Humps, Bumps, or Lumps???

Depends on where you’re from, I guess…
I grew up around speed bumps. In central Texas, I began seeing speed humps. As of today, I’ve seen my first speed lumps. Good thing for the signs– otherwise I don’t know that I’d be able to tell one from another! =P

Having awoken with a sore body this morning, after nearly 60 miles from Monday-Wednesday, I used today’s afternoon off to load a ton of new music onto my mp3 player. This is my first music update since leaving home in Washington, and I’m pretty excited about the company of all these new tunes.
Music has been one of my greatest companions across the miles. On countless days and nights, after having been tired for hours, having reached the point of exhaustion, yet still having two more hours of walking ahead of me, pulling up the perfect combos of energizing songs consistently provides one of the greatest boosts of energy to power me through those remaining miles.
The mp3 player has been a tried and true companion across the many long, open stretches of rural America, with music and audiobooks that embrace, empower and enlighten me…

I awoke this Thursday morning in a comfortable bed– first time that’s happened in a few days. Good timing too– for as I made my first effort to rise and shine, I felt serious muscle soreness throughout my body. No surprise here– I’ve walked just shy of 60 miles these past three days, making it from Ocean Springs all the way to Mobile.

The map told me that I had over 22 miles of walking ahead of me, yet what I took little time to investigate was road quality. A handful of street views of the internet map showed a two-foot shoulder throughout most of the rural miles, which isn’t ideal, but is definitely better than no shoulder at all. Normally, once a metro area is reached, roads expand, sidewalks appear, and a much different feel arrives as each and every mile is filled with homes & businesses. Many of the fast-food chains that I’ve totally avoided eating in for many years suddenly feel welcoming with their McBathroom’s, water, ice, and sometimes wifi. (I typically don’t buy anything– all the endless $ I spent there years ago is now paying me back, I figure.)

En route to Mobile, I passed through the small towns of St. Elmo, Irvington and Theodore. Once I reached Tillman’s Corner, the outer edge of the Mobile metro area, the line of businesses began and Hwy 90’s shoulders disappeared. There were no sidewalks to replace them– Yikes!! Hwy 90 continued this way for several miles, and I had very few sidewalk opportunities between Tillman’s Corner and the home of Robin, who is hosting me on the west side of Mobile. I often just timed my walking with traffic flows. Stop lights lined the miles, so I often just proceeded forward for quick 30-60 second bursts before pulling my cart off the road for another wave of speeding automobiles. To my good fortune, the weather was good, the road had been freshly paved, and occasionally frontage roads or neighborhood side streets would loop out for me to retreat to. I had to reroute the final 3-4 miles due to poor pedestrian conditions.

I didn’t arrive to Robin’s till about 10 PM, long after I’d hoped, but as I’d stayed in touch with her throughout the afternoon, she remained very welcoming and met me on the street a couple of blocks from her home, to easily guide me in. Robin is a truly wonderful person with a shining heart and an energetic 10-month-old Irish Setter resembling dog, Odie, who anyone could fall in love with instantly.

I’ll remain at Robin’s for two nights before shifting over the home of Kenneth, another Mobile CSer who has invited me to spend the weekend at his place. I’m excited to spend a few days in Mobile before continuing east!

After a long, tough day on the road, how refreshing to be greeted by puppy love!!

