I was up and out again around 9:00 am. Working at the Plymouth library seemed to be the best (if only) option for the day. Now that I knew the walk from the day before, it seemed to be a manageable goal for any day. It is also closer to the other cultural places in the town--something I will be exploring soon. I headed west again along Route 9...
A bird, now caught in the pose of eternally flying, with its beak held high.
I think that anchor is at least large enough to hold the sign down.
Ah! The fossilized tracks of Homo workbootus...
Where I sit, ehemm, periodically.
Well, where the posts from the day before took 14 hours of loving labor, this day's post - about that 14-hour day - took one hour. There wasn't much else to be said. Time goes by exceedingly fast when I'm writing; meaning there is little chance of doing anything else, until it's done.
I sometimes look at this journey as a kind of "performance art". I'm the crazy, but creative artist, working on pieces, regardless of not making enough money at it. And, like any artist, I am led from within to produce something every day, whether I eat or not. I sometimes feel like I am doing everything for a future time. Yes, there is a core group of financially and personally invested people. They have been a wonderful engine. But, my intuition is telling me that much of what I do now is going to remain invisible to the majority of people for a while longer. It may be truly appreciated, perhaps, only after I am long gone.
Even knowing this, I am still confident that I should press on. And, if I am not fortunate to see the eventual fruition - the results - while still in this skin, I'm going to be damn sure that story I am living out in these days, weeks, and months, is accurate and consistent. I want to build a legend. Not a legend about me, but about my experiences in this age that we are passing through; one that will live on. I don't feel like this journey is the end either. Like everything that has come before, it is simply training for the next, and more powerful, project. I'm happy to follow this personal evolution as far as the road may lead, though it seems to require also being very hungry.
On this day, my pessimistic visions of my own future were simply the best-estimate-guesses, based on the lives of many other people I have read about who have tried to do things that have never been done before. There should be no expectation from anyone - friend or foe - that I will ever stop or give up reaching for more and more effective and novel methods of trying to reach minds who will listen.
If it's 50 people? That is enough.
I took a break and tried to capture the architecture of the library...
These racks hang over the facade, presumably to keep
distraught library patrons from climbing up to the roof and jumping off?
And, well aerated seats for smelly homeless butts. Kidding--we're not that smelly.
This is great library. It isn't crowded. There are no library cops. It is in a convenient location, were someone actually able to afford lunch or dinner, since there is a Cub grocery store across the street and plenty of fast food places to be exploited.
And, like so many modern libraries, it is fully equipped with large rooms, plenty of seating and outlets galore. You can tell from the outside that this place has got it goin' on...
In the afternoons and evenings this window glows. It is surrounded with the quotes of scholarly people...
The hours are good. They are open every day...
Monday: 9 - 9Tuesday: 9 - 9Wednesday: 9 - 9Thursday: 9 - 9Friday: 9 - 5Saturday: 9 - 5Sunday: 12 - 5
I finished up about four hours before closing. That left me a chunk of time to continue working on the musical project I'd started on the train a few nights before. I got quite bit done on that before leaving.
The walk to or from the library was a solid seven kilometers (about 4.5 miles). If I were to walk to it and back each day, plus the other walking I do, I'd be keeping up a regular 10-12 mile day. This is good. It means I'll stay in shape and remain relatively ready to venture south when the time comes.
There are several stretches to the route I walk. Route 9 has a few major intersections, and crosses over two highways. The last two mile section is a dark area, lined on either side of the street by short trees, abutting the backyards of houses.
I was walking down the sidewalk, on the left, traveling east (in the direction opposite of westbound traffic). I passed a young kid who I didn't see until he was practically three feet in front of me. That was a surprise. But a bigger surprise was coming up behind me.
I had reached the point where, when I got up over the last hill, I could see the lights of the businesses surrounding the Cub store near Allyson's place. I began to walk towards those lights, when for a split second, I noticed a light right next to my right elbow, and then in the remainder of that second, I felt the left side of a pair of handlebars jab into my side and hip. It was a biker who had not seen me as she whipped down that hill.
We both fell to the ground. I felt a mild ache on my side and hip, but she went tumbling and then rolling off, nearly into the road. When I'd realized I was alright, I ran over to her and asked if she was. She crouched there by the curb with her face in her hands, a petite woman in her late 30's, dressed in an athletic windbreaker, scarf and knit hat. She was pretty, with curly blonde hair.
She just kept saying, "Shit!" I helped her stand up, and asked if she felt pain anywhere. She said, "Yes... my head." She sounded angry and in shock. She never said so, but the impression I got was that she blamed me for the whole thing. I asked if she wanted me to take a look at her head. Knowing that I was some stranger who had supposedly just ruined her night, I was not surprised that she wasn't interested in my assistance. She did look okay. There was no blood, no scratches. I rather thought that her knees or elbows should have been the things that would have been injured, but apparently not.
She went quiet, and very slowly walked back to the bike, which was also still in good shape. She had been stopped suddenly and thrown off the bike, which only tipped over and therefore avoided any damage. Her body got the brunt of it.
I asked, "So you didn't see me at all?"
She said, "No. Do you have a light on?" I replied that I didn't, but obviously she did. "Why didn't you see me?" she asked, impatiently.
I told her I wouldn't have seen her, since I was walking in front of her, in the same direction. She huffed, and said nothing, fingering the switch on her bike's headlight. It didn't work at first, and she said, "Fuck!" I told her I would have given her a light, but I had recently lost mine. I was trying normalize the conversation. But she would have none of it. She was angry, probably embarrassed, wanted to blame me, and saw me now as simply a reminder that things had not gone well.
She ignored my questions as she finally got her light to turn on, and then set it to blink-mode, until I asked how far she still had to go. She tersely answered, "Robbinsdale." Well, I knew where that was, since I taken the bus there a few times now. She had another 6-8 miles to go.
I just said, "Really?" She went silent again, mounted her bike and adjusted the light. I was worried about her when all of this had first happened, but now her chilly demeanor lessened my concern. I started to say something again as she departed. She didn't give a shit. She never asked about how I was--even though I was fine. As I saw her little white blinking light fade into the distance, I hoped she would be okay, but I was not as concerned as I could have been. These things happen.
In thousands of miles of walking, I have never collided with anything or anybody. This was a fluke. Nevertheless, I vowed to myself that during any night walking would now wear the red LED arm band that my friend, Jeff had sent with the tent.
I got back to the house around 10:45 pm, and then worked there until 2:00 am, when I had to quit and go lie down on the comfy couch, sleeping soundly until the morning came.
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