Nov. 30 Heartbreaker in Heels

 
            I wake up in the middle of a storm. It’s been windy since I got here, but this is the worst yet! My sleeping bag is wet again from the spray blowing sideways into my picnic shelter. It’s morning, but the heavy storm clouds are keeping it dark. I know I should try to get over to Indian Creek as early as possible to ask about that job, but I really don’t want to get out of my sleeping bag in the middle of this storm much less walk several miles in rain to the golf course! I snooze for nearly an hour longer.
            When I finally get up the rain is slowing and a few rays of sunlight are breaking through the clouds, but the wind is still strong. I try to pull myself together and get moving quickly so that I can be at the golf course as early as possible, but everything takes longer when I’m in a hurry. It’s nearly 8:00 by the time I start rolling and it’s at least an hour and a half walk to get there. I definitely won’t be impressing anyone with my arrival time!
            The route I traveled last night looks different in the overcast daylight. I travel on the other side of the road just to mix it up a little. There’s a fine mist in the wind and I’m slowly getting wet. I stop to put on my raincoat. I should probably put on my rain pants too, but that would mean sitting down, unlacing my boots, hopping into the pants, and then walking along with not only a bright yellow cart, but also a bright yellow raincoat and bright yellow pants. I hate to be vain, but I’d rather not look like a giant banana unless it’s really going to rain. For all I know this is about to clear up. My jeans are already damp anyway, so the pants would just hold the moisture in at this point.
            The rain doesn’t clear up; it gets worse. I should have put on the full rain suit before I even left my pavilion this morning, but now I’m soaked through, so it won’t do any good at this point. Showers come and go randomly, but it doesn’t matter now. It will be hours before I’m dry. Every half hour or so I stop at a bus stop to sit down and rest. I really wish I had a secure place to leave my cart and pack. There’s no reason for me to have to lug them around everywhere I go except I don’t have any place else to put them. A well-dressed gentleman with hair like Einstein, is waiting for a bus. He asks where I’m headed.
            “Indian Creek Country Club” I tell him. “I’m looking for work so I’m hoping they’re hiring.”
            “Oh yea, several of the people in my building have memberships there.” He tells me. “That’s a very exclusive golf club! I hope you can get in. You’d like it there.”
            “Thanks!”
            I leave a wet butt-print on the bus-stop seat and plod the rest of the way to 91st Street, hang a right, and walk down to the large fancy gate entrance for the resort. It looks like the entrance to a palace. There’s a security office on the left side. It looks like I won’t make it far without permission from him. The office has large, dark windows looking out over the resort entrance, and the room inside looks like a miniature version of a space shuttle command center. A security guard inside rolls his chair back from the bridge and calls to me through a garbled intercom.
            “Can I help you sir?” I can’t see a mic anywhere so I just try to talk loudly.
            “Yea, I was hoping to speak with the grounds or maintenance supervisor.”
            “Do you have an appointment?”
            “No, I don’t.”
            “You’ll have to call and make an appointment.” I can barely see the officer through the tinted glass, but I feel like I’m talking to a security droid.
            “Okay, thanks...” I start to turn away, “Oh, can you give me the phone number for that?” He gives me two numbers, one for the main office and one for the maintenance office.
            I write the numbers in my notepad and walk a few feet away to make the call. There’s no answer, so I leave a message explaining that I have experience in golf maintenance and that I’d like to meet and give them my resume. *Sigh* I probably could have found those phone numbers online without wasting a second trip all the way out here. If I thought I’d get called right back, I’d stay in the area just to be available for a meeting, but if they aren’t hiring they probably won’t even bother to return my call at all, so I can’t justify sitting around.

As I walk back toward Haulover, I feel lousy from head to toe. It’s early in the day and I slept fine, so I can’t be all that tired. I’ve been drinking so I shouldn’t be dehydrated. Why do I feel so awful? My diet has been pretty narrow lately. I haven’t had any fruit or anything else with vitamins for several days. That’s likely it. You can only survive on trail mix for so long before the body starts noticing. I think it’s time to check out that Win-Dixie and get some real groceries.

On my way back through Haulover I stop at the beach for a while again. It’s still windy, but the sun has come out and the lifeguards are on duty so I go for a swim. The path out to the beach has sprayers for rinsing off the salt water. That’s the closest I’ve come to showering in several days. It’ll have to do. I walk the beach for a while to dry off, but I’m really looking forward to those groceries.

It’s an hour inland when I get to Win-Dixie. My butt-cheeks are chafed raw from walking in sweaty jeans all day. There’s a bench in front of the store, so I lash my bike lock through the bench and the handle of my cart and leave them outside. The air-conditioned supermarket is filled with glorious food! I’m going to have to discipline myself. The first thing I see is a rack of strawberry parfaits. So much for discipline; I drop one in my basket.

I’m just enjoying being out from under that backpack, so I take my time perusing the isles. It’s been almost an hour when my shopping basket is so full I’m carrying things in my arms. I have no idea how I’m going to fit all this in my cart. I’ll have to sit on that bench and eat half of it before I go! I’m pretty cool with that plan.

The bill makes me cringe a little, but I’m not hurting for cash just yet and it’s not like I’m saving my money for anything besides food. Outside there’s two old ladies sitting in the bench where I locked my cart. They’re deep in a very animated conversation and I need to eat a bunch of this food before I need my cart anyway, so I just take another nearby bench and dig in to my loot. I eat a banana, an orange; I open up a jumbo jar of creamy peanut butter and begin dipping mini crescent rolls into the nutty nectar. Mmmm… foooood!

A young man and a Hispanic señorita walk up to the bench and sit next to me. I try to mind my own business, but they’re arguing about something. After a few minutes they fall into icy silence. I try to keep eating and pretending I can’t feel the aura of tension. Finally he gets up and walks away leaving her mumbling angrily to herself in Spanish.

“Do you come here often?” I suddenly realize she’s not mumbling to herself anymore.

 “Oh, ah… no, this is my first time at this store.” I’ve got a peanut-butter covered crescent roll stuffed in my mouth. She nods with a smile.

“I come here all the time.” She’s cute… REALLY cute. Wow!

“Are you from around here?” She’s got a Hispanic accent to die for!

“No, I’m new in the area. I’m just looking for work.”

“Oh, me too!” She’s got the characteristic flamboyant hand gestures of an energetic Latino chica, but it’s not as if I’m noticing. Besides, this girl has trouble written all over her.

“I’m Aaron.”

“I’m Catalina, I’m from Colombia but I was raised in New Jersey, and I’ve been living here for several years. Are you living nearby?”

“Sort of, I don’t really have any place to stay yet. I’ve just been spending the nights at a park nearby.”

“You don’t look like a homeless person, you must take good care of yourself.” Not sure, but I’m pretty sure that was a compliment.

“Yea, I try.”

“And I see you’ve got food and everything.” She points to my four overloaded grocery bags.”

“Yea, uh… yea.” I’m not quite sure how to respond to that but did I mention this chic is freaking gorgeous?! I can feel my I.Q. drop in half just watching her mouth move. That Colombian accent is killing me! Why do Latinos have to be so ridiculously gorgeous! It's not fair!

“Do you drink?” Well, there’s a random question.

“Uh, yea, a little, sometimes. I’ve never been drunk or anything, but sure I drink a little.” I hear warning bells, but I’m just flattered to be getting attention from a super-model.

“What sign are you?”

“Uh, whu… Hu?”

“What month were you born?”

“September.”

“So you’re a Virgo.”

“Ahh… Okay, I didn’t know that.”

“It means you’re energetic.” She informs me.

“Oh!” she suddenly acts surprised. “You’ve got wine right there!” She points at one of my bags. Her other hand is on my arm. “Do you mind if I have a sip?” I cringe inwardly. I carefully selected the cheapest red wine in the entire store, but it was still a bit of a splurge for me.

“Sure! Absolutely, have one!” I hand her one of the cheap plastic single-serving bottles. I hesitate for second but grab one for myself also. I was going to savor that sometime later, but I might as well be social. She’s lucky she’s so good-looking. I would never do this for a dude!

