Chapter 4 of Lady Goes Walkabout
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Day 21
Today I entered Texas, long dry and hot. I drove past rolling hills, and deep purple valleys. Later the land flattened out, and I drove on and on. It was a pretty day, and the driving was easy. The drive was so pretty because there were few towns, few shops and few billboards. I almost forgot to watch the gas tank. When I checked it, it was about half empty. I could not remember the last time I had seen a gas station. It had been so good to drive along uncluttered and natural landscapes, but now I worried. I drove and drove, watching the needle move closer to empty. I began to feel a little dread, what would I do if I ran out of gas? Should I stop before I run out? What good would that do? I kept driving, trying to maintain constant speed, hoping that would stretch my mileage out. Finally, just as the needle hit the space right above E, I saw a station. The gas price was high, but I didn’t care. It was a relief, and a lesson learned.
I drove so long that again I forgot to search for a more private campground, and again I ended up in a commercial site, right on the edge of town. I was, again, the only tent in a sea of RV’s. I set up, fixed a supper, and walked around looking at everyone’s camping homes. Some of the RV’s were larger than my first apartment, and some were small and cozy. A few people carried hanging plants and cute flags that they set out in front of their doors. That seemed a lot of work for a temporary place. I passed a few people sitting outside, but most of them were either inside or out somewhere. When I had paid for my campsite, I had learned that I could sign up for a tour of the local tourist spots. I learned that we would have a group fire later in the night and the staff would provide the fixings for S’mores.
I returned to my little home, and started writing here while the sun was setting. Just before it got dark I heard a loud radio blaring “The Yellow Rose of Texas”. A tractor pulling a trailer filled with hay was driving around past all the campsites, and all sorts of children came spilling out of their campers to ride. The hay ride passed by me three times, filled with kids and serenading us with the music. My first question was, where did these children come from, the entire campground had been quiet. My second question was, who turned the music up so loud, and how could I stop him? The hay ride ended in a field at the back of the campground, with a fire pit set up. I watched the camping guides start the fire, and the kids and parents gather around. I doubt I will get any sleep for quite a while.
Day 22
Last night I ended up walking over to the bonfire. There is something uniting and uplifting about sitting around a fire, staring into the flames. I ate one S’more, and I ended up visiting with a family that was driving across the country. It was a mother and her three kids. The campground hosts led us in songs and crazy skits, which I actually enjoyed but will never admit. The mother, Sara, and I decided to share breakfast in the morning. I woke up early, and drank my coffee in peace, not one person was stirring in the campground today. Once I saw the mom and the kids moving around outside of their pop up I walked over with my contribution to the meal. I had packaged oatmeal and a few bagels. Sara seemed genuinely happy to see me, and we chatted while preparing the food. She had a pancake mix in a huge plastic container that she prepared at home for the trip. We ended up eating pancakes, bacon, orange slices, and my oatmeal. The kids started telling me all about their trip across the country. It sounded like they were having a great adventure. After breakfast and cleaning up the kids all decided to wander into the field to play some game with rules I couldn’t understand. Sara and I sat on the picnic table and chatted. She told me she grew up backpacking, and to her camping was done out in the woods, no one around usually except her family. They carried all that they needed, often cooked over the fire, and ended each evening quietly watching sunsets and enjoying fires.
She and her children had decided to cross the country over the summer. They already had a pop up camper, so they took that with them. Mostly they were staying in the commercial campgrounds to save driving time. She initially found herself not enjoying the trip because of all the distractions, such as the loud hayride of last night. Then she realized her kids were having a great time, they were still playing in the woods or the outside, creating games as their imaginations led them. They loved all the goofy activities, they made friends with other children, and sometimes they just wanted to sit inside the camper and relax with their books. She chose places that had great day hikes, and pushed her children a little when needed. It was turning out to be a perfect vacation with a mix of the campy and the serene. The revelation that she had chosen to not enjoy the trip had hit her in another campground deep in the mountains of North Carolina. The kids had been invited to watch a movie in a neighbor’s RV and she had wanted to say no. TV had nothing to do with her trip, the whole idea had been to escape from that lifestyle, but her children had become good friends with the neighbor kids and they wanted to share an activity together. While they were all in watching the movie Sara had walked around the campground, like I do each night. Many of the people in that place were semi permanent visitors; the campers were more like their vacation homes. Each spot had a camper, with decorations and sometimes flowers in the mini yards. Most of the campers had awnings and they had strung little lights along the awnings and the poles holding them up. It made for a pretty rustic little town look. She realized that night she was trying to impose only one view of enjoyment on her family, and she decided, while enjoying those lights, to just find the fun without judging. Many styles of vacation, or travel were out there. Her kids were having a great time, and now she would too. They were still learning, bonding, and seeing places they had never seen before.
