4/27: Delaware

This day will go down into my personal Hall of Fame, right up there with the train ride, Florian, Pat, Ciel, and Ken.

After the events of the night before, I awoke at the familiar time of 8:30 in a fittingly calm state of mind with the impressions, conversations, and realizations still resonating loudly in my head.

I was in no rush to do anything. In fact, one could infer that I was just dragging my feet. That was far from the case, I simply felt... synchronized. Doing things in their own time, and it was good! Chris was in the same state, and it took us nearly 4- hours to eat, shower, shave, and re- pack. The weather was again nearly perfect, for me anyhow, with a blazing sun and approaching 90 by the time we left the campground- at around noon.

We set up again on 404, but further out of town than before. We were now completely away from the Food Lion and Shell station, by a stop light. We figured that if we had no luck here, we'd try to swoon some unsuspecting Lewes- bound traveler at Food Lion but, after finally getting our thumbs in the air to go along with our sign, the idea quickly became moot.

We had only been there for 30- 45 minutes when a Prius pulled over and offered to take us as far as Laurel, Delaware. He assured us that Laurel's route 13 would take us straight to Lewes, and that Laurel was about half way there. That was good enough for us, and we were finally leaving the hospitality of Denton, and Maryland, behind us.

Brian looked to be in his mid- 20's, and was the perfect person to be our first ride. He is a biology grad who had recently returned from Osaka, Japan where he had taught English. Portland and Nicaragua were also on his list of possibilities. We got a kick out of that, especially considering our Latin America aspirations. He was very, very interesting to chat with, and we both felt that we would have enjoyed getting to know him more, if only we had longer than 30 or 40 minutes. He got our cards, and he's one I genuinely hope makes it to the website.

Brian dropped us at a busy intersection in Laurel, right at route 9, and hurried off to his dental appointment. Chris and I crossed the highway, bypassing the gas station, finding a sign that said "No Stopping or Standing". We found this appropriate... since we'd be sitting.

We never got to even sit down; Ben and John are now officially the quickest ride I have ever gotten. They had seen us walking, and turned around to catch us offering to take us to Georgetown, about half of the remaining 28 miles to Lewes. These two seemed to be a couple of guys that I would love to guzzle beer with. Ben was a direct, borderline abrasive, guy that told you precisely what he thought whether you liked it or not. I liked his authenticity immediately, and felt right at home. John was a big guy who reminded me of my nephew. He struck me as a person who liked the notion that he has a rough exterior, but once you got to know him, you would realize that there was much more to him. I enjoyed this ride immensely, and when Ben said he would have taken us all the way to the Lewes Ferry if he had more gas, I was more than happy to offer him $5 to finish this leg of the trip. He accepted, and before long we were all the way thru Delaware and sitting in front of the Lewes- Cape May Ferry terminal. I snapped their picture, and we were off to get our $10 tickets.

We had gotten thru Delaware in less than 2- hours, and I had not gotten to get to know it nearly as well as eastern Maryland. I did see enough to realize that it is a pretty, albeit flat, state with a very "Oregon" vibe. I had not seen much, but liked what I did!

4/26: A Day in Denton

This is the day that we may, quite possibly, look back upon as the day we hit our stride.
After our conversation Saturday, we awoke in the field with a decidedly different mentality: relaxed & unhurried; side- car passengers. We had been working into a pattern of rising earlier, and were up and out of bivy on our way to the Shell station by 9:30. The dayplan: hitching a ride. My heel needed a break, and Chris was enthusiastically taking to the Relax- Enjoy- Slow Down method. This day had a much different feel to it than the rest.

The weather was sweltering, with a blistering sun, and temps hovering in the low 90's all day. We set up on the Shell's sidewalk, a ways away from the entrance, and spent the first part of the day writing, chatting, and just enjoying the, for lack of a better phrase, liberation of surrender to fate. I knew we'd get out eventually but I was smitten with Denton, so even if it took a day or three, my heel would be healing the entire time and I'd come out the other end better off.

We began by essentially replaying my first days in Ft. Morgan last May. Just hanging out, making use of the handy water- spicket to keep cool, while minding our own business hoping to strike up a conversation that would lead to Lewes. With a similar result as Ft. Morgan: Sunburn. We eventually made up a sign that said "Lewes", to no avail, and around 3 decided to change locales, to the roadway.

