d been thinking more quickly, I would have asked what it paid. I’m pretty sure she thought it needed to be done, and it is entirely possible we were being offered a job.

Little Horse and a Donkey - Lee Center, IL

Other than that, the day was filled with corn, soybeans, two horses, a gravel road, a misplaced wallet (subsequently located, thankfully), a handful of goats, and a couple of donkeys. I did learn that the only real difference between a donkey and a burro is the domestication status of the animal. Donkeys are domestic animals and burros are wild.

It was a good day. Dad will be back out on the road tomorrow, and I’ll be struggling with the A/C, cold drinks, speedy travel, and the other burdens of driving the water wagon. 

Hope you all had a great hump day. The weekend is right around the corner!

The Gift of Fog

Foggy Sunrise - Yorkville, IL

Sunrise this morning revealed a thick layer of fog that had settled down amongst the fields of soybeans and corn. We packed up the truck and headed west toward the diner that Dad, of course, had identified as our target of opportunity for breakfast.

After we’d ordered our omelets, we sat across from each other and sipped our coffees. We were the only ones in the diner, and the mood was subdued.

“What are you thinking?”

It’s the question I try to ask when I’m sitting across from someone who looks like they might be troubled. In the past I might ask what was wrong, but I’ve learned that the phrasing of that question assumes too much. Better to let folks get around to what might be troubling them in their own time.

After the question, we talked about what we’d learned and experienced over the last five months, how those things had impacted our lives and our thinking, and how we were reacting to this last part of the journey in the context of everything that’s happened so far.

One of the things that I’ve learned along the way is that Dad and I both have different ways of thinking about the various aspects of the walking experience. It seems that the actual physical act of walking is something that brings me a greater sense of fulfillment than it does for my partner.  For Dad, it seems as if the walking itself mostly provides the framework for the social interactions that have crossed our path along the way.

Walking by yourself has its own set of challenges, and you no longer have the benefit of someone around you to break into your own thoughts and feelings. You’re stuck with yourself whether you like it or not. You get used to it, but it took me a few days to really get find ease with myself when I was walking alone. It’s during these times that having a friendly stranger to talk to is particularly helpful.  For the last couple of days, those interactions have been few and far between.

We finished up breakfast and made our way to Dad’s jumping off point. The fog had taken on what I’ve heard described in the past as the characteristics of pea soup. I dropped Dad off, and as he marched westward. I took the truck and drove along his route to see just how much the visibility had been reduced.

The situation didn’t look promising. As I drove down the highway at ten miles under the posted speed limit, I started counting the seconds it took for me to overtake stationary objects like mailboxes and street signs. One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three, one-thousand-four, one-thousand-five, one-thousand-six….

I drove for about a mile.  Five to ten seconds from when I spotted the fog shrouded object on the side of the road till the time I passed it as I drove through the fog.  The shoulders were narrow, and there was no room for error.

“Too dangerous,” I thought as I made my way back to Dad. He was making his way through Paw Paw, IL on the relative safety of sidewalks.

“What do you think about this fog?”

This time, I didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“I don’t like it. Drivers can’t see you in time to react, and not everyone has their lights on so you can see them. I think we ought to wait for it to lift a little before pressing on.”

Dad agreed and we grabbed a convenience store coffee and sat down near the small granite Veterans’ Memorial at the Lion’s Park in Paw Paw, IL.  Just as we settled in, a bright and cheery woman greeted us and asked if we knew any of the names on the Memorial. We admitted our ignorance and owned up to our out of town status.

The conversation evolved, and before we knew what had happened, we’d spent the better part of an hour sharing tall tales of the ups and downs of our adventures and our lives. 

After a thoroughly enjoyable conversation, the thick fog remained. It had been joined by thunder and lightning. As we said our goodbyes, the sky opened up and a driving rain crashed down through the fog. We’d managed just over a mile worth of forward progress, but, as we called it a day, I knew for a fact that we’d all gotten just what we needed out of the trail today.

Driving the Water Wagon

Now that Dad and I have switched roles, and I’m the one driving the water wagon and he’s the one drinking the water, I’ve been asked how it feels to be in the logistics support role. 

I understand it’s bad form to quote yourself, but I’m going to do it anyway. In response to this question, I replied, “It’s a helluva lot easier than walking. I like the A/C and the cold drinks. I like the food, and if I don’t like the food I can drive until I find something I do like. My feet don’t hurt, and covering twenty miles in the truck doesn’t tire me out nearly as much as covering the same distance with bipedal locomotion.”

Still, I think I understand what the person was asking. I do miss being on the road moving slowly, but over the last couple of days it’s given me the opportunity to reflect on a few of the lessons that I’ve learned over the last several months.

When you’re walking, you really can get immersed in the environment in a way that driving just doesn’t replicate. The sounds, smells, and feel of what’s going on around you come alive in ways that I miss when I’m safely encased in my climate controlled metal bubble. On the other hand, the long distance walking has made me much more aware of many things I would have missed in the past while driving. The internal combustion engine has also given me mobility to explore that just wasn’t possible on foot.

Today, I’d parked the truck in our next designated logistics support point. Dad was still about forty minutes away, so I turned off the ignition, rolled down the windows and just sat in the relative silence for a few moments. I say relative silence because it didn’t take too long for me to notice that an airplane was buzzing overhead somewhere in the immediate area. 

The sound wasn’t the standard steady thrum of a single engine propeller driven aircraft passing overhead on a cross country flight. It was more like the sound you’d hear at an airshow where the grizzled old pilot in a biplane is pushing the aircraft into loops and rolls and low passes. As I glanced to the north and the south, I was pretty sure I was hearing the work of an Air Tractor. Yep. That’s a real thing. Air Tractor is actually the brand name of the series of the most popular “crop dusting” aircraft in service. They really do look just like the protagonis of the animated film “Planes.”

The airplane would buzz low and steady for a brief run of time, and then I could hear the engine RPMs ramp up and a doppler shift would tell me the craft was pulling some non-trivial Gs in its turn back toward the field it was working. Still, I couldn’t catch a glimpse of the plane in action.

Dad showed up, and I served up the drinks and offered some food. He dropped his pack and sat on the back of the tailgate for a while before striking off again on his walk to the west. He looked pretty sweaty and hot. We’d agreed to meet about two hours up the road, and I knew what I had to do.

Though I’d ambled past more Air Tractors on the ground than I’d care to count, I’d still not seen one in action. I was going to go find it, and the mobility of the water wagon was going to be my enabler.

I located the plane’s approximate location acoustically, and I headed a little to the west and a little to the north. The sounds grew louder as the plane continued to work the fields, and then all of a sudden it broke out low over the corn field to my left. Her wheels seemed to brush the tops of the corn tassels with the lightest of touch as she screamed down the length of the field. 

Air Tractor at Work - Rollo, IL

Guided by a steady hand and a spirit not born of fear, the pilot skirted just above the tops of the corn stalks delivering death from above to the aphids below. It was an incredible display of aviation.

I miss the long plod along the shoulder, but driving the water wagon has its own set of advantages.

Back on the Trail in Yorkville

We finally escaped the hot and steamy clutches of North Texas. Seriously, y’all. I grew up there, but I’ve been away for quite awhile in the relatively cooler climate of the mid-Atlantic. I’d forgotten what late July and early August in the Dallas area felt like. To really get a good idea what it feels like, I’m going to need you to buy one of those old olive drab army blankets, fill your bathtub with hot water, put the blanket in the tub until thoroughly soaked, and then get it out and wrap it around your upper body and head. Wrap it tightly, but not so tightly that you can’t breath. Breathing should take some effort, but it shouldn’t be strictly impossible. After you’re all wrapped up, go and find the hottest area you can and sit there for about an hour. A black car with black leather seats at about three pm on a sunny day should be ideal. Man that place is hot, and I’m grateful to finally be back in the more temperate northern latitudes.