 “My boyfriend and I are not doing very well lately.” She complains between gulps. “We’ve got a friend of his staying with us, but he’s a complete slob! Always ungrateful! Never cleans up after himself! Hasn’t offered a single dollar to help out!” Dang! That Colombian temper is adorable, but this chic is trouble with a capitol T! “I really want to kick him out, but my boyfriend is too nice! He won’t do it, but I can’t stay there with that fat idiot laying around making messes and never thanking nobody for nothing!” She’s worked up now! I’ve barely started my wine and hers is almost gone. Those eyes flash with beautiful passion. So this is love!

“How many wines do you have there?” she points at the grocery bag.

“Uh… it’s a four-pack, so… two more.”

“Do you mind if I take one for the road?” Her first bottle is already empty and her hand is on my shoulder this time.

“Uh…” I cringe. “I just spent a lot of money on these groceries here and ahh…” I can’t bring myself to say no to such beautiful eyes, but she’s asking a bit much. I’m a little perturbed that she would even ask. I didn’t splurge on that just to give half of it away to a heartbreaker in heels. I can’t bring myself to say no, but I’m not about to say yes either.

“I could give you my number and if you help me get this guy out of our apartment, you could stay with us!” Seriously? Is she trying to bribe me right now for a small bottle of wine? I consider the option carefully. I wouldn’t mind having a real place to stay. Their apartment is in a perfect central location. I’d be a much better roommate than the filthy freeloader staying there now. Certainly that’s worth twelve ounces of wine! Right? Besides, did I mention she’s freaking gorgeous?!

I’ve balked too long. Her bus pulls up to the curb and she rises to leave.

“Hey, I’ll see you again.” She says. “It’s fate that we met.” I watch her slender body saunter away in slow-motion. There goes trouble! Trouble with a capitol T! An absolute train-wreck! A disaster in tight jeans! Destruction with liquid eyes! *Sigh* If I had played my cards right I could have had a place to stay… and a royal headache!

I screw the cap back on to my wine. I’d rather save it for later. I barely got five sips in the time it took her to down an entire bottle! I carefully stuff the rest of my new groceries into the cart. I have to eat the parfait to make it all fit, but I don’t mind.

It’s early afternoon. I haven’t blogged since before Thanksgiving, so that needs to happen before I forget what’s been happening. My batteries are red-lined too, so I need to recharge. That Dunkin’ Donuts with the comfy chairs is right next door, so I’m headed there. The ladies smile with recognition when I walk in. It smells like fresh coffee and smooth hits are playing on the intercom. I order a medium coffee with double cream and sink into my favorite chair.

As the afternoon passes I tap away on my computer and watch the customers come and go. It’s all Latino ladies behind the counter and most of the clients seem to be Spanish too. I love listening to the fluid, graceful language. My Spanish is rusty, but I quickly start picking up a lot of the vocabulary again. One of the ladies is a jolly grandmother type, and at least half the kids who come in seem to be her grandchildren. They squeal with delight when they see her, and she comes around the counter to give them hugs and kisses. The Latino culture has got to be the most wonderful culture in the world! They seem so happy and friendly with each other like they’re one big happy family.

I was hoping to get a call back from Indian Creek today. I check my phone again. I’ve got a message from just twenty minutes ago! How did I miss the call? Shoot! I enter the pin to listen to the message. It’s the maintenance supervisor for the golf course. He says his name is Joe and that he would like to meet me tomorrow morning! That’s wonderful! That means they are definitely open to hiring!

As the hours wear by I type away and it slowly gets dark outside. Business slows and only the young one remains to close out the store. She hurries about her work without making eye contact or saying a word. Each new customer gets a cute, reserved smile and quick service, but most of the time it’s just me and her in the store. From the sitting area I can’t see my cart and pack where I left it on the curb. I break the ice.

“Are my things still out there where I left them?”

“Yes,” She answers with that warm smile, “You can bring it inside if you want.”

“Really? I don’t want to take up your space.”

“Sure, we can put it in the corner over there.” I walk out to the side walk and come in wearing my pack and pushing my cart. She eyes the load with amusement.

“I’ve walked over two hundred miles with this rig.” She gasps adorably.

“Really?” I nod my affirmation.

“While I’ve been sitting here, I’ve been writing about my adventures and stories about things I’ve done and seen along the way. It’s been quite an experience.”

“I’m sure it has been!” I hand her one of my cards with the blog address.

“If you’re interested, you can read it here.”

“Oh, thank you! I definitely will!” I go back to writing, but it’s late and I’m finishing up for the night. I power down my computer and tuck it into the cart.

“See you later. I’ll be back.”

“Okay, bye.” She leans on the counter and watches me as I wheel the cart out the door.

The night breeze is warm and cool at the same time. This is why I’m in Florida. The picnic table is right where I left it. The soothing cadence of ocean surf strokes my soul while I slowly sip the wine that I opened earlier. What a great day! I got a call-back for a job interview, I didn’t have to walk too much, I survived a close encounter with a girl who could have ruined my life, and I met a much nicer one too! Things are looking up.

Nov. 29 Lucky I'm White

 Thursday

     When I wake up on Thursday morning it’s still dark, but not for long. The walkers aren’t on the trails yet, but a few maintenance trucks are trolling around the park. I need to find out where they’re coming from and see if I can get into one of those trucks. It’s been raining most of the night and even though I’m under a picnic shelter, the high wind has been spraying me and my sleeping bag is damp on the outside. I sling it over the cart handle to dry a little while I dig into my supplies for something to eat.

                It’s broad daylight by the time I’ve pulled myself together for the day. The sun has burned through the heavy clouds and the puddles are turning to steam. Haulover Park is actually a large sand-bar island. From the satellite view on Google maps there appears to be a maintenance building on the opposite corner of the island. That would be a place to start asking about a job. A paved walking trail circles the island so I follow it around toward the other side as I look for a grounds office. Many people pass me jogging in expensive outfits, walking their miniature dogs with gelled hair-doos, and pushing bored babies in designer strollers. I try to make eye contact and greet them, but mostly they just stare at my cart and look away. I feel awkward, but not as awkward as them. They pass me with sour expressions barking their frustrations into Bluetooth headsets. I’m content to be a little awkward-looking. Fitting in around here isn’t worth selling my soul.

                The water’s edge is rocky on the inland side of the island. There’s a public safety department with fire engines, a marina with docks and racks of yachts stacked four levels high, and parking lots filled with mortgages on wheels. Finally I come to the back corner of the island and find the maintenance building with several official-looking people standing next to running utility trucks. I introduce myself and explain that I’m looking for local employment in grounds maintenance. A large black man explains that I have to go to the Miami-Dade county website and apply online. Hmm… I was afraid of that. I don’t like applying for jobs online. How are you supposed to impress a website with your people-skills? I write down the address they give me and keep walking. What next? Well, it’s nice out and I’ve been looking forward to that beach! Might as well check it out.

                Only the most dedicated beach-goers are out this morning. Not only is it still early in the day, but the wind is blowing so hard it’s hard to keep standing and it’s not exactly warm by Florida standards. Only like 75 or something. None of the life-guard stations are open yet so there’s no swimming allowed. After a few minutes of beach-combing, I decide to come back another time.

                The next job possibility to look into is Greynolds Park Golf Course. It’s quite a distance from here though. I trudge inland, back over the road I came down last night. I’m depending heavily on my smartphone for GPS directions, but also trying to stretch the battery as long as possible.

Several hours later I see signs for Greynolds Park. A wooded driveway takes me past marshes and trees with roots like an upside-down menorah. Several types of long-legged birds wade around the trees. Apparently they can’t see the warning signs about crocodiles.

The grounds open up and I see signs for a main office. The lady there directs me to the grounds building. A maintenance truck passes me with the same Miami-Dade logo. That’s not an encouraging sign. In the pro-shop a perky old lady tells me that the grounds manager has already headed home for the day. When I explain that I’m looking for employment she tells me that the park is owned by Miami-Dade County and that I’ll have to go to the government website to apply. Drat! I walked all the way out here to learn that? I guess I need to find some internet access and check out this website. Apparently all the local grounds work goes through the government. I passed a Dunkin’ Donuts on my way out here. Maybe they will have free wi/fi and hopefully an outlet to charge my dying phone.