We leaned Chris's pack, with sign attached, against a sign post then reclined against the guardrail for the rest of the afternoon. Not once did we raise a thumb... again repeating the ineffective tactics from early in last year's trip. Inexplicable.

There were a few humorous moments, mostly borne from boredom and borderline heatstroke. We created our hitchhiker boy- band characters. I was going to be the brooding, quiet, sensitive one (getting all the chick's moms) who would ride in the pickup bed. Chris would be the pretty, affable one who had all the 13- year olds swooning. He would also be the one who entertained the driver. I'm not sure he was happy with the casting.

Another was the Saga of Nibblitz. For Bill, and all the other South Park fans, Nibblitz would be the Kenny of squirrels. I was entertaining myself by trying to toss peanuts into Chris's hiking boots, when one or two went into the highway. The narrative then developed about how the friendly, cuddly, creature- Nibblitz- would bound happily into the highway chasing his bounty of nuts, then would promptly be flattened by an environmentalist in a Prius. Like Kenny however, Nibblitz would be resurrected to die another day. It would later be from cardiac arrest after spilling some instant coffee on the ground. Ahh, hitching.

Ultimately, Chris decided we should wander back to Food Lion, where we would be curiosities rather than hitchers. I reluctantly agreed, acknowledging that we had not exactly blazed a trail east using the current technique. If Food Lion failed, we'd then wander toward Martinak State Park, which was perhaps a mile away, since there was also a compound the librarian had referred to as The Brotherhood adjacent to it. We did manage to meet some kids in their late teens or twenties who thought we were completely awesome, and as I overheard them say on the way to their car, "two of the coolest fuckers ever." They obviously had heard our boyband.

Other than adolescent idolatry, nothing came of the Food Lion trip. We bought the night's "dinner" at the Dollar General, and began to make our way toward the "Brotherhood" and the state park as the sun fell. I discovered through the day that I could walk quite well in my sandals, so I strapped my boots to Elmo and steadily hobbled along.

The Brotherhood and the state park lie down a sleepy side road, about a half mile off 404. As the road got darker, I began to wonder what other meanings there could be to "Brotherhood". We weren't in Mississippi, so I thought it unlikely that this wholesome librarian was sending us to the doorstep of the Grand Dragon of the Maryland Chapter of Hooded Klansmen. As we arrived however, I confess I saw the scene from O Brother, Where Art Thou, where they stumble onto the meeting. The sign signified that this was a camp of some sort, rather than a shelter, run by the Church of the Brethren: Brotherhood. The driveway leading to it was ungodly, and rather cultish, so we decided to skip the sure spiritual enlightenment in favor of Martinak State Park.

As we arrived, we saw that there was a Day Use sign posted, which brought back memories of Muir Beach. We had also been scoping for stealth camping sights along the road, but I was quite ill- equipped to be trekking around the woods with ticks and Widows... since I was sock- less and in sandles. We were unsure about how to proceed at this point, so we flagged down an RVer who happened to be leaving to ask about camping. I believe the sight of two dirty vagabonds appearing out of the dark frightened him, as he refused to roll his window down any further than a crack. As soon as he left, fate intervened. A man had apparently noticed us lingering and was walking down to check on us.

Bob used to be a Park Ranger, and still lived on the property. He seemed a bit suspicious at first, but when we told him what we were doing and we were seeking accommodations, he turned into one of the friendliest people we've met. He told us that there was indeed camping, then personally led us to the spots. We quickly determined that we would probably be paying for the site, so just decided to go with it. The campground was nearly deserted, so we had our choice of sites. We had just set our packs down, when Paul drove in.

Paul was the Park Ranger on duty for the night, and again, beyond friendly and helpful. Must be something in the Denton water. We told him about the website, a few of our experiences, and pretty soon, we were all laughing like we were old schoolmates! When I told him about my heel, he took me to the truck and provided first- aid supplies from the most bountiful kit ever assembled. He then pointed out the SHOWERS (!), then offered use of the washer & dryer! It gets better. When I asked him the about registration and payment, he said we'd already done it. We had a slab of ground nestled in a piece of Maryland Heaven... for free. Again, it seemed like things had laid out perfectly... all we had to do was follow. That would most certainly continue.

