More hills

Having arrived in Breezewood too early to check into any motel and finding the only campground closed, I'm considering pushing on to the next town. I lean over the hand rail of the cart and gently stir my sleeping friend who's been enjoying the coolness and peace of the old Lincoln Highway from his portable perch. 'These hills have left a knot in my back, Bud.' You think you could do a bit of walking now?'

Buddy yawns as if he hadn't heard a thing I said; then, with an intently focused gaze, he points his nose toward the eastern hills we've yet to climb and the sun which is beginning to rise and abruptly hops out of the cart.

This next stretch of road throws several more arduous passes our way, but we take each one in stride, breaking often to replenish fluids. It's evident that my canine compadre has had enough of this up and down game, and by late afternoon, I find myself wishing for the flat plains once more. My own strange take on a familiar Scorpions song spontaneously begins to play and its improvised lines escape between each laboured breath:

'Almost some..where..ere..ere. Miss you where I've been. Drat! There's another hill to go up again. Almost some..where..ere..ere miss you where I've been. I'd rather be walking the prairie again.'

For whatever reason, I find this rendition helps motivate me more. Sorry Klaus.

Sunday morning was a bit misty

By the late afternoon we've made it to McCullensburg and both me and the pup are pooped. There doesn't seem to be any place to hold up for the night, and I'm draggin' bad. How fortunate that a fellow we meet at McDonald's offers to let me pitch a tent in front of his trailer. Storm shows us the way to his place where we catch a few Zs, and man can I use 'em.

Storm gets on Buddy's good side

Around 21:00 we say goodbye to a new friend and, after a couple cups of coffee and a few conversations at the Sheetz station, set off again to conqueror the last of the high passes on our final push toward the sea.

From Cambridge, OH to Chambersburg, PA there must be close to two dozen of these hills.

Hunger

I awake to the sound of Buddy's alarm alerting me to the fact that there's been a perimeter breech. Dustin cautiously approaches the tent with a hot cup of coffee  saying that he'd been up a little bit earlier but hadn't perceived anyone stirring. We talk for a while, and I learn that he's been doing his best to take care of his baby girl, holding down a steady job while dealing with a number of personal difficulties. Equally admirable to the effort he's put into caring for his family is the way he's come out to show hospitality to a complete stranger who's pitched a tent in the woods behind his house. As I've said before, these tendencies toward kindness are all around us.

Going a little ways down highway 30, I stop at a Gulf petrol station to get a few things. As has become quite routine, a couple spots Bud and can't help but buy him some beef jerky, overwhelmed with compassion for his three-legged plight. I share briefly about our mission, and then, proceed to rest a while at the picnic area nearby. While sitting there, the clerk draws my attention to the fact that Buddy and I have made front-page news. The caption under our picture says that we're walking to raise awareness of hunger, and suddenly it strikes me, the most basic and prevalent hunger that people have is for meaningful attention. If you disagree, I'd challenge you to turn on the television, and look objectively at the great lengths people go to just to be acknowledged.

Now the only reason we're in the paper is because yesterday in Somerset a police officer named Ruth stopped to take an interest in what we're doing. People are constantly intrigued and curious, frequently pulling over to ask me about what's happening and where we're headed, and you know, it feels great to know that people around you are concerned, that they want to know about you, and they have a genuine desire to be involved in your life. I believe that there's a hunger in every heart. We all want to be recognized; we want people who will invest in us and whom, in turn, we can also invest in. Perhaps just as important as our need for physical sustenance, what we eat and what we drink, is the necessity of having genuine relationships. However, as I've seen on this trek, the more immersed in technology we become and the more introverted within our quasi independent, self-important worlds, the less we're able to experience the richness that comes with those sincere friendships.

It's not my intention to be a Luddite, nor do I wish to come across as preachy, but I feel that that caption would be false if I didn't take at least one opportunity to address hunger in more than just its literal form. Therefore, I encourage everyone reading this to make it your habit of daily going beyond the common courtesies and pleasantries with at least one person. When you have the chance--and you will--to stop for a few minutes and purposefully get involved in the life of another, do it. Maybe it's your spouse, or a colleague, or simply someone walking along the road. There's a satiety to be gained through such intentional efforts that far exceeds the satisfaction of the best meal.

Tough terrain

These hills might not be as high as the Rockies or the Cascades, but whew, are they a work out! The stretch from Monongahela to Donegal has shown me one relentless grade after the next. No sooner do you reach the top, than you're heading back down to start the whole grueling climb again. Gotta love the challenge though.

