A Living Magazine - Day 27 - Back on the Wallk

This time I woke up determined to get the bus I'd missed the day before. I had time to go to The Daily Bagel for a coffee down town. I bought it from one woman, then went over to the creamer station and prepared it. On the way out, I thanked a different woman and she yelled, "You have have to pay for that you know!" I told her I already did. And, she questioned me about who I paid, etc. I told her by describing the other woman. She still looked suspiciously at me. Then the other woman confirmed my story, and I was free to go. It's the backpack. There is a general prejudice against them. This little exchange soured my mood.

I was very early for the 9:00 am open time at Pelican Shuttle. I spent 2.5 hours waiting on a hard bench. Once the other travelers and I got into the office, we were taken one at a time, by a very nice gentleman. He sat behind a reception desk, but also was able to move around by using his Bluetooth earpiece. He'd be out in the parking lot talking to a driver and also answering calls that came in. It was pretty cool. I like this aspect of modern customer service.

I bought my ticket, but the shuttle was dependent upon an Amtrak train (actually, the "Coastal Starlight" - Train 14 - the same one that brought me to Klamath Falls two days before). It was delayed for an hour. Amtrak is a great way to travel, but you HAVE to plan on it being late. It is hardly ever on time. They do make up time though sometimes by going a bit faster to the next stop. Anyway, we were supposed to leave at 9:55 am, but didn't leave until 11:30. It wasn't too bad...

At least the office had free Wi-Fi and an outlet, so I decided to free up some memory on the laptop by transferring pictures and videos to a separate mini SD card. As I described on Facebook and my last post, somehow ALL of the pics on my laptop for the last 26 days were deleted. A friend suggested downloading a recovery program, which I did. But I didn't realize how to use it properly until the next day (today--I always write 24 hours later). This blew my mind. I was already in a foul mood from the woman at the bagel place, and now THIS?

Eventually, we left and made our way to White City and then westward to Medford...

On the Pelican Shuttle to Medford.

Dropping people off and picking people up at the Medford Airport.

The shuttle was sweltering, the fan blew the already hot air all around the cabin of closed windows. We were a sweaty group by the time we got to Medford. No one said anything, and I refrained, because the driver was a cool dude, and we didn't want to bug him. The radio (or Pandora?) was playing one hit wonders of the 1970's, which, in itself is not a problem for me. But the tone of the speakers was locked in at an annoying frequency that highlighted the nasal-noise of each singer (I'm thinking, maybe about 7 KHz?). The trip wasn't torture, but might have been considered something akin to a stress position (Donald Rumsfeld would definitely have approved).

We pulled into the Greyhound station in Medford, and I stepped out into the just-slightly cooler air. My first impression of the city was that it was just another flat, hot, dry place (like some of the valley towns in the East Bay Valleys of California. Of course, once again, I had no idea where I was, or what i would do for sleep and/or travel. The goal at that point was to find the library. It wasn't difficult, since it was right across from the Greyhound station!

The Medford Library.

Queen of Sheba quote at the Medford Library.

 This library did have library cops. It seemed a bit of overkill, considering that it was just me, the seniors and the quintessential crying and screaming babies and kids, respectively. Not feeling the love on this day, everything seemed to be grating on me. The screeching kid though was almost unbearable. All the polite people pretended it didn't both them, but it did. She was allowed to exercise the top range of her whistle-like voice for literally 15 minutes, while her mother spoke with the librarian.

As has been the case around the country, libraries are NOT quiet places. Something about kids being there... I love kids, but some parents need a metaphoric leash with a muzzle, or at least teach their children that screaming is not what quiet libraries are for. Unfortunately, it is the parent with the little screamer who has dropped the ball in this regard. Libraries now have enormous Children's Sections (sometimes half the square footage of the entire building). But, STILL, parents bring their kids into the adult racks. Gallup, New Mexico solved the problem by having a separate library just for kids. Of course everything else about that city's library sucked (e.g. armed guards, no backpacks allowed, no functioning Wi-Fi, etc.). But, hey, that's Gallup. It's a frontier town.

I worked until the screaming in my head continued even after the kid was gone, echoing like a banshee. I had to leave. I wandered around some of the park area and up and down the river. Some guy complimented my Fila shoes. I told him I found them in a park. But I was terse and worn out. I just felt awful, inside and out.

Eventually I found a Wendy's on the edge of town, after scouring the area unsuccessfully for sleep spots. The sun was right on the horizon. The air cooled significantly. Finally, some relief. By the way, Oregon restaurants are not like Northern California. Oregon actually has outlets for Wi-Fi users. This and a lot of other aspects remind me a bit of a mixture between New England and the Midwest.

Eventually it was to put up or shut up. I spent my time at Wendy's carefully planning out the fastest route google gave me for getting to Grants Pass. The alternate route was 99, which I didn't even study (like a fool). When I left the restaurant, I headed down 99 (the way to both routes). But, as I hiked along, it occured to me that 99 might have more stores to buy water etc., on it that the very rural rural route I had studied. So, mid stride, I changed the plan and continued down 99...