Our detour down to Texas took fourteen days. I was hoping for a five to seven day turnaround, but sadly, that was not the case. As of this writing we’re one hundred and forty days into the pilgrimage. Thirty-eight of those days, unfortunately, entailed no forward physical progress. 

Dad and I both looked at the fifteen hundred mile stretch left to cover from where we left the trail in Newport, Nebraska, and we both agreed that making it all the way to the Oregon coast was highly unlikely. We also looked at the relative lateness of the season for crossing the Rocky Mountains, and we both agreed that an attempt, though theoretically possible, carried weather related challenges that we were unwilling to risk.

That’s the bad news. We’re not going to make it to Newport, Oregon on this particular trip. I’m disappointed. This trip has been the culmination of five years of planning, and being forced to acknowledge the obvious has been surprisingly painful. It was always a long shot that we were going to make it, but up until this last setback, I really thought we still had a chance. That is no longer the case.

Dad's Back on the Trail - Sandwich, IL

The good news is that we’re back on the trail! After some long discussions, Dad and I collectively decided that the next step on the journey would be a return to Yorkville, Illinois. The return to Yorkville will give Dad the opportunity to walk the distance between where his foot injury initially forced him off the trail to Cedar Rapids, Iowa, where he met me to provide logistic support for the westward push to Newport, Nebraska.

Today, he ambled the first ten miles of what he hopes is about a two hundred mile journey that will take him across the Mississippi River on foot from Newport, Rhode Island. We’ve traded roles, and now I’m the one providing him the logistic support that he needs to complete this leg of our adventure together.

Even though we’re not going to cover all of the ground we originally set out to cover, I can honestly say that I don’t regret any part of the attempt. It’s been an epic journey of discovery, hope, and connection. I have nothing but gratitude for everyone who has helped us along the way.

Dad’s wandering path to Cedar Rapids will result in us covering every mile from Newport, Rhode Island to Newport, Nebraska together in one capacity or another. We welcome you to stick around as we wrap up the journey.

A Brief Southern Diversion

Crossing the Border - Grayson County, Texas

I didn't expect to find myself here today, but Dad had some issues that required his presence in Texas. After finishing up yesterday in Newport, Nebraska we headed down to more southern latitudes so  he could address a couple of things in person. 

Nothing catastrophic, to be sure. Just a few things that popped up during the normal course of day to day living, and I decided to accompany him during the long(ish) drive back.

I'm going to take a social media break for the next several days as we get the little niggling issues addressed and regroup a little.

More to follow what is likely to be a short diversion.

It was a good and uneventful drive. As the first time I've driven in literally months, I take that as very good sign.

Though completely unrelated to our diversion, any thoughts, prayers, and good vibes should be directed toward  the people of El Paso who are currently facing some very real and challenging circumstances. 

We're dealing with trivia, and we've been practicing that for at least the last four months.

Finding Our Way to Newport, Nebraska

Today was a spectacular day! Last night, it didn’t look like it was going to turn out that way, but it’s amazing what can happen when you just show up and do the work that the Universe lays at your feet.

The weather forecast looked ominous. Seventy to eighty percent chance of rain in the form of “scattered” thunderstorms. Seven am was supposed to dawn cloudy and wet with predicted precipitation coming in at just under half and inch of rainfall an hour.

We awakened at five, and started scrounging for breakfast. The only thing that seemed marginally appealing was a bagel with cream cheese. Now if I tell the truth, I don’t really like bagels all that much. Their only truly redeeming feature is that they serve as a passable conveyance for cream cheese, which is a tasty delight.

The convenience store up the street came to the rescue with an excellent egg, cheese, and bacon breakfast burrito. After one hundred and twenty four days on the road, I’ve become quite the connoisseur of gas station food. I’m not necessarily proud of that statement, but believe me when I tell you that there is a whole book, if not a television series on the Food Network, that should be dedicated to finding the best regional gas station or convenience store food. I’d be happy to host it because I know a good gas station breakfast burrito when I finally find one.

The clouds were heavy, but the promised rain had not started yet, so Dad parked his truck at an insurance agency and joined me for the first five miles.  Once again, we were able to follow the crushed pink granite that formed the foot friendly surface of the “Cowboy Trail.”

Cowboy Trail - Atkinson, Nebraska

Our feet crunched down the trail in unison, and we talked about his time on a farm raising turkeys, fishing, and began to cast about for our question of the day. 

About three miles in and adjacent to the “Sandhills Washout” (a place that livestock semis go to wash out their trailers after hauling some hogs), a light drizzle began to spit from the underbelly of the plum colored clouds.

“Do we want to stop and put on our pack covers?” Dad asked.

I tersely replied, “I don’t.” Now I don’t have anything in particular against pack covers. They have their uses like keeping your stuff dry, but they really make things inconvenient. I’d prefer to wait until it is beyond question that the sky is about to split open and deliver a good drenching. This is one area, among more than a handful, where my trail philosophy diverges from Dad’s own way of looking at life on the road.

We paced on, and though the sky continued to threaten, these threats proved a bluff, and we reached Dad’s five mile turnaround point with nothing much wetter than a twelve inch rain. That’s a rain where there are at least twelve inches between every drop that hits the ground.

Dad turned and headed back to the truck, and I continued on toward the west. About two hours later, the sun finally broke through the overcast, and though there were thunderstorms to the north and the south, I was able to watch their cottony tops descend to their fresh bruise colored undersides from the dryness that comes under the sweeping expanse of achingly blue sky.

Eventually the trail ran out, and I had to return to the highway. The traffic was light, and the shoulder was wide, so even this minor inconvenience worked out in the end.

Ranchland - Stuart, Nebraska

My foot felt good and my legs felt strong. A Navy sized dose of Vitamin M kept the soreness at bay, and I walked through the most verdant ranchland that I’d ever seen. Cows followed me along fences hoping for food, and old-school windmills harnessed the light breeze from the south to fill livestock tanks with water pumped up from the ground.

Big Blue Sky - Stuart, Nebraska

I met Dad again toward the end of the day. He’d pulled up the truck to a gas station listed for sale, and we walked the final part of the day’s journey into Newport, Nebraska. 

Entering Newport, Nebraska

Having covered a little over seventeen hundred and sixty one miles since leaving Newport, Rhode Island, we wrapped up the day’s efforts in front of the Newport (Nebraska) Pool Hall. The pool hall is a community space serving the ninety-seven residents of this small Nebraska town with a three stool bar, a single pool table, and a handful of snacks. The hall is open without any oversight twenty four hours a day. We signed the guest register and took a few photos before heading back to the truck.

Newport Poll Hall - Newport, Nebraska

Today was an exceptionally good day!

The Cowboy Trail

We finally made it back on the trail today after a couple of days taken to help heal a blister about the size of a silver dollar on the bottom of my left foot. That foot’s still not one hundred percent, but it felt alright, and we managed to cover the twenty mile gap between O’Neill and Atkinson, Nebraska.