When Paul left, we were aglow. This mindset was paying dividends, and I was thrilled to see Chris notice, then embrace it thru the day. We spent the rest of the night next to a fire and watching spider- eyes glow in the grass.

I Love Denton.. pay a visit sometime!

4/25: Denton, MD

I initially thought I would be writing a virtual novel for this post, but instead I'm going to refer you to Chris's posts. He spent all morning writing about the mental gymnastics of Friday and Saturday, and articulated it perfectly. There's no use writing virtually the same thing here, other than to add that it's funny how often these little psyche- disturbances turn out to be valuable indicators that you're off course.

I point to that when trying to explain to people why I was so miserable doing radio; miserable to the point of hurling stacks of CDs across the studio, becoming (even more of) a total prick to work with ... and not being able to explain why. I firmly believe many people suffer from this peculiar affliction, but are ill- equipped (or afraid) to investigate it. Instead they accept the notion that they're simply "depressed", and run to the pharmacy, or do nothing until the pain becomes to great to bear. I can empathize with that, and it deserves more pity than criticism; it's how we're engineered. In that sense too, those whose barometer is active are blessed.

Saturday was a bit more difficult for me than the previous 12- days, and it was due "solely" to my feet, my left heel in particular, which had been getting progressively worse since Tuesday. It's a chronic problem, unless I have shoes that fit perfectly, and are broken in before I engage in marathon walking sessions. I'm using the same boots that I used last year, with great success, but I purchased them a scant two days before we left, so the leather had not had time to mold to my feet. After our chat Saturday morning (Chris's post), I had some miles left in me, yet was running short on blister- dressing. I was reusing the same bandage, simply adding more duct tape to secure it. That made it bearable but, after the few miles into Denton, I realized the tape was preventing air- circulation causing a problem of its own. Loose skin now spread the entire span of my heel. The actual blister was healing very well, but where the loose skin was meeting the intact skin was cracking, causing even more pain.

After Saturday morning's hurried, narrow escape from Hillsboro's abundance of Black Widows and ticks, I'm nearly in love with Denton. It reminds me of Pleasantville, without the creepy- factor. Our first stop was the library where we found some of the friendliest & helpful librarian folks you'll ever see. After two hours of Internet, and cell/ camera charging, they pointed us in the direction of the pharmacy, where I could buy some Moleskins. We walked about half way there when we got our first ride from a special- kind- of- crazy local and his wife, who were on their way to the store too.

Rite Aid happens to be literally next door to Food Lion, so we could conveniently replenish our dwindling food. Only after purchasing everything did we realize that there was a Dollar General two- doors the other way. I had learned the usefulness of the Dollar Stores from my carnie friends. Carnies are not the most savory of creatures, but one of their redeeming qualities is a special kind of fiscal savvy. You need that spend- thriftiness when your first priority is beer (or heroin) AND you plan to eat!

After the shopping, re- packing, and re- re- bandaging chores were completed, my heel began to dry, making it extremely painful to walk. We had come to the conclusion that we were going to set up Camp Denton, and begin the attempt of hitching to Lewes. This reminds me a bit of my central- Idaho experience last year, except there are no trucks to hope for, and no Mormons to fear me. Hitcher says, "Boo!" Hitcher also thought this may take awhile.

By sundown, the Food Lion shopping center had taken on the "small- town Saturday- prom night" vibe. I was feeling rather traumatized after dealing with pain all day, so we crossed paths with a pack of feral cats feasting on Food Lion waste, and found a place to camp hoping to get an early jump on Sunday.

4/24: Hillsboro, MD

Once I finally got to sleep, I slept well. The night was chilly, and the bivy created lots of condensation, but other than that, it was great.

One of the challenges to the bivy, as well as the new terrain is getting used to strange noises. You learn, I hope, to ignore most of them after awhile. One rather comical moment occurred when I awoke to the feeling of a small animal's feet crawling across my head. In my grogginess, I assumed it was Chris poking around outside, but was startled fully- awake when I realized otherwise. I quickly lifted the flap to see I was staring face- to- face with a fierce, ferocious, ravenous,... pussycat. A pretty one at that. We just sat there for a moment, glaring at each other . I half expected her to say something, but she sauntered off without even saying hello. Wench.