By the time I get there I’m more than ready for a break! The Dunkin’ Donuts has a perfect little café-style sitting area with padded chairs and a coffee table! I get myself a $2 coffee and sink into a big, fluffy chair. I could fall asleep right here, but the coffee keeps me on track. I need to check out this website. It’s a poorly designed government site and I run into broken links before I finally get to the “jobs” section. There’s a short list of openings, but they’re for all over the Dade county area! None of them are close by, and none of them are for positions I’m qualified for! Well, that’s discouraging! They control all the grounds jobs in the area and they have ten openings for the entire county? I need to make some Mexican friends!

It’s time for a change of pace. There’s a library on the coast several miles north of Haulover, and I’m definitely in the mood to vegetate in a library for a little while. A big city like this with so much money must have a really nice library! This Dunkin’ Donuts is pretty nice, but kind of noisy and $2 is more than I’m used to paying for coffee. I think it’s time to go check out that library. My joints complain as I peel myself out of the chair and lift the pack over my shoulders. Back on the road...

The miles to the library feel longer than the earlier miles have been. The afternoon rush-hour is starting and heavy traffic makes everything more complicated. I find the library in a deceptively large building. It’s actually a government building with several offices and departments under one roof. The library section is tiny, hardly bigger than the fast-food restaurant I left an hour ago, and it’s terribly crowded! There is not a single open seat for me to sit down with my computer, and there’s at least thirty children running around without supervision. This has got to be one of the lamest libraries I've ever seen! I really want to just sit down and write on my blog for a while, but this trip has been a complete waste. So far, everything I’ve done today has been a complete waste.

Nothing will wear you out quite like discouragement, so the slow walk back south to Haulover Park is a long one. It’s already getting dark, but I’ve got one more job lead to look into. Indian Creek Country Club seems to be privately owned from what I can find online. Maybe that means I can talk to a face rather than a website. They’ll definitely be closed by the time I make it that far; they’re in the complete opposite direction from Greynolds, so I have to retrace my steps all the way back to Haulover and then go as far again to reach Indian Creek. It will be late at night by the time I get there, but just beyond the golf course I can see a park on the map. If I can make it to that park, maybe I can spend the night there, then I can be at the golf course early in the morning to ask about a job. High-end courses like this start early in the morning, so it might impress the supervisor if I can be there at the crack of dawn.

Indian Creek is three towns away, but towns here aren’t like towns in Maine. A single one of these high-rise condo towers is a full city in itself and each “town” is packed with twenty or more of these towers. In the middle there’s a business area with malls and window shops. Yuppies and retirees are strolling around with shopping bags and miniature dogs with military cuts. I still draw a lot of attention with my banana-yellow cart and huge orange hiking pack, but I still feel like I’m the least weird person I’ve seen all day.

When I get near the golf course I turn off the main road. The course is actually on a privately owned island connected by a bridge. The entire coast of the island is circled with residences and the inside is a large golf course.

Well, there it is. Now I need to go find that park and land myself a place to sleep for the night. It sure will be good to lay down! Several blocks later I reach the park. It’s fenced all the way around and when I finally come to a gate there’s a large sign that reads in bold letters, “Park closed sunset to sunrise. NO TRESPASSING ” Ugh! I wonder if that’s enforced? Suddenly I see police lights flashing from inside the park! There’s a cruiser in there and it looks like they’re definitely enforcing the rules! Wow! This is not my day! It’s going to be a long way back to Haulover, but it looks like that’s the only option I have for the night. So much for impressing the people at Indian Creek with an early arrival tomorrow morning! There’s a drinking fountain just inside the park, so I stop for a drink to keep me going for this last stretch. I take a couple sips and turn around to exit the park, but there’s a tall, skinny cop standing there watching me. Where’d he come from? Surely, I can’t be in that much trouble for stepping ten feet into the park for a drink? …right?

“Do you have an ID on you?” he asks as he eyes my cart suspiciously.

“Uh, sure.” I dig my wallet out of my pocket and hand him my Maine license.

“Not from around here, hu?”

“No sir.”

“Where are you from?” 

“Maine.” I know he just read that on my license, so it obviously is not the answer he’s looking for, but how am I supposed to give the right answers if he asks me the wrong questions?

                “Yea, I mean where did you come from just now?”

                “Uhh…” I point behind me “That way.” This is painful, but He’s going to have to ask the right questions. I don’t know what else to tell him. Thankfully he’s showing no signs of impatience. We could both do this all night.

                “Okay, how about, Where did you sleep last night?” Bingo! A question I can answer.

                “Haulover Park.” I point to my cart, “I’ve got camping gear in there, so I’ve just been sleeping on a picnic table.”

                “What have you been doing today?” Wow! All this because I used the drinking fountain?

                “Um, I’ve been walking around the area looking for work. I was just over at Indian Creek Country Club to ask about a job.” He nods without expression.

                “Can you tell me everywhere you’ve been today?” Hu? What’s the deal? I only had a few sips! I explain everywhere I’ve been today and deny being several other places that he asks me about.

                “Do you have any weapons on you?”

                “No. Well… I’ve got a small knife in my pocket.” I point to my pocket while being careful to show that I’m not reaching for it.

                “How big?”

                “Um…” I hold my thumb and pointer apart, “Like this.”

                “Like this?” He pulls out a folding knife of his own.

                “Yea, like that. I lift my shirt so that he can see the clip on my pocket. Do you want me to show it to you?” I motion to pull it out.

                “No!” He barks. “If you pull it out, I’ll have to shoot you!” Holy crap! I don’t have any idea what’s going on right now, but this guy seems terrified of me. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to jump him with a 70-pound sack on my back. In any case, they take their drinking fountains pretty seriously around here!

                “Please have a seat.” He points to the curb. I comply. I’ve been mentally preparing to explain that I was only getting a drink, but he hasn’t asked anything about that.

                “Is there something wrong?”

                “You just match the description for someone we’re looking for.” Oohhh. I guess I’m off the hook for public drinking, but now I have no idea what I’m in trouble for. He stands over me and grabs his radio snapping police jargon to the dispatcher. I can’t follow what they’re talking about, but it’s definitely serious. He reads off my name and numbers from the license. Seconds later four more police cruisers swing around the corner and surround the scene strategically. There goes any chance I had of making a break for it! I can see it now…

“Attention dispatch: We're in pursuit of a curly-haired Caucasian male carrying a 70-pound back-pack and pushing an unregistered late model yellow cart! Please advise, over!”
"Attention all units: Advise you get in shape, over!" I hope these cops are feeling loose, 'cause I've been training all month for this!

I’m pretty sure this is all a big misunderstanding, so I’m just glad for a chance to sit down and rest. The cops pile out and surround me. A chunky one hoists himself out of the center car. He starts to give me the hairy eyeball, but immediately bursts out laughing!

                “I thought you said your guy matched the description!” The tall cop defends himself,

                “I said ‘loosely’ matches the description.” He emphases “loosely” with air quotes. The other cops release tension like deflated balloons, and they’re all laughing. The chunky one turns to me.

                “You’re lucky you’re white!” I hesitate to agree too eagerly. What is that supposed to mean? I don’t want to sound racist or anything. He turns back to the tall cop.

                “They said ‘Hispanic,’ and ‘full beard’ sure, but not Grizzly Adams!” He motions toward me. I realize that my shirt is still unbuttoned from earlier. From my surf-tossed curls to my two month-old beard, and my shag carpet of chest hair, I think I could give Grizzly Adams a run for his money.

                I’m obviously off the hook but they seem bored and in no hurry to chase down the next serial fountain-drinker.

                “What’s in the cart?” one of the back-up cops asks me.

                “Camping gear. Sleeping bag, tent, food… stuff like that.”

                “So you’re homeless?”

                “Yea.”

                “Hmm…” He nods with an amused smile. So were you going to sleep in the park?”

