The Road to Paw Paw

The road stretched out to the west like a black glimmering snake laid out to the horizon. I made it back to farm country, but the fields are getting bigger and the towns are getting smaller and farther apart.

Back in Farm Country - This Corn is Looking Pretty Good - Rollo, IL

Fortunately, at about the nine mile mark, I had the opportunity to hydrate with some assertiveness and fill my water bottles for the fifteen miles to go. I’m gonna call it cameling up.

It almost wasn’t enough. This sun peaked at one and stared down on the open fields. As the air heated up in the south, it was drawn in by a line of thunderstorms off to the north.  Like the Santa Ana wind that rides down the coastal mountain ranges of California from the Mojave Desert and blows hot and dry out to sea, these southern winds whipped past me, pushing my pack around. For about five hours they seemed to suck every last molecule of moisture from my body.

By the time I reached my planned destination, I was down to about twenty ounces of water and still had another six miles tomorrow morning before I could find reliable resupply. I couldn’t spend the night there.

I plopped down my pack in the dust of the baseball bleachers and looked around a bit frantically for a hose bib on one of the buildings. Nothing that I could see. I did a slow three-sixty taking in my surroundings.  Just off to my left I spied an old stone water fountain.

“There’s no way that thing still worksl.”

As I thought the words, my feet were moving in the direction of potential liquid salvation. I glanced down into the rusty drain bowl. Water. The drain wasn’t working, and there was water in the bowl. I reached up and pushed the button. Water arched from the nozzle. Warm at first, but pretty quickly taking on cool dampness that slid down my throat and slaked my growing thirst.

I sat down on the bleachers and looked at the map.

“I’m still not staying here.”

Five and a half miles to the next town with a convenience store. Powerade.  Red Powerade. That’s what I wanted. It’s funny because I’ve never really been a great fan of Powerade, but in that moment I could almost taste it.

I sat for a little and ate a couple of handfuls of gorp. I went back to the fountain and filled one of my bottles. I cameled up again.

Five and a half miles later, I opened the cooler at the convenience store. Red Powerade. I grabbed one and sat outside on the sidewalk and sucked it down. Glorious. Ignoring the sign warning of prosecution for loitering, I sat for another ten minutes.

I left my pack on the walk and headed back into the store. Another red Powerade. In this case, there was no thought in my mind of too much of a good thing.

It was a good day. Once again, someone extended themselves by offering a ride. I told my story and politely declined. Another person offered me a ten dollar bill. I told him, “Thank you, but you should give it to your church or someone who needs it much more than I do.” He nodded knowingly and put the bill back in his wallet.

Just when I thought I was going to have to make a dry thirsty march, the trail provided. That’s the way things have been working out on this journey, and I’m grateful that’s the way it’s been.