We were up and actually moving around shortly after 10:00. The camp- system is coming together quickly, with each of us falling into our routines both at night, and in the morning. I can find pretty much everything with ease now, and know where everything goes when I'm done. What's past is prologue.

We were packed, fed, out of the woods, and on the road by about 12:30 enjoying another gorgeous day. The plan was to meet up with SR 309, then turn to the south for a meet up with 404.

I had taken my blister- pads off the night before to assess the damage to my left heel, and to let it breathe properly. It is likely the largest blister I've ever had at about the size of a half- dollar. Running short of these pads, however, I re- bandaged it using the old ones and duct tape. A godsend, that duct tape!

I would now like to confirm the rumor: yes, duct tape DOES work as blister tape. However, I would NEVER recommend placing it directly ON the blister itself! Some would say that's common sense... for the record... I did NOT do that!

Considering the condition of my foot, I was feeling quite good, and I could tell that Chris was in his element. His comfort zone. The aire was light, and we were both enjoying being in the middle of nowhere as people mowed their lawns, and just went about their lives in this part of the country I'd normally never see. I do like this about walking and, outside of Hwy. 1, I wish I had done more of it instead of experiencing so much "interstate culture" last year. I was glad now that the cop had turned us around... yet still pissed about the ID check!

It was a few miles to 309, then maybe another four until we finally got to 404. The weather had been in the low 70's, with a nice breeze that picked up as the day progressed. We got some much needed sun, and enjoyed the walk to 404.
At the intersection of 309 and 404 in, what appears to be at least, Hillsboro, we found a little gas station. 404 is the main road from this part of Maryland to the Delaware beaches and, since it's Friday and the weekend forecast is for temps in the mid 80's, ungodly busy. I had to run across the intersection, and that sent my RIGHT heel into the blister- zone. Damn these soft feet! We stopped into the gas station where I got a Coke and pack of cigs (hush!), then we plopped down outside and did our own things for a bit.

At this point, I decided to address these competing philosophies that we have, and knew would become an issue. We had both more or less hoped it would work itself out, but after his experience with Ingrid, and mine with Bruno, I know better than to rely solely on hope. (don't tell Barack) Especially now, after Thursday. I know he's making a great effort to integrate having a travel partner into what he calls "his space", but I was, at that point, having concerns at how successful he was so far. I decided to directly address it, rather than let frustrations fester. The conversation went well, although I believe he tried to gloss over the significance. My struggle is to try to remind him that we're not distance or time- driven, while not allowing myself to go too far in the other direction. I'm not sure this will ever really be resolved; having three major destinations straight ahead makes the avoidance of goal setting, comparisons, and daily expectations nearly impossible. We've both said this will be much easier after we get past Ohio & Michigan. Until then, patience is key... where have I heard that?

We loaded up on water then agreed to get a mile or two out of town, at least across the Tuckahoe River, then scope out places to bivy down. Thinking the Tuckahoe was a mile or two away, we were pleased to cross it after about a quarter mile. Bridge crossing: something we normally don't think about, but this had factored in to much!

We got nearly two miles further down 404 when we found a nice spot, and took advantage of a rare lull on 404 to dart into the woods. After the typical scouting, we found what appeared to be the spot. We began our routines when Chris noticed an abundance of ticks. This quickly brought out the bug spray. Then... I saw a bona fide Black Widow crawling onto my pack, which was leaning against a dead log.

There was quickly one less Black Widow in the world.

I didn't think too much of it, other than lamenting missing getting a pre- execution picture, but while Chris was boiling dinner, I watched another Widow scamper onto my bivy! She too was about to feel Zeus's Hammer when she just stopped, sitting there, eyeballing me. Plotting how to "inflict extreme nausea" on me, I was certain! If I were quick and Eric- smooth, I could get my picture. Then if she sat still, drop the Hammer (shoe) after. She was accommodating on both.

There were now two less Black Widows in the world...

Then another of a large, different variety shortly thereafter...

I hate spiders. Snakes? Fine. Spiders creep me out. Just don't like 'em. I let these three get to me tonight, much to Chris's chagrin I believe! I keep thinking back to that spider den in North Carolina last year, and am imagining sleeping atop a Widow's den.

I let Chris's macho- ass wash dishes, alone, and zipped myself inside to write... and listen to weird noises, surely the sounds of mutant, killer spiders coming from the dead leaves beneath me.

