We didn't leave St. George until noon on Tuesday, already blazing hot, but we walked well all day and made our furthest stretch. A good twenty five miles on the day, and we put up the tent on the lawn next to a hair salon, after raiding a little hotel of about half of its ice.
In the morning we got a good breakfast before heading out of town, then crossed a long, closed to traffic bridge over Lake Marion. By one, sitting behind a gas station drinking sweet tea, the Clarks found us and got us to a hotel in Manning. Later in the day they shuttled us to Sumter, fifteen miles off the route, to find a new backpack for me, as the one I left home with had started, in the previous couple of days, to fall apart pretty badly. After finding a good one we ate dinner and then drove back to the hotel, and I spent the rest of the night tinkering with my new setup.
Thursday morning we met up with Tiffany (Soles4Souls Nashville connection from last trip), who is from the Manning area, at a school for the children of migrant workers. A good bunch of volunteers came to assist with the distribution, and it didn't take long to get all of the children a new pair of shoes.
And then, after a bunch of photographs and some hugs, Timothy and the Clarks got back aboard the S4S RV and headed for Columbia without me. Allan and Silvana dropped Timothy off at the airport on their way to Nashville, and Timothy got on a plane and was home before midnight.
His decision to leave had been brewing for a while, and though I won't pretend to understand exactly what he was feeling, I think that I can hit on the main focus by saying that Tim is a much more social guy than I, and being away from friends and family, regardless of where you're at or what you're doing, is difficult. Also, for being such a slow and deliberate thing walking is incredibly unstable and hard to predict. Each day is different, and there is no way to judge exactly what's going to happen - who we'll meet or where we'll sleep, what we'll eat. Stability is hard to come by out here, and that makes it hard to find a good rhythm.
So certainly I've been readjusting to being by myself, not having somebody to talk to out in the middle of the swamp, but things are going well.
Friday night, shy of the little town of Effingham the sky darkened quickly and I stopped to rest in front of a church before it started raining. Not long after sitting down under the awning a few cars and trucks drove up and parked behind the church, and a man named Jeremy came to the front door and invited me inside for dinner.
The men's fellowship of the church treated me with incredible generosity. After two plates of bog rice, sweet potato casserole, green beans and Cole slaw I told a little bit about my walk, and the organization, and Jeremy made a movement to give the night's offering straight to me. Everyone else agreed, and I was handed an envelope, and have been eating well ever since.
I spent the night at a smaller building behind the church, out of the weather, and some other men from the church arrived to do some work in the morning and filled my pack with crackers, peanuts, and candy bars.
Saturday night I spent in Florence, Sunday in Floyd, and last night I camped in a small park here in Bennettsville, where I met some cool guys and hung out for the evening. I should be across the border into North Carolina by tonight.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
St. George
Thursday morning we gave away around 200 pairs of shoes at the Holy Spirit church in Savannah with the Clarks. The four of us went down to the waterfront for a little while afterwards, and then got lunch in a local Mexican place, before the RV dropped us off across the interstate bridge, on South Carolina soil. We walked to Hardeeville for the night and set up the tent not far from the hospital.
In the morning, sitting across the street at the McDonald's gas station, we met Patrick, a crazy old guy who said he's riding his bike from Key West to D.C. He claims to know Obama because he's from Hawaii, shortly after claiming something about being a Kennedy relative. From the moment we met Patrick he never stopped talking, telling crazy stories and creating a plan to ride with us, as we walk, and be our public relations guy, or something.
As we started walking he tagged along for a while, weaving in and out of traffic on his bike and signaling for every single truck that went by to honk its horn.
"Do you see that?" he says. "Now all those truckers are going to get on their radios and tell each other that you're here. Word spreads quickly, that's the six oclock news. Do you see how that works?" He has a hunched back, wears a reflective vest on top of a flowery Hawaiian button up, has on a baseball cap that says deputy sheriff and is bald but has a fairly long, ivory beard. He leaves after a while, saying that he has to meet somebody or another somewhere or another, but promising to be back.
By the time we make it to the next town, Ridgeland, it's getting late in the afternoon, and before we've found made it to the first gas station a white van pulls over and Patrick, riding shotgun, hops out eagerly and loads us up in the back. The guy driving the van is younger, in his late thirties or so, and seems ready to help us out but already a little frazzled by Patrick. His name is Ryan and he drives us to the Piggly Wiggly, then to the Waffle House where we get some food, and lets us know fairly quickly that "That other dude scares me, for some reason. I'm about to try and lose him." The notion is good by us, as we've grown pretty tired of Patrick and his constant insane babbling about following us. "But you guys are welcome to crash at my place tonight," Ryan continues. "I've got a three bedroom place and it's just me staying there right now."
