Birthdays and Trains

First, I’d like to thank everyone who passed on birthday wishes today.  You really challenged my policy of attempting to respond, at least in some small way to every comment.

I got into this philosophy after stumbling upon punk cabaret singer Amanda Palmer. She seems to love everyone, and she really made her whole career of taking down the velvet rope and mixing it up with her fans.  If you haven’t ever heard of Amanda, I recommend her song “Ukulele Anthem” as a starting point. Here’s the link:

https://youtu.be/Ni6qaNUcd9E

You’ll either love it or hate it, but I think it’s pretty creative.

I thought about writing all the lessons I’ve learned during my forty six spins around the sun, but then I remembered that would be a pretty short post.  Instead, I’ll talk a little about trains.

I’d like to say I picked trains for some deep and meaningful reason like the way they serve as ships of the land empowering the efficient transportation of goods from around the world in our global and increasingly interconnected economy. How they are a perfect piece of physical evidence that we are really truly in this together.

The truth is, the gnats were back, and I was trying to get through today’s fifteen mile planned distance as quickly and with as few stops as possible. The only picture I took today even marginally worth sharing was of a train passing under me as I crossed an overpass. Of course, at my snails pace, I didn’t get to the top of the overpass to capture the locomotives of this behemoth of international commerce. You’ll get trains, and you’ll get the back end of them. Sorry.

Missed Opportunity - Near Morrison, IL

Trains, like traffic, asphalt, and recently gnats have been a constant companion during the walk.  Those of you who have followed for a while already have heard about the auditory challenges associated with stealth camping in the immediate vicinity of a previously unidentified active train track, so there’s no reason to rehash that fiasco. Even when they’re not disturbing our sleep at night, trains are never far off.

There have been oil trains, cargo trains, and grain trains.  I’ve seen fully loaded coal trains headed in both an easterly and westerly direction in the same day.  Think about that. It doesn’t make any sense to me. Why would you be shipping eastern coal westward and western coal eastward on generally the same track on the same day. My suspicion is that there’s some sort of arbitrage play with that sort of apparent inefficiency for those of you with MBA’s out there in internet land.

The other day, I even saw a construction train that was creeping along the track doing maintenance on the ballast. Two great paddle wheel like bucket scoops were shovelling the ballast up from the side of the rails and depositing the gravel into a hopper where it was mixed with some tar-like substance. The tarred gravel travelled up a conveyor belt, and once at the top, a giant hopper was shaking like a pair of maracas at a salsa festival redepositing the tarred gravel right back alongside the track where it had originated. The noise was like a truck full of percussion equipment involved in a nasty accident, but louder and more enduring.

Today’s train was stacked with twenty, forty, and fifty-three foot shipping containers. Some were labeled ONE with their distinct pink paint scheme. Others were labeled China Shipping, and the ones labeled Matson will eventually visit my friends half-way across the Pacific in Hawaii.

As the double stacked fifty-three foot containers passed about eight feet under the soles of my shoes,  I briefly considered making the jump to catch a ride. I had no doubt that the train would be passing near the town I’l planned to stop at the end of the day, and the train was moving at least thirty miles per hour instead of my sloth-like two point five.

It was at that moment I remembered a similar experiment when I jumped out of a boat moving at about thirty-five miles per hour to see what would happen. I skipped three or four times, the water knocked the air out of my lungs, and then I realized I was hurting all over.

The opportunity passed, and I turned to the right and trudged onward. At least I’d learned something in those forty six circuits around the sun.

Mother Nature Showing Off

Sunset in a Puddle - Rock Falls, IL

No real insights from the road this evening. Just, Mother Nature showing off.

The Day of the Flies

My view trudging west - Lee County, IL

The picture is fairly representative of the scenery that greeted me as I trudged west today.  Generally, there were fewer trees, and that’s why I snapped this particular shot.

I’m going to christen today, “The Day of the Flies.”

I might have come across as complaining a couple of days ago about the relentless south wind that was blowing me about and seemed to be sucking all the moisture right out of me. Today, I also realized that the relentless wind was keeping the relentless flies at bay.

