A Living Magazine - Day 245 - Homecoming - Yadkin to Lexington

It was a party in my hometown of Yarmouth. Quite a  few of you were there. I was a bit buzzed and decided to explore the house--an old mansion. So many rooms, on and on... And, in one of them was an old friend from long ago. She was just coming out after getting dressed and her eyes... wow! They brought a lot of things together for me. She had been behind so many strange dreams. That's what I suddenly thought--I had no idea.

To see her again as a woman and not just a friend startled me. She was so beautiful. It was summer dry, not humid, but still hot. On this night though, when she walked out into the field behind the house with me, gusts of warm wind kept slapping her dress out beside her, and my hair was working its way out of the elastic.

Strange how in different places one can become so immersed in their stories and legends that it is as if one had been there all along. She had had a rough last two decades with a husband who was very verbally abusive. All she wanted was a change. And, for some reason she saw this in me. We walked back up into the house, then climbed the stairs to a room with a balcony outside. Though a multi-paned window was the indigo glow of the moon on the grass below. She kissed me. It was the only kiss I'd had in many, many years and I enjoyed it immensely. I realized this was her mansion and I had the strangest feeling that it would soon be my new home...

* * * * * * *

I woke up feeling like I'd already slept all night. But, when I checked my watch it was 3:00 a.m. I had to go pee and when I opened the tent I was drenched in bright yellow moonlight... 

The mist all around and the moon above was like a painting. All was still. The only sound came from I-85 which ran parallel and very close to 29. I had expected to hear coyotes somewhere, but they weren't around. I missed them. This part of North Carolina seems to be a bit thin on wild animals. The only animals I'd seen were dogs short-chained in backyards--usually barking at me and stray cats darting in and out of alleyways and store properties. There were definitely a disproportionate amount of dead cats on the side of the road.

I was feeling wide awake. I closed up the flap, lay back down, and thought about how much I was looking forward to having my own land someday. I imagined all that I would do, from the very first day forward. If I could cross the country and stick to as crazy a plan as I had up to this point, surely I could work a piece of land, build a house, and live the life I had been waiting to experience all these years. Surely...

Then my mind returned to the dream from which I had just awoken. The temptation was to ask, what did it mean? And then, why her? Something told me that she had something to do with the strange dream I had in Mobile. There was some kind of domestic future for me if I could complete this Journey. Or, so my intuition was telling me. I asked the Spark, but it was still and silent. I thought about so many things, but couldn't lie on my back anymore. As soon as I turned over on my left side and zipped up the sleeping bag again, I fell back asleep.

When the watch alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. I was much more tired than I had been during those early hours. Yet, I knew I couldn't just keep sleeping. I was too visible. The tarp/fly was completely soaked from dew and condensation. I would have let the sun come up and dry it, but that just wasn't an option on this morning.

I still had to get to Lexington. And, there were about twelve miles to go. I said outloud what I always say when I have to buck up and get moving in the morning: "Okay, let's do this thing!" Pack up was fully automatic at this point. I got the pack on my back and headed down the hill...

A look back at the sleep spot. I would recommend this place to future Nomads.

The road I was looking for was Old Salisbury which was also Route 150. I always found it interesting how only the most basic information is listed highway signs. And they are understandably made for drivers, not walkers.

On the sign above Route 52 was the correct way--though it should have also shown that 52 would go left, but there was no listing of Route 150. Thankfully, this time I had studied the area very heavily before setting off from Salisbury. I knew that even though Route 52 was not shown at the scale I viewed Google Maps, there would be no other possibility for finding 150. So, Google had 150, the sign had 52, and it was up to me to work out the details.

Within a mile and a half I took the left onto 52, then recognized the turn off onto 150 when I saw this sign...

This would be a country road; a nice change from the highway walk. There still wasn't much of a shoulder, but I'd gotten used to that. The nice thing about this stretch was the lesser amount of traffic. Especially iconic was the first cotton field I'd seen in the South...

I wanted to jump down, turn around...

I went over to the grass and picked up a ball of cotton. It still had the seed shell attached. How cool was this? I'd never actually seen raw cotton. It was so clean. I was surprised at how pure white it was. If I was camping near this place for a period of time, I could gather up a large pillow's worth. If I had extra material I could have made a quilt. I loved the idea that scraps left over could still be useful. I continued on...

No realty sign for this house.

Interesting name for a church. It reminded me of the other Heaven's Gate.

A kind of pho-antebellum house, in some need of repair.

A female wren just like the one I'd found in China Grove--not as fortunate.

My stomach growled for food. I hadn't eaten anything since being sick a couple days before. Weak and needing fuel, I was surprised at not having any real desire for it. But I figured - correctly - that once I started eating my appetite would return. I came around a curve in the road and saw a Subway sign at the first gas station I'd run across in many, many miles...

Hey, can't go wrong! The Spark agreed.

Not really expecting to get online, I asked the sandwich artist if they had Wi-Fi. They did! Though they were lacking outlets, it would at least be a chance for me to touch base with my peeps. And, I had enormous spicy Italian to enjoy...

No Big Mac today!