So we get back in the van and drive back to the Piggly Wiggly, where we, along with Patrick, unload our stuff and start walking. Only a block or so down Ryan parks his van at a bar, and we convince Patrick to stop for a bit and have a beer. He parks his bike and bags out front, and we throw our bags in the back of the van. After a while Ryan is ready to go, and we leave Patrick talking somebody's ear off at the bar.
Ryan, it turns out, lives in Bluffton, which is quite a ways backtracking and off the route. He lives in a gated community and has a house right on the golf course, and he feeds us brats and we watch the world cup. As the night progresses he drinks quite a bit and opens up, and as an ex-marine gunnery sergeant he has a lot on his chest. We get to bed late, him promising he'll be up by six to go to work and that he'll drop us off where we need to go.
By noon the next day we're still sitting on his couch, watching more of the world cup, and Ryan is still in his room sleeping. We let the Clarks know where we're at and they call a taxi and send it our way, and we get a ride up the road, back to our route.
Saturday we had a house to sleep in, as well, with some kids from Yemassee, then Sunday we got a hotel in Watersboro and slept last night behind a church in St. George.
In the morning, sitting across the street at the McDonald's gas station, we met Patrick, a crazy old guy who said he's riding his bike from Key West to D.C. He claims to know Obama because he's from Hawaii, shortly after claiming something about being a Kennedy relative. From the moment we met Patrick he never stopped talking, telling crazy stories and creating a plan to ride with us, as we walk, and be our public relations guy, or something.
As we started walking he tagged along for a while, weaving in and out of traffic on his bike and signaling for every single truck that went by to honk its horn.
"Do you see that?" he says. "Now all those truckers are going to get on their radios and tell each other that you're here. Word spreads quickly, that's the six oclock news. Do you see how that works?" He has a hunched back, wears a reflective vest on top of a flowery Hawaiian button up, has on a baseball cap that says deputy sheriff and is bald but has a fairly long, ivory beard. He leaves after a while, saying that he has to meet somebody or another somewhere or another, but promising to be back.
By the time we make it to the next town, Ridgeland, it's getting late in the afternoon, and before we've found made it to the first gas station a white van pulls over and Patrick, riding shotgun, hops out eagerly and loads us up in the back. The guy driving the van is younger, in his late thirties or so, and seems ready to help us out but already a little frazzled by Patrick. His name is Ryan and he drives us to the Piggly Wiggly, then to the Waffle House where we get some food, and lets us know fairly quickly that "That other dude scares me, for some reason. I'm about to try and lose him." The notion is good by us, as we've grown pretty tired of Patrick and his constant insane babbling about following us. "But you guys are welcome to crash at my place tonight," Ryan continues. "I've got a three bedroom place and it's just me staying there right now."
So we get back in the van and drive back to the Piggly Wiggly, where we, along with Patrick, unload our stuff and start walking. Only a block or so down Ryan parks his van at a bar, and we convince Patrick to stop for a bit and have a beer. He parks his bike and bags out front, and we throw our bags in the back of the van. After a while Ryan is ready to go, and we leave Patrick talking somebody's ear off at the bar.
Ryan, it turns out, lives in Bluffton, which is quite a ways backtracking and off the route. He lives in a gated community and has a house right on the golf course, and he feeds us brats and we watch the world cup. As the night progresses he drinks quite a bit and opens up, and as an ex-marine gunnery sergeant he has a lot on his chest. We get to bed late, him promising he'll be up by six to go to work and that he'll drop us off where we need to go.
By noon the next day we're still sitting on his couch, watching more of the world cup, and Ryan is still in his room sleeping. We let the Clarks know where we're at and they call a taxi and send it our way, and we get a ride up the road, back to our route.
Saturday we had a house to sleep in, as well, with some kids from Yemassee, then Sunday we got a hotel in Watersboro and slept last night behind a church in St. George.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Savannah
I first met Timothy Fleming in the Canon City bowling alley roughly three and a half years ago, and thought fairly quickly that we could be friends, something that I don't normally feel around people that I've just met. It wasn't until a year and a half later, though, that we met again, this time in a Trig class at Canon City high school, and then acting together in the fall play there. Bowling, it turned out, was the thing that we did most for a while, and we became better and better friends throughout the school year.
