I woke up after a restless night of tossing and turning. It was like one of my form filling dreams, but filled with images of gray days. In these dreams I was trying to compose a day's post, but kept getting distracted. I kept looking up and the sky would be an even gray, like skim milk with a drop of coffee mixed in. I would have tried to sleep again later if there more time. But, as the schedule was tight, I was just happy to get up and get going.
I cut my beard very short and did a close shave on my neck and cheeks, and took a shower. As I've done many times now, I had to buy a large shampoo at the Dollar Tree a couple days before, because that's the only size they have. It only costs a dollar, but seems like a waste to leave behind. There was no way I was going to haul it around. I got dressed in all clean clothes, brushed my teeth and, opening the curtains, saw the rain still falling hard.
It was 9:30 a.m. Intellicast.com said the rain would stop by 11:00. I was depending on their usual reliability. Sure enough, around 10:50, the rain lightened. When 11:00 rolled around, I left to stand at the bus stop. The bus arrived about twenty minutes later. I wasn't quite sure whether I'd return to West Athens to spend New Year's Eve or camp closer to my route out of town near the post office...
Goodbye Room 108.
By the time I got downtown, I decided not to go back west. Still needed to find the post office and pick up my new waterproof tarp. Riding the bus all the way to the Transit Station, I got off and asked around for another bus; one that might take me to Olympic Drive and the post office. There were none, and the rain started up again. I'd seen online that morning that the radar showed no rain for the afternoon. This had to just be a freak shower.
I left in the general direction I needed to go, hoping to hit Olympic. After a wrong turn, and an attempt to stand under a very leaky canopy, the rain finally lessened again and I finally found Olympic. It was a three mile walk to the post office--a nondescript brick building with no sign by the roadside. Since it was the only place that people were driving in and out of and had mailboxes outside--had to be it. I walked in and grabbed an envelope to send the last of my memorabilia from the North West and my trip down the eastern Mississippi to my sister in Maine, then waited in line for forty minutes (not an exaggeration). When I finally got to the counter the nice lady posted my envelope as I asked her for the General Delivery package that should have arrived.
She took my ID and turned around to find the only such package--a small box from Amazon (although I bought it through Ebay?). It was just nice to finally have it. Before heading back outside I opened it and found my rather light unassuming tarp. It was 7' x 7', a perfect size; with a very strong water proof finish on the business side. It could be used under the tent when it wasn't raining and over the tarp/fly when it was raining. Only when I left did I see the small words on the building indicating where I had just spent near an hour...
A good purchase. Fit right into my pack beside my clothes.
The rain may have stopped, but the sky was as gray as my dreams the night before seemed to have predicted...
Olympic Drive. No shoulder to speak of. I moved over onto the grass whenever a vehicle
looked like they weren't going to give me enough space. Usually, this was because they were texting
(eyes down, or phone held up to their face--a reliable and regular occurrence).
This put me at constant risk for stepping through onto one of the large ant hills that ran
along the side of the road. One false move and I would be covered with angry insects.
By far the most common creature to be hit, the simple minded opossum.
This one looked like he had just decided to take a nap there.
The sun appeared in a washed out and faded way. Olympic Drive curved way around finally ending up at an intersection that I prayed would be Route 72. There was a rare store; a Chevron station, so I took advantage of it to buy Gatorade and a "smoked ham sandwich". I ate the sandwich (which was simply the saltiest thing I'd ever eaten) and drank about 1/3 of the Gatorade. With only $5 left I had to reserve as much drink as possible--there were still sixty miles to go...
Fortunately, the intersection was with Route 72. I took a right and started what would be a ten mile hike to the next town...
Not a winner of the highway rat race.
Every time I passed cows on this hike, they would run up and stand there staring at me.
I passed through a kind of "non-town" called Hull. There were some houses, but it was basically a tributary of Athens. It seemed like a very long walk, made longer by dreary scenery. My left heel was just beginning to hurt. But, truly, the most difficult thing of all is the mental aspect of spending hours with nothing to do but walk and think. I went into drifting mode.
I was really thirsty at this point and knew I'd need to drink another third of the Gatorade, but that would not leave enough for the coming night, morning, or walk the next day. As soon as I entered the town of Colbert I kept a busy eye out for any kind of store. There was only one; a Valero. It was time to sacrifice another $2 for more Gatorade. I could go without food, but liquid was an absolute necessity. I have to say though, burning a thousand calories a day, while not being able to eat, does suck.
People were very generous with donations while I languished with nowhere to go in Athens. But, not enough had come in for the last few days--except the generous motel night, even with my multiple announcements of the length and intensity of the trip I'd be undertaking. Just like subject matter, there is no reliable means to anticipate funding. Whenever I was all set, I'd get even more. When I was traveling, hungry and desperate, I'd get nothing. It was what it was. It is what it is. I can't stop just because I can't eat. In fact, that is an even bigger reason to go farther, harder, and faster--which we will see...
I had a break outside the station, took off Saggy and let my the back of my shirt dry as much as possible--which wasn't much. It was soaked all the way down with sweat, and the temperature was falling quickly. The front of the pack dried more quickly, but putting it back on delivered a very cold sensation to my back from the remaining sweat. Thankfully, once walking again it didn't take long to heat up. I thought much about my ideas for a new backpack design with an elevated mesh cage that could separate the pack from the back, allowing an air space.
Shortly after beginning the forced march again, I saw a sleek black Ford Mustang approaching. It pulled over into the meager break down lane, suddenly flashing its blue lights. It was the Madison County Sheriff's Deputies. This kind of thing had never happened in over seven thousand miles of travel. I knew I was not doing anything illegal and they were just checking me out. No one is truly free to travel by foot in this country--be assured.