4/23: Blisters & Piggies & Keith

Oh, my.

Thursday was beautiful. Much warmer than expected, and as Chris pointed out, neither of us were moving very fast before noon. I had come to really enjoy our little spot, and was in no rush to leave it for the smell of US-50.

Finally, around three, we guzzled the 5- Hour Energy drinks and started down the road toward SR 404. We knew it was only a few miles down, and not much else. Sometime, we had decided to go mapless and station- to- station, if you will, deciding our next destination after our current one was reached, with Lewes being the end. After cooking the night before and preparing Oatmeal Surprise in the morning, we were quite low on water. The oatmeal consisted of regular oatmeal, with both apple and peach flavored instant added for flavor. We also added honey, and I even threw in a packet of raisins. I had cooked nothing on last year's trip, so the idea of preparing meals is a bit odd for me. I'll "force" myself to live with hot meals, I suppose. The extra water usage was not factored in the day before, so we filtered water from a little stream that ran thru our spot and were on our way.

After a few miles, we spotted a gas station, and decided that fresh water and coffee (despite still buzzing on the 5- hour stuff) was a good idea. What a source of entertainment we turned out to be. I felt a bit like a rockstar. One guy in particular, Keith, was quite eager to be helpful, and kept reminding us that he saw us as badasses. I had to chuckle, as I gave him a cigarette, and Chris gave him $1 for beer. We knew he was working us a bit, but he was fun to talk to. He suggested we camp right there for the night, and I may have when I was traveling last year. The patrons were friendly, as was the staff, and it seemed likely that we'd snatch a ride- with some patience. Chris, however, was antsy. He feels the need to be "getting somewhere" constantly, and honestly, I wanted to try to break from the "happy hitcher" habit. We left Keith and our other new friends behind, and continued down 50. We didn't get far.

After maybe a couple hundred yards, a Maryland state trooper pulled in front to let us know it's not permitted to walk US-50. There was nothing posted... anywhere... at all... indicating this, and since it's a designated bike route, I suppose it's an easy mistake. Had he just turned us around, all would have been happily going about their afternoon. But, no.

Then came the questions. "What you doin'?", "Walkin'? Why ya walkin'?" Then, of course: the search without probable cause: the ID check. I let Chris do the talking, my blood again boiling, as I answered Inspector Gadget's questions in my head: "It's none of your fucking business what I am doing, and I'm walking because I FEEL like walking."

I cannot for the life of me understand the passive nature in which people accept this arbitrary "demand of papers" to prove you're not a criminal. Simply because you choose to travel in a manner different from the "mainstream"? Innocent until proven otherwise, remember? My ass.

I suspect that, despite my grudging cooperation of these arbitrary ID checks, something may come of this. I'm one who preaches "force water thru the pipe, find the crack." One of these weeks, after being on the road for awhile, a cot and free food will sound good. Perhaps I'll lose my ID, forget my "social security" (ID) number, then tell the guy what I think of the fact that he believes "technicalities" merit ignoring probable cause. Then I thought I'd perhaps publicize it in that "liberal media", until I remembered Liberals suddenly don't give a damn about civil liberties. They're now caught up in the Political Chickenhead Dance to the chant of Hope... Change.. Hope... Change.

Wrong rant... sorry... where was I?

Oh, yeah... piggies.

What's more likely to happen is that I'll write their names down, ask which precinct they're from, then give them a blog- card while I mail another to their supervisor. In the meantime, I'll write, rant, and rave whenever it happens. Then hope they fuck with me after reading it. I'll bet the ACLU would eat this plate of piggie- slop right up. That pesky first amendment, and all.

Amerika, I love ya!

After this, I was obviously perturbed. We quickly found ourselves back at the gas station, looking at another road, which we had considered taking before; a nice quiet country road. I wanted to hang at the gas station for a bit, but this was obviously bothering Chris. The need to get another two miles up the road, NOW, was seemingly paramount. Never mind that it was getting late, and we still may be able to get to Delaware tonight with a bit of luck. He appeared to be most displeased with the body of work which his day had produced. Three miles so far. I won't lie, this bothered me for a few minutes but probably had more to do with the cop than Chris. I had known this particular challenge was coming, too.

