CHAPTER 18
Wednesday, September 21st
Oklahoma Panhandle
Day 19
Covered good ground today. I’m traveling alone once again after finding an old lady 3 days ago who, by some miracle, had survived for two weeks in the middle of nowhere. Yesterday I delivered her (Louise Kennedy) to her family, but their reunion was not the joyful experience I expected. Her granddaughter’s eyes have haunted me all day. She reminded me of the children from Africa you see on the late night TV commercials, hopeless and starving and waiting for someone to save them. The father’s expression wasn’t much better. I feel like rather than saving one life, I’ve endangered four others, or at least consigned them to more severe hunger than they would have experienced without Louise. It made me worry about how you are surviving. The biggest problem with walking is no longer the physical demands (not that my feet and legs don’t ache), but the time to think and worry and not know. Just the chance to get any news would be worth so much to me. This afternoon I met a man with a ham radio that was working. He said he’d been anticipating something like this for 20 years. I gave him a message to try to send but have little hope it will get to you. I will keep my fingers crossed.
Food is an issue, but there have been generous people along the way, especially some of the farmers. I have new respect for the toughness of the pioneers. Can’t imagine doing this on dirt roads. I’m in Oklahoma tonight and hope to be in Colorado tomorrow night. I wish all five states I need to cross were as easy as Oklahoma’s panhandle. Getting through Texas feels like a big accomplishment. Just wish I wasn’t celebrating alone.
I love you all.
Saturday, September 24th
Southern Colorado
Day 22
I’m sitting on the banks of a large reservoir, trying to catch my lunch. The weather has been good so I’ve been pushing hard, but my legs are feeling it. David, I wish I had you here with me. You’ve always had a knack for catching nice, big fish every time we’d go fishing, and I’d love a big fish today. I bet I’ve lost at least 15 pounds since I started walking, but it’s not a diet I’d recommend.
I visited with another walker (that’s what I call people like me) for a while this morning. He’s a truck driver, really a nice guy, and was heading to Albuquerque from South Dakota, a lot closer to home than I am. Kind of made me jealous. He just had a duffle bag and made me a little nervous as he eyed my cart. He’s hopeful that he’ll make it but has had a few bad run-ins; it’s sad how some people have become violent and threatening. We had a nice talk, and it made me realize how much I miss that. Since I dropped off Louise (the old lady in Texas), the longest I’ve visited with another person has been about 30 minutes, and then I never see them again. Even though there are a few people around, the loneliness is pretty strong. Jennifer, I know I never talked with you as much as you’d have liked, but I sure miss that now. When things get fixed, I’m not going to buy a TV, I’m going to spend more time with you and the kids, and with other people.
My face and arms have gotten pretty dark. I know you’d get mad at me for not wearing sunscreen, but that’s not really an option. I went swimming this morning, so I feel a little cleaner. I think it had been 5 days since
A slight tug on the line alerted Kyle, and he set his journal down to watch for more movement. Another tug, this time a little firmer, and he poised himself to haul in his catch. With another tug, he pulled his arms back and felt the firm resistance of something on the line. Grabbing his shirt off the ground, Kyle quickly wrapped the shirt around his hand, then the fishing line around that. He began to back slowly up and down the bank of the reservoir, his legs acting as the reel while he coiled the fishing line around his hand, watching while the water near the shore began to churn.
Kyle waited for the thrashing to stop. When he felt the line slacken and could see the fish calm, he pulled the line and lifted the fish into the air, landing it a couple of feet in front of him. He leapt forward and grabbed at the fish with his free hand, while corralling it with his other arm to keep it from flopping back to the water. With the fish secured, Kyle found a rock and clubbed his catch until it quit moving.
After two previous failures, this fishing success buoyed his spirits. Kyle carried the fish to the top of the slope that surrounded the reservoir, stopping where he’d left his cart in a cluster of trees that offered shade and fuel for a fire.
Kyle pulled out his knife and a box of matches and ignited the wood he had gathered earlier, then cleaned and prepped the fish while feeding wood into the fire, coaxing the blaze until it was large enough to cook his fish.
Despite the crude cooking environment, the fish cooked up beautifully, and Kyle thoroughly enjoyed his lunch. A little seasoning and an even larger fish would have improved the meal, but after more than two weeks on the road, the fish tasted as good as any he could remember eating.
With his stomach full, Kyle carefully wound the fishing line back around the spool it came on, a treasured gift from a talkative farmer back in Oklahoma. Kyle had found that many of the people he met were decent and helpful, especially those who were more isolated, as they seemed as hungry for fresh conversation as he was. Several families had given him extra produce from their gardens, and one kind woman had cooked him the most delicious omelet he’d ever eaten as she pumped him for information about the things he’d seen as he traveled.
Kyle kicked the fire down, then doused it completely with water from the reservoir, aware that there would be no way to contain an out of control fire, such as the one he’d witnessed in Lubbock. He wondered how bad fire season had been in the mountains, and how many towns and homes had been lost without the equipment and manpower to fight them.
Kyle finished his journal entry, packed the cart, and pulled onto the highway. The past few days he had pulled hard and was now well into Colorado. Yesterday he had pushed hard and gone just over forty miles, ten more than normal, but he felt it in his legs today. The terrain had worked in his favor so far, with most of the roads still flat and easy to walk. There were the occasional dips and rises, but nothing severe, and nothing that slowed him down much.
On the western horizon, however, loomed the Rocky Mountains, their peaks already capped with snow. Even from this distance, they taunted him with their size. As he got further north, Kyle had noticed that the nights were getting colder, and the days were growing noticeably shorter. He knew that in another month he needed to be ready to contend with snow, and the thought of that, even on a warm, sunny day, sent a shiver down his spine.