A Living Magazine - Day 149 - Wiley Coyote

I woke, rose, packed up and was pulling on my backpack, when I heard a smallish animal rustling around and coming toward me. I knew it wasn't a coyote, but didn't know what it was, until a little masked face came into view, walking straight toward me. It was a relatively young raccoon. He froze when he saw me. I said "hello there." He cocked his head and stepped back, trying to turn around while keeping an eye on me, which he found rather difficult to do.

I made an unthreatening chirping like noise to keep his attention. Without any sudden movements I slowly put my backpack down and took out the last little part of my peanut butter and Tennessee honey sandwich from Holly, tossing it beside him. He sniffed the air, and then without a second thought, went straight to it, enjoying it immensely. I saw his little mouth doing that sticky tongued thing, as the combination of peanut butter and honey kept sealing it shut. This didn't annoy him one single bit, he was obviously in heaven. I waited until he finished and then headed downtown. 

The destination was guess where? That's right, Starbucks. I'd purchased a ticket to Birmingham, Alabama the morning before, and the most important thing was to get it printed. As with so many cities recently, that meant finding the library, getting a guest pass, printing it, making sure the barcodes were solid black, etc... I also wanted to meet the nephew of a friend of mine. One would work out, the other didn't. But it was what happened on this night that stole the show...

These interesting music boxes are all over Nashville.

They each have a famous musician related to the city,

and pump out his/her music day and night.

Each major street has these brass inlaid markers. Pretty neat...

First, I had to locate the library while at Starbucks. Unlike Memphis, this library was only a block away! I left Starbucks immediately...

The mural across from the Nashville library.

And there it was! a world class and very stately place...

Had to get a shot of the padlocks. They seem to be a recurring icon on this Journey. I've seen them from Salem, Oregon, and in every city therefrom. Usually they are attached to fences, bridges, trash cans, but have never been this large. These are for attaching your bicycle...

The inside of this library was first rate; clean, quiet, fully stocked with everything a scholar or unwashed traveler might need...

I asked the very energetic and friendly guy at the computer section if I might obtain a guest pass. He pointed to a pile of them on the counter and gave me very clear instructions about how to print my ticket. Loved his graciousness, and the library's very free attitude about the use of their extensive computer room--one with nearly every computer being used by street folk like myself (perhaps 120 machines!).

It was the exact same system for computer use and printing as Memphis had, which makes sense I guess, being in the same state and all. I felt like an expert, right off the bat! In case you're ever in this state and need to do something similar to what I had to do, here are the instructions...

1) Get the the little paper pass.
2) Scan its barcode (called a "library card number") into the mainframe. This gives you use for thirty minutes.
3) Then you find an open machine, type in the number under the barcode to log on.
4) In my case, I went to Greyhound's site, found my ticket image, and right clicked "print".
5) The job is then sent to the laser printer cache.
6) Walk to the printer (pages are $0.15 each here).
7) Insert your coins or dollar bill.
8) Rescan your pass at the print station, causing your print job to appear on the screen.
9) Click it and then click print.

I was done in five minutes flat! I used the rest of my time to check in on emails, Facebook, etc... Then, I went to a table, pulled out the laptop, got online and checked to see if the guy I was trying to meet had messaged me back. He hadn't. I checked his Facebook profile page (we are not "friends" there yet), and saw that he had played a pretty impressive gig the night before--being a popular musician in town. Great shots of his band! I just figured that he slept in or was otherwise too busy to respond. It had gotten late in the afternoon by that point, and I wouldn't have had much time to meet him anyway. It would have to wait until the next time I come to town--either as a prince or a pauper.

I made my way back toward Broadway, and then down 1st Street, and out toward my sleep spot for a last night there. On the way, I contemplated several alternatives to going the three miles. I knew from intellicast.com that it would not rain overnight, but would pour at about 6:00 am the next morning. Should I find an alternate place along the way? Should I head up to the bus station and spend the night there? 

When I reached the point where the highway passes over and under my commuting route, I remembered one of the suggestions from Rusty--the street guy I'd met on my first night there. He told me that the billboards near the overpass would be a safe area to camp in an emergency. So, I crossed the busy street and explored all around the billboards. It wasn't too bad a location, but was about ten feet from the railroad tracks and awful close to a very trashed out spot, where every imaginable thing had been thrown out of cars from the overpass above, collected there in a wind pocket. 