After some 13 sunny and breezy miles down highway 90, I reached the Alabama border at a few minutes before 6 P.M. Just as I was crossing the road, approaching the WELCOME TO ALABAMA sign, some cyclists appeared from around the curve. Fred & Linda, a baby boomer couple from Seattle, are currently riding a tandem bike from San Diego to St. Augustine, FL. We stopped and chatted for a few merry minutes, took pics, and then returned to the road, as they had fifteen more miles to ride before dark, and I still had a handful of miles to walk– in addition to finding a safe place to rest my head for the night.
The closer I made it to today’s final destination of Grand Bay (a town whose name I keep saying wrong), the friendlier the passing motorists seem to become– many honking and waving. No invitations for hosting, however. So I proceeded into town, where I knew that a handful of churches were to be found. I had less than an hour before dark, and there was no time to rest. I was calm and my heart was in the right place, yet the survival-mode part of me kept me very focused on finding hosting as soon as possible. After passing a unfamiliarly-named church with a minivan out front, I saw at least half a dozen cars in the nearby First United Methodist Church parking lot, where a young man was shooting hoops in the parking lot. I headed right in. I actually wanted to stop and shoot hoops with him (I love basketball!), but my focus was unshaken, and I quickly explained to him what I was doing and what I was seeking.
“The pastor and a delegation just began a really important, closed-door meeting. They’ve locked the doors,” he told me, “they could easily be in there for an hour or more.”
Had I been hearing this at 2 PM, I would’ve simply waited around, but since the sun was setting, I persisted: “Do you think they’d mind if I knocked on the door and asked them for a safe place to camp or sleep on the floor?”
The young man seemed quite reluctant about the idea, but not willing to make any such decision on his own. “I don’t know– I suppose you could always try it.”
It would be dark before long, and this could be my best prospect, so I was willing to give it a shot. Worst case scenario, I’m told “no.”
The young man pointed me to a white door, on the other side of which everyone was meeting. I approached the door and put my ear up to it. I heard serious conversation, but then I heard some good laughter. Well trained by now, I acted immediately: Knock! Knock! Knock!
The polite gentleman who answered the door led me to Reverend John Baxter, seated with about ten others at an important church committee meeting. I explained the Walk and my overnight request to them. They listened sincerely, and asked me to please step outside so they could quickly discuss it.
Reverend Baxter emerged within about three minutes, told me they were all satisfied with me and my request, and showed me where I could camp. He also left open a section of the church for restroom and kitchen access. “Everything is very safe around here,” he assured me.
Thanking the reverend and breathing relief with the accomplishment, I moved on to the local grocery store, grabbed an affordable dinner, and met several more sweet locals before returning here to the FUMC for the night.
Another day of nearly 17 miles walked. I’m about 22 miles out from Mobile, and despite walking above-average mileage counts the last couple of days, I’m confident I’ll still have enough good energy to make it into Mobile by tomorrow evening. Then it’ll be time to spend a few days in Mobile, get to know the city and its people, and take care of more personal biz in the process.
So far, so good in Sweet Home Alabama– and I’m ready for more!

Across my remaining miles of Mississippi, I enjoy seeing nature carve its way up through the asphalt, showing its resplendent colors off to the world!

At the Alabama border, I met a baby boomer couple riding across America on a tandem bike. Like me, they're from Washington State. However, they started their bicycle trip in California. Nice people-- we exchanged pic favors before bidding one another farewell. Pictured here, I'm about to step into Alabama for the first time. How Exciting!! Of course, I still don't yet know where I'll be resting my head this night...

The First United Methodist Church in Grand Bay gave me permission to sleep anywhere outside. I chose the playground fort, just above the slide, where I just barely was able to squeeze in diagonally.

“There has to be a reason for all of this. A fascinating experience is about to come,” I kept telling myself.
Typically, when I’m referred by a friend of a friend to be hosted at a future destination on the route, very rarely does the referral fall through for any sort of reason. After a smilingly lively weekend with the quartet of marine biologists in Ocean Springs, I left this morning for Gautier/Pascagoula.
1) Arthur & Cathy, the airboat tour operators I spent a night with last month in Des Allemands, Louisiana, told me they had a friend in Pascagoula I could stay with. 2) Fellow walker Andrew Forsthoefel hooked me up with Michael L, a friendly man who had hosted him while walking through Pascagoula. And before I left today: 3) Ocean Springs hosts Jeni et al told me they thought their friend George would probably like to host me in Gautier, the town just shy of Pascagoula. Stepping into a day with three referral connections is one of the most promising ways to start any day on the road, and I don’t know that there’s ever been a time that three promising pitches have led to a strike out– till today.

As the day’s miles were beginning, Cathy told me that their Pascagoula friend just sent them a message from Colorado. Upon reaching the outskirts of Gautier, Jeni texted me that Gautier George is also out of town. And Michael L wasn’t responding to three phone calls and a text message over 24 hours.

From afar, the people of Pascagoula weren’t welcoming me in with open arms– yet the day’s weather was beautiful– perfect 70-something weather with wind at my back. A 17-mile day didn’t pull much sweat from me at all.

All options exhausted, including a couple of calls to local churches, I felt impelled to simply continue forward, into Pascagoula. Such uncertain end-of-day scenarios really used to stress me out through the first few hundred miles. Where would I end up staying???
3,500 miles into this Walk, however, wisdom was on my side. Something always works out. It may not be the something I most hope for, but even when it ends up being a tougher evening than anticipated, I always end up experiencing and learning something important.