It was a great day for a stroll. The sky was mostly overcast although a little blue peeked out from around the clouds from time to time. Temperatures started in the low 60’s and rocketed all the way up to the mid-70’s by early afternoon. For my Texas readers, I’m sorry, but Nebraska is only a couple days drive away. I might be time for your own pilgrimage off the anvil of the sun to someplace a little more temperate.

Cowboy Trail - Holt County, Nebraska

We covered the entire distance today on a small section of the one hundred and ninety-five mile “Cowboy Trail” in the outback section of central Nebraska. On the section we’re on, the trail loosely parallels US Highway 20, known as the “Outlaw Trail,” but it gets far enough from the highway for wildlife sightings and a great scenic walk.

I passed signs today prohibiting this use of the trail by both motor vehicles as well as cows, and I’m in full agreement with both of those sound policies.

No Cows Allowed - Cowboy Trail

Along the path, we saw more than a handful of rabbits, a couple of fairly large hawks, and two groups of six or seven wild turkeys. 

Now I know it’s a pretty common occurrence to see the annual Thanksgiving Turkey Trot 5K run advertised in most of our hometowns. Usually there’s a picture of a plump turkey with really short legs trotting at a reasonable pace. Based on these images, I always imagined that turkeys were ungainly beasts capable only of a light jog.

I can tell you from my experience today, that is NOT the case at all.  I spotted the first bunch of turkeys off to the left side of the trail in a pasture. I was too far away to get any pictures, but I thought I’d walk up a little closer and maybe snap a few shots. These wiley beasts somehow caught wind of my presence. I don’t know. I showered and had on clean clothes, but somehow they sensed me anyway. They took off at what looked like a walk and disappeared behind a row of round hay bales.

“No problem,” I thought to myself. I’ll just walk to the end of the hay, and they’ll be there. I walked past the hay and glanced toward the turkeys. They were more than halfway to a treeline a couple of hundred yards in the distance. I’d only covered about twenty yards. I started to jog. They picked up their pace, and the distance widened even further.

As I slowed to a stop, the last turkey in line glanced back at me over her right shoulder as if to say, “Silly human. Turkey Trot means we can actually run. You have no chance of outpacing us on the ground.” It’s a pretty good dialog for a glance from a turkey, but I’m pretty sure that’s what she was communicating.

This evening, I did a little research, and it turns out that a wild turkey can run at speeds exceeding twenty five miles per hour. The fastest human recorded to date is sprinter Usain Bolt who clocked in at just under twenty eight miles per hour in his record setting one hundred meter dash.

This will come as no surprise to most of you, but in the interest of full disclosure, I’m no Usain Bolt when it comes to burning up the track. More of slow smolder, if I’m lucky. 

That made me feel a little better about being outrun by a pack of wild birds. Today was a good saunter, and we’ll see what tomorrow will bring. 

Hope you all had a great Thursday!

Another Blister Rest Day

Another day of rest in the self-proclaimed Irish Capital of Nebraska - O’Neil.

Sidewalk Art - O’Neill, Nebraska

Got out on the town a little to test the foot. Apparently the town takes their claim seriously since these shamrocks were painted on the sidewalks at every intersection.  

Foot feels better so....

Ready or not, back to the trail tomorrow.

Pulled up in O'Neill

No pictures today. It's hard to get snapshots of the inside of your eyelids. 

Took a much needed day off to try to get ahead of a blister on the bottom of my left foot. I ended up sleeping till 1130, and that felt pretty good.

Another Long Day with Another Surprise Visit

Today was another long day, but a good one. With Dad’s help we managed to put in a little over twenty two miles. Dad walked along for about thirteen of them, so it looks like his foot is well on its way to a full recovery.

The Road to the West - Between Orchard and O’Neill, Nebraska

The first half of the walk happened along the shoulder of US Highway 20 between Orchard, Nebraska and O’Neill, Nebraska. The road was mostly flat, straight, and relatively empty.

For reasons not completely clear to me, we ran across a fairly large number of fairly small toads along the fringe of the road. Once again, a couple of them seemed bent on making the treacherous journey across the highway to a spot where the grass was just about the same level of greenness as the side they were bent on departing.

Dad was with me, and we did our best to chase them back into the grass on our side of the road. We were pretty successful, but one hard headed amphibian simply would not be herded.

I chased him to about the middle of the highway, and, finally fed up with his apparent intransigence, I picked him up and carried him back from whence he came.

The road was flat and straight and disappeared into the western horizon. On both sides of the road, the corn and soybeans finally yielded the space to vast fields dedicated to the production of hay. Row after row of freshly cut prairie hay weighing approximately twelve hundred pounds apiece littered the fields.

This subtle change in crop production is a little thing, but it’s the sort of change that keeps the walk interesting. It raises all sorts of questions, and the more I learn, the more I realize how much I really don’t know. How do farmers decide whether to plant corn, soybeans, or produce hay? How do these individual and apparently uncoordinated decisions drive market conditions later in the season at sale time? What do you do with a twelve hundred pound bale of hay that doesn’t sell, and how long will it last? All sorts of questions.

Closing out a productive day of walking, another Navy colleague called just as we were wrapping up our pedestrian efforts for the day. He was going to be passing through town on his way to visit family in South Dakota, and, once again, we were afforded the opportunity to catch up, tell a few tall tales, and participate in some good conversation. It’s the sort of thing that makes long stretches of solitude out on the road worth every step.

A Short Train and a Parade

Today was a long(ish) day after a series of long days, but it was a good one as well. 

Orchard Days Parade - Orchard, Nebraska

We managed to get caught up in a parade during Orchard Days in Orchard, Nebraska. It looked like the whole town was participating. Flags were marched, the school band played, tractors and the Shriner cars cavorted around, and candy was thrown to the kids along the path. It was pretty fun, and I was tired so taking a break to watch a parade was a welcome rest.

Short Train - Royal, Nebraska

We also saw the shortest train we've seen to date. Two locomotives to pull a tank car and a grain car. Wonder what's going on there?

Hope you all had a great Sunday. I going to get some sleep.

Connections

We got a bit of a late start this morning and didn’t hit the pavement until just before eight am. The sun was already well above the horizon, and the humidity sat on the corn and soybean fields like a foggy elephant. The prediction called for a return of the heat, and it didn’t look like the Universe was going to disappoint.

In spite of the circumstances, I felt good. My legs were strong following a fairly short day yesterday, it seemed as if I was finally getting ahead of the blisters, and we’d managed to score a good breakfast that didn’t come out of the warming cabinet of a convenience store.

When you’re walking just about every day, the distinction associated with the days of the week slips away. Usually these days, I have to check my watch to know if it’s a Thursday or a Saturday. I don’t dread Mondays, and I don’t long for Fridays since every day follows a very similar playbook. That said, there are some subtleties because many other people are tied to the five day work week.

I’ve noticed that Saturday traffic, especially in the morning, is quite a bit reduced compared weekday morning traffic. It’s hard to believe there is a commuting “rush hour” out here in the country, but I assure you that tradition continues.

Lonely Road  and a Big Sky - Pierce County, Nebraska

As I walked along the highway and the sun slowly heated the pink colored asphalt, the sound of the birds and the insects were the only real sounds keeping me company. Over my left shoulder, I could hear a woodpecker using his face knife to chisel a bug out of the bark of a hardwood standing sentinel in a windbreak. Grasshoppers buzzed in the grass to my left, and a frog chirped from the drainage ditch.

I looked around and could see no evidence of another human being for miles around. I was alone on the road.

