A difficult day

It's 12:50 am and I'm sitting in front of a Cenex station just outside of New Salem. I finally got Bud calmed down and resting comfortably on his blankets. Poor water-logged guy! It's been a rough day for both of us. Where to start?

Yesterday, if you'd asked me to try to put together the most difficult travel day imaginable, I think the events of this one would still have it beat. Not that I'm complaining. In part, it's the unknown, the variability of each day and its trials that make doing this sort of thing worthwhile. As far as that goes, you could say that this has been the most worthwhile day yet.

So let's see...I guess there've been five components to today's challenge which put it up there with the epics of Gilgamesh. Alright, so I might be stretching it a bit. You be the judge.

Firstly, for every sojourner distance is key. When to start? Where to break and how often? What pace to keep? All of these revolve around distance. Now, I feel pretty comfortable with 30 miles, but add a sustained head wind of 40-60 mph all day and the distance dynamics change substantially. Today's wind was utterly relentless.

Next, there's the temperature; it either makes walking a joy or a chore. 90 degrees isn't terribly hot, but when combined with the aforementioned wind, it sure can dry you out quickly. 1 gallon, I found, isn't nearly enough water.

After that, there's the terrain to consider. On this crossing, it's become clear to me that for every downhill section, there are at least two uphill ones, and that doesn't bother me too much any more, that is, unless the uphill portions are loose gravel and dirt. I tell you that this cart of mine becomes a curse when its wheels get into that soft stuff.

So, by now you should be able to envision our protagonist battling the elements in the fashion of Lawrence of Arabia over rough terrain with only a few drops of water left to get him to his destination. Oh, and of course the faithful companion bolstering confidence with his insatiably long tongue, and wry smile.

Now when we arrive in Salem we're both so tired, but I'm keen to keep my appointment with Sue, the town's mascot and the world's largest Holstein cow statue. She sits on a hill over the city, looking out to the country beyond. I'd imagined this as the perfect place to set up our tent for the night, and took no little comfort from the fact that she'd been standing there securely for many years.

And that brings me to the reason why I'm now waiting for the dawn at a gas station. It may be well and good for Sue to weather the storms on her hill, but when a thunderstorm rolled through around 23:00 hours, my tent was found comparatively wanting. To be more specific, it collapses under the intense wind and allows Buddy and me to be pelted by hail. With lightning striking all around, I make the call.

'We gotta get out of here Bud!'

So, without another thought, I amass everything into a giant wad, and stuff it precariously into the cart. Another bolt flashes and the hail turns to a downpour. Buddy needs no instructions; he's already on his way down the hill. I'm trying to hold the cart's Velcro cover shut on the one side that reaches while balancing a now wet sleeping pad and steering partially blind. It must have been a comical site. The salt on the wound comes about ten minutes later when standing wet under the cover of the convenience store eves, I watch as the storm blows past to the north.

I probably should have seen it coming when I took this.

So, perhaps it's not as impressive a feat as building, say, the walls of Uruk. However, it's a day that in the analogs of this trip will be hard to top. Knock on wood. Bud's sleeping soundly now, and I'm ready for a cup of coffee. Two and a half more hours until the dawn, and then, we'll find out what the path has in store.