It goes without saying, fluids are going out nearly as fast as they're coming in. And Bud's been consuming water by the bucket full. Good thing there's no shortage of streams to cool off in. A big shout out to Ashton with my gratitude for the care package. Man, that Gatorade has been invaluable.

Monongahela River

I'm so stoked about getting into the Appalachians now. The next several hours will see us navigating through Roaring Run and Koosier Park. The area's full of trails and old roads, so, with a bit of luck, we'll find a good place to set up camp tonight.

Where're yinz going?

*I discovered the above PA colloquialism at an ice-cream joint just opposite Mingo Creek park.

We've made it, oh, I'd say, 15 miles today. I had planned on moving well into the night, but a friendly woman named Ashton has invited us to make use of her home. Not wanting to miss any opportunities for new friendships, we've gladly accepted the offer. I've just finished pitching the tent in the yard. Buddy's had a double helping of some really great food--an employee had discreetly placed it into our cart while I was in the Washington PetCo this morning. Fortunate fellow! He's getting to sample the whole spectrum of top end foods, thanks to the generous folks in this neck of the woods.

I'm told that dinner is almost ready, so it's off to the house for some pasta. Ashton and her mother, Naoma, both join me for the meal on the front porch. The food and fellowship are both top notch. It's a privilege to be welcomed by such amicable and hospitable people, and I'll try not to take such valuable appointments for granted.

Ashton and the knomes

All the hills have left Bud a bit more tired than usual.

Birds of a feather

I wake to find a that a typed letter has been slipped under the door of my room. It was written by Pierce, the fellow who'd been at the reception desk all night. What an incredible surprise! This is the first time on this trip anyone's written me a letter. It's such a valuable gift that I read it three times. Contained within he talks about how he'd enjoyed reading my blog (the whole thing), and he wondered if he could accompany me on my way into Wheeling. He mentions that he'd like to buy lunch for me.

It's wonderful to have someone walking with me and even better when that person knows some of the local history and folk lore. When Pierce brings me to a location where Meriweather Lewis had stopped for the night during a preparatory provisions run in 1803, it's like coming full circle. Yes, things are beginning to wind down for me. But there's no shortage of good people or exciting new places to experience.

Goodbye Ohio

This is purported to be the second oldest suspension bridge in the nation.

Pierce, You are a great tourguide and a marvelous friend. I hope it's not too long before your own tremendous trek starts.

Last day in Ohio

Casting the sleeping bag from my head, I yawn violently and gaze upward. The added moisture from last night's rain has encouraged a whole host of gastropods to cover the top of my tent in their slimy excretions. One small multicolored slug is making its way down the side and has just about reached eye level with me. I briefly muse upon the thought of how this trip would be if I were like this creature, moving at such a laggard's pace, but I quickly dismiss the notion, thankful to be making much better time. Buddy discerns that I've come to and bellows a typical salutary 'good morning' grunt. As I break camp, he takes advantage of the dew laiden pasture, rolling around wildly in the clover and grass--any excuse is a good one for Bud to get wet.

Leaving Barnesville behind, we press on, up, over, and around the hills of eastern Ohio. In the afternoon we arrive at the town of Belmont, which, I'm told was originally named Writestown for its Irish founder Joseph Write. The name was changed around 1813 when the town began vying for county seat (the county name is Belmont). In the village's only general store, Mr Richard provides a good deal of interesting and historic information. Like many growing American towns of the 19th century, Belmont's reach seems only to have been exceeded by its grasp. It's a quaint place today but barely a shadow of its former glory. Through out this journey these echoes have served as examples of the impermanence of things, which, though held tightly, inevitably slip away with the passage of time.

It's 19:00 by the time we arrive on the east end of St Clairsville, and although I had had no original intention of staying at a motel, Mr Patel of the Econo Lodge makes such a wonderfully generous offer that Bud and I are inclined to make this our stopping point for the evening. Both the owner and staff show immense kindness, treating us to some delicious dinner. In fact, Buddy's usual Purina has (for the time being) been replaced by Solid Gold grain and gluten free dog food, a Tonkin of Mr Patel's affection for dogs. So our final day in Ohio ends on a hugely positive note with good food, comfortable accomodations and new friends.

Part of the original National Road

Hills

The beautifully verdant hills around Cambridge are definitely my favorite place in Ohio so far. I imagine that from an aerial view the verisimilitude must look much like a blanket after a tumultuous night's sleep. There's no shortage of foliage here, and the canopy has a wondrous way of rendering everything in a slight hue of green.