A few minutes later, I got a text from an old Navy friend. He was on his way to California with his family for his next duty assignment, and he was asking if it would be possible to meet up and catch up for a few minutes later in the evening. He was going to drive out of his way to visit me on the walk!

A few more miles down the path, Dad and I met near Osmond, Nebraska. He decided to join me for a few miles of pavement pounding excitement. We were just clearing the town to the west when we noticed a man on a recumbent bicycle heading our way.

Now, pedestrians and cyclists are natural competitors. That’s not to say we’re adversarial, but we do tend to want to occupy the same small piece of property on the shoulder of the road. The pedestrian is walking to the left facing traffic, and the cyclist is staying as far to the right as they can attempting to avoid getting smashed like a grasshopper from behind.

I’ve found that the best way to solve this dilemma is to give way to the cyclist and wait for them to pass while standing on the road’s margin or in the grass.

We stepped to the side, and the cyclist slowly pulled up beside us. He was a fit man, and he looked like he was covering some serious distance. He asked us about our hike, and we told him the story.

It turns out that Tim was a fellow cross country traveller. He’d left Portland, Oregon a few weeks ago, and he was bound for Maine. We chatted for about thirty minutes, swapping hints and tips from what we’d experienced and telling road stories. We all needed to move on, but it took awhile to part ways from the immediate connection one feels with a fellow traveller.

When we finally said our farewells, the feeling of aloneness had vanished. Later in the evening my Navy colleague pulled into town, and, once again, the visit stretched longer than planned as we shared our experiences and plans for the future. Once again, I found myself grateful.

Crossing Paths With Friends - Plainview, Nebraska

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that we are never truly alone. There’s a connection that exists between all of us, and I’m grateful to have been the recipient of that connection on a day where I had begun to think my only real road companions were going to bugs and birds….at least till the truckers woke up just a little bit later.

A Different Sort of Day

Big Pile of Corn - Pierce County, Nebraska

For some reason I can't quite explain, today was a different sort of day for me. 

Dad and I walked about three miles together, and the focus was on stories and conversation, and that part was really good.

I didn't focus very much on the scenery, so all I've got to show photographically is this big pile of corn. At four dollars and fifty-one cents a bushel, it's also worth quite a bit to be just laying around on the ground. Weird.

Hope you all had a great Friday. Enjoy the weekend!

Be Like the Water

Canyon in the Making - Cedar County, Nebraska

Even the Grand Canyon had to start somewhere. 

Be like the water. Patient, but relentless. Little steps eventually add up to big progress. 

Whatever you’re facing today, keep at it y’all.

The Theoretical Midpoint

I don’t spend a whole lot of time looking back on the past. Whatever has happened cannot be undone. Similarly, I don’t spend a whole lot of time looking down the path a worrying about what’s to come. I try to live in the present. It wasn’t always this way for me.

My past habit was to live in the “wreckage of the future” spending lots of time and energy planning for contingencies and thinking about different ways to navigate problems that didn’t even exist yet. I can tell you from my experience that living too far out ahead of myself was not a very useful approach.

That’s one of the things I thought a lot about when I took up walking as a discipline about five years ago. I told myself that at the pace of walking, I’d only have to focus on the one meter radius around me. That present focus approach didn’t come very naturally to me at first, but eventually the practice paid off. I was even able to take what I’d learned on the trail and apply it in some other areas of my life.

Looking Back from the Theoretical Midpoint - US Highway 20 - Nebraska

All that being said, it’s good to take a look back every now and then and see where you’ve traveled. Today, at about thirteen miles, I crossed the point where the projected distance forward was equal to the distance already covered. It came at about sixteen hundred and fourteen miles into the pilgrimage. 

I checked the projected distance to complete the journey, and I checked my distance covered again just to make sure. I was on top of a hill with the long ribbon on US Highway 20 stretching ahead of me to the west, and miles of visibility to the east to see where I’d been. I paused a moment and looked back. The air was cool, and the sun was shining. I took a deep breath and was satisfied.

Now, I suspect this wasn’t really the halfway point in the journey. The projected distance remaining is based on an ideal calculation, and if this trip has taught me anything at all, it’s that life is never the clean cut calculus of the ideal. 

It’s also probably not the midpoint of the learning and growing this trip has afforded. That learning curve has been steep, and as things progress onward, I’m finally starting to find a rhythm and a flow. 

Nonetheless, it felt pretty good to be in the same ballpark as the midpoint of the planned journey. Like much of my professional career, I find myself behind schedule and over budget, so there are those minor challenges to address, but those solutions will present themselves when it’s time.

I’m still not sure where this really all ends, but I’m grateful to have gotten this far. I’m also looking forward to the experiences coming in the future. Just not too far out into the future.

One step, one hour, one day at a time, we’ll see how this adventure unfolds. Thank you all for the fantastic support and encouragement to date. It makes the tired feet feel quite a bit lighter. 

Eight Down....Four to Go

Crossing Into Nebraska - Siouxland Veterans Bridge

Today we crossed the Missouri River and passed out of Iowa and into Nebraska. Eight states down. Four to go.

As a good friend pointed out earlier today, the “instant gratification” states are over. As we look west across Nebraska, Wyoming, Idaho, and Oregon, the distances are truly massive. Believe it or not, we still haven’t quite crossed the halfway point in terms of distance.

This is a big country, and this journey has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that the people who live here are big hearted, open, generous, and kind. We’ve met people from all walks of life, and the interactions have been welcome and inspiring. This big country is populated with big people who will lend a hand, a word of encouragement, and do the right thing. Though it’s a big place, the distances between us are not nearly as far apart as some might have you believe.

As a special treat, Dad was able to join in crossing from Iowa into Nebraska, and he’s walked the entire distance covered in the Cornhusker State so far. It was good to have him along for the journey again.

I hope you all had a great Tuesday. Be sure to celebrate your own milestones and continue being the great folks that you have proven yourselves to be. Thank you all for your ongoing support and encouragement!

Cow Spa

The day dawned crisp and cool, and we were up and about to see it. We broke camp at Little Sioux Park in Correctionville, Iowa and pressed westward.

We were a little bit skeptical on our way into Correctionville, to be perfectly honest. Was it a prison town? Did they still put people in the stocks in the town square to make an example of them? Was caning not only legal but condoned?

It turns out none of these theories about the origin of the city with the most letters in a single name in Iowa were true. Correctionville is the location that land surveyors made a correction in the north-south county road  alignment during the settlement period. The reason for the necessary “jog” in the main street of the town was to make parcels of land approximately equal in area. Surveyors at the time were using straight line optical instruments, and since the earth is a sphere, eventually a correction in the north-south grid lines defining property boundaries must be made to keep the parcels of land approximately equal in size.

The people in Correctionville were warm and welcoming as the people we’ve met throughout the entire journey. They shared the history of the town with us, and there’s quite a lot of pride in both the length of the name and the reason they have it.

We moved on toward the border of Iowa and Nebraska, but we didn’t quite make that line of demarcation today. Hopefully, soon.

Cow Spa - Woodbury County, Iowa

Along the way, we happened upon a herd of cows splashing around in what they must think of as their own personal spa. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t begrudge the cows their fun, but I’m glad that we don’t wash our own feet in our drinking water. 

As we passed, the herd noticed and galloped alongside the fence. I suppose they’ve learned that people on foot must mean food. Whatever the reason, they jogged along with us for about a half a mile. It was just the sort of simple thing to put a smile on your face as you took one more step forward.

Hope your Monday was as good as the one those cows seemed to be having!