Though I know by now that “it will all work out,” I still feel my subconscious shifting into more of a hyperaware survival mode when facing these situations. Finishing off the day’s miles by walking across the large bridges of the west & east forks of the Singing River, I had to focus on staying calm, with the faith that these other three hosting opportunities had fallen through in order to simply open a door for a new and yet-to-be-known opportunity. I just typically prefer to know what those new opportunities are as soon as possible– especially when there’s only an hour of sunlight remaining.
I’d quickly seen Andrew Forsthoefel’s blog this morning before I left Ocean Springs, and I remember reading that upon arriving to Lampasas, he walked straight into the Police Station to ask for their assistance. They placed him in touch with a local ministerial alliance, who rented him a motel room. I’d only walked into a police station seeking assistance once, in Willits, California, and they offered me no assistance. I’d never tried since– but as the other opportunities has fallen through, I felt inspired to stop into the police station in Pascagoula.
Google Maps showed me that the Pascagoula police station was close to the Hwy 90 bridge, and I was inside their front doors within five minutes of stepping into town. I approached the window and I explained my story and my desire (a safe place to sleep) to the dispatcher, Ms. Angie. Angie told me she’d contact her lieutenant, who’d be returning in 20 minutes, to see if he could help me with options. Angie sounded sincere, which felt promising.
Lieutenant Barnes showed up with a large, enthusiastic smile on his face. My normal modus operandi is that I only ask for something as simple as a place to camp, yet I’m always ready for floor space or more as well. Lt. Barnes showed me some space under the nearby bridge where I could camp, and though I was ready to accept it, he could tell I was also enthusiastic to explore other options. He welcomed me into his office, sat me down, and got busy on the phone. He called people he knew, including owners of a local B & B, which he knew would be a great hosting experience for me. But they were full. Lt. Barnes was prepared to continue making calls on my behalf, but having told me that he’d find a spot for me within the station if nothing else worked out, I was ready to take him up on this offer sooner than later.

I’ve been hosted in a number of motels and B&Bs, all of which are nice, but being hosted for a night in a police station promised to be a unique and memorable experience indeed!
Lt. Barnes introduced me to the staff, and requested an officer take me to the grocery store and a nearby restaurant– far better service than most motels give their guests! I was taken on a tour of the jail portion of the station, and invited to sleep in one of the cells, if I wished. My other option was to sleep on the exercise room floor. Option B simply was easier, and felt more inviting too. The cells felt creepy. I’m sorry for those who have to spend days and nights within them. No windows. Scary.
Lt. Barnes normally supervises police activity from the station; however, he gets out and drives around some every shift as well– to keep from feeling stuck behind an office desk for 12 hours at a time. He invited me with him, and took me on a through-police-lieutenant’s-eyes nighttime tour of the town. He showed me the shipbuilding plant, the oil refinery, the natural gas storage facility, and Mississippi Phosphates. He drove me along the beach and showed me the multimillion-dollar waterfront homes, many of which have been constructed next to still-vacant lots with residual concrete foundations after Hurricane Katrina.
Though over a mile into town, Katrina’s storm surge still flooded the police station. Up to ten feet flooded Pascagoula, and the surge pushed water in for miles, up to Interstate 10 and beyond. Everyone was flooded to some extent, and sadly, as was the case from New Orleans to the east, many who chose not to evacuate perished in the storm.
As he told me of the 12-hour shifts they worked for 30 days straight during Katrina and the aftermath, as he described the knowledge of the city and the efforts they make to keep it safe, and as I could tell that he genuinely served to create a better world for himself and the people around him, my gratitude and respect for the police profession grew. Many times I’ve received small forms of assistance from police across the miles. And now that I’m being hosted for the first time in a police station, especially when left with no other simple option at the end of the day, my gratitude for Lt. Barnes, the Pascagoula police staff, and the good cops of the globe really shot through the roof.
Now I understand why all three of those friend-of-friend referrals were all unavailable to host me!!
How Awesome!!

Waiting lobby of Pascagoula Police Station. I was told the on-duty lieutenant would soon come to talk to me about a safe, legal place to stay for the night.

