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.
