Jets vs Sharks

July 27: Frances filled up my tank with a huge breakfast of hash browns, eggs, and sausage, then made me a sandwich and stocked me with snacks before Eric returned me to the trail. I hit State Line Road running, eager to complete my onslaught on Chicago.
In only an hour I had reached the outlying suburb of Crete and soon pressed on to Steger. I had heard previously that certain areas on the south of the city did not have a reputation as a place to go if you wanted to extend your life. I never felt in any real danger of becoming a statistic on a show about the Bloods, the Crips, the Jets, or the Sharks. The route seemed to me to be very safe, at least at the time of day I passed through.
I was a danger to myself, however, almost walking in front of a turning car while crossing Illinois 1. Fortunately, mangled McCandless was not on the Roadkill Cafe menu this day.
Several long days in a row since Winamac began to take their toll towards the end, making the last few miles a real struggle. I finally reached the Old Plank Road around three. I haven't found the Icehouse plant yet, but trust me, when I do that putrid brew is going down for all the things it has done to my body. Worst. Beer. Ever.
I did spot an extremely photogenic groundhog, who waited patiently at the edge of the bushes while I fumbled around for my camera. Very soon after I found myself staring at the Matteson Metra watching an inbound train for Chicago leave the platform. There would not be another for almost an hour. I was glad to rest a spell at the station, beginning the theme of rest and relaxation that will dominate my birthday weekend in Chicago. I bid you adieu now, til we meet again on the road.

Back with another episode on Monday, August 1. 16 miles/1049 total miles

So You're Saying There's a Chance?

July 26: The second city beckons. Around forty miles still remain until I am in reach of a Chicago area Metra station. I began my march unsure of whether to try to attempt to make up the difference in two days or three. My pace was good at first and after less than two hours I had reached State Line Road, the end of Indiana if I could only stay on the left side of the thoroughfare.
My eyes got a much-earned respite from the corn and soy extravaganza when I reached the Kankakee River flood plain. The terrain there was reminiscent of the C&O Canal, although there has never to my knowledge ever been a canal there. The Kankakee snaked back and forth in spine-jarring ess curves to my left. Over to the right was a swampy area similar to the wetlands much of the old C&O canal has devolved into over the years.
The bridge which crosses the river has been closed to car traffic and is used now only as a pedestrian path and fishing pier. The water sits only a couple of feet below the span, a reminder that its potential destruction is only one heavy rainstorm away.
Upon passage of the flood plain, the old standby of farmland returned and I spent the remainder of the trek on State Line Road, where I am doomed to spend nineteen consecutive miles, putting one foot in front of the other. As the day wore on I grew fatigued and I was forced to stop more and more often. I was without a definite place to stay and had to pace myself, not knowing just how far away my home for the night was exactly. A water source was also lacking.
My savior came in the form of Eric Goetz, a master builder who had been appointed by the neighbors to check me out and make sure I was kosher. I don't know if I would have gained a rabbi's stamp, but Eric seemed to approve of my mission nonetheless. He filled my bottles and offered to pick me up where I finished up that night and take me back to his home for dinner and a good night's sleep.
The knowledge that I now had a place to stay re-energized me and I made quick time for the next two and a half hours until my appointed pickup time at five thirty. When all was said and done I had knocked out sixteen of the nineteen miles on State Line. Including the five miles spent heading out of Lake Village toward the border, I had completed twenty one on the day. Chicago is now well within range.
Back at Eric's home in Indiana (alas, I had to cross back over the line) I met his wife Frances. They are proud parents of eight children, all now adults (the youngest is twenty two), and fourteen grandchildren, with another on the way. Together the couple runs a construction company and operate a large farm, quite a hefty undertaking. Their willingness to look after me is only the more astounding when put in this light.
Frances also introduced me to a new culinary delight, a Hoosier sensation known as the pork burger. Using a ground version of an animal that squeals rather than moos may sound revolutionary, but trust me, the concoction works. I shall bring the good news of this revelation back to the brethren in South Carolina.
After the meal we went back to Eric and Frances' deck and relaxed amidst the cool night air. We talked and listened to the soothing cooing of the morning dove. While in Indiana the dove became my own personal Bob Marley, letting me know that every little thing is gonna be alright.