I processed pictures and worked on a post as the afternoon hours ticked by. People came and went. At first it was families stopping in after church. Then it was highway travelers. Eventually a sheriff showed up, then another, then two deputies, then another sheriff. I listened to these gentlemen talk about some recent stuff they had dealt with. Police are so much different when they're taking a break. They just seemed like regular good ole boys, shooting the shit; laughing, telling jokes and stories. 

Most prominent among the storytellers was the deputy who looked like the youngest member of the group. He had the others in stitches. They asked him about a recent call he'd gone to--"the junkyard guy." This gave him a chance to really let loose...

He had been driving south along I-85 when he received a call about a guy who had apparently seen a trespasser on his property. He got off at the next exit, put on his blues and raced to the far northern part of Yadkin. After making his way down a very rough road - "felt like the cruiser was going to disintegrate!" - he turned into the driveway of a gun-wielding fella.

The guy was beside himself with anger. Mostly, said the deputy, he was pissed off at his dog who apparently never picked up the scent of this supposed trespasser. Together, the two men walked the perimeter of the property, which was a junk car lot. They found nothing. Then, when they returned to the driveway, a guy walked around the edge of the garage. The property owner got all excited and immediately raised the shotgun, but the deputy told him to stand down. It was a good thing too, since the "intruder" was actually the owner's brother paying a surprise visit. That's why the dog didn't attack. One of the sheriffs joked that these are the important calls they get. I guessed it was a good thing that no banks were being robbed.

The battery on the laptop was nearly dead when I noticed how dark the sky had become. I needed to get going. Unfortunately, I would not get to see Lexington in the daytime. My cousin had suggested I get some BBQ on the way out, and I thought that sounded good. I could bag it and keep it for breakfast and lunch the next day. 

So, I packed up and went into Sparky's to buy a Gatorade for the night and next day. I purchased it from a nice guy who was obviously doing everything he could to stay busy--perhaps out of boredom. Stopping outside next to the window to packed the Gatorade into Saggy. I took off my sunglasses from their position resting on the hat, intending to put them in my thigh pocket. When I was ready to get going I hauled the pack over my back and made my way across the parking lot and back onto 150--Main Street, Lexington...

This would become a more common sight.

I'd gone about a mile when a truck went by and the wind behind it blew my hat off, almost over the railing of a bridge. I caught it in time and returned it to my numb skull. Then I thought about my sunglasses. I felt all the pockets on my pants and realized that I must have forgotten them at Sparky's. This was one of those times when I was faced with the choice of just leaving them or walking the mile back to Sparky's and then all the way back to where I was. It reminded me of when I left some food on a highway in Oregon and then walked back to find it. Shit!

I turned around and walked all the way back to Sparky's. I'd spent days looking to buy those glasses at just the right price, if I could get them back it would be worth it. When I approached the store I saw the cashier who had helped me. He was out emptying the trash. I asked him if he'd seen the glasses. He hadn't, and we both looked around to no avail. He asked about my IWALLK shirt. I hadn't been wearing it for promotional purposes (I never do). Instead, it was the most appropriate piece of clothing for the warm weather. He wondered if I was  walking for some kind of charity. I told him about the project.

He said he was a journalist too and had lost his job at the local paper when they cut back. I gave him a card. He said his name was Owen. We shook hands and I invited him to keep in touch. I knew he probably wouldn't. Ninety five percent of the people I give cards I never hear from again. When I began this Journey I thought a much higher percentage would send a message or friend me at Facebook. But it just hasn't worked out that way.

It was dark now and all I wanted to do is get all the way through town. I hadn't even scoped out any sleep spots. But I knew there had to be something on the other side of town. It was an especially long walk, about four miles.

Lexington looked like a neat place. It was too bad I couldn't have spent the day there in the downtown area. I snapped just a few shots, but was committed to finding a campsite before 8:00 p.m. I passed three BBQ places but they were all closed. Must have been some kind of Sunday hours thing...

An especially gorgeous example of perfectly proportionate columns.

Main street soon turned back into highway - Old 85 - and I lost my sidewalk. The weight of the pack, the darkness of the night, and the merciless and aggressive flow of traffic, highly motivated my search for a sleep spot. I passed by a Regency Inn and as divey as it looked, I was tempted to go see how much a room would be. But, I resisted. After crossing over a bridge I saw a section of land next to some sort of junk-car place.

It was a challenge getting down into the gulley. When I found relatively level ground, I noticed that every step I made had a stick under it. The place was a total mess. I kept finding spots and then while excavating them, would run into either mud or large roots that could not be moved. It was crap. I ccmy pack. But I was determined to make the best of it.

Finally, along the fence I found a spot where there was just enough leaf cover after the sticks were removed to fit the outline of the tent floor. I set everything up and had forgotten just how wet the tarp fly was from the morning. You can see the dark wet spots in this photo...  

Crappy place. I would not recommend this spot to future Nomads.

Nevertheless, I resigned myself to the situation, and said another oft-repeated little statement of mine: "It's only one night. Just get through the night." I stood around for a few minutes and contemplated everything. For some reason, since being sick, I'd felt a kind of dark shadow over everything I did and planned. It was as if my online friends and readers were some kind of fiction and I was actually doing all of this for no reason at all--like I had been walking around the country in a delusion. I felt very alone. This feeling would stick with me for the following days. I climbed into the tent then into the sleeping bag which was a bit damp. I just wanted to get to sleep and face the next day. It didn't take long.