Speaking of the wind; it was really picking up. I'd say the gusts were in the 30-50 mph range. It was most definitely turning into a "dark and stormy night". I canned the idea of the billboard spot, and crossed back over on my way back to the original spot by the cemetery. I'd decided that the bus station alternative was too unappealing to even consider. I had to be up by 5:30 am, if I were to walk all the way back to the station (on a street that led off very near the billboard area) and still beat the rain. And, even the risk of a rainy morning walk was not enough to deter me from having a relatively peaceful rest in the sleep spot--if it was only for a few hours.

I got to the cemetery, took my usual route up the grassy hill to the edge of the woods and entered them. I'm such a dingbat, that it had pretty-much taken the whole week to remember the various natural markers leading to the actual place--about 40 feet from the entrance on the grassy hill, but this time I found it immediately. The routine of setting up the tent was delayed by my need to simply pace (as regular readers know by now, that is how I wind down) and contemplate the day and the next day. I reached into the backpack and took out some more yummy Holly snacks; a little Hershey bar, the rest of some cute gingerbread men, and popped some Jolly Ranchers, while thinking about everything.

Then, as it approached 9:00 pm, I assembled the tent--with the tarp/fly over it, climbed in and - because it was warm - fell asleep on top of the sleeping bag. Then I began to dream. 

I don't remember much about the beginning of the dream, but I do remember that the dream itself had me in my tent, but up in Maine. I was camped out in the backyard of our old family house on Bayview Street, in Yarmouth. Our old dog, Crispy (half miniature husky and half German shepard--she looked almost exactly like a coyote, and people often commented that maybe she was part wild), was walking back and forth on her run, and occasionally whining, like she used to when she got lonely. I kept opening the tent door and trying to calm her, but she wouldn't be satisfied. For some reason, in the dream, I didn't get out and just unlatch her and bring her in with me.

That was what was on my mind when I heard what sounded like her running around the tent. But the footfalls were much wilder sounding. I woke with a terrible feeling.

With all of the bragging I did the other day here about "knowing" that the coyotes wouldn't actually come down into the woods, I realized with stunning clarity just how wrong I'd been. Outside was the most hyper acting animal I'd ever heard. Big footfalls, and snorting was all I could hear. The tent is completely sealed when the tarp/fly is on it, and that is staked to the ground, making a very formidable and unmovable object. Yet, unfortunately I could not see where this creature was.

I determined that there was only one, and it had to be a coyote. It smelled exactly like the pack did the other night, except much stronger--a combination of wet dog and sour breath. He sniffed all around the edges of the tent, scratching tentatively at it (pun unintented--ha!). I was not at all intimidated this time. This time, I was angry. There was no way in hell I was going to let him rip my precious tent!

I thought about which growl to use. On the first crossing, last year, I'd worked on a very scary growl, one that actually made ME nervous when I did it. It deterred a few stray dogs and deer back them. But this time I got creative.

I did a loud snore-like in-breathing, then growled out rolling my uvula as if I was really big. The tracks stopped, and I heard him breathing right in front of the head end of the tent, growling slightly, himself. I surmised that he might be a scout for the pack I'd heard the last time. And I didn't want him to take off and then lead the others back--or I'd have a MUCH bigger problem on my hands. 

I laid back down with my face close to the screen, which was just behind the tarp/fly, so that I could really freak him out. But suddenly his paw came down, under the tarp/fly and pushed the screen in, scratching my nose (the small scratch is still there!). 

I wasn't gonna take any more of this playing around shit, and, I suppose by instinct alone, I opened my mouth and made a half-screech, half-mountain lion roar--surprising even myself. He stepped back, paced for a moment and then took off quickly up over the bank and far away into the clearing above the tent area. It had worked! My intuition told me that he would not be back. The time was 2:46 am. 

I was so excited and filled with adrenaline that every attempt to sleep for the next hour and a half, failed miserably. It ended up being one of those look-at-the-watch-count-the-hours-before-I-had-to-get-up things. Amazingly, I finally did drift off at what must have been about 4:20, but only slept for about a half hour, when I heard rain begin to tap on the tarp/fly above me. 

I rolled my eyes, knowing I would get no more sleep on that night.