                “No sir, I saw the ‘No Trespassing’ signs and I was headed back to Haulover Park for the night. I’ve been sleeping there on a picnic table.”

                “So you travel around a lot?”

                “Yea.”

                “You ever been arrested in this area before?”

                “No, sir.”

                “You ever been arrested back in Maine?

                “Uhh…” I think for a second to make sure, “No.”

                “Anywhere else?”

                “Uhh… well… I was arrested in India once.” Suddenly they’re all keenly interested. This must be a terribly boring night in the precinct, but they apparently want to hear all about it.

                “India, hu? What happened?” I give the short version of the story about the time I was caught in Nagaland without official papers and held for the day until I got deported. None of them seem anxious to resume driving in circles looking for a Hispanic man with a full beard, but eventually I’ve told all I have to tell about my walkabout, adventures in India, and detailed personal history. It’s getting late, so I don’t bring up Africa. Finally I ask,

                “So, are we all set here?” I can almost hear them groan as they turn back to the five flashing cars surrounding us. Wow! I didn’t know being a cop in Miami was so boring!

                We skip the goodbye hugs and I walk away. As discouraging as the day has been, I suddenly feel much better. It was good to sit down for a while, but it’s more than that. I don’t think I’d realized how lonely I was, but just talking with those cops and telling them my stories was surprisingly uplifting! Wow! I can't believe I just said that! It’s been several days since I actually talked to someone and it was nice. The walk back to Haulover isn’t half as long as it was coming. Soon I’m back at my home-sweet-picnic table. The trail mix is getting old. Tomorrow I should stop by that Win-Dixie I saw over by the Dunkin’ Donuts. Some fruit would be nice.

                I’m definitely going to sleep well tonight! I track my route and find that I’ve walked just under 20 miles today. That’s city miles too! I try not to think about all the failed job leads. I was kind of hoping I’d get a job on a silver platter, but it might be a little more complicated than that. But hey, despite all my misfortunes, one thing did work out in my favor today. At least I’m lucky I’m white!

Nov. 28 Florida!

                It was late afternoon when the Greyhound bus dropped me off in North Miami Beach. I left from York, Pennsylvania a day and a half ago and I’ve only slept a few hours on the bus and during some of the long layovers. As the bus pulls away I look around at my surroundings. There’s palm trees! I’m in an urban area. It will be dark soon, and this doesn’t look like a great place to be after dark, so I should figure something out soon. There’s several parks and golf courses near the coast; that’s where I’m hoping to find work, so I start walking as the sun sets. It’s just over 8 miles; I’ve been on a bus since yesterday morning, so I’m not low on energy, but I’ve hardly slept more than a couple random hours since then, so I’m pretty sleepy. A nice little playground area offers a picnic table where I pull over for a snack. My luggage was in the cargo hold under the bus, so I haven’t eaten since… uh… well, I don’t remember when, but I’m hungry, that’s for sure. I go ahead and pull out the camp stove and boil up a generous pot of oatmeal. A nearby drinking fountain fills up my water bottles and I’m back on my feet. There’s a little Baptist church, I’ll have to remember that’s there… Finally signs indicate that I’m within a few miles of the beach. Towering high-rise condominiums come into view lit up like disco-balls. Wow! There’s some money in this place! A little room in one of those towers would probably cost more than everything I’ve got to my name! Good thing I have a tent and a sleeping bag! Now if I can just find a place to set them up…

                I finally come to the beach at the base of the fancy hotels. I can hear the surf! The parks I saw on the map are just south of here so I turn right and head that way. Another half mile or so and the Massive hotels give way to a Haulover Park with trees and bushes. It’s thick and shrubby though; not really anything I can lash a hammock to and no good place to set up a tent. As I follow a trail along the coast I come to a covered pavilion with picnic tables. I’m pretty beat at this point so I take a break to think about what to do next. I’ve hardly sat down when the wind suddenly becomes fierce and a downpour starts. Wow. It’s very providential that I just happened to reach a covered shelter as it started to rain! “Thank you Lord!” I guess I’m spending the night here. Two of the picnic tables are pulled together so that their two seats make a place to lay down that is off the ground, but less conspicuous than I would have been on the top of a table. After a little snack and a drink, I roll out my sleeping pad and lay down. It’s warm, but with that high wind and rain it’s not quite warm enough, so I pull out my sleeping bag and zip myself inside. I didn’t think I’d be using this in Florida, but that wind is chilly! The sleeping bag flaps loudly in the wind and the nearby road carries a steady drone of heavy traffic, but none of this is going to disturb my sleep. I’m bone tired and sleep deprived. I’m down like a rock within minutes.

Nov. 18 God’s People

Sunday, Nov. 17th

                When the dark night sky began to glow with its promise of morning I felt exposed and conspicuous. Even though I had my sleeping bag laid out in the woods, I was visible in the morning light from several nearby homes, so I quickly rolled up my sleeping bag before anyone woke up and saw me. It was still early morning, but the McDonalds was open, so I get myself a breakfast sandwich and a hot cup of coffee to enjoy until church starts.

                At 8:00 I head across the street for their early service. I ask a doorman if I can leave my cart and pack out by the side of the front entrance, but he invites me to bring them into the foyer and helps me tuck them into a corner out of the way. I know my red hair is wildly disheveled and I’m still in the jeans and flannel shirt I slept in. I’m the only white person in sight and everyone else is in suits and ties. It’s not that I couldn’t have straightened up a little, but I’m genuinely curious how this church will treat a homeless, unkempt, outsider off the street. One lady greets me with a generous hug and introduces herself to me. Many other’s come over to shake my hand warmly and welcome me. I’m impressed! It’s just a few minutes late so I wait with several other’s outside the sanctuary while the choir finishes a special number. The music is beautiful and full of spirit. When we’re let into the sanctuary I find an empty spot and settle in. I continue getting warm smiles, random hugs, and introductions. The music continues and I’m definitely in a black church! These people know how to rock a kickin’ choir! Wow!

I’ve always been very hesitant to express myself physically during worship in church because I always feel like I’m defeating the purpose by drawing attention to myself, but in this environment many people are clapping, raising their hands, expressing their worship openly, but without the air of performance that I often see in other churches that try this. I find myself raising my hands without a hint of self-consciousness. In this atmosphere it feels natural and genuine. After a solid message from the Word, we file out and everyone begins making their way to the Sunday School classes. A greying mulatto man greets me with a hearty handshake and invites me to join his men’s Sunday School group. There’s about 15 men in the group ranging in age from a college student to several men who might keel over any minute. My new friend introduces me to everyone around the room and they listen with fascination as I give a quick explanation of what I’m doing. I’m touched by how kind and gracious they are to me. Too soon the Sunday School hour is over. I’d like to stay for the second service just to spend more time with these people; I almost do, but I’ve got a long ways to go and time is running short if I’m going to get to York in time to meet my cousins for Thanksgiving. I really need to cover a lot of distance today.

Randallstown fades from urban to rural until I’m lost in the wilderness with the sound of that choir still ringing in my head. I breathe a prayer of thanksgiving for that church, and also pray that my route and timing might bring me across another good church in time for a Sunday evening service. Preferably someplace with good Bible doctrine. I’m all about exploring the variety of denominations, but at this point I’m lonely and hungry for the familiar. Few churches in this area seem to have evening services though. But hey, it doesn’t hurt to pray. After several hours I come across a rotting stump that makes a good place to sit and rest my feet while I dig some food out of my bag. On my way out of Randallstown I stopped at a FoodLion and restocked on trail-mix, granola bars, and pop-tarts. These are becoming staples for me since they’re relatively cheap and ready to eat without preparation. Within 20 minutes I’m walking again. Eventually I come to Hanover Pike a long, straight road with a wide paved breakdown lane. “Yes!!!” This makes for safe, stress-free, easy walking and the map says I can stay on this road for at least 15 miles! I’m going to enjoy this stretch. The hours pass quicker from here on. I try to haul the cart behind me for a while, but I still haven’t been able to figure out a system that works, so I give up and keep pushing.