We ended up visiting until lunchtime. She had a day hike and picnic planned, and I was invited. Before leaving the little family began assembling peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to eat on the hike. One of the daughters made two, and proudly handed it to me.
“You are now one of us, the Have peanut butter will travel gang.”
They laughed, and it felt good to be included.
Day 23
The hike with my new friends had been great. I loved watching the kids as they saw new things. Sara and I enjoyed adult conversation. She told me the hardest part of this trip was only having children to talk with every day. It was also what made the trip special, but every once in a while another adult was nice. We hiked along a river, the pathway winding along with the water. We heard and saw lots of birds. Tall grasses covered the land as far as we could see. It was fairly hot, but clouds formed off to the west. Sarah kept an eye on the clouds, but didn’t seem bothered. After some time we found a large boulder on the edge of the water, and that was such a perfect place for our lunch that without words we all climbed up and found comfortable spots. The sandwiches were good, and we also had fruit and chips. One of the daughters laughed and said,
”If mom isn’t careful we will get so tired of PB&J that we may never eat it again.”
“It is simple, and when traveling simple is best.” Sara replied.
“I could go for a meat covered pizza right now,” said her son.
“Only if you carry it all the way out here.”
“Yeah, but it might be a peanut butter pizza,” teased his sister.
The sky was blue, with only one corner of the sky in cloud. The grasses were dusty green and the river a deeper blue. I could not imagine anything better.
“I could just stay here forever,” I sighed. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”
“The whole country has trails, every stop has at least public parks where you can walk. Stopping every day like this you really get a feel for how the country changes. You can see and feel the differences so much better than just taking an airplane and dropping into an environment, just so, without any context.”
I agreed. As much as I was enjoying this trip, this experiment, I had started doubting. Why was I doing this? Wouldn’t it be better to stay home, tend the house and yard, and just do whatever it was I always did? But today, sitting on the rock with my new friends, I knew this trip was valuable, even if I couldn’t quantify why.
We hiked on for a while. As the clouds built up we turned back. When we reached the parking area the wind picked up, and the air temperature cooled.
“Perfect timing,” said Sara, as the rain began to fall. The rain felt good on our dry skin, and the cool air was very welcome. We laughed and turned our faces up to the sky. I could actually see individual rain drops bending towards me as I looked up. Finally the son spoke up, “Can you unlock the car mom?”
We climbed in, wet but happy, and drove back towards the campground.
I thanked my new friends for a wonderful afternoon. We had stopped along the way back for a quick fast food supper. While eating we exchanged email addresses, and she gave me directions for an excellent hike further along my trip. I hated saying goodbye, as we both were packing up and moving on in the morning, but I was so glad to have met them.
I climbed into my tent, snuggled into the sleeping bag, and listened to the rain hitting the rain fly. It was wet outside, but I was dry. It had been a great day, and now I was tired, in the good I have hiked kind of way. I read a little, and of course am now writing in here. Good night.
Day 24
While driving today I thought about some of the things Sara had said. She was right in that crossing the country in a car gave me more insight into the changes as I passed through each state. I wondered how much more I would learn and see if I were walking across the country. The very idea sparked a level of enthusiasm in me, and I daydreamed for quite a while as the landscape became flatter and drier. I stopped for lunch at a public park, and in memory of my new friends I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. After lunch I walked a little around town, looking in the windows of shops and peeking into the yards of homes. I was from Georgia, where well-watered grass was a sign of a good and diligent homeowner. Out here, in the desert landscape, very few people had grass; it wasn’t natural. Grass was a greedy water guzzler, and it wasn’t worth it. The yards were landscaped with plants that could tolerate the drier weather. As I walked I passed one home with bright green grass. The yard looked so out of place, the green almost radiated in the unnatural color.
I found myself in the library, and after reading my emails I checked on my blog. Quite a few people had read the article on my walking. I had a couple of comments. One lady wrote about being depressed, and thought my idea of walking to improve mood was good. She hoped she would get out more. I wrote back encouraging her to walk right away. Another person wrote to me that my idea of travel seemed like a good one but wasn’t I afraid to be out alone as a woman? The world was a dangerous place, and anything could happen. This person ended by saying he would never want his daughter or wife to travel alone. I didn’t know how to reply to that person. After some thought I just said that I had only met good people and that I was very careful. He had planted a few doubts in my mind, though. He was right, the world could be dangerous, and a woman alone was more vulnerable.