In the end, I tried to relied on my ability to remember my pre- pig mindset. I took a deep breath, and conceded that he was right: we had both been intrigued by the country setting before, and ultimately had that decision made for us.

It all worked out for the best. I hated walking 50 anyhow, and this Grange Hall Rd. was sparsely traveled, and quite pretty as it took us through Maryland farm country. After a few more miles, we found a decent place to jump into the woods, and found a spot next to a creek about 100 yards off the road just as the sun was setting.

I'm quickly discovering both how spoiled I was last year, being out west, and how LITTLE I like the east. Since I've moved west, I constantly fail to see any reason, other than family, why a person should EVER re- cross the Mississippi! The people are friendlier, leave you the fuck alone, and there is SPACE, combined with the mentality that not every square inch should be "owned". I was spoiled in that sense last year, and am having a bit of a difficult time adjusting to the property lines/ constant proximity to houses. I was on edge knowing that we were likely on someone's property, and that I could actually see their lights. Again, I knew this was coming, and didn't think it would bother me so much.

4/22: Queenstown, MD

The starry night didn't last long. I awoke to the sound of raindrops on the tarp, and the end of the bivy, which was left uncovered. It's waterproof, thank God, but inexperience led me to believe that I'd be adequately protected up top with the tarp overhead, in a lean- to fashion. I had closed the bug netting, but left the gortex unzipped... letting the water, which was accumulating on the tarp & spare bivy beneath me, seep inside. Genius!

One could wonder why Our Hero was carrying two bivies, as that would appear redundant at best, and just special- ed at worst. Heroboy quickly realized this utter foolishness; scrapping his absurd vision of dueling bivies, and pledging to He- Who- Climbs- Trees that his first mission of the day was to find a post office, and dispatch the bivy, Fidel, back to the Land of Enchantment.

The rain was falling nearly all morning, so we took advantage of the excuse to stay in bivy 'til noon. The rain stopped briefly, just long enough to complete the long process of gathering our regurgitated backpack contents, then began falling again on the way to 7/11. I was by then quickly discovering my theme for the first part of the day: annoyance with my short- sighted disorganization. I had gone thru this, briefly, last summer in Santa Barbara and knew that it's temporary, but I still felt like I was competing in the Backpacker Special Olympics. It's always great knowing the source of your greatest frustration is... you.

I had a rather funny rest area moment while at 7/11. A peculiar black guy went out of his way to say hello to me... three times. The last being when he called me over to his SUV. He asked what I was doing, and when I began to tell him, he just began looking me up and down. I was quite offended... I mean, my eyes are UP HERE! I was quite proud of one thing: I was hit on before Chris on this trip... even if it was a guy, and one that sounded like the pedophile senior in Family Guy! "How y'all doin'?"

Once coffeed up, we quickly found the post office, and I commenced executing Fidel's extradition order. It was a bit of a process, because he was still wet, so I took the opportunity to hang him at the post office, on the railing, and organize other things. This of course made us the unexpected spectacle for those counting on just a typical post office "experience". I paid the shipping with coins from my change pouch (it's NOT a fucking purse!), then sold another $5 to the post office. My mail weighed just over four pounds, including some other stuff that suddenly seemed unnecessary. and after the change purge, and factoring in the parcel I mailed Monday, I've shed 10-ish pounds this week. Ten pounds in a backpack= a lot, and the difference is huge.

Marylanders continues to impress with the cordiality; only one obese adolescent has yelled obscenities... and that was of course from a car. People have much more bravado when they're driving by. Then right after, we had an older gentleman talk our ear off outside the post office. My guess is that the Eastern Shore doesn't get a lot of packers.

After the post office, we were off. It was already 3:00, and we were still in Grasonville. We were following route 18, which runs adjacent to US-50, with moderate- light traffic. The weather was hit and miss... threatening rain one minute, sunny the next. Do you suppose that people in Maryland use the "don't like the weather, wait 10- minutes" line, like everyone else?

Queenstown was next, a few miles up. We kept a decent pace, but the expected blister on my left heel was getting progressively worse. By Queenstown, 3 or 4 scant miles away, it was time to apply more adhesive strips, which I was now quickly running out of, to try to stay ahead of the problem.