Last fall, while both of us were going to community college in Canon I lived with Timothy and his family, renting a room from them, and though I felt that this qualified us for knowing how to live with each other, this, of course, is the real test. Though partially I feel that this trip is a way of fleeing my other life, and though Timothy represents a large part of that other life, as yet I have been thankful that he is here. Timothy reminds me every day more or what remains intact at home, that doesn't change. For being such a slow and constant thing, walking is unpredictable. There is no way to judge what will happen on any specific day upon waking, no way to say whether that day will yeild wealth of joy or pain, and what a friend walking alongside represents is a glimmer of solidity, and certainty.
Georgia has been taking care of us pretty well, aside from the June heat. Though there is still a lot of initial hesitation toward us, and questioning looks, more than anything we're greeted with curiousity and smiles upon entering a gas station or a grocery store, and we're consistently given little gifts to help us along.
Walking a couple of miles out of the little town of Woodbine on Friday a man pulled over in a red truck and handed two cold bottles of Gatorade out his window, along with a Frisbee disc that I had been carrying, which had apparently fallen off my pack at some point. No more than two miles later a white truck pulled over, following us into the shade of the trees for a break, and a woman, who we presumed to be the man's wife, gave us two bottles of Powerade.
"Some more drinks for you," she said. "And remember, the south isn't very friendly."
Timothy turned 21 Sunday. We sat for a good majority of the day outside of a Piggly Wiggly, then walked in the evening and through the cool of the night until one thirty before setting up our tent by the road. The only real celebrating we managed was the smoking of cigars in the ditch at eleven thirty or twelve, and I can't help but knowing that Timothy could have had a better time if he had still been at home.
But the last couple of days have been nice. We're in the city now, taking a couple of days off from the crazy heat via the Clarks, who picked us up by the side of road in the middle of the hottest day yet. Tomorrow morning we have our second distribution, and then we'll be heading out again.
Last fall, while both of us were going to community college in Canon I lived with Timothy and his family, renting a room from them, and though I felt that this qualified us for knowing how to live with each other, this, of course, is the real test. Though partially I feel that this trip is a way of fleeing my other life, and though Timothy represents a large part of that other life, as yet I have been thankful that he is here. Timothy reminds me every day more or what remains intact at home, that doesn't change. For being such a slow and constant thing, walking is unpredictable. There is no way to judge what will happen on any specific day upon waking, no way to say whether that day will yeild wealth of joy or pain, and what a friend walking alongside represents is a glimmer of solidity, and certainty.
Georgia has been taking care of us pretty well, aside from the June heat. Though there is still a lot of initial hesitation toward us, and questioning looks, more than anything we're greeted with curiousity and smiles upon entering a gas station or a grocery store, and we're consistently given little gifts to help us along.
Walking a couple of miles out of the little town of Woodbine on Friday a man pulled over in a red truck and handed two cold bottles of Gatorade out his window, along with a Frisbee disc that I had been carrying, which had apparently fallen off my pack at some point. No more than two miles later a white truck pulled over, following us into the shade of the trees for a break, and a woman, who we presumed to be the man's wife, gave us two bottles of Powerade.
"Some more drinks for you," she said. "And remember, the south isn't very friendly."
Timothy turned 21 Sunday. We sat for a good majority of the day outside of a Piggly Wiggly, then walked in the evening and through the cool of the night until one thirty before setting up our tent by the road. The only real celebrating we managed was the smoking of cigars in the ditch at eleven thirty or twelve, and I can't help but knowing that Timothy could have had a better time if he had still been at home.
But the last couple of days have been nice. We're in the city now, taking a couple of days off from the crazy heat via the Clarks, who picked us up by the side of road in the middle of the hottest day yet. Tomorrow morning we have our second distribution, and then we'll be heading out again.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Kingsland, GA
Timothy got here Sunday in the late afternoon, dropped off by aunt, uncle, and cousin from near Pensacola. Two blocks up the road they picked us up again and took us out to eat, and then back on the route we walked into downtown Jacksonville. The first place we tried to sleep for the night was on some sort of deck with a roof at a community college, and though it didn't seem like there was anybody around, we were woken up around one or so by a couple of security officers, saying that we had to leave. So we packed up our stuff and wandered in circles for a bit, then found another spot outside Jacksonville's huge Baptist church and went to sleep again. At three thirty a security guard found us and simply yelled "Alright, time to wake up!" before walking away with his flashlight, examing shrubs and the like. We waited a little bit, and it didn't seem like he was coming back so we simply went back to sleep. At five thirty he found us again and yelled "Hey, I'm not going to ask you again! You need to leave!" A few blocks away we found a condemned building with a big porch, and slept there until seven thirty when a police car showed up, called to duty by some friendly neighbor or another. The deputy ran our id's and then drove us back to the downtown library. All in all it wasn't a good night for Timothy's first on the road.