The winter sun has been riding the horizon for an hour before it finally falls out of sight and the sky begins to darken. With this wide shoulder to walk on and my late start in the day I still plan on walking well into the night, at least until this long straight stretch ends. As I come up over a ridge I see an expansive level valley ahead of me and I can see for miles ahead but in the trees just ahead of me there is a large building with a familiar type of modern/minimal architecture. I had forgotten completely about my earlier prayer this morning, but it comes immediately to mind. I don’t even have to see the sign.

“God, that’s a Baptist church isn’t it? And they have an evening service starting in a few minutes don’t they?”

The sign comes into view “Living Hope Baptist Church” Perfect! There’s only a couple vehicles in the driveway though, and I don’t see any lights on. Perhaps I got my hopes up too quickly. I consider continuing by, but I did pray for this, so I should make sure before I give up. Up the winding driveway I meet two teens hanging out in the playground area.

“Good afternoon! Are you folks having an evening service today?”

“Yes,” the young lady answers, “but we’re having a Thanksgiving dinner first.” Wow, I didn’t even think to pray for a Thanksgiving dinner!

“Can I join you all for the dinner?”

“Yea! Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” I follow them to the main entrance and leave my luggage at the door. In the kitchen several ladies are already hard at work setting tables and putting out food in the gym. We exchange introductions around the room. One lady snaps to attention with a look of recognition,

“Hey, are you the person I saw walking down the road pushing a baby?” I laugh.

“Well, it’s not a baby. It’s a cart for my camping gear, but, yep, that’s me.”

“Oh! I saw you and was thinking how you looked like someone who needed to be in church this evening and I was wishing you could be here for our Thanksgiving dinner tonight!”

“Well, here I am!” We all laugh, and within a few minutes I’m scurrying around with the ladies separating dinner rolls into baskets and putting them out on the tables. People begin arriving with large smiles and crockpots steaming with aromas of sausage, turkey, potatoes, and all the other Thanksgiving delicacies. Everyone wants to hear about the young man with the disheveled red hair and the story to match. I answer questions and tell about my adventures until it’s time for the dinner to start. The pastor says a word of prayer and we line up at the buffet line to round our plates over with turkey, potatoes, and cranberry sauce. Through the entire meal the room is filled with lively conversation and good humor across and between the tables. They’re a lively, social bunch with well-developed senses of humor. I go back to heap my plate up again, but it’s not easy to finish it this time. As people begin sampling deserts, the pastor starts a devotional without dampening the warm mood of levity and celebration. I’m glad to have a full belly; it’s going to be a little harder to stay awake for the rest of my trek tonight. I’m still planning to walk well into the morning hours. After tonight I’ve only got two days to make it the rest of the way to York, PA.

As the evening winds down people begin filing back out to their cars. There’s a Raven’s game tonight and they all seem pretty excited about it. The pastor walks over to me and gives me a firm handshake,

“Aaron, my son lives in York and we visit him there often, my wife and I can take you the rest of the way there tonight.” I’m not sure I can believe my ears! It sounds too good to be true!

“Are you sure? That’s quite a drive!

“It’s no problem, we’d be glad to take you.” I can hardly believe my good fortune! A lovely Thanksgiving dinner, uplifting fellowship with a wonderful group of believers, and now a ride that will save me three days of walking! When the church is locked up for the night he helps me break down my cart and squeeze it into the back of his Prius. The miles flash by in the dark as we listen to the Ravens game on the radio.

This is it; the end of my walkabout. At least for a while. I’ll spend the next two days at my cousin’s house in York, then we’ll all ride together up to Maine for the annual Frost family Thanksgiving reunion. It’s going to be my third Thanksgiving dinner in as many weeks. This homeless gig isn’t so bad! We’ll gather around packed tables overflowing with Thanksgiving food and stuff our faces till no more can fit. Then we’ll go on a long walk around the Morison Farm Road to make more room so we can stuff our faces again with pies and then we’ll spend the rest of the night catching up with all the aunts and uncles and cousins. After that… I’m not sure what I’ll do. I have a ride back down to York with my cousins, but from there I’m not sure. I could just resume the walkabout and head south from York, but that would lead me over territory I’ve already covered, and I’d really rather wait and do the walkabout in one stretch starting next summer. The other issue is money. If I don’t get myself a job soon, I’m going to be in a real pickle when the cash runs dry.

But, I can worry about all that later. For now I’m home free. It’s Thanksgiving and I’m going to see my mom.

Nov. 17 Mountain Roads

Saturday
                There was a dusting of frost on the leaves around me when the glow of morning light filled my little patch of forest. The suburban area around me was slowly coming alive with people in ties heading off to their offices with coffee in hand and the weight of the world on their shoulders. With all the dry leaves around me, I don’t want to risk the open flame of my camp stove for breakfast. I’ll stop for breakfast after I’ve got a few miles under me. With just a few minutes I have everything back together and I hoist the pack onto my shoulders and haul the cart up the steep hill and out of the forest to the side of the road. Because of the blister I had yesterday, I’ve switched to my sneakers today. Thankfully, that takes the pressure off and my feet feel great. Even the raw tendon that hurt so badly the last several days is suddenly feeling completely healed. I had mentioned those things in a Facebook post last night, and it feels like a few people must have prayed about it. It’s a little warmer than the last few mornings, but not by much. Before long I come to a long stretch of steep declines and switchbacks as I near a river. There’s a state park around the river and hiking trails so I’m frequently nodding greetings to hikers and bikers as they pass me eying my luggage with confused expressions. There’s an ancient abandoned train station at the bottom of the ravine. It has an eerie, haunted look to it, even though it’s covered on all sides with graffiti. It’s nearly an hour before I make it up the long hill on the other side of the river. After that long up-hill trek I’m ready for my breakfast and there’s a good concrete guardrail that provides a perfect place to sit where I can look out over the river. Before long I’m munching on a granola bar while I wait for the water to boil, and within twenty minutes I’ve got a piping pot of instant oatmeal. When that’s gone I rinse out the pot and boil some more water for a cup of instant coffee. I’m not rushed for time today, so sit for a while looking out over the river while I slowly sip my coffee till it’s gone.

                With a full belly and a little caffeine, I pick up the pace with refreshed energy. Within an hour or two I come into the old historical part of Ellicott City. The old stone coffee shops and boutiques are buzzing with gen-Xers sipping their gourmet coffee and gentlemen in tweed overcoats. The whole city looks like a scene out of Miracle on 34^th St. Rather than awkward stares, I get nods of understanding. I like this place, but within a few miles I’m back into thick forest.

                I’m hoping to be in Randallstown by nightfall. It’s the only town ahead, but it’s still quite a distance away. I’d like to be there for church in the morning, but I’m not sure I’ll make it. I feel like I’ve been going up-hill all day. I pretty much have. The terrain is almost mountainous, and the roads become very narrow. There’s cliff on one side of the road and a mountain drop-off of the other side, and so many sharp curves that people aren’t seeing me alongside the road until the last-minute and there isn’t anywhere for either of us to go. If I get stuck in a tight spot just as two vehicles come around corners from opposite directions things could take a horrible turn for the worst in seconds! It’s not dark yet, but I’ve only got an hour or two of daylight at the most. This is plenty dangerous as it is, but if I can’t make it to Randallstown by dusk, I’m going to have to get off the road and give up for the night. I’m praying for protection and strength to make it to safety before nightfall.

                As I come to a more open spot where I can step off the road for a second, a super-duty pickup slows to a stop and large black man rolls down the window.

                “Where you headin’?”

                “I’m trying to make it to Randallstown by nightfall.” I see his forehead furrowing as he wonders out loud how far that is and whether it’s safe for me to walk. I can tell he’s not headed that way.

                “Put your stuff in the back; I’ll take you there.” I whisper a thanksgiving for the answer to prayer as I lift my cart into the truck body and climb into the cab. He’s got an adorable little girl fast asleep in the seat behind him. We make small talk as I watch the narrow roads flash by. I tell him he might have just saved my life and he laughs but doesn’t disagree.