Telling Lt. Barnes that I was willing to settle for any safe place in town, indoors or out, to rest my head for the night, he first showed me an area under the large Hwy 90 bridge, behind the Police Station. "Many of the cross-county bicyclists sleep here," Lt. Barnes explained to me. He could see that, though willing to accept, I wasn't very enthusiastic about this. He then invited me into the station, where he'd help me find local accommodation indoors.

Lt. Barnes directed one of the staffers to go help me find something to eat. Later in the evening, Barnes took me on a ride around town, during his evening patrol. I received the ENORMOUS privilege of being shown the City of Pascagoula through a police lieutenant's eyes.

They offered to allow me to spend a night in a jail cell, which I at first wanted to do just to say "I once spent a night in jail." However, once inside the cells, testing them out, I felt this eerie darkness that would NOT have allowed me a pleasant night's rest, so I instead slept on the weight room floor.

Spending the night on the weight room floor of the Pascagoula Police Station. One of the jail trustees sanitized a jail mat for me. I slept atop it and enjoyed a great night's rest.

Farewell, Pascagoula Police-- Thank You All for the Wonderful Hospitality!

Not only was it great to have been suddenly sidetracked with a 4-day detour in Biloxi, the Biloxi opportunity also ended up opening a free weekend window for the fun house of four in Ocean Springs.
Jennifer McKinney, friend of walk-across-America veteran Skip Potts (Skip had originally advised me before I began my Walk), had written to me months ago, after Skip showed her this video. She invited me to stay with her & her roommates in Ocean Springs. As the Ocean Springs quartet are all marine biologists, they spend the weekdays out at sea, in the lab, or doing other related things, so arriving Friday night opened up the perfect opportunity to spend a fun weekend with them all. Jennifer is originally from California; Jeremy, her boyfriend, is from Chicago via Kansas; Sara is from Sevilla, Spain; and Will, the dreadlocked twentysomething “youngster,” is actually a native of Mississippi.

Though I’ve walked over half of my Mississippi miles by now, with brief exceptions in Pearlington and Gulfport, I’ve still spent almost no time with people who are actually from Mississippi. This is in no way by design– I’m simply accepting whatever invitations I receive from many great people along my route.

Will explained to me that this small strip of coastline I’ve been walking is a very distinct part of Mississippi. “North of Interstate 10, it’s like a whole different state. The Mississippi coast has much more in common with New Orleans,” Will explains, “there’s a large Catholic population here; it’s a more relaxed atmosphere; there’s a constant flow of people from other parts of the country and world; and there isn’t the great reliance on agriculture as there is in most of the rest of Mississippi.”

Though there are only a handful of miles between I-10 and the coastline itself, the Air Force base in addition to shipping and other port-related industries on the Gulf Coast ensure a constant influx of people from all over. There are also people who came shortly after Hurricane Katrina to help with the rebuilding efforts, and ended up staying (Julie in Biloxi, for example). Many coastal residents who left after Katrina destroyed the area never returned. Given that I’ve been walking the coastline for most of my Mississippi miles, I’ve been fully immersed in this cultural melting pot.

Will is from central Mississippi, Madison, a “white flight” suburb of Jackson, as he describes it. He went to college in Hattiesburg and is just now completing his graduate studies here on the Gulf Coast. Will has endless stories about Mississippi culture and differences. Though there are still black churches and white churches throughout Mississippi, in addition to “voluntary” residential segregation in most cities, the most extreme racist attitudes that Mississippi was known for decades ago have slowly been evaporating over the generations, Will explained to me. Will’s generation would never dream of using separate bathrooms or drinking fountains for different races– whereas his mother was spanked as a child for once drinking from a fountain labeled “colored.” Born in the 1980’s, in the early years of integration, the concept of separate water fountains “blows my mind,” Will explains. Will tells me that even though many of the whites of his parents’ generation are no longer overtly racist, many also would not be able to see themselves working for a black man. Many people of his grandparents generation generally have (had) sweet and lovely personalities, but it seemed to simply be ingrained in them that whites were superior to blacks, and were to be separated and treated superiorly.