Order from Chaos

Apparently before this land was extensively settled, much of it was covered by relatively unruly hardwood forests. The idea of this untamed wilderness appeals to my more nomadic nature. I call it nomadic, but it’s probably just a bad case of undiagnosed attention deficit disorder.

Order from Chaos - Woodbury County, Iowa

Sometime along the way, pioneers set out from areas in the east to make their fortune beyond the Mississippi. Some of these pioneers got to Iowa, and, their drive for nomadism expended, they settled the land and started to bring the wildness under control.

Fields were cleared, stumps blasted out with dynamite or pulled out by draft horses, and small scale cultivation commenced. Settlement continued, the resistance to the entropy of the forests continued, and now over a century later, the order and the neatness of the land that these herculean efforts produced is widely evident.

The hills have been shaped by cultivation and time. The rows of corn run straight and true to maximize the capability and yield of the harvest machinery, section lines delineate the labors of one farmer from the next, and hay is stacked in anticipation of winter in neat and orderly rows and columns.

There is a real beauty in this order and neatness, and imagining the sweat and toil it has taken to achieve this result boggles the imagination.

Still….as a nomad, I have a tickle of longing for a bit of untamed disorder, and so we continue west.

Thunderstorm on the Horizon

As promised, we were back at it this morning after a night of camping characterized by heat, humidity, and broken sleep. Something had jostled me out of my fitful slumber around midnight. Probably a rivulet of sweat dripping off my back and onto my sleeping pad. I rubbed my eyes and looked at my phone. There was not a breath of air. A coyote yipped in the distance, and the temperature read eighty-two.

Daylight finally rolled around, and I taped up my feet, popped a couple vitamin M, and we headed off to the start of the trail.

When we got to the intersection of Fox Avenue and US-20, the sun had cracked the horizon, but there was definitely change in the air. Three hours into today’s march the clouds once again gathered in the north, and the long promised cool front whistled in like a zephyr across the path. The temperature dropped almost instantly from the low 80’s to low 70’s, the wind whistled, and the hot humid air being displaced by this gift from the arctic immediately began forming thunderstorms all around us.

When you go about planning an adventure like this, you get some ideas about how things are going to turn out. Often these idyllic stories that you tell yourself turn out being a long way from reality.

One of the things I had imagined was watching great thunderstorms form and unleash their fury across the great western plains. Of course in these dreamy fantasies, the storms always stayed a respectable distance away, and I was able to watch them in all their glory from a sun drenched trail where the temperature was just perfect.

Thunderstorms on the Horizon - Holstein, Iowa

Today was one of those rare moments where reality and my fantasy walk ended up aligning quite nicely.

As the storms formed, Dad observed, “We’re gonna get our butts wet.” He’d joined for an eight mile out and back to continue to test his foot. I’m happy to report that his foot held up quite well, and his future as an oracle is in doubt.

We got a few drops, but for the most part, we were able to watch the energy of the storms expended on a piece of land we weren’t occupying.  No sun drenched trail, but the temperature….perfect.

The cold dry air that blew in today promises to make for just about perfect walking weather for about the next five days. We’re going to try and take advantage of it and make some distance.

Ahhhh......Rest

We’ve been pressing pretty hard for the last week or so, and today we took a much needed rest day. I finished up some military retirement related business in Sioux City, IA, but the rest of the day was dedicated to getting ready for the push into Nebraska.

Home Sweet Home - Little Sioux County Park - Correctionville, Iowa

On a side note, the parks here in Iowa have excellent camping facilities. Makes for a nice (and legal) Home sweet home!

More tales from the road tomorrow if things go as planned.

Heat

The thunderstorm from yesterday was replaced by the heat today. Temperature, heat index, humidity, blah, blah, blah. Heat is one of those things that just must be experienced to really get the feel for what it’s actually like outside.

The first three hours of the walk were actually pretty pleasant. Clouds left over from the evening put a gossamer drape between me and the sun rising in the east. A little breeze was blowing out of the south, and although it was muggy, the feel of the air wasn’t unpleasant.

Not to be denied his fun, the nuclear furnace approximately eight light-minutes away cranked up the fission reactions as it traced an arc in the sky from east to west. By mile nine, the clouds were all gone, and the sun beat down. I’m not going to say there wasn’t any shade because I was wearing the Jello cap, but that was about it.

I could feel the temperature start to rise on the concrete, and warm drafts of quickly heating air tickled my shins.

My brow beaded in perspiration, and my shirt became thoroughly soaked. I didn’t dare roll up my shirt sleeves. I’ve been keeping them down to avoid sunburn over the last several weeks, and my tan lines have faded as I’ve browned through the fabric. I’m concerned I might spontaneously combust with too much exposed skin.

Unlike the thunderstorm which was a relatively quick and acute experience, heat just grinds on you. Step after step….mile after mile the sun does its work. The heat and the sweat and the salt and the sun hone you. The concrete road is gleaming white, and the rest of the landscape starts to grey and then yellow. 

You reach for the bottle of Powerade which came out of the ice chest nice and chilly just an hour ago. If you’re lucky, it’s tepid with a few areas of relative cool. Most likely it’s lukewarm, but you drink it anyway. The salt collecting in the shoulder straps of your backpack has to come from somewhere.

The heat hones and you just grind it out. You think about taking off your glasses to wipe the sweat from your brow, but you know it will be back just a few minutes later. Instead you just trudge on. 

Tasseling Corn - Sac County, Iowa

The corn loves the heat. Heat makes the corn grow, and the engineered hybrids in wide use today have a known number of heat units required for a successful harvest. It’s usually between about two thousand and twenty five hundred heat units depending on the variety, and that translates into about ninety to one hundred and ten fairly warm days. 

The corn to my left was soaking up the bounty of the sun. Taller than most men, the stalks were beginning to tassel out giving the field a yellow tinge in a sea of dark green.

I stopped for a moment to take in the miles of corn revelling in the heat. Then I moved on. I’m glad something enjoys these hot midsummer days.

Thunderstorm

The weather report called for hot and sunny after a few scattered clouds in the morning. When I started the day, a band of darkness stretched out across US-20 from north to south, but it seemed pretty far out in the distance. The consensus was that thunderstorms, if they should form would skirt north of our location.

About six miles into the morning, the band of darkness to the west had started to coalesce into some actual cloud structure, and the only movement appeared to be directly in my general direction. Constant bearing, decreasing range.

I looked to the south and the band of clouds stretched for at least two or three miles. To the north the situation was similar, but I still didn’t see any rain. The air was warm and calm. I thought, at least the clouds are tamping down the attention of the sun.

Minutes later what my sister, the cloud expert in the family, described as a shelf cloud started to form up all across the five or six mile front. This wasn’t skirting north. It was headed right toward me. 

I still didn’t see the rain, so I began to look forward to the coolness that the front would inevitably bring. The cars headed my direction had their lights on, but none were using their wipers. This was going to work out just fine.

The shelf cloud continued to build, and the dark clouds blotted out the sun to the east. I grabbed my camera and started taking photos.

The front headed my way was beautiful. Grey and white clouds roiled and turned back on themselves in the wind. Blues and golds from the sun in the clear sky behind me. Vibrant turquoise and purple clouds that looked like the sea of the Caribbean surrounded by an overly ripe plum. I stood in wonder as a small section of the formation to the north started to dump dark grey buckets of rain. I glanced to the south and witnessed the same thing on a much larger scale.