Very cool couch--even I window shop!

I really had to pee, forgetting to do it at Wendy's, and I strolled into the Rogue Creamery (this area is called the Rogue Valley, created by the Rogue River). As I relieved myself, i saw what looked like a black and white tail move in the grass. I thought it was a skunk. So, I said, "Hi Skunky!" 

Then I heard a terrible cough. It was some homeless guy sleeping off the four High Gravity's he'd obviously consumed--seeing the empty cans on the ground in front of him. All I could think of was him saying to himself, "What did he mean by that?" Down the road a little further I stopped in to buy beef jerky, some sardine cans, almonds and water; enough to last two days if necessary. And I carried the white plastic bag, not being able to fit it in my backpack.

Rogue Creamery.

I stopped about two miles later to pee again, scooting down a gravely hill to a tree at the bottom, like a good dog. When I got back on the road, I kept telling myself that I would not screw up my route.
Just after walking over Interstate 5, I double checked my laptop screen shot to see if I was in the right place. It certainly looked like it. I took this picture at that point...

The last time I saw a Route 99 sign (see how it only says, "South"?).

I passed into a darker and quieter road. It had nice fields and I considered nesting there. But, I told myself that I could keep going, since I had my supplies... WAIT! Where was the little plastic bag?!

My heart sank... I must have put it down. Shit! I stopped three times. The thought of going WAY back over what I'd already struggled to walk was just the rotten cherry on top of a bad day. I actually considered just leaving it. But I'd spent $10.00, and I'm just too tight to waste that. I turned, sighed, and started back, swearing and laughing quietly, but insanely.

I marked my distance on the pedometer just to see how far I'd have to go. I went to the place by the highway overpass near Route 5. I was on the other side of the road, and didn't think I saw the bag. So, I grit my teeth and decided that since I'd already gone this far, I might as well go to the place down the gravely hill by the tree. I remembered having it when I was at the Rogue Creamery, so I knew I didn't need to go that far back. I was surprised that it was only 2 km to the tree. Scooting down that hill again, I went up to the tree, but saw nothing. I was unsure suddenly if this was the right tree. So, I pulled out my little LED flashlight and checked the spot where I thought I'd peed. And it was wet.

At that point I deduced that the only place the bag could be was back near Route 5. Since I hadn't gone across the road to check, I was certain that I would find it on the way back. It reminded me of when I'd leave things at Sheryl and David's house in Livermore, and David joked that my t-shirt should read "IWALLK BACK." Sure enough, when I'd gotten back to the Route 5 area, there it was, lonely and waiting for me--my bag of food.

For some reason, this delighted me, and seemed to change reverse my bad mood from the daylight hours' irritations. I went by the nice fields again and considered nesting, but decided not to. I had wasted too much time and now I wanted to get further on.

I reached an intersection where the road split into opposite directions and there was no sign! THE most frustrating part of walking rural roads...

I took this picture, because I thought it was a neat place.

I would learn the next day that that was exactly where I took the wrong turn.

[Sorry for the bad focus. The camera doesn't handle night shots well.]

I chose from the 50/50 option, turning right. If I had only thought to check my compass, I would have realized. I knew something had gone wrong when I saw signs for Route 140 and 62. By this time, I could see the glow of a town up in the distance. I figured that it was time to actually nest down and deal with the consequences of my error in the daylight.

I kept going and going, down the flattest, straightest road I think I've ever been on, shining my flashlight from side to side, looking for anything that would work as a rough camp spot. Initially I found a field, next to a small stream. So I checked it out. It wasn't bad, but something didn't feel right. There were quite a few noises in the woods, and the mosquitoes were coming in hard a fast. My instinct told me to abandon the area and move on. I followed suit.

When I was beginning to sway a bit and just couldn't keep going, I walked right by a hill with an entrance to a very nice field, elevated above a marshy area, with mid-sized trees and soft grass. This was it. I knew right away. I made my way in and found a great spot right next to a tree; somewhat behind it. The grass and the ground were very soft and matted together. It was very comfortable; maybe one of the softest outdoor sites I've yet slept on.

The mosquitoes were bothersome for a while; probably picking up the scent of my sweat. The stinkier you are the more appealing you become to mosquitoes. This, combined with the body heat infrared signature and the carbon dioxide from your breath - or my breath, in this case - is irresistible to the little buggers. as I cooled off, dried off and zipped up the sleeping bag, the attacks diminished.

While lying there and thinking about thee last few days, a huge black object flew into the little clearing, glided around in circles for a few moments, an then flapped its wings and banked out towards the marsh. It was a giant bat, with a wingspan of at least 4 feet. It was the first time I'd ever seen a bat bigger than a robin. Very cool!

I fell asleep after thinking for quite some time. It was a restful night...