Tuesday we met the Clarks, Allan and Silvana, who drive the Soles4Souls motor home around the country. They picked us up at noon and took us to lunch, then we drove to our first distribution and gave away shoes to foster children and families throughout the afternoon. In the evening, after driving to the beach and eating dinner, they put us up in a hotel for the night, and got us back on our route north of Jacksonville yesterday morning. The Clarks have been in the big blue motor home for a year and a half, and will be giving us support along the way as we go through distribution cities. They are both wonderfully energetic about what they do, and we look forward to meeting up with them again in Savannah.
Last night we crossed into Georgia, after 400 miles of Florida coast, and put up our tent on a grassy corner. Things have certainly changed, now that Timothy is here, and I think there will be a transition period for both of us, but for the most part it's a good change, as far as I'm concerned.
Tuesday we met the Clarks, Allan and Silvana, who drive the Soles4Souls motor home around the country. They picked us up at noon and took us to lunch, then we drove to our first distribution and gave away shoes to foster children and families throughout the afternoon. In the evening, after driving to the beach and eating dinner, they put us up in a hotel for the night, and got us back on our route north of Jacksonville yesterday morning. The Clarks have been in the big blue motor home for a year and a half, and will be giving us support along the way as we go through distribution cities. They are both wonderfully energetic about what they do, and we look forward to meeting up with them again in Savannah.
Last night we crossed into Georgia, after 400 miles of Florida coast, and put up our tent on a grassy corner. Things have certainly changed, now that Timothy is here, and I think there will be a transition period for both of us, but for the most part it's a good change, as far as I'm concerned.
Friday, June 4, 2010
St. Augustine
I can see why people come to Florida. For one, though I've been to the ocean a few times, on and off, until now I've never really spent much time near it, and the longer that I do the more I enjoy it. A lot of my route, for the past few days especially, on highway A1A, is essentially right on the water, with nothing in between the road and the beach, and around noon, when the sun really starts to bake, it's a welcome relief to jot over and splash around for a while. The inland river is close by, too, now, and last night I camped in the dunes near its inlet.
Certainly people have been taking care of me. Sunday, after staying the night in my tent, by the road, I walked a few miles before stopping by a church a little before noon, where I found myself invited to a pot-luck lunch. Later in the day, in the town of New Smyrna Beach, a family saw me walking down the street and called me over. I was fed another meal, and given the offer to stay for the night, but I decided to walk another few miles before turning in behind a church.
Tuesday, after visiting the library in the morning, I was picked up by an older guy name Paul, a retired New York school teacher who took me to his boat club. I took a shower and then we got on his boat and rode around the waterway for an hour before getting lunch at a place just off the dock. Afterwards, Paul took me back to the corner where he picked me and sent me on my way with a hug.
And Wednesday night, walking down the highway a little beyond Flagler Beach, I was called over by a couple named Oliver and Leanne, and their baby daughter Trinity. They seem to be fellow adventuring spirits, and they fed me dinner and supplied me with the fourth book of the trip, as I'd just finished reading my last.
So yes, I'm finding plenty of people who go out of their way to make my day, and I feel strong, and I'm walking well. Timothy comes over Sunday, and I'm looking forward to it immensely.
Certainly people have been taking care of me. Sunday, after staying the night in my tent, by the road, I walked a few miles before stopping by a church a little before noon, where I found myself invited to a pot-luck lunch. Later in the day, in the town of New Smyrna Beach, a family saw me walking down the street and called me over. I was fed another meal, and given the offer to stay for the night, but I decided to walk another few miles before turning in behind a church.
Tuesday, after visiting the library in the morning, I was picked up by an older guy name Paul, a retired New York school teacher who took me to his boat club. I took a shower and then we got on his boat and rode around the waterway for an hour before getting lunch at a place just off the dock. Afterwards, Paul took me back to the corner where he picked me and sent me on my way with a hug.
And Wednesday night, walking down the highway a little beyond Flagler Beach, I was called over by a couple named Oliver and Leanne, and their baby daughter Trinity. They seem to be fellow adventuring spirits, and they fed me dinner and supplied me with the fourth book of the trip, as I'd just finished reading my last.
So yes, I'm finding plenty of people who go out of their way to make my day, and I feel strong, and I'm walking well. Timothy comes over Sunday, and I'm looking forward to it immensely.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