                I’ve still got an hour of daylight when he drops me off at the edge of Randallstown. I’ve got my eye on a small park on the other side of town, so I start walking through the clean, inviting neighborhood.  A Hispanic gentleman greets me warmly on the sidewalk and says, “Nice to meet you!” before even asking my name. I notice several of the business signs have crosses on their signs or some other identification with Christianity. The whole town has a strong Christian feel to it compared to most of the places I’ve been. As I near the far side of town I pass “Colonial Baptist Church” It’s a large, modern brick building. I’m looking forward to attending there in the morning. Just across the street there’s a McDonalds so I order a couple sandwiches and find an outlet to charge my phone while I go on WiFi.

                It’s dark by the time I walk out of the McDonalds. The park I saw on Google maps isn’t what I was expecting. It’s swampy and so heavily overgrown with vines that I can’t even walk into it from the road. I finally find a way in after going down into a residential area. I feel like I’m almost in someone’s back yard when I pull into the forest and look for a dry flat spot to roll out my sleeping bag. It’s still warmer out than it’s been recently, and I don’t’ feel sleepy. After laying there for about an hour I decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood. My things are tucked safely back into the woods and it’s dark enough so that no one will see them, so I leave it all behind and just enjoy walking like a normal person until I feel ready to settle into my home-away-from-home in the swamp.

Nov. 16 Friday

                Jordan and Jessica are early risers, so I’m on the road again by 8:00 even after a good breakfast. It’s chilly again, enough to frost the ground and glaze the puddles, but I’m warmed up and down to a single thin layer within minutes of starting. The inflammation in my Achilles tendon quickly begins hurting again and a raw spot on the same heel resumes chafing from Wednesday. This pair of boots is new and still pretty stiff, so it’s hard to walk comfortably in them. Today is off to a rough start, but I walk gingerly on that leg and find a steady pace that is comfortable enough to stick to. It’s rural enough here that I have sidewalks, which is always very nice. A middle-aged  couple in fancy walking gear comes up behind me and wants to know where I’m headed with such a heavy load, so I explain that I’m going to see family in Pennsylvania for thanksgiving. We walk together for several minutes while they ask more questions about my journey, and then continue briskly ahead trailing huffs of frosty breath behind them.

                The day passes one hour at a time, as it often seems to do. I’m tracking toward Ellicott City where a friend lives. I know Kali from up in Maine, she was in the Bible quizzing program when I was helping out with that ministry, but she is also related, through marriage and birth, to several mutual friends, so we tend to cross paths periodically. The landscape changes quickly but imperceptibly as I pass back and forth from wide country roads to towns and small cities. I’m trying to be extra careful with my battery because I don’t think I’ll have a chance to charge it tonight, so I’m counting on it lasting into tomorrow. Perhaps I can find a useful map in one of these gas stations so that I don’t have to use the GPS on my phone so much. The first several stations have nothing useful, but when I finally find a map with enough detail it’s only for a limited area and it’s almost $15. As I flip through trying to find where I am, the young Asian boy at the register eyes the bulging pack towering over my head.

                “Are you walking?” he asks in a strong Hindi accent.

                “Yep, I am.”

                “Where did you come from?”

                “I started out in the D.C. area and I’m headed north.”

                “Washington DC!” he exclaims in shock. “You are walking all the way from Washington DC to this place?!” I look up from the map and nod my head,

                “Yea, I am.”

                “How far are you going?”

                “I have cousins in Pennsylvania, so I’m headed there.”

                “Pennsylvania state?!” He stares in wide-eyed disbelief as I nod affirmatively again.  “Never I have heard like this before!” he exclaims shaking his head as I replace the map on its shelf and duck back out the door with a wave goodbye. I give up on finding a map that has both the detail and the breadth I need. I’ll just have to check my phone as little possible and try to make the battery last.

                It’s mid-afternoon by the time I reach Ellicott City and find the condo where Kali is staying. She is working here as a nanny for a while before starting college. She’s invites me in and it feels great to sit down on the couch while we catch up a little. The kids are in school or napping, but her little brother and mother are visiting from Maine, so we all visit for about an hour.

If I had to narrow Kali down to a single word it would have to be “cool.” She’s responsible and mature in many ways, but hip, stylish and always fun to be around. She lives genuine faith without the snobbish externalism of corrupted church culture, and she carries herself with aplomb regardless of others’ judgment. I’ll always remember her for the testimonies she gave around the bonfire at Bible Quiz retreats. She’s been through crushing sorrow and loss, but maintained a faithful testimony as a Christian and an exemplary witness to her unbelieving friends through it all. She’ll do great things, I’m sure.

Well, evening is coming and I have to get outside the city and find a camping spot, so I strap myself back into the pack and head out with a goodbye. I’m limping noticeably by now from the pain in my tendon and the growing blister on my heel. The blister has been causing me to turn my foot slightly to avoid pressure on it, but after several hours of walking like that, my knee begins to swell and lock up. I had hoped to make use of another hour or two of daylight, but I’ve got pain coming from three places in my right leg at this point so I’m ready to break camp as soon as possible. Slightly outside the cluster of condo communities I find a small patch of forest. I feel a little exposed, but hopefully no one notices or calls the police. I slump down with my back against a tree just enjoy being off my feet as the sunlight slowly begins to fade. There’s no sign of rain in the forecast, so I decide not to worry about setting up the tent. The yellow cart and the orange pack blend into the fall foliage, but I’m afraid the tent would get me seen. After several granola bars and handfuls of trail mix I roll my sleeping bag out on the leaves and settle in for the night. The ground is lumpy and uneven with sticks and rocks under the blanket of fallen leaves, but after a little wiggling I settle into a comfortable position and pass the night in a series of shallow naps.

Nov.14-15 Old Friends

On Wednesday I left Eric & Hannah’s house at 8am and set out for Odenton. Twenty-seven miles is a long stretch for a single day, so I set a strong pace out of Eric’s neighborhood. The temperature rose slowly with the sun and began to soften the frosting on the grass. The puddles were crusted with a crystal glaze, and my hands were cold on the handle bar of my cart, but I could feel the heat building up in my chest. Before long I’d have to peel layers to keep from sweating. Within a block or two I’m already outside the cluster of build-up grocery stores and coffee shops. The sidewalk comes to an abrupt end and I find myself staring down a narrow country road. There’s no space to walk on the side without walking right in the road and traffic is heavy. I check Google maps on my phone for alternate routes, but everything else is a long way around and doesn’t offer any promise for better walking conditions, so I gather up my courage and step out into the busy road. I do my best to keep as far off to the side as possible and as I get farther from the city traffic gradually thins out. The occasional town or small city offers sidewalks or paved shoulders that provide safety from the traffic, but most roads aren’t designed with walkers in mind.

More so than in Maine, I get a lot of funny looks. It’s sort of a smile, but not a smile of happiness. It’s more like a smile of entertainment and amusement. I’m getting used to it and it’s easier to ignore. I’m walking due east, and making good time. There’s a strange pain in my Achilles tendon, and that’s slowing me down, but it gradually feels better as the day wears on. The sun has been hovering low on the horizon all day, but as it drops the temperature falls again. Every time I check the GPS I’m a little closer to Jordan & Jessica. I’ve been nursing the battery in my Android phone all day, but I can only check the screen a few more times before I’m stuck without a map or a way to call for help. Hopefully I’m within an hour of today’s destination. Google maps directs me off the main road onto a small airport where over a hundred single engine planes stand in silence on the tarmac with no sign of anyone but me as I walk alongside the airstrip. According to Google maps there’s an access road that cuts through a wildlife preserve area straight to Jordan & Jessica’s house on the other side, but at the end of the runway I come to what I feared I would find. A barbed-wire fence and a gate locked with a rusty padlock. A doe inside the fence jolts to rigid attention and watches me warily. She need not worry; this gate is the end of the line for me. The battery warning on my phone is flashing red as I look for an alternate route around. The sun is already set and dark is now falling quickly. Any route around looks to be at least two hours more, but my battery will die before that and leave me lost and stranded. Praying for a few more seconds of battery time, I call Jessica to see if she can come pick me up. I do my best to describe where I am over the phone, but she doesn’t know of the airport I’m describing. “Don’t worry,” She finally says, “we’ll find you.” Standing there and waiting I realize just how cold it’s gotten, but before long I see a little Honda Civic with two familiar smiles inside. Within a few minutes we break down my cart and puzzle the pieces into the small car. I’m relieved to be off my feet and found before my phone battery died.