Initially, my idea had been to camp by the reservoir, but because some police officers nearby had told me camping was restricted--though I could find no signs prohibiting it--my conscience begs me to pursue other opportunities further ahead. So following a back road toward highway 265, we're all of a sudden surrounded by dense forests. There are no boundaries, save a stream here and there, and it feels quite as though these magnificent woods will go on forever.

But eventually we come to a clearing and, quite serendipitously, we happen upon a paved path called The Great Guernsey Trail.The sun is setting, casting its mystic spectrum of colours across the sky. Just a few miles, and it's turned dark. I roll out my sleeping bag under a perfectly marvelous shelter built right alongside the causeway and start to doze off.

Lost, found and delivered

06:00. I'd just eaten breakfast when the nagging feeling of something missing starts poking my mind. Quickly going through all my gear, I discover that my tablet isn't there. 'Oh no! Where could it be,' I wonder. I begin retracing steps in my head. 'Where did I last see it...? That's right!'

A lady had wanted the blog site; I'd taken the case out to get a pen the previous night at the Red Brick Tavern. 'But that's a least 15 miles back,' I tell myself, 'thirty miles wasted, and I haven't slept. No, I'll just have to consider it a loss.' With regret, I call to leave a message in case someone found and turned it in, then, me and a very tired Buddy continue crossing the vast metropolitan area that is Columbus.

17:00. Two weary travelers stumble into the car park of a Motel 6 on the far east side of Ohio's capital and check in. The city centre left a bit to be desired aesthetically, but there are some very beautiful churches, and Bud and I thoroughly enjoyed the wide, well-kept parks, especially Franklin. Now, the only thought in my head is to crash on the bed. However, before I get the chance, a random wifi connection is established so that Skype notifies me of a voice message.

Happy day! It's Chris from Red Brick Tavern saying that they'd found my tablet where Buddy had been laying. I excitedly call him to find out if any arrangements can be made, and he tells me that he'll deliver it personally. I'm so surprised and grateful. I mean, we're a good 35 miles away, so this sort of thing goes well beyond your every day acts of kindness. About an hour later Chris arrives at the motel with my tablet. He doesn't want any remuneration for the service, just says to put in a good word for the place.

We'll here it is my friend: You folks have raised the bar on customer service so high that it's doubtful another business will be able to rival it. The rustic charm of the venue combined with the English pub feel makes this a cozy choice for a family dinner or a perfect place to just unwind with friends and throw back a few. The presidential provenance and history of the tavern is impressive, but even without it, this is well worth the stop for any travelers exploring the National Road. Much appreciation and love.

Cooling off in Franklin Park

Springfield to Columbus

Take a stroll down Fountain St. in Springfield, Ohio and you'll be treated to some relatively strange examples of 19th century residential building styles. Many of the homes display several seemingly haphazard spires, ornate parapets and columns and the use of numerous oblique angles reminiscent of those rendered in the designs of Frank Lloyd Wright. Very cool!

Once we pass out of this historic housing area, Buddy and I stop at a grand building that once served as market, city hall and police station (it now houses a café), and while getting my morning caffeine fix I become acquainted with an interesting horror host named Raven. His unique perspective on the genre and its reflection of specific trends and proclivities in society at various chronological points keeps my attention for a while, but eventually it's time to find the road out of town. As we're heading eastward, he catches up and contributes a nice straw hat to keep the sun from scorching my head. Cheers my friend.

Bud and I keep a relaxed pace for most of the day and stop at one shaded place to have a picnic lunch of the roasted chicken I'd picked up at Walmart earlier. Yummy!

Toward evening, I stumble upon a pub near London that's been operating since 1839, not such a remarkable thing ipso facto; however, this particular inn has offered hospitality to seven US presidents going back as early as John Quincy Adams. Too good to pass up, I join a table with a few local guys and engage in conversation while Bud takes a nap on the lawn.

The sun has already set, but I've got it in my head to make it to Columbus, so the pack goes on and Bud jumps into the cart. Ah, the quiet of night is such a wonderful change from the constant roar of vehicles during the day. At times, that virtually endless rumble is enough to make you go crazy. But now, it's just the sound of wind in the grass under a canopy of bright stars.

Arriving in Columbus around 3:30, I spot a Dunkin Doughnuts and figure it's as good a place as any to do some journaling. Buddy's currently asleep outside in the cart. We'll be leaving in a bit to find a suitable park, but first I'd better finish these maple rings.