I wrote about my two nights in commercial campgrounds and how friendly everyone had been. I wrote about the joy of the rainstorm at the end of a long and hot hike. I tried to share how all the sensations were good, the sweat and ache of muscles, the cool and wet of the rain, the breezes, all of it. I hoped any readers I had would see why the travel was worthwhile, even if slightly dangerous. I hoped that the lady that said she was depressed, and others like her, would take the actions necessary to fight the depression. I wrote another article comparing depression to diabetes. If a doctor told his patient he had diabetes, the patient would take whatever medicine was needed to improve his health. The patient would probably exercise, eat better, and learn more about this disease. Why is depression different? I really hoped others would read this and start walking, visit doctors, do whatever was needed.
I passed a nice afternoon in the library before returning to my car. I was trying to decide how far I wanted to drive today. I had marked an interesting campground in my guide book that was only 10 miles away. I could stop early, buy some groceries, and maybe find a good hike for the morning. I turned the key in my car, but it only made a clicking sound. I tried again, and again. I know almost nothing about cars. I check my oil, and fluids, and I keep it full of gas, usually. I lifted the hood of the car and looked uselessly at the engine. It was still there, and that was the extent of my knowledge. I looked around hopelessly at the town. I know no one here. I had no idea where to start. Finally I walked back to the library.
The librarian helped me find a garage with a good mechanic. He met me back at my car, and took a look at the engine.
“It’s still there.” I joked. He said nothing. I guess that wasn’t very funny anyway. After a few minutes he said he thought it might be a problem with the starter. It would probably take a few days. His shop was just around the corner, he put the car in neutral and we pushed it down the street and into his garage. He was quiet but seemed honest. I thanked him, took out of the car my pack and a few items, and walked down to a local hotel.
Day 25
I did it! I had been daydreaming about walking across the country, and today I did it! Of course I didn’t walk across the entire country, I just walked the ten miles to the next campground. This morning I talked to the mechanic, and told him I would be back in 3-4 days. I pulled out of my car all I thought I could carry in my pack. I chose the light tent, and the light stove. I took the map and some food, and the stove, and raingear.
When I left the garage I walked to the grocery store. Trying to remember what the hiking club had told me, I chose lightweight items. I pulled things out of their boxes, and did everything I could think of to reduce both space and weight. Then I started walking. It was that simple. I walked along a less busy road that followed the general path of the interstate, and I walked all day. The first thought I had when the car died was a feeling of helplessness. I felt abandoned in the middle of a strange town. Why was I helpless? With every step I took I a feeling of power grew in me. I followed a roadway, listened to birds and watched butterflies. The world moved past, and suddenly I had to sing, to yell.
“Whoo, hoo! Here I am, I am walking and no one can stop me!” I skipped, jogged, and then slowed down to walk again. My voice had not penetrated past the grasses to either side of the road. The birds did not care. I was fine with that.
When I got tired I stopped. When I saw shade I rested under the tree for a few minutes. When I saw a store or a gas station I used the rest room. I imagine I will have to solve that problem differently at some point, but why pass a free and clean indoor toilet when it is right there waiting for me?
At lunch time I walked up a hill, away from the road. I used my raincoat as a blanket to sit on, looking around first for ant hills or other surprises. I sat on the top of my hill, looking out at the road I was following, and ate my lunch. I could see farther off the busy interstate, and lines of cars moving along. I could see fast food restaurants, and I was glad to be eating outside, enjoying my clean meal.
After my break I walked back down to the road and continued the journey. Every once in a while a car passed by, and a few of them stopped to see if I needed help. I thanked them, but assured them I was fine. It was a different feeling than that first walk where I felt so strange that I couldn’t tolerate the looks of others. Later in the day I came to a town, and walked right through. I am sure I looked a little odd, carrying a pack, all hot and sweaty, but no one bothered me. I pulled out my map, the campground road was just ahead. I turned down the road, walked up to the entrance of the campground, and signed in. This campground is small, and quiet. I am sitting at the picnic table, waiting on my water for supper to boil. My tent is set up and I have all I need. A part of me feels abandoned, my car is 10 miles away, and I am here. Another part of me feels empowered, my car is 10 miles away, and I just walked off to my next location. Ha!
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