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.

Another Short Day, but The Trail Provides

Today was another short hiking day, and to be honest I’m getting a little concerned about our pace.  We’ve covered fifty miles in four days, and that puts us off our pace by about a day and a half. It’s certainly not the end of the world, but we’re going to have to start stretching things out if we hope to make the Pacific before the weather in both the Rockies and the Pacific Northwest starts to make finishing the pilgrimage an unpleasant experience.

It’s fare too early to get really worried about those sorts of outcomes.  That’s especially true when one takes into account all the positive things that are happening along the way.

We set off early this morning, and the temperature was pretty chilly.  There was a brisk north wind that was right in our face the whole time.  Dad was wearing the hood of his rain jacket instead of his stocking cap because he thought he’d packed his stocking cap and didn't know where to look for it.

About five miles into the hike, he suddenly veered off to the left and said he was going to go into a convenience store to see if they had a replacement stocking cap.  I glanced around the neighborhood and wondered aloud if we shouldn’t just keep moving. He declined the offer of continued transit, and asked me if I was coming in with him to the store.

Now my habit has been to take my pack off at every opportunity, so I told him I was going to stay outside and wait.  I unhitched from my pack and commenced the wait.

While I was waiting, I peeked around the corner of the store and discovered what I can only describe as some sort of shrine made out of empty liquor bottles.  I glanced around and the quiet of the neighborhood was a little unsettling. It was like that feeling you get when you feel that you’re being watched. The feeling of being in the wrong place at the right time or the right place at the wrong time.  That feeling you get when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up just before something bad goes down.

I ate some trail mix.

I drank some water.

I glanced at my watch.

Twenty minutes.  It didn’t take twenty minutes to buy a stocking cap at a convenience store in the rough(ish) section of town.  WTF was the old man doing anyway?

Just as I was throwing on my pack to head into the store to find out what was going on, he came out the door with the store manager and the Coca Cola distributor in tow.

Making friends in North Providence, RI

Dad had been doing what he loves doing.  Making friends and influencing people. As you can see, he even managed to find himself a stocking cap.  Five bucks, and I’m pretty sure they could have sold it for twenty given how cold his shaved head had been all morning.

Although our pace has been slower than I would have liked, I cannot argue with the fact that time after time over the last four days the trail has provided just what we needed at exactly the right time.  If you want to restore your faith in humanity, I suggest that you take a long walk.