Sadly, it doesn’t surprise me to hear this, for throughout America, especially within older age groups, it’s not at all uncommon to find a very hardened, ingrained attitudes about political ideologies or about faith/religion. (I’ve found myself really having to remain “on guard” about this sort of thing as I continue to age!) So many of us have the only “correct” answer, and we’re commonly open to being heard, yet rarely open to being kindly debated– as we (sadly) often don’t ask the most critical questions ourselves before fully subscribing to specific religious and political ideologies– making them a core part of our personal identities– identities (ego) which may feel “in danger” if we suddenly decide to ponder the issues deeply after many years. The ego often feels safer by just following the fellow singing sheep. Collectively, we all have a long way to go…

The fun trio of nights in Ocean Springs draws to a close this morning, as the marine biologist quartet returns to work, and so do I. I’m to walk at least 17 miles today, to Pascagoula, where Michael L, a friend of Andrew Forsthoefel, has told Andrew he’d like to provide me with a room and meal at his motel and restaurant. I contacted Michael last night, and still haven’t heard back. I’ll try him again today, and if I don’t hear back in time, I simply need to arrive before sunset, which makes it far easier for me to make cold calls and knock on doors out of the blue, should I need to.

The rain clouds of this weekend have departed, welcoming a bright and shiny morning and new week. At this point, it’s completely unpredictable how today will end. That said, I’ve been on the road long enough by now to simply “feel” that from start to finish, challenges and all, today will be a great day!!

Jeremy & Jennifer of Ocean Springs

Sarah & Will of Ocean Springs

I awoke on Monday morning, April 16, 2012, expecting to walk 19 miles through headwinds and seashore sidewalk sand mounds to reach Ocean Springs. Any day with strong, consistent headwinds has me feeling like I’m walking many more miles. Pushing my cart through countless large, disabling mounds of beach sand on the sidewalk has me feeling like I’m walking more miles. To add to this all, Ocean Springs host Jennifer was set to be busy throughout the business week, and I’d wasn’t sure I’d even get the chance to meet her. So, when Julie Kuklinski suddenly phoned me out of nowhere and invited me to be hosted on her Benachi Avenue block full of bubbly souls, it didn’t take me long to accept her offer.
Julie’s house was no more than 13 miles from Bernie & Barbara’s, in Gulfport, a reduced total which released the burden of stress from my shoulders. Daryl, her roommate, came to meet and walk with me on the Biloxi beach sidewalk. Before he arrived, nearly a half dozen other fun local youths approached and walked with me for about half a mile– curious & cute local high school students and a nice man in his early 20’s.
Daryl & I arrived to Julie’s a few minutes before her, and it didn’t take long to feel the presence of a great community all around this sweet little home. The roommates get along really well; the neighbors are not only familiar with each other, they’re more than welcome to just let themselves in the front door; they all have friendly dogs; and, each in their own unique way works to contribute to making the world a better place. Julie, for her part, helps homeless women gain skills to find decent-paying jobs.
My invitation was quickly extended from one night to two, and the next day, from two to four. Each time, it just felt so right to be sticking around and accepting the invitation. I feel so fortunate to have spent a full four nights with them. They remind me a lot of Josh & Laura and all their sweet neighbors in Lake Charles. Not only did I gain a special familiarity with them all, as it turns out, they’re remotely familiar with Ocean Springs host Jennifer as well.
As Friday was only a 7-mile day from Julie’s home to Jennifer’s, I left after Julie was finished with work, so she could join me on the road for a while on my way out of Biloxi.
The short-sleeve spring weather couldn’t have been more perfect. Perfect conclusion to the 4-day detour. I’m confident we’ll all stay in touch, as I especially hope they’ll come camp with me somewhere in the miles ahead. Such sweet people– and now that Jennifer & her roommates have the weekend off, Ocean Springs awaits!!

Mississippi Gulf Coast Miles

Seaside Sweethearts Marisa, Parish and Zandra welcome me to Biloxi!

Biloxi host Julie and her neighbors truly brighten the world!!!

Hurricane Katrina's aftermath endures. All along the Mississippi Gulf Coast, ground zero for Hurricane Katrina, I simply lost count of the endless number of empty lots, foundations and driveways typically still intact, marking residences which once were-- many of which may never again be occupied ~