Two large gentleman got out and approached me. The one from the passenger's seat was the elder, the one driving was still in training. We exchanged our pleasantries. The elder, Deputy Langford (Badge Number 7609) did most of the talking. "So, where ya headed to?" I told him, eventually, Anderson. He laughed and nodded to the younger guy - Deputy Elrod (Badge Number 7621) - saying "Didn't I tell ya, he was goin' to Anderson?" Deputy Elrod nodded back with a half-smile.
Immediately, and to save a lot of cat and mouse, I told them I was a journalist crisscrossing the country, writing a blog and reporting from street level. Deputy Elrod stepped closer and asked if I had my ID on me. In another circumstance I might have questioned whether I was being detained. No citizen is required to produce an ID, nor give any identifying information, unless he/she is being detained--which requires suspicion or a charge. And, a charge would mean that I was being arrested. Of course refusing to give an ID immediately makes you look "suspicious", which then gives the police the excuse to say you are being detained. It's a catch 22 and it is a side effect of a somewhat unjust system. I knew well what my rights were. I'm a fairly well-informed guy when it comes to civil rights.
However, sizing up the situation, and seeing that they were not being aggressive, with both seeming genuinely interested in my project, I produced the ID and handed it to Deputy Elrod, who immediately got on his shoulder radio and called it in, while Deputy Langford and I shot the shit. I also (since I was opening up myself voluntarily now) gave Deputy Langford a business card. Then came up the subject of "So, what do you do at night?"
I told them that I usually stop and rest until I'm able to walk again, but sometimes spend the night in motels when I can afford it. I did not offer that I also camped--letting the "stop and rest" cover that. I just didn't want to get into it. I didn't want all the questions about where I camped, nor the lecture on property rights and the rules about public property. There would also be the inevitable warnings about wild animals, etc. I had heard all of these from non-law enforcement a thousand times by then.
Eventually, when Deputy Elrod got back the positive affirmation that, indeed the ID was me, I was given it back. I asked if I had been doing something wrong. Deputy Langford was quick to assure me that I was perfectly within my rights to walk and do what I was doing. Phew! Glad, I had the approval of a police officer! "We just wanted to make sure you aren't an axe murderer or something," he joked. Even though, normally, most people would take that lightly, on the inside, I said to myself: I wonder if everyone who chooses to walk and not drive, or carry a backpack is checked to make sure they aren't axe murderers?
I was clearly being stereotyped and profiled. It was a violation of my civil rights--technically. I allowed it to happen which negated the violation part, because I thought that standing up for my rights would have caused me more problems than just bending over and acting ignorant about the process.
I want to be exceedingly clear about something: These two gentlemen were genuinely motivated by good intentions (although I was also being used as a way to train officer Elrod--something that perhaps I should have been consulted about beforehand and/or compensated for afterward). I'm not a training tool. My time and freedom is just as important as anyone else's. I am a human being. I am a free citizen with no criminal record, freely walking across my own nation.
What I DESIRE in the future is free passage, without being pulled over for looking different; without being suspect, just because of my choice of transit; without being afraid to assert my civil rights for fear of retribution, because an officer is potentially abusing his authority--which (the authority) by the way, comes from ME, as a good, lawful and hardworking citizen of this country. I was not being "served and protected". I was being scrutinized and used.
But, what I EXPECT is quite a few more of these "just checking you out" stops. And, I promise the readers of this blog that I will steadily assert my rights to a greater and greater extent as they happen. Let this blog entry be the pretext and precedent by which I may fall back when I am stopped in the future.
Civilly, and with great respect, the two deputies offered to give me a ride to the county line. We discussed distances and route intersections for awhile, and I - as graciously as possible - declined their offer. After all, this was my job, and I was doing it. I didn't want to set up a pattern of transit-by-police-car all the way to Maine. To his credit, Deputy Langford genuinely expressed that he thought what I was doing was admirable. I asked for their business cards in case I had any trouble or was stopped again, which they kindly gave me.
By this time, I'd lost a couple miles and the sun was going down, making my journey along this highway - with minimal space to walk on a night when drunk drivers were sure to by swerving by (as the two officers reminded me) - quite unsafe. So, I fully intended to find a place to sleep immediately...
Sunset in Colbert, Georgia.
Soon afterward, I saw a stretch of public (I assumed) land where I could get across and up a small hill into the woods. I found a good level spot right away and began setting up the tent. This time--since the forest floor was still damp from the rain, I was able to lay down the new tarp folded in half on the ground with the waterproofing on the bottom and the tent-side, to keep moisture off the tent's base.
When everything was assembled, I crawled in and pulled out the clean dry sleeping bag. This was a real treat. Nothing smelled, nothing was damp, the tent was clean and so was I. I fell asleep at about 8:00 p.m.
When everything was assembled, I crawled in and pulled out the clean dry sleeping bag. This was a real treat. Nothing smelled, nothing was damp, the tent was clean and so was I. I fell asleep at about 8:00 p.m.
Around 10:00 p.m., I woke to huge explosions. Of course...fireworks. These were town displays. After the were done, the local residents had their way with rockets of their own, constantly bursting all the way through to about 3:00 a.m. In between these, were large amounts of gunfire.
This was a welcoming in the New Year with plenty of sound and celebrating with potentially violent behavior. Perhaps it was a good metaphor for how 2016 was going to be? Honestly, I really think it was. I slept off and on, being used to having loud sounds around me overnight.
Near my sleep spot.
New tarp on the ground.
Colbert, Georgia Sleep Spot.
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FORTY MINUTES!! Good grief. Was it because they moved t - h - a - t ssss-llll-ooooo-ww or long lines?
ReplyDeleteI know! Right? They moved that slow. Can't even use a long line as an excuse. Ha!
Delete