We were then on US-50 itself, which is a busy divided highway, and by 6:30 we were scouting out places to camp, with my heel barking rather loudly. We'd gone a whopping 6, maybe 7- miles in the three- plus hours we'd walked. Chris didn't complain, but I suspect beneath the surface he was going batshit. He likes to do his 25- per day, and I have been anxious to see how he adjusts to a slower pace over the long term. It drove Bruno to the brink of madness on the abbreviated bike tour! That's always an issue when you travel with someone.

We found a decent place to stealth camp quickly, on a piece of land that appeared to have had a home at some point, but there was no foundation or remains... except for the scattered skeletons of a dog or two, next to which we set up camp.

This setup went much better. Not having rain obviously helped, but we prepared for the possibility anyhow. Chris cooked up a concoction of rice, and Hamburger Helper (sans hamburger, of course), and, since we hadn't really eaten in two days, we devoured it. I had a hard time getting to sleep after that; the surge of energy was impressive!

The night was beautiful, but once I got to sleep, I had a hard time getting, then keeping, comfortable. I even woke up about dawn on the verge of a claustrophobia attack... and I'm not claustrophobic. I may need a wider sleeping bag using a bivy.

4/21: Maryland- On Foot

Bill and Laura's Realtor was to arrive at one, so we decided that, after some Innernets research, we would retire to our friendly DuPont Circle coffee shop for caffeine & calm reflection. After some innovative searching, Chris discovered a bus that would take us all the way from central DC, thru Annapolis, over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge to Kent Island, MD. From there: improvise.

Laura came home from work shortly after much needed showers, so we had a chance to say goodbye with promises to get together if their move to Boston was complete by the time we got there. I never did get to chat with Bill about Africa, unfortunately. Damn South Park; why must they be so funny?

Since it was a pleasant, partially sunny afternoon, we deemed it appropriate to vacate the familiar stools, and venture to the actual DuPont Circle where we could sit on the grass, snap photos, and I could begin writing my posts. It never ceases to amaze how quickly one can get behind on these. I lost myself in Pocketmail, and before I knew it, it was time to get to 20th and K and our MTA bus out of Swamp Politic. There was some slight confusion about which stop we needed, but figured it out just as the eastbound 950 arrived.

The fare was $5 each, which is more than reasonable considering how far we were going, and the bus is far more comfortable than the typical city bus... or Greyhound for that matter. It smelled much better than the Dirty Dog too! The commuter began to fill up as we left DC, so I strapped on my headphones and wrote for almost the entire hour- ride to Kent Island, pausing to take pics of the Chesapeake Bay and the bridge that crosses it.

The bus deposited us at a Park n' Ride situated beneath another, smaller bridge that is pedestrian- friendly. Chris and I came to the giddy realization that we were finally "in it". No planned rides, no beds, no more occupying someone's space. Nothing but the loads we were carrying. I have to tell you, that felt good! It was very nice to start near the water after coming from the high desert, and we immediately met a nice, outgoing, Korean War veteran who was admiring the bay from his bicycle. A fine introduction to Maryland on Foot. Several other people waved and honked as we made our initial steps toward Delaware. Quite friendly, these Marylanders.

I was amused at how quickly my mind re- adapted to nomad- mode. My body on the other hand: nosso much. I had adjusted the hip belt improperly, and for the first mile it pinched the nerve above my left ass- cheek. I'm not sure what's more pathetic: that my ass was the first thing to hurt, or that it took a mile for me to do something about it.

We followed the route adjacent to US-50 into the first town, Grasonville, where I noticed a 7/11 and figured it would have a payphone to upload updates. Since it was now nearly 6, we figured we'd just find a spot nearby to stealth camp for the night, eat some food, and get to it in full- force tomorrow. I began to feel the first indications of heel blisters by then too, so that would also give me a chance to try to get ahead of that painful situation.

I filled up on water, bought a Coke with money from my over- inflated change pouch (it's NOT a purse, goddammit!), and we then crossed over US-50 to a wooded area we'd seen from the store. Once on the other side, Chris mumbled something, in what sounded like a made- up D & D language, and inexplicably bounded over the guardrail. I thought at first he was on an imaginary quest for the Mystical Talisman, or perhaps the Fair Maiden of the Wood... then I thought of Don Quixote attacking the windmill... before getting slightly pissed when realizing that I'd now have to go seek him out. I was thinking of him at that point less as Quixote, and more as Rocinante's hind quarters. All was well however. After plowing thru thorn bushes, I found our Nuevo Quixote climbing a tree... literally. He was climbing a tree and was quite tickled about it.

