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.

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.