Shelf Cloud Rolling West - Calhoun County, Iowa

The shelf cloud passed overhead, and a cold north wind blasted past in its wake. I still didn’t think I was going to get wet, but I dropped my pack and pulled out a Ziploc for my phone and battery. I tossed them in as a precaution, and then the first fat drops began to fall making quarter inch circles on my pack and the pavement. I dug for my pack cover. Maybe a little drizzle or two. Better play it safe.

I wrestled my pack into its cover, and the sky split open just as I finished getting the pack cover secured. Sheets of rain blasted to the south by the wind pummeled my right arm and face. The corn to the south bent with the wind, and the sheets of rain looked like fast moving mist across the forest green miles of corn.

People have asked what happens to us when it rains. The simple answer is that we get wet, and boy did I ever get wet. The wind driven rain peppered my arms enough to impart a little sting through my long sleeved shirt. The water ran in rivers off the brim of the Jello cap. 

I took off my glasses and glanced to the sky and laughed and shouted into the storm. It was a laugh that came all the way up from my belly, and the shouted “YESSSS” was pulled out of my mouth and driven south by the wind. It was glorious!

I picked up my trek poles and headed west. I stepped to the very edge of the rain soaked gravel apron of the road. The traffic still moving could only be seen about three car lengths away, and the spray of the semis was trivial in comparison to the maelstrom all around us.

The rain chilled me, and I remember thinking that I wished I could bottle it up for the inevitable heat and humidity that would follow in the afternoon.

After about thirty minutes, the rain started to slow and the deep purple of the sky started to lighten. I walked into the ragged sunlight at the back end of the storm. Lightning flashed across the clouds in white hot veins of fire, the thunder crashed, but the storm was over. 

I reflected back on how our distant ancestors had dealt with this sort of storm. No Doppler radar, no warnings, no fast drying tech fabrics, or durable water resistant nylon to keep their gear (mostly) dry.

I’d like to think they saw the beauty and shouted into the wind as well. I know they survived because none of us would be here if they hadn’t, and that’s an important thing to keep in mind. We’re the descendants of a long line of survivors and their genes and memes have put us all in a place of incredible power, luxury, and responsibility.

It was a wondrous storm, and I am deeply grateful to have experienced her in all her majestic power.

Toad on the Road

Creek and Cows - Webster County, Iowa

After four days of making my way west on lightly travelled county roads, I got back on US-20 today. From here to Sioux City, Iowa, US-20 is a four lane divided highway. I would not necessarily call it lightly travelled. 

Back when I was younger, my sister and I would play a number of road trip games when our parents had whisked us off to parts unknown. We’d play I Spy…., Slug Bug, Round-Up, and Count the License Plates. Today, since I was on my own, I decided to count cars that I passed, or more appropriately, passed me. On average, I was getting passed by five cars every minute, and it was a bit of an adjustment from the relative serenity of the last week.

As I was walking along counting cars, I glanced down and noticed that my right foot was coming down dangerously close to a toad. Now this guy was sitting near the white stripe separating the shoulder from the road gazing longingly across the two lanes of concrete to the grass in the middle of the median.

The first thing I did was slowly break out my phone to take a picture. This caused him to hop to the east. He was still dangerously close to the road, so I took my trek pole and gave him a little nudge toward the water filled ditch on our side of the road.

He looked back over his right shoulder in a bit of a huff, and hopped lightly into the grass and disappeared. I had thwarted his plans of greener pastures across the eastbound traffic lanes.

There’s probably a lesson in there somewhere. If the toad was in a huff that his dreams had been thwarted, I was relieved that he’d made the decision to return to safety with a bit of prompting. From an inch above the ground, his horizon wasn’t sufficiently expansive to truly grasp the danger he was facing. At five cars a minute, odds are that hed wind up as flattened toad. I’ve seen enough of that along the path to know he wouldn’t have enjoyed it much.

Sometimes the Universe works that way. We get turned around in our dreams or our plans based on outside circumstances. Instead of getting in a huff, it might be useful to consider that some force with a greater perspective than ours has intervened to save us a great deal of trouble. 

In the end, I didn’t get a picture of the toad, but I did get a picture of a creek with some cows in the background. It’s the best I could do while adjusting to the new normal of traffic. 

Hope you all had a great Tuesday!

The Little Things

Sometimes it’s the sweeping view of the landscape and the sky that catches my attention. When I started off this morning after a healthy breakfast in the relatively cool part of the day, I thought the most interesting scene I might see were the sunbeams filtering down through the clouds. I ended up snapping quite a few photos of that view because….well, you never can tell what the day might bring, and I have to have something to write about when it’s all said and done.

Once again, the Universe proved me wrong. It was mid-afternoon, and any semblance of cool had long since been banished as the day had matured. I mean, it wasn’t quite like walking across the anvil of the sun, but it was pretty close.

The bright green grass that has been a companion over the last several weeks was starting to get the singed yellow edges that come with the dog days of summer. I was crunching along a gravel county road, and each step sent up a little plume of pulverized rock that immediately adhered to the perspiration on my lower legs. I was like a one man pedestrian cement factory chuffing along.

I glanced up to my left, and saw one of the few remaining stands of wildflowers. I thought I better take a few photos before the summer heat finishes its grim work and the flowers disappear until next spring. Actually, I just needed to rest a little and some flower photography seemed like a good excuse.

I’ve been trying to capture a picture of a butterfly going about the busy work of pollination for quite some time now. After many a frustrating attempt, I can tell you that they seem to have a sixth sense about photography. They’ll spread their colorful wings and pose right until the moment the camera comes out. Then they’re off like the ethereal insects they are.

Green Sweat Bee At Work - Webster County, Iowa

I was under no illusion this time about capturing a butterfly. I moved in close to some pretty purple flowers and started snapping away. Just as soon as I took the first photograph, a bee landed and started dancing around the flower collecting nectar. I just kept exercising the shutter.

Only later, when I reviewed the photographs, did I realized that I’d been lucky enough to capture a Green Sweat Bee at his work. Green Sweat Bees are solitary dwellers eschewing the comfort of the hive to live in burrows on their own. This one is definitely identifiable as a male owing to the distinct striping on his abdomen.

Sometimes it’s the little things that break through and capture my attention. Today was one of those times.

Crossing I-35

Junction of County Highway D35 and I-35 near Blairsburg, Iowa

Anyone living in the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex probably has a great deal of familiarity with Interstate 35. I know that the highway and associated beltways were a fairly broadly discussed and experienced topic in my own youth growing up in the Dallas area.

I-35 is a major north-south interstate highway that runs from its southern terminus in Laredo, TX all the way up north, ending in Duluth, MN. It’s a little over fifteen hundred miles long making it the third longest north south interstate in the country behind I-75 and I-95. The last section of I-35 to be completed in the late 1970’s is the section through central Iowa

Today, near the town of Blairsville, Iowa, I crossed under the I-35 overpass. It was a bit of a milestone since that road that was carrying cars, trucks, and busses just a few meters over my head had such a big impact on my experience down in Dallas. We used to head north on I-35 to visit my grandparents in Oklahoma, and I can still remember the welcome center on the TX-OK border like it was yesterday. 

Today, the overpass provided some much needed shade.

Over the last one hundred days, or so, the time I’ve spent out on the road has reminded me how much these concrete rivers of commerce and communication shape our lives and our experiences. It’s almost unfathomable to me that I could have climbed up the grassy green embankment today and be connected with my hometown by an uninterrupted ribbon of concrete and asphalt.