The Red Brick Tavern

Architecture and antiquities

I haven't been snapping many pictures of houses or buildings since entering the Midwest, but now that I'm on the National Road (first federally funded highway authorized by Thomas Jefferson in 1806), I find it hard to resist. Each of these quaint east Indiana towns have so much history, as well as, amazing examples of pre Civil War architecture.

Mansion House Pub east. 1836 sits in the boundaries of Centerville, a town celebrating its bicentennial this year.

Polis

After 63 miles I'm totally exhausted. Cars are beginning to appear fuzzy and it's getting hard to focus on anything. Buddy and I have gone straight through the centre of Indianapolis via Washington Street and now we're finally coming into more open spaces. The fire chief at Sugar Creek Township, Station 42 has allowed me to pitch the tent behind the building, and I have no doubt that I'll be comatose momentarily...but first a minute to reflect.

Navigating this urban setting hasn't been without it's memorable moments, both rewarding and bitterly sad. I've found the majority of people around here to be incredibly warm and caring. As Cameron says,

'Hoosiers are lovers.'

Indeed, it's been hard to get more than a few miles without having someone offer some sort of cheerful assistance. However, since one might allege that these journals are being written by someone wearing overly optimistic rose tinted glasses, I'll provide, notwithstanding the absence of examples (if you've spent any time on this earth, your imagination will suffice) a brief picture of objectivity.

Walk Washington Street from the far west to the east side of this urban jungle and you will hear a sorrowful song, and whether this dirge, sung on the fringes, is merely a trope mirroring the incessant exchanges made at the heart, or merely a rueful resonance born of poverty, the reality of a broken, depraved society is difficult to deny.
Now there's not a soap box strong enough to support me, so the last thing I want is to turn this entry into a finger-pointing rant. I'd much rather highlight my hope in the transforming power of grace and its ability to inspire redemption; I'm persuaded that to the extent that this city has been wounded, she can also be healed. People like Daniel, Cameron, Anna, Pops and Mike are the foundation for my belief.

Keep on keepin' on

We set off from the camp site at 10 but take our time exiting the park. Bud has to investigate what appear to be midget beavers, and after two poops, a final swim is definitely in order.

Down the highway, just four miles or so, a journalist from the local paper catches us for a roadside interview. Nice guy. It seems he's got a similar interest in highlighting news which is edifying rather than fixating on all the muck. It's always nice to come across positive press. I feel strongly that more messages of goodness and gratitude can help encourage others.

Anyway, not too much later, a young couple stop to say hello and contribute water as well as a couple nutritious things to snack on. They're heading south on 231 for Bloomington, which I'm told is like the New York of Indiana. Time passes slowly. It's not terribly hot, but it is quite muggy, so we take a break in the tiny town of Morton where, as far as I can tell, the only operating business is a country store; I get a tasty pickled baloney sandwich with Colby cheese.

By 22:00 we've reached Danville and since there isn't a park in which to pitch my tent or a motel anywhere in sight, I'm sat here at a gas station again, thinking about what the next move should be. Soon, a group of young men come through, and they're eager to talk. They contribute a bag of jerky and some Beggin Strips 'as a token of [their] appreciation.' Not quite sure what I've done to receive such favour, but everyone loves to be appreciated.

Later, a couple of city officers pull up. I immediately go on the defensive, but it's totally unnecessary. They've simply stopped to say hello. We talk a bit, and I try to explicate some of my inspiration for this journey: the amazing blessings of life in America, and the value (relative to other countries I've visited) of having the freedoms that citizenship affords. They both seem to be on the same page and offer some helpful info about where to locate accommodations further down the road. I had been hesitant to go any further at night, but Chase and Jeff inform me that there's a wide shoulder and divided highway just east of town. So, I guess I'll push on to Avon and hopefully find a good budget motel for me and the pup.

Just as I'm wrapping things up two more gentlemen approach, the first with bags of dog food and the second with another package of Beggin Strips. Buddy has a remarkable talent for evoking sympathy in people, even when he's just sleeping.

'Man,' I remark jokingly, 'we ought to spend more nights in front of gas stations.'

Guess we'd better hit the road before the cart overflows with treats.