21 miles/1033 total miles

Thanks to all my new friends in Indiana:
Dawn and Sarah Crone
Mike Vernon
Steve Foster
Carol Impala
Joey Kubesch
Jo
Pastor Jan
Frank and P.T. in Sweetser
Tammy, Justin, Ethan, Rachel and Bethany Perry
Kent
Faith
Gus and Alyssa Nyberg
Nikki Hanger
Eric and Frances Goetz
Macy Elevator, Donna and Brenda
Tom at Hoosier Hideaway
Jill and Bob
Megan, Brent, Paul, and Mel
Guy who handed me a beer while I was walking
The Unknown Hoosier (or whose name I have forgotten in the sun)

Hoosier Daddy

The camera slowly pans to an empty basketball court somewhere in rural Indiana. The net sways in the breeze as the narrator wonders wistfully where Larry Bird has gone.
ESPN cheese I know, but there is no doubting the basketball tradition in the state of Indiana.  "Hoosiers" high school Milan's dream run to a state title, the last undefeated squad at Indiana in 1976, Notre Dame's amazing upset of UCLA's juggernaut, Valparaiso guard Bryce Drew's dramatic buzzer beater, and Butler's back-to-back final runs are just a few examples of the state's hardwood history.
While pondering the career of the last great white hope, I trod down Highway 10 in the Hoosier state towards Roselawn. The town boasts two nudist resorts, the Sun Aura and the Ponderosa. The Ponderosa is considered "family friendly" which I guess means you get to bring your naked dog and naked children too.
In the old days the most famous of the Roselawn nudist getaways was Naked City. The restaurant there included glass top tables and the waiters wore only an apron. Unfortunately, legal trouble for the owner, appropriately named Dick, led to Naked City's closing in 1986.
Seeing as it was too early in the day to drop my pack and my pants I continued on several more miles to Lake Village. A less flashy place, everyone I met seemed to be wearing something called clothing.
I inquired at the library what this strange attire might be and wondered also if there was a church whose property I could lay my head upon for the evening. Sandy, the librarian, made some calls and was unable to locate anyone from the Presbyterian church next door. Ever resourceful, she had a plan B and contacted the fire department, who agreed to allow me to set up in the park next door to their offices. Just as I was settling down there I got a phone call from Alyssa, whom I had also met earlier at the biblioteca (Spanish word which means place where one dances with books).
Alyssa and her husband Gus invited me over to their place for a delicious dinner. Also present at table was Rob, a co-worker of theirs who had done a lot of section hiking on the Appalachian Trail. All three work for the local nature conservancy, which has purchased old farm land and restored the original prairie habitat on property just south of Lake Village. Why the ADT runs north of here along the same old corn and soybean fields rather than passing the conservancy and showing off a bit of the state's diversity is anyone's guess.
Gus and Alyssa are also practitioners of the DIY ethos, working to be self-sufficient whenever possible. Our meal included succulent honey, bread, potatoes, and kale all produced on their property. I think many of us will wish we possessed their skill set when the American economy collapses. Not like that could ever happen.

18 miles/1112 total miles

Precipitation Aggravation

July 24: Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. I know I sure did. After several grueling days of heat I made one little innocent wish for cooler weather. Shortly thereafter another wicked thunderstorm, appeared shortly after I reached a bump in the road named Asphaltum.
My choices were A)hide under a tree B)hide under a bunch of trees C)stand in the middle of a field like a lightning rod. I picked B, so please feel free to evaluate and perhaps eviscerate my choice.
As you can probably tell, I did avoid a lightning ride, but the rain kept up for several hours before petering out in the early afternoon. Soaked and exhausted, I limped into the town of Kniman, admiring both of the houses there before collapsing on the Methodist church steps.
My presence there was utterly ignored with one exception. As I sat on the steps soon after arriving a man pulled up in a truck and yelled out, asking if I was okay. I started my spiel about what I was doing there, but he interrupted and repeated the query. I said yes and he peeled out of the parking lot. A Good Samaritan on a strict schedule I gathered.
I had completed the Eastern time zone portion of the walk earlier in the day, so with my seven o'clock start I had been on the trail for ten hours. I chose to make the church my home for the evening, set up my portable home, laid down, and remained there unmolested for the course of the evening.