Sure there’d be traffic, but a couple of days from now, I could be back in my Texas aving passed through the town in Oklahoma where I spent the summers with my grandparents. It’s an incredible legacy this road system that we’ve inherited bestows upon us. I’m grateful that we have it. Even with all the traffic, and the attendant frustrations associated with that bit of frustration.

Do any of you have stories about roadways that have shaped your life?

Energy Country

The day dawned cool and overcast. On our way out to the starting point, the sun had crested the horizon, and sunbeams were cascading through the clouds and illuminating the cornfields to the north with an angelic effect not unlike some stained glass windows that I’ve seen in the past.

Dad dropped me off with a promise to meet at a park in Steamboat Rock, Iowa where he’d join me for a couple of miles if we were able to find suitable parking for the truck. As he pulled out of the gravel parking lot with a hearty wave and a shouted farewell, I headed west on a county highway and into the middle of a large wind turbine installation.

Energy Country - Wellsburg, Iowa

It didn’t take long for me to come alongside the nearest wind turbine. I was alone on the blacktop road and could see for miles to both the east and the west. There was not another human or vehicle in sight.

The wind from the west spun the wind turbine with a rhythmic whoooo, whoooo, whooo as one of the  three blades peaked at the top in the highest winds driving the other two blades in their seemingly endless circular loop.  The sound of the rotating blades had a deep bass tone that you could feel more than hear. In the background, a higher pitched whine revealed the mechanical gearing that was spinning the generator on the top of the tall, white stalk pumping out kilowatts.

I stopped for a moment and just watched as the blades whipped around.  Over and over and over again they turned, the turbine whined, and the electrons flowed.

The west wind also brought with it the scent of a hog barn in the distance. It’s a tangy sort of animal scent that I've grown accustomed to during the walk. I wouldn’t say it smells good, but I would say that it smells like the front end of the process that ends with bacon sizzling in a skillet in your kitchen. It also smells a little like money to the hog farmer, I suspect.

I glanced to my right and to my left and tried to count the white painted wind turbines standing above the forest green fields of corn and the kelly green fields of soybeans that stretched as far as the eye could see. It dawned on me that I’ve been calling this area corn country when I probably should have been calling it energy country. 

There were at least one hundred turbines delivering megawatts of electricity to the grid. The corn itself is just slow solar array, cooking away in the heat of the Iowa summer sun to be turned into ethanol after the harvest. 

The red wing blackbirds and killdeer which have been constant companions for the last several weeks screeched out their warnings as I passed through their territory. The winds spoke through the turbines, and the cornstalks rustled in their rows. I was alone, but it didn’t feel lonely.

After a few moments, I turned back to the west and stepped forward. My foot wasn’t yet one hundred percent, but it felt good. My legs felt strong, and the tension in my shoulders from the pack was starting to come back like an old friend.

Dad was at the designated meeting spot, and he’d found some good parking. We walked together for a couple of miles through energy country until he had to turn back to pick up the truck.

Some people have asked if I get bored walking through “the same” flat country covered in corn and soybeans, but it’s not like that at all. Moving at the pace of walking allows the details….the sights, the sounds, the smells….to come to my attention in a manner that just can’t be replicated while speeding past in a car. Nothing is ever the same, and, for me anyway, it’s an endlessly fascinating and every changing landscape of discovery.

Partners Back on the Road

Got back out on the road today for a test of the foot. It’s still no one hundred percent, so it ended up being a bit of a short day, but at this point, any forward progress after two zero days is quite welcome.

Together and Back on the Trail - He still walks to fast for my taste - Grundy Center, Iowa

The best part? My walking partner is back, and he was able to join me for the first several miles. HIs support over the last week has been invaluable in progressing the pilgrimage, but it was really good to be back out on the trail walking with him. 

Though short in distance, today was a good day! We’ll see what tomorrow has in store.

Rest and Recover Day #2

Today was another day of rest to let my right foot continue the recovery process. Dad and I spent most of the day reading which I thought was a pretty productive way to spend some down time.

Iowa Falls, IA seems to have a community wide focus on reading. There’s a local coffee shop called The Coffee Attic and Book Cellar which has used books in the basement (or Cellar if you will) for sale ranging in price from one to five dollars. It’s a great little coffee shop, and I really like the concept and execution of adding a used book store to the business model. Even the local Hy-Vee grocery store has a used bargain book section. Again, very affordable prices make reading accessible to just about anyone.

The Swing Bridge - Iowa Falls, Iowa

Later in the afternoon, we got out and explored “The Swing Bridge” which is a pedestrian suspension bridge over the Iowa River. Originally built in 1897, it was rebuilt in 1909, 1925, 1956, and finally restored again in 1989. The views of the river both upstream and downstream were pretty spectacular. The sun sinking toward the western horizon provided a golden yellow light to the cliffs lining the eastern bank, and a small waterfall from a creek on the western shoreline fell into the shadow of a bend in the river. 

Purple martins live in the cliffs along the riverside, and they seem to enjoy taking a rest from their bug catching exploits along the inch and a half suspension wires that support the bridge. 

It was good to get back outside, and we’re hoping to be back out on the road very shortly.

Nothing to Report

Canadian Northern crossing the Iowa River - Iowa Falls, IA

As is typical of rest days, there’s really not a lot to report today. Spent most of the day with my right leg elevated trying to get the combination of blister and bruise on the ball of my right foot to recover. Progress as of this evening is not what I would have hoped. We’ll see what happens tomorrow.

We did get out for some dinner, and caught this train sitting on the north end of the trestle across the Iowa River in Iowa Falls, Iowa. That’s a whole lotta Iowa’s all in one sentence. 

Though forward progress was limited, it was a much needed day to recover. Anyway, hope you all had a good hump day

Expansion and Contraction

When I first started walking for distance, one of the things I was hoping to get out of the experience was a much smaller space to focus my attention. Walking seemed to couple a slow enough pace to take things in, and the meditative practice of repetitive motion.

On my first longer distance walk, I remember wondering how I would feel at the end of seventeen miles at about the time I hit the three mile point. Like many other aspects of my life at the time, I was always mentally rushing ahead to some goal or objective pretty far down the path in the future. It took a few months, but after continued practice, I finally began to shrink my world to that one meter of space around me during my time out on the trail.

A curious thing started to happen once I’d finally been able to turn my attention to the very near term during walking. Instead of my world contracting like I suspected it would, my world started to expand. The distances measured by time or space didn’t expand. Those had gotten quite a bit smaller, but my ability to pay attention to things at close range started calling my attention to things I’d been missing as I rushed right past toward the next new experience out on the horizon.

At various times during the preparation for the current walking adventure, I’ve felt the ebb and flow as “my world” expanded at times and then subsequently contracted again in time and space.

 
Walking the Path of the Deer - Grundy County, Iowa

Today, my attention was almost entirely focused on a quarter sized patch of skin on the ball of my right foot between my great toe and my index toe. I have a blister, for no apparent reason, that’s been giving me trouble for a couple of days. Today, that sucka’ was on fire.

I was on another one of Iowa’s numerous and beautiful trails, but all of my mental energy was focused on that one small patch of skin. Every step with my right foot was a searing reminder to be grateful that I still had feet. Still, it was a little distracting from my surroundings.

Eventually, I’d experienced all the fun I could stand for awhile, so I decided to stop and focus all my attention on that one little blister. I would shrink my world to that one discrete spot, and that’s where I would “be” for a moment.