I’ve lived long enough on this planet to realize that cursing my circumstances is a pretty foolish thing to do. First, I find myself in the predicaments that I find myself because of a whole series of decisions I actually made so any circumstance is one that I put myself in. Second, having gratitude for what you have is generally a better approach.

I remember on that windy day getting pushed off the shoulder during one particularly vigorous gust. I yelled, at no one in particular, “God…..thank you for the wind,” I’ll admit I was thinking something a little less genteel. Looking back, what I said was a much better response to the wind than what I thought. That gust was making it virtually impossible for the flies that made my company today to take station around my head.

Now these weren’t big flies.  They were probably about a quarter of the size of your standard run of the mill housefly. A bit like gnats, but just a little more burly. I wonder if the steroids we use for animal production are increasing the size of gnats? Probably a question for another day.

Anyway, today there was not a breath of wind, and I can only assume that the big gnats or very small flies had been saving their energy on the off chance that a hot and sweaty walker my stumble past their lair. When they saw me, they came out in force.

I resisted at first, but quickly realized that waving my hat or trying to brush them off with my hand was a needless expense of energy without any real gain. Eventually, I settled in and became one with the flies. They even had me looking forward to encounters with trucks where the wake turbulence would blow them away for a few brief moments of respite.

I’m grateful for flies who taught me a little about embracing the wind as a friend going forward.  I’m also grateful that these weren’t the biting variety, for they seemed completely immune to a healthy application of forty percent DEET.

There’s no such thing as the perfect walking day. Might as well be grateful for any day that decides to show up.

Looking Back East

After yesterday’s thirty mile sprint very nearly ended with a dehydration bonk, I woke up early this morning to pack up the tent and hit the road to knock out the next twenty mile segment.  

An early start would, I hoped, allow an early finish when the day was a little cooler.  Also, I was stealth camping in a spot far to visible from the side of the road to allow it to endure the illumination of the light of day.

Packing the tent up in the dark was not my favorite experience of the journey, but once I had it all broken down and stuffed away, I glanced over my left shoulder and witnessed the blush of dawn creeping up over the eastern horizon.

Sunrise - Paw Paw, IL

This morning’s sunrise was a beauty, and shortly after taking this shot, I grabbed a final round of red Powerade, ate a convenience store Italian sandwich, and hit the road.

It all worked out, although I walked for literally miles today on what the county creatively calls an unimproved township road without seeing a single car. I’d just call it gravel, but the limited car encounters were nice. I’m fifty miles into a pretty tough seventy mile, three-day stretch, and I’m hoping to wrap that all up tomorrow.

Until then, enjoy the sunrise whether you see it here or get up and watch it unfold in real time.

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.

Last Night in Yorkville

“Same” View from Yorkville - The weather is beconning westward.

Clear skies tonight after the predicted rain rolled in during the morning hours, gave the town a good soaking, and rolled right back out.

If all goes as planned, this will be the last night in Yorkville.  It’s been good to get some rest, but I’m ready to get back out on the road and making progress.

I’m not really sure where this journey will end. Perhaps, we’ll make it to the west coast as hoped, or perhaps we’ll be stopped by the Rockies and the onset of snow in the early spring. It’s hard to tell.

I can tell you that this trip has been a calling of mine for some time, and for whatever reason, I don’t think it’s through with the lessons it has been teaching me so far.

Once again, I was confronted with a random act of kindness today. I walked down to a meeting of a fraternal organization I’ve been associated with for a number of years, and after the meeting adjourned a guy with some pretty fierce sleeve and neck tattoos asked me my story and what I was doing in town.  I went through a short version and told him that the adventure continues tomorrow. He asked me where I was staying, and I have no doubt that if I didn’t have arrangements he was going to offer to help me find some.

Instead he offered me a ride back to the motel, and I’m grateful he spared me another mile of walking in the dusk.

We’ll see what tomorrow brings, but the message that I’m getting from the Universe is, “Press on.” “Who knows what lies around the next bend in the road, but it’s your work tomorrow to go find out.”

Summer Nights

Sunset with Low Clouds - Yorkville, IL

Same view as the Summer Solstice sunset shot. Today, the vibrant colors of the setting sun were meant for someone else, and we got low clouds. They’re probably a preview of the rain predicted tomorrow, but we’ll have to wait and see.