He had happened upon a clearing, which appeared to be the perfect place to camp. We decided to go with single- tarp formation, hanging the 8 x 10 tarp over the bivys, packs, and our heads in case of rain. I was looking forward to some hot oats, when we heard it...

Severe weather sirens.

The tarp was blocking our view of the western sky, and while Chris dug out the radio, I saw approaching doom. I believe my eloquent response to this revelation was: "Holy fucking Christ, dude!" Yes, I am even more of a wordsmith in real life.
Our flimsy tarp shelter now held new significance as we quickly scrambled to get things tightened down and protected. The weather band radio said there was a severe thunderstorm warning with the possibility of 60 mph gusts. I surveyed the already- fallen trees that had been rooted in water- saturated ground, and had visions of one of them paying an unwelcome visit from above.

The winds rose, skies opened, lightning flashed... for about 30- minutes. Then it gradually dissipated, and as I type this, we now have a beautiful, cloudless, yet damp, first night out. I feel a bit like Vern again, yet instead of wild- rednecks, this time it was a puny thunderstorm.

The annoying thing about tonight is NOT the rain, but the fact that I cannot seem to organize myself. I know that comes after a couple of days... but Christ! I'm on my third fucking lighter already!

Both of us are feeling an intense, excited calm, if that makes any sense at all. It's hard to explain, but despite the rain and US-50's racket, all is well in the world.

4/18: Chesapeake Beach, MD

There were encouraging indications as to how Trent & I would click soon after we got into the car and headed east from DC into E. Maryland. It was apparent that he felt strongly about things, and one of the things I admire most is authentic, thought- out passion. I knew all was good once he made an almost sheepish comment about getting on his "soap box", and sharing his thoughts on the death of the American city, how people have isolated themselves in their boxes... inside their gated communities. I had to laugh to myself remembering Kim commenting on my tendency to rant, and it seemed I was going to greatly enjoy our quick stay at Trent's.

He called his girlfriend, Meagan, and arranged for her to meet us at his place in Chesapeake Beach. Meagan is fascinating in her right; an exquisite ballet dancer who wasn't intimidated by the conversation... although I doubt she agreed with much of it!

His house was built by he and his father, and is very, very, cool! It's a tri-level, east coast style (tall, skinny... is that a style?) that's maybe a half- mile from Chesapeake Bay. There was no television, which I found remarkable (and admirable) considering he has a 14-yr. old daughter, that he and Chris had met in film school... and was still active in shooting and video editing. I quickly wondered if he too had ever called himself a whore, as I had during my radio days. I never listened to the radio after that realization, even while grunting thru it...poorly.

Trent and Meagan set about making cheeseburgers and pouring wine as we all gathered around the coffee table and began chatting. I was struck by how inquisitive he was, asking good questions, with multiple follow- ups about the trip and the reasons/ methods behind it. He was sincerely interested, not simply in the typical anecdotal "this one time at band camp" stuff which is fine for most, but also the philosophy behind it. It was the kind of conversation that once it got going, was like a steam roller. The kind that I live for! Since he's involved in film, he had a digital video camera handy, so he and Meagan proceeded to interview us. The creative vibe was nearly as intoxicating as the wine. (not quite- as I would brutally realize in the morning) A very cool night indeed; I surely wasn't feeling like the third wheel as I had assumed I would.

In that sense, everything had so far exceeded expectations for me. I still believe it comes from the realization Chris and I came to in Albuquerque the night my car died; that things seemed to lie out perfectly once we took the attitude that we are simple side- car passengers both taking part in AND, more importantly, observing this "dramedy" of our own lives. That sense of surrender and acceptance can be a powerfully liberating thing.

Four bottles of wine, and seven hours later, we were out of wine and long since had stopped having structure to our little debateathon. And I was hammered. I don't recall the last time I had actually lost coordination; I am usually more agile than when I'm sober, but when I bounced my head off the door frame, I knew it was long past time for bed! Meagan had probably sensed where the night was headed, going to bed early, leaving we boys to play in our sandbox. I had a great time, but I'd pay for it Sunday!