I stood and looked at my feet. My world shrank. The burning fire emanating from somewhere between the insole of my shoe and the bottom of my foot calmed a little. I noticed that I’d been following in the footsteps of a deer that had travelled this same path the last time the trail was wet. My world expanded a little, and the discomfort, though still present, became a little less important.

When I stepped west again, I’d remembered the times I’ve been encouraged to breath into the areas of tightness during a yoga class. The practice of Ujjayi, or ocean, breathing came back. Four beats inhale, four beats exhale, my breathing focused into the bottom of the foot. As the heat built, the discomfort remained, but suddenly the suffering was gone.

Keeping my breath focused into the area of tension on the ball of my right foot, I was once again able to look around.  My world grew a little bit larger.

I passed the Oxbo and John Deere farm equipment dealers in Grundy Center, IA, and I was able to marvel at the complexity of the highboy sprayers and combines that would one day work the miles of cornfields around me. The ebb and flow of expansion and contraction of the walk returned, and I continued on down the road.

The Photobomber is Back

So there I was. Out in the middle of a county road surveying the cornfields on my right and my left.

In spite of an exceptionally wet spring, the corn here in Iowa generally looks much better than the corn in Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. It’s clear that some of the fields have better drainage, and the crop must have been planted nearly on time.

The rule of thumb we’ve been told by multiple sources is that the corn should be “knee high by the Fourth of July,” We’re only four days past the fourth, and the deep green fields that I was seeing on each side of the road were at least head high. 

Head High Corn and a Photobomber - Hudson, Iowa

The breeze from the southwest rustled the leaves, with a unique sound that I haven’t heard during the miles of walking leading up to this point. It’s a swish and scratch as the wide corn leaves rub up against their neighboring stalks.

Suddenly, I caught myself thinking of tamales. The masa holding the delightfully tender marinated pork all wrapped up together and steamed in a corn husk. The crumbling warmth as the tamale melts in your mouth releasing the spicy meat goodness within. Wait. Stop. We were talking about corn, not tamales.

Every walking book that I’ve ever read, and I’ve read quite a number of them, eventually all boil down into two themes. Feet and food. After a little over thirteen hundred miles of ambling, I’m beginning to see why. 

Sorry for that little sidetrack. Anyway, I was looking out at the human tall corn stalks, and thinking about the best way to show their height in a photo. I was on my midday break, and Dad had met me to replenish my Powerade and deliver a sandwich.

Failing to find a good photographic strategy, I eventually just started snapping shots hoping to describe in words what wouldn’t really show up in photos without some sort of size reference. 

I finished up the photography and looked around for Dad. His truck was there, but he was nowhere to be seen. I turned back to the cornfield, and there he was exiting one of the rows like some sort of ambulatory scarecrow. I’ve seen enough horror movies related to cornfields that it made me jump just a little.

As he walked back toward his truck, I thought, “No….he didn’t.” I pulled up Google Photos to check, and sure enough, there he was photobombing my corn pictures. 

The mad photobomber is back, and it’s good to see his playful spirit return to the pilgrimage. Can you find him? Look near the corn in the foreground just a little right of the white barn in the background. It’ll give you a good idea of the height of the corn and just how creepy this particular photobomber can act.

The Green Tunnel

Cedar Valley Nature Trail - Blackhawk County, Iowa

Today was an exceptionally pleasant walking day. The heat and humidity that has been sitting on eastern Iowa like a foggy elephant finally broke with high temperatures in the low eighties instead of the low nineties that have prevailed over the last week. 

On top of the more temperate weather, the majority to today’s route took through the green tunnel that is the Cedar Valley Nature Trail. The CVNT is a very small part of the American Discovery Trail that spans the country with trailheads at Cape Henlopen, Delaware and Limontaur Beach California.

“If the walking was so pleasant today, why didn’t you cross the country on the American Discovery Trail?” you might be asking. I don’t have a really good answer for that question. It’s a little longer covering a bit over forty-four hundred miles on the shortest coast to coast path. That’s probably the best justification I can come up with on short notice.

Anyway, today’s walk was traffic free and human interactions were mostly limited to  the very occasional bicycler. Only one other pedestrian vied with me for control of the path, but we managed to pass port to port quite amicably. Finally, Dad met me at the halfway point with some much appreciated ice cold water and Powerade. I could get used to that kind of logistics support. He’s making longer distances possible, and for that, I am truly grateful.

The sunlight trickled down through the leaves and dappled the ground with shadows and spots of light. Birds and squirrels chattered away. I saw frogs, rabbits, and a fair number of bugs. On that front, the lemongrass-vanilla compound paired with DEET kept them out of my face and hovering at an acceptable distance. For that, I am grateful.

My feet made the usual rhythmic scratch on the gravel surface with the occasional hollow thump when packed clay prevailed.

It was a day of serenity and reflection on a cool winding path that seemed to meander through both the past and the future. 

Change is always afoot, and I ended the day by coming off the Cedar Valley Nature Trail at La Porte, IA. I set myself up for a straight shot westward on the shadeless asphalt tomorrow. 

American Bison

Today, we got back out on the road. Dad walked the first couple of miles this morning to test out his foot. Everything seemed to work out pretty well. 

He spent the rest of the day trying to track me down on the trail to help with logistics resupply. He did a great job, and really pulled my iron out of the fire with a timely delivery of some tape for a blister that was really giving me trouble.

It’s good to have him back, and it was good to get out on the road and put some miles under our shoes.

American Bison - Linn County, IA

Not too many truly photogenic moments today, but I did see the first American Bison on the trip. Sure, they were on a bison ranch, but it was good to see these creatures roaming a small piece of what was once their vast unchallenged territory.

Hope you all enjoyed your Saturday!  

Some "injury" clarification

I apprently was a little casual in my last posting about the foot injury that prompted me to return to Plano -- I think that I was so deeply immersed that I assumed others were cognizant of the situation.   BLUF (bottom line up front),  I developed cellulitis in my right foot.     Several years ago, I had foot surgery that resulted in deformation of toe alignment, and subsequen abrasion between some of them.     This was never more than a minor irritant, even during some long distance walking for training.    Not so a few weeks ago.     During that period, Josh and I spent a couple of long days walking (during rain) with wet shoes, sox and feet.  In the circumstances it was impossible to maintain any semblance of dry feet.      The logical consequence of skin softened from being soaked for a long period and subjected to abrasion was development of blisters.  Altering my walking foot position to minimize discomfort resulted in additional blisters.   Our attempts to affect healing were unsuccessful, and I developed much swelling and a bad apparent infection.   While in Yorkville IL, I sought medical evaluation and was sent to a nearby Immediate Care facility. The resident physician diagnosed the infection as cellulitis, and: 1) administered Immediate intravenous injection of a current "designer" antibiotic,  2) prescribed oral clindamycin,  3) instructed me to avoid strenuous exercise, and  4) and to keep my foot elevated to promote healing.      As should be expected from an Immediate Care facility,  I was dismissed with instructions to go to Emergency Care if the symptoms. persisted or worsened.   In fact, the people involved  did exactly what an Immediate Care  facility should have done!! Every one there was SUPER.  The incoming receptionists, the medical technician, the attending nurse and the doctor.  (Despite the situation, it was a good experience.)        Josh and I discussed it at length, and I decided on and executed a return to Plano to get under the care of my doctors, whom I know, and who know me as a person (not a transient passing through).   It was the correct decision and correct action.   The result was major changes, and not what I would have preferred.     I VERY RELUCTANTLY elected to change my role in n2n.    That's an accounting for another posting, with additional details that I have not posted earlier.  'Til then,   Rory (Jay)