Night swimming deserves a quiet night

What a splendid evening to go night swimming! The lake's throwing pastel hues here and there in undulating patterns, reflecting the pallid moon above. Yep, I reckon today's trek warrants a little R&R, and the Raccoon State Recreational Area seems like the perfect place for it. It's marvelous to be amongst the trees and to feel soft soil between my toes. Catching wind of water, Bud suddenly goes head-long over a bank, and all I hear is a big SPLASH. Oh, this park has got me longing for the northwest again...Ahhhh, the conifers, the snowy mountains, the brisk clear streams. After all, one can only take so many fields of corn and soy beans--not that they're without their merits.

Where I thought that I saw God

Just when I thought I'd experienced some of the greatest lengths of human kindness and generosity, the Almighty causes my path to intersect with a woman who takes giving to a whole new level, not merely sacrificing a tenth of her rue and mint, but willing to tithe her last two mites if need be. Should you happen to meet one of these extraordinary disciples, your response will likely be similar to mine: 'The kingdom of God is here.'

Having stayed in a picnic area on the west side of Tuscola the night before, Bud and I set out for the town of Newman well-rested and full (I got us a few breakfast burritos before heading out). The plan is to walk 16 miles to the town park where we can rest through the heat of the day, then proceed to the Indiana boarder in the cool of the night.

On our way into town we're approached by a woman named Mary Conn who empathises with, who she believes to be, a needy, homeless man walking with his three legged dog in the hot sun. Moved by compassion, she offers to prepare a gift bag if the vagabond will come into town. Mary is the owner of Restoration General Store in Newman, and although it's closed on Sunday, she's willing to open the doors so that a traveler can be well fed.

My initial impulse (totally out of pride) is to spurn the generous offer, not wishing to be equated with the average homeless riff raff. In my mind I feel it's necessary to make a distinction:

'I have money. I don't need to rely on handouts. I'm walking out here by choice.'

But my thoughts are all vanity. Mary simply wants to demonstrate what it means to follow Christ. So I tell her that I'd be grateful and agree to meet her at the store.

Once I've arrived there, she opens the doors to both me and Buddy and proceeds to fill grocery bags with all manner of food and drinks. I mean she takes donations to the utmost, even adding toilet rolls and dog treats to the mix. Every time I think she's finished, Mary has another idea about something to add. When I attempt to protest saying, 'This is taking your business into the red.' She quickly retorts, 'We're always in the red, but we get by.'

So after several bags have been filled with provisions, and I've been instructed to take a Klondike ice-cream bar, Mary and I go outside to augment an already growing conversation. And there, in front of a little store in Newman, Illinois, we take part in one of the best Church services I've been to in years. Mary extols Christ, telling many stories about how Jesus has used her and her business to help others, she talks of her family and shares the prayers of a mother for her sons, and she allows me to talk about my past: how far I'd fallen and how I'm learning to walk again.

We say goodbye and I take Bud to the park across the street to let him rest a while before the big push to Indiana. Minutes later Mary pulls up for one last gift: a cooler to keep everything in.

Jesus says, 'With the measure you use it will be given back to you pressed down, shaken together and running over.' Continue to be a blessing Mary. I doubt that you'll ever lack.

A whole new take on pan cake

8 o'clock in the morning and my new pal Wrigley greets me at the tent with a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee. 'Does Buddy like to eat dog food?' He asks in an unassuming tone.
'Well sure.' I respond. And lickidy-split the soccer enthusiast returns with a big bowl of kibble for Bud. What service! You deserve a raise my friend.

I'm informed that we're having hootinanny pancakes for breakfast, and I've gotta confess, just hearing the name gets me fired up, and I don't usually get too excited about food in the morning.

If you've never tried a hootinanny pancake I would describe it as having the texture of a light quiche on the edges with a more substantial dough core. Just the thing to get you started for a 30 + mile walk.

After Tracy leaves for work, Ed and the kids hang out with me around the table for a bit, but we've all got things to accomplish for the day and around 10 we say goodbyes.
Me and Bud pass the hottest hours of the day at Mt. Auburn. The city park is full of energy since today kicks off the 128th annual town fair. Incredible to think that folks in this town have been gettin' together to do this since 1886. While watching the carnival hands setting up the rides, we meet an eleven year old fellow named Briar. I'm quite impressed by this young guy, and especially touched when he offers to give me some of his ride money, stating in a matter-of-fact way, 'You need it. You're homeless.'
It's just past 23:00 when we come into the south end of Decatur. I've been trying to catch up on my journaling for a few hours in front of Super Pantry, and now I see that there's only about 1 1/2 hours left to dawn.