Jordan and Jessica are college friends of mine from Bob Jones University. They’re the kind of match only God could have made. It really is amazing how perfect they are for each other. They are both brilliant beyond comprehension. They work as programmers at Fort Meade for cyber security. They’re the kind of people who can learn a new language in a matter of months and tell you every detail about how your computer works. I knew Jessica for a few years before she found Jordan. Unlike many hopelessly awkward nerd programmers, Jessica is always a radiating picture of exuberant joy and beauty with an electric happiness that lifts everyone around her. I took her on a date once in college, but it felt like dating my sister. Jordan also is brilliant, but still a social butterfly and fascinating to listen to. He could explain the chemical dynamics of how paint dries and keep you hanging on every word, and he’s the kind of friend everyone needs. We get into several deep theological conversations and even in the difficult issues where most people lose my logical progression, Jordan and Jess effortlessly know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s so very wonderful to be with them again! We enjoy a little time of fellowship and a hot bowl of supper and I get a much needed shower before heading out to their Wednesday night Bible study at church. It’s a Presbyterian church, so the atmosphere a little austere to me but still very deep and genuine. I’m especially impressed that even the very young children are intently engaged in the sermon and share insightful comments and ask the pastor to define difficult words so they can better understand! I've never seen anything like this before! When I meet the pastor after the sermon I learn that he has done some long-distance walking himself and has some good tips and advice for me. Back at Jordan and Jessica’s apartment I settle into a comfy mattress for a good night’s sleep. Thursday is spent just resting at the apartment while my friends are at work. It feels good to recuperate, but Friday morning dawns chilly and expectant. It’s time say goodbye again and start north.

Nov.10 A New Pace

Sat-Tues. Nov. 10-13
When I rolled my cart into the church parking lot several friends and family were waiting to see me off. After a few minutes of goodbyes it was time to go. Pastor Sean said a word of prayer, and I got a few final hugs. Mark Gumprecht gave me a ride over to the Greyhound station and I was on my way.
After a week and a half traveling by foot, it was surreal to stare out the bus window and see the landscape flashing by. It struck me that our world is a much bigger place than we give it credit for. There is virtually infinite detail in every inch, but at 60 miles an hour vast expanses of creation become monochrome points on a map only minutes from each other.
It's dark by time Boston lights come into view. The familiar bus terminal hasn't changed since I was traveling for college. I wait out my four-hour layover before boarding the bus to New York. It's into the wee morning hours when I reach New York and I'm longing for sleep. Finding my departure gate proves tricky since three different employees insist emphatically that my connection leaves from three different gates. The terminal is a run-down disorganized mess and nobody knows what's going on. There are several people in uniforms scattered around but none of them are doing anything. Everyone is angry and demanding; in a hurry for themselves, but in no hurry to help anyone else. I really loath this place. I have a four and a half hour layover.
There are people asleep on the floor all over the terminal. I find a spot behind an empty information booth and lay down on the tiles next to my cart with the pack on my chest. In case you were wondering, no, it's not comfortable... or sanitary. Still, I'm tired enough that I briefly doze off a few times. It's nearly sunrise by the time I leave the Big Apple.
It's almost noon when Eric Glidden picks me up in Silver Springs, Maryland. The sky is bright, sunny, and warm. Several years ago Eric and I were sent by our church for a survey trip to Senegal. We lived in a remote African village without running water or electricity for six weeks learning about the people and their culture. You get to know a person pretty well in a context like that. Eric is steady, strong, and genuine. He's here for a few years with his new wife Hannah who works at a naval hospital in the DC area, but he's always talking about wanting to go to seminary and become a pastor.
Monday morning Eric and I board the DC metro and head into the capitol. The day is spent walking around museums and national landmarks talking about government conspiracies and theological conundrums. That evening another old friend, Kristi, joins us for dinner and board games. Rain is predicted for Tuesday, so Eric and Hannah persuade me to stay another day. It's a quiet relaxing day sitting with Eric on his couch reading theology books and watching news, but my time here has come to an end. I pack up my gear for departure in the morning and get a good night's sleep for the 27 mile hike to go see Jessica and Jordan tomorrow.

Nov.8 A New Direction

Thursday Nov.8

                When I woke up at my grandmother’s house on Thursday morning, the first thing I did was look out the window. There was several inches on the ground and snow banks along the road. Cold, wet slush. I had hoped to be out of Maine before this started. It's barely November and it looks like February out there. Even after a day of rest, I was still sore and tired from the all-night march on Tuesday. I need to get to Brewer in time for the sendoff on Saturday and I need to be there a day early to pack up and store the last of my belongings, so the 20-mile walk from Ellsworth has to happen today. With the gear packed I said goodbye to my grandmother and aunt and uncle and started rolling again.

                It was heavily overcast and there was still a fine sleet in the air. Though my arms were cold, my back pressed against the pack began sweating until my t-shirt was soaked. The fine sleet grew steadily heavier into a full rain, and before long my boots were soaking up water and my hands were wet inside my gloves. I was miserable! And discouraged. I wasn’t going to let the hard ordeal on Tuesday ruin my resolve; any endeavor has its hard days and difficult valleys. I’m not going to let isolated incidents steer my decisions, but I’ve barely started today and I’m already soaking wet, walking in several inches of slush with luggage, and the wind is sucking my body heat away so that I can’t walk fast enough to stop shivering. The wind feels like knives. If I had a good plan to keep this from happening in the future, I’d just tough through it today, but if the first month of my trip is going to be like this it just isn’t worth it. A better sleeping bag would make the nights a little more bearable (And safer), but between this cold-sweat and rain I’ll never be able to get anything to dry.

                I hate giving up, so I keep putting one foot in front of the other trying to think of a way to make this trip work. I can feel icy water squishing between my toes with each step. I decide to put my rain pants on to keep my jeans from soaking up any more water, but I have to take my boots off to get the rain pants on. I trudge for another mile or two looking for a shoveled driveway or anyplace where I can step off the road, but I find nothing. Finally I stand on the side of the road, hopping on one foot at a time to peel my wet boots of and put on the rain pants before putting the boots back on with wet socks. I’m shivering hard and sweating at the same time so I strip off my t-shirt on the side of the road and pull on a dry one. I want to stop sweating so I put on the raincoat over the t-shirt without anything in between. It’s cold, but I have to stop the sweating somehow. The pack goes back on and I’m walking behind the cart again. The gloves are so waterlogged that I can’t get my fingers in, so I just ball up my fists and push the cart like that. Hours and miles go by. It’s so overcast it feels like late evening, but it’s only mid-morning and I still have over 15 miles to go before I get to Brewer. This is ridiculous! This trip is supposed to be about time to pray and contemplate; time to enjoy nature and meet new people. I don't want to give up, but if I could move my fingers right now, I think I’d call someone and get picked up. This just isn’t working. That’s not going to happen though because I literally can’t move my fingers enough to even get my phone out of my pocket, much less dial and hold it. I’m looking for a gas station or someplace to warm up my hands. Technically I haven’t given up yet. I’m still putting one foot in front of the other, but I’m looking for an out. I’m broken.

                “Hey, you need a ride?”

                Yea, if you’re going to Brewer, that would be amazing!”

                “Throw your stuff in the back and hop in.” I hoist my cart into the back of the blue pickup and crawl into the cab. He sees me shivering violently and turns the heat all the way up. I’m relieved, but at the same time I’ve got a lump in my throat. I’ve walked 110 miles from the border of Canada to this point. I made it about a tenth of a percent to my goal before throwing in the towel and taking a ride.