P.S.: Pictured above is what Indianans refer to as a "hill." Note the slight incline.

17 miles/1088 total miles

Grinding on the Grid

July 22: I got underway early in the morning, trying to gain ground before the vicious burning eyeball was high in the sky. I needed to do laundry and resupply, so I diverted my route slightly to Winamac, one of the last significant towns before the border with Illinois.
I was feeling great and rapidly chewed up the eleven miles, which included crossing the Tippecanoe River. American president William Henry Harrison made his name here defeating a band of Shawnee warriors missing their leader, Tecumseh, who apparently called in sick that day. Harrison's slogan during his subsequent presidential campaign was "Tippecanoe and some other guy too."
I managed to continue my string of good luck in beating the worst of the weather, arriving in Winamac just before a powerful thunderstorm. I sat in comfort inside the Laundry and Tan whilst chaos reigned outside, gale force winds scattering lawn furniture and turning a once majestic tree into kindling. In case there is any confusion, I was doing laundry - I figure my tan is pretty solid at this juncture in the trip.
By the time my errands were done it was too late to move onward, so I settled at a dirt cheap motel with plans to move down Highway 14 on the morrow.

11 miles/1054 total miles

July 23: The first day of my third month hoofing it across America brought me to Highway 14. There is nothing special about this road, except I spent a long time marching upon its black top. Very little happened during the walk except for some occasional wildlife spotting: a dead weasel (should this be wildcorpse spotting instead?) and a fascinating grasshopper called the Carolina Sandblaster, which resembles a butterfly when in flight.
The monotony left me time to ponder Indiana's grid system of numbering county roads. A very simple plan, the flat nature of the state makes the system possible. The grid runs outward from two base roads in the center of a county, usually state highways. One is an east-west road, the other a north-south road. If you travel one mile north of the base east-west road you will find 100 North, two miles is 200 North, three miles 300 North, and so on until the county line. The grids make judging distance a snap and addresses use the same process so you can gauge your progress every time you pass a home.
Let's see how good a teacher I am. In the comments section answer this question: If you reach 250 W, how far are you from a base road and do those roads run east-west or north-south?
I dismissed class to allow the students to complete their homework assignment and woke up in Medaryville. There I met a couple of fabulous people, Kent, who allowed me to rest in his yard and use his laptop and Faith, who served me good food and good beer in a mason jar while telling me about the town's inhabitants.
I found the Methodist church and took up residence just before a rain storm hit like Mike Tyson used to before he got all introspective. I waited out the deluge on the porch and set up camp just as the most amazing residents of Medaryville came up to introduce themselves.
The Perry family was headed this night by matriarch Tammy, who brought me enough food to fuel a battalion and volunteered to clean what dirty clothes I had. Son Justin did an impromptu interview of this guy right here for the Francesville paper while the other lad Ethan showed me his vast collection of U.S. Army memorabilia. Daughter Rachel added many insightful questions of her own and the youngest, Bethany, told me about the family's trips to Michigan.
All of these things occurred at once, making for a busy last hour of the day. Alas, the sun did set, bringing an end to the waking hours and I again had to say goodbye to a new group of wonderful friends.