We’re still in a bit of a lull, but we’re hoping to be back pounding the asphalt pretty soon. It’s been good for me to have some time to think and reflect. To slow down a little more from even our relatively consistent snail like pace. To sit.

While I was sitting on a big pile of gravel trying to bottle the sunset, I heard the distinctive pop and crack of a string of firecrackers being set off in the neighborhood just over my left shoulder.  I glanced in that direction, and was rewarded with the high pitched whine and sharp pop associated with bottle rockets.

Probably kids dipping into the Fourth of July supply a little early on a cool summer evening. It brought me back to a simpler time when me and my best friend Scott would spend summer evening outside well after sunset. We’d poke around the neighborhood playing war and peeking in windows. Wearing our camouflage so we wouldn’t get caught, and finally learning the the light inside a house creates a reflection on the inside of the windows that greatly concealed our exploits from those inside.

The air would be cool, and maybe even a little damp as the stifling humidity from earlier in the day chilled. Warm radiance from the concrete and asphalt would be the only reminder of the hot afternoon that hand preceded the coolness of the evening.

I remember thinking how much I wanted to do when I finally grew up. To drive, and to go where I wanted. To work and have money and buy the things I believed would make me happy. To be my own person and set my own rules.

I was looking forward so much, that I didn’t recognize that I had all those things at the time, except maybe the car. I also didn’t have the car insurance which nobody really explains to you when you’re twelve.

Anyway, it was a good nostalgic day where I was able to recapture some of the freedom of my youth that I didn’t fully appreciate back when I had it.

Connection and a Concert

One of the underlying reasons I decided to take a long walk was a desire to reconnect with the country. Sounds a little hokey when I put it down in print, but that sense of connection was something I thought about frequently during the planning stages of the pilgrimage.

Would the connection exist, or would we just be two other people wandering through the chaotic distractions of modern day life? Would our politics, or job, or race, or family history, or sexual orientation, or homelessness matter? Would we be questioned and tested, or would we make that connection with people naturally a freely as fellow humans travelling a winding and sometimes broken path?

As some of my previous stories have indicated, the real love and acceptance and connection with people we’ve met along the path has been truly beyond my wildest expectations. Everywhere we go, there is someone to offer and encouraging word, a bottle of water, something to eat, a hand of friendship, and the connection that I believe we’d find out here on the road.

Today, as Dad was off consulting a doctor he knows about a bit of a foot problem, I found myself once again in Yorkville, Illinois with some time on my hands. The town and a local watering hole called the Law Office Pub were hosting the Yorkville Summer Solstice Indie Music Festival, so I decided to amble down the road a check it out.

Yorkville Summer Solstice Indie Music Festival Where the Theme was Connection

It was a fantastic experience. Artists representing blues, country, rock, folk, soul, and pop filled the park at the edge of the Fox River with great sound during perfect early summer weather. They hailed from Los Angeles, Massachusetts, Kansas City, South Dakota, Atlanta, Albuquerque, and Kentucky.  The crown was as diverse as the artists cwith the old and the young, wealthy and struggling, races and ethnicities of every description, bikers, and pride activists, and I suspect a few sinners and saints.

I spent four hours down in the park taking in the music, talking to the bands, walking along the river, and watching the sunset. Band after band mounted the stage, and a theme that was consistent through the whole event was connection. There was a raffle to support suicide awareness and prevention, and the MC stood on stage and said that Yorkville is talking about suicide because mental health challenges are something that has to come out of the shadows so we can talk straight to each other and solve the problems.

The front man for the band Szlachetka talked about what he and the band had seen out on the road. “"As we travel around the country, east coast, west coast....doesn't matter, I see a different picture than the division described on the news.  I'm seeing people with a whole lot more in common than their differences."

My experience has been the same. The news from the front is good. I sense a growing movement of connection. People coming together to solve tough problems.  People reaching out a helping hand to complete strangers. People showing real love and respect toward each other with a generous and encouraging spirit.

The connection I sought at the beginning of this trip is the movement toward connection that I see gaining traction everywhere I go, and I, for one, am quite optimistic about where this movement will take us all going forward.