                I’m trying not to think of it as a failure. I can come back in the spring. That way I can walk the northern stretch in the summer and the southern stretch as it gets cooler. Perfect. The way I should have planned it in the first place. I can’t wait to get these sopping icy clothes off! I can hop a bus to balmy Florida for the winter and get a job at one of those ritzy golf clubs where all the rich men go to retire. New thoughts and ideas come sluggishly as I sit shivering in the overheated pickup cab, but it feels good to be looking forward to something again instead of dreading it. Things will work out. It could have been a nice sunny day today, but if it had I never would have changed my mind. I don’t know what my heavenly Father has in store, but He sure knows how to make me change my mind when He wants to. That’s a comforting thought. I’d rather do things His way even when I don’t understand and even when a nudge has to become a shove. I don’t know what’s going to happen now. Everything is upside down and up in the air, but I don’t have to be in control right now, and I think it’s going to be okay.

                For any of you who don’t follow my Facebook posts, I’m still planning on leaving at the same time on Saturday. I’ll be at the parking lot of Calvary Baptist Church in Brewer just the same as previously planned, but instead of setting out on a hike I’ll be going to the bus station. I’m looking forward to that opportunity to say goodbye to any of you who can make it out. I can’t say thank you enough to all the people who have been encouraging and supportive of me as I planned to walk and even as I faced the decision to let this go for now. You all mean more to me than I can express. Although the nature of my journey can’t really be described as a “walkabout” anymore, I still hope to use this blog to post occasional stories about my travels and experiences wherever I end up.

Nov.6 Not What I Had In Mind

Tues. Nov 6^th

Morning at the Wescotts is an exciting affair with their three children. I enjoy a hot shower and Katrina makes me peanut butter cookies and peanut butter rice crispy squares. I love peanut butter! By 10am Alvin drops me off on Rt.1 were he picked me up and the trek continues. A couple hours in my Uncle Mark passes me in his Con-way truck and greets me with the horn. I stop in Harrington for a coffee. By the time I reach Stuben evening is coming on and the temperature is dropping sharply. I stop at one place that looks like a good camping spot, but the ground is soggy, uneven, and full of sharp sticks. Just in the time it takes to stop and look at that spot I loose heat rapidly and can hardly move my fingers. I have to power walk hard for 15 minutes before I’m warm again. Darkness falls quickly this time of year. A Subaru pulls over onto the shoulder ahead of me and a middle-aged man steps out.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, I don’t want to slow down your progress, but I saw you in Milbridge earlier today and then again now. I’ve been wondering what your story is and figured I’d never know if I didn’t stop.” I tell him about leaving Canada several days ago and about my plans to go as far south as possible. He takes a scrap of paper with my blog address. I press on.

As the temperature continues falling I notice in the headlights of passing cars that my cart has glazed over with frost. I’ve got a problem. I have been walking all day and I’m tired, but my sleeping bag isn’t rated for temps this low. As much as I want to go to sleep it would be dangerous at this point. It looks like I’m going to have to keep moving through the night unless I can somehow find warm shelter. The late evening traffic is sparse and I can see people in their warm houses watching the election results come in. My knees begin hurting, so I lay the pack across my cart to get the weight off. The extra weight on the cart actually helps me generate more heat. I need all the heat I can get at this point.

A pair of headlights pull up to a stop behind me and a horn chirps. It’s a state trooper. Not again. I got pulled over by a cop last night too. Apparently people see my cart and think it looks like a baby carriage, so they call the police and report a man walking down the road at night with a baby. Last night’s cop was fascinated and very enthusiastic when I told him what I was doing. This one is a little more incredulous when I tell him I’m walking to Argentina. He eyes me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m just mocking him or actually trying to spin a plausible lie. He takes my license and runs it. I tore a tag off a mattress once, but he doesn’t say anything so apparently that didn’t come up on my record. As he comes back and hands me my ID he says,

“So I gotta ask, why Argentina? Are you planning to stay there and live or something?”

“Oh no, probably not, it’s just that’s as far south as I can go before it turns into water. At that point I may continue walking up the west coast, or I may fly back here, or I may go back to some other place that struck my fancy along the way.” As I answer more questions about my preparation and planning he finally seems to believe that I’m serious and legit. He says the cops in Hancock County will be aware of me now but warns that I’ll likely have more people trying to call me in all along the way. I guess people spend so much time watching Man vs. Wild on their televisions that they don’t realize you can walk outside in real life too. To some people nature is a movie set, not a real place, and anyone crazy enough to be walking down the road with camping gear must have criminal intent.

As the night drags on it gets harder and harder to stay warm. My legs are crying for rest and I get hungry every couple hours, but I can’t stop for more than two minutes before the cold becomes debilitating and forces me to keep moving. I keep checking the GPS on my phone willing it to place me as far along as possible. My pace has slowed dramatically as my feet begin to chafe and blister adding a new element of pain. I’m walking at the minimum pace to stay warm but conserve energy hoping that I can keep putting one foot in front of the other till morning light and warmth. It’s a long shot at this pace, but I begin considering that I may be able to make it all the way to Ellsworth. Maybe, maybe not, but at this point all I can do is keep one boot ahead of the other.

Gouldsboro creeps by in the night and Sullivan reaches me in the wee morning hours. Houses are dark now; no one is watching TV anymore and traffic is rare. Night truckers mostly. I’ve been listening to teaching through Psalms this whole time and it helps keep my mind off the fatigue and pain. David wrote many of his Psalms while on the run and struggling for survival. Early in his life, the hardship was because of Saul’s murderous insanity, but later in his life the flight from Absalom was the consequence of his sin. The penitential Psalms have meant a lot to me through dark times of my life. It’s good to serve a God who seeks reconciliation rather than penance and oppression.

Hancock feels like a major milestone. I’m familiar with this area and I happen to know it’s mostly downhill slopes the rest of the way into Ellsworth. I’m pacing myself by familiar landmarks, but I wonder what it will be like after Saturday when I don’t know there’s a gas station around the bend or a downhill stretch ahead.

My breath is freezing in chunks to my beard and I have to keep my fingers moving. These gloves have never let me down, but they’re just not cutting it tonight. If I had any other option at this point I’d take it, but my focus narrows down to a single goal. I’m not hiking anymore, I’m not seeing the world, I’m not on a spiritual journey; I’m just doing what I must to be still alive when the sun rises. I’m having serious second thoughts about the whole walkabout. Winter is only just starting and I’ll have many more nights this cold. If I’m going to do this, I need some better cold-weather gear and a sleeping bag that can stand up to these temps. I’ve got too much to live for to be fighting for survival like this.

I get a swell of exhilaration when I see the glow of Ellsworth city lights in the distance. It’s still quite a few miles off, but I’m going to make it and I have a bed waiting for me at my grandmother’s house. I find myself imagining that soft mattress and thick quilt and fluffy pillows. I picture myself horizontal and stretching out my cramped legs. The city lights inch a little closer with each step. At this point I’m in a significant amount of pain. My feet are chafed raw, my muscles are convulsing, and my entire skeleton is throbbing. By 4am I’m passing through the quiet city. I can walk down the four lanes of High St. without a car anywhere. I finally come to a 24hr gas station. Just walking into the heat feels amazing. I lock myself in the bathroom and just sit on the floor. A shiver of relief washes over me as I slump down with my back against the wall. It’s probably gross, but I haven’t been able to sit down without freezing for over 18 hours and I don’t care about anything else at this point. Eventually someone else will need the bathroom, so I force myself to my feet and limp out into the store. A bag of mini doughnuts calls my name. I answer with $1.49. About twenty of them disappear while I just stand in the store soaking up warmth. I need sleep though and I’m almost there. My grandmother’s house is in a little neighborhood just on the other side of Ellsworth. Just 3.5 more miles according to the GPS.

There’s a steep decline down to the river and an even steeper climb up the other side. I’m going very slowly at this point, but I’m almost there. I estimate the miles in my head, “Just three miles left, less than three miles left, two mile left, one mile, half a mile, quarter mile, just the driveway…” I find the key and let myself in. HEEEET! I sneak in quietly to not wake anyone, but that quilt can’t come fast enough. I lay down for the first time in 21 hours. It’s 5am. I’ve been hauling the heavy cart and pack with nothing but short breaks for 19 hours straight. I’ve covered 47.3 miles in a single stretch. A warm bed never felt so amazing or so well-earned.