17 miles/1071 total miles

Lake Bruce Bruce Lake

I slept in a bit this morning after the drunken hooligans at the pool had kept me up late last night. I believe I am finally being served that cold bit of revenge I earned back during my college years when I participating in such loathsome behavior, which I did not enjoy at all.
Nevertheless, I shot out of Rochester following a quick visit to their library and headed down country road 100 North for virtually the entire day. I had to keep my head down and go slow with conditions hotter than they had ever been and shade a rare luxury. The wind was my benefactor for the early afternoon, limiting the damage of the sun's blazing rays.
The highlight of the day was an irrigation sprinkler whose target mainly consisted of the road - and me. The tarmac did not seem to appreciate the moisture as much as I did, keeping my head underneath for several minutes until soaked. Five minutes later I was completely dry.
Passing motorists, including one man on a tractor kept me supplied with liquid refreshment. If not for their intercession I would have been mighty parched as the way was lacking in pretty much everything besides corn. A foundry worker handed me a Miller Light near the end of the day. I figured I wasn't too likely to be pulled over for a DUI, so I accepted his offer.
Hoosier Hideaway appeared in my site lines just after seven and I stumbled to the office and met the owner, Tom, who showed me where to plop down. He no doubt felt sorry for such a heat-dazed fool and allowed me to stay for free.
Once I crawled into my tent the daily gnat killing began. No matter how fast I zip open the fly, flop in, and zip closed, the insects have already infested indoor, or inmesh in this case. I try to herd them into either of the two flaps of on top, which have an opening I can easily seal, creating a death zone for all of the buzzing suckers who fall for the trap.
Once I had dealt with my home invaders the heat was still a problem. With no wind, the air had failed to cool down much even after sunset. So much for the new religion - I will have to come crawling back and beg the Methodists for forgiveness. Only after a couple hours of lying still and pouring water on myself was I able to finally catch some z's.

14 miles/1043 total

Founding Religion

July 20: Authors over the centuries have made symbolic comparisons between physical journeys and spiritual journeys. I'll not try foolishly to compete with the observations of the more brilliant ones, but I will say there is clearly a higher force at work here. I may have even found religion or rather, founded one. With all respect to the Methodists, who have helped me in many ways these last months, these last days of repressive sun have led me into the arms of another. I now practice windism and dedicate all my free time to worshiping and glorifying the virtues of a cool breeze. I imagine you were expecting some sort of deep thought. Sorry, you have the wrong channel.
The heat was indeed unbearable today so I started early, around seven, to try to make some ground early. By noon I had covered ten miles and reached the tiny town of "Macy"'s" Thanksgiving Day Parade. I had previously passed Things to do in "Denver" when you're Dead, Mr. "Deedsville", and "Birmingham" and eggs, a series of towns named by Chris Berman.
In Macy I was greeted by Donna and Brenda at the Macy Elevator grain and feed store. They had seen the article in the Tribune that morning and recognized me as the only idiot who would be walking the Nickel Plate in the midst of day when the pavement was more suitable for cooking eggs over easy than walking. I was invited in and plied with water, chips, and chocolate. We talked for a bit while I rested and got revitalized.
The break was just what I needed and my new friends mentioned that the trail would be shadier on the way to Rochester. They turned out to be only partially correct. Yes, there were tall trees up and down the right side of the path. Unfortunately, I was headed in a northerly direction and my good buddy the sun was on my left side.
There was no where to hide from the rays for the most part. I rested where I could, underneath benches and behind the slats of a wooden fence. The last miles to Rochester took all afternoon and I only finished the Nickel Plate just before seven, leaving a team of sweat bees behind, fully sated on the rivulets running from my body.
The sun having gone lower and town in sight, I rushed through the last two miles and arrived in the hotel district of Rochester, which boasts a whopping two such businesses of a reputable nature. Neither of these had a room thanks to a Kroger convention. Not coincidentally I think, this company rejected my first ever job application. I'm not bitter because the Piggly Wiggly hired me and Kroger went out of business in the Southeast. Eat your instant karma Kroger!
Jill at the Comfort Inn was not to be stopped by the grocer's evil machinations and managed to deliver me up a patch of grass behind the hotel for my tent. She also arranged a ride from Bob, a regular resident there, to a truck stop where I showered in one of their coffins. I kept slipping on the soap, but I didn't even have enough space to fall down.
The backyard ended up being a terrible option. A drunken group out by the pool kept me awake along with a couple of deer rutting in the woods just behind my tent. Around midnight I still had not slept when Jill approached and announced a room was now available and she had discounted the rate for me. Even so, I hated to splurge on the cost with my depleted funds, but tomorrow is scheduled as a triple digit day and I had to get some sleep - and pray for wind.

17 miles/1029 total miles