~ Sweet Biloxi Sunsets ~

I reached Gulfport on foot yesterday, amid some serious, sustained, flag-flapping Gulf winds. I’ve had a handful of very windy days while walking: such winds were smacking me at the left side through Cochise, Arizona. They were comfortably at my back en route to Lordsburg, New Mexico. And in one of the most exhausting days of the entire walk, they were strongly in my face almost for almost all of my 22 miles to Big Spring, Texas.
Yesterday was only a ten-mile day, and to count my blessings, the wind was at my side, no rain, no intense temperatures, and Gulfport hosts Bernie & Barbara relieved me of my load through the final 2 miles. That said, as mounds of beach sand piled their way onto the coast-hugging sidewalk, I found the sand more challenging to push wheels through than any and all else: I’ll take mud over sand in a heartbeat! And unlike dirt and most other substances, wet sand is much easier to navigate across than dry sand. (I have no ambition to find dune-buggy tires for my cart.)
Hosts Bernie & Barbara Walker, who’ve hosted 2 other cross-country walkers and who’ve been awaiting me since NOLA, invited me into quite the happening household: their sister, Penny, is currently visiting from Virginia; and a mother-son pair from southern India are currently staying here as well amid their travels together through the States. It’s the son’s first time here, they’re traveling by Harley Davidson, and they also met the Walkers via Couchsurfing. The Walkers took everyone to New Orleans yesterday, before I showed up, and today, they took us all out on their seaboat. We spent all day on the bays and bayous north of the Gulfport-Biloxi peninsula, seeing sides of Mississippi that many who live their lives in the state will never get to see. Quite an amazingly diverse country we live in. The more I learn about it and the more I experience it, the more I love it!
Tomorrow, I’m to walk nearly 19 miles, through Biloxi and to Ocean Springs. Serious winds are to be at my side and in my face again, with 30% chance of thunderstorms. One of my tires is having a tough time staying inflated. That said, as I’m leaning toward turning north at Pensacola, these may be my final Gulf Coast walking miles, and I’m determined to appreciate such miles while they last! Attitude: Optimistic!

Bernie & Barbara Walker, who've also hosted two other people walking across America.

When walking more than 20 miles in a day, it’s always best to not have taken more than a day or two off from any previous 10+mile day. If I wait as long as four days, my body has already slipped from tip-top shape. This was exactly the case for Saturday’s 24-mile walk out of Louisiana.

I began the day in the Bayou Savage National Wildlife Refuge, where Phil, Richard & I had left off four days earlier. Despite too many days off (totally my doing), light winds in my face, mosquitoes all around, the day was sunny and not too hot, and I felt blessed by this. I exchanged a meaningful goodbye with Phil Goddard, who had advised me of how to walk across America months before I ever began, and had hosted me for the past five nights in NOLA.

The Bayou Savage National Wildlife Refuge is a very special place– especially to walk across– a real jewel of an experience for my final miles of Louisiana. There are over 24,000 acres of fresh and brackish marshes and coastal hardwood forests, and they’re technically all still within the city limits of New Orleans, making it the nation’s largest urban National Wildlife Refuge. About two hours into the day’s walk, I began smelling sea salt in the air, which was such a sweet sensation, as I hadn’t walked close to the coast since Santa Monica– two years ago! I’ll soon be reaching the shores of the Gulf Coast on foot!!!

NOLA’s fire station #31 rests on the main hwy slicing through the Refuge, many miles from the all-day action that other in-town crews experience, but as fellow walker Andrew Forsthoefel had spent a night with them, I figured I’d pay a brief visit while walking by as well. The quartet of firefighters on staff remembered Andrew well, and while spending about 15 minutes with them, they hooked me up with extra mosquito repellent and threw in a NOLA Fire Dept T-Shirt for the road as well.

Two more miles down Highway 90, Chef Menteur Hwy, the only road I’d need to walk all day, brought me past the well-to-do Venetian Isles neighborhood. Darrel, a local who was just returning from a 10k morning run invited me into the house to meet the family. I ended up meeting three generations of Darrel’s family, including an art room where a handful of baby-boomer men were working on painting wood-carved ducks, pelicans and eagles. One of the mallards that was near completion looked absolutely real from a ten feet away– amazing! Standing and talking to them for twenty minutes, one of them asked me,”what’s the strangest thing you’ve ever seen in all your miles?”

I answered him, “well, one time I was walking through a neighborhood, a guy offered me a break at his house, and I was taken to a back room where I was surprised to see a bunch of guys carving and painting birds.” It took them a second to get it, and they really seemed to like my answer. The real answer is that every day is so diverse, and so much has happened, that it’s difficult to generate specific answers to these types of questions. (Give me a point on the map where I walked, and ask me how that day went, and I’ll remember it well enough to tell a story.)

Darrel’s family and friends told me how their neighborhood, far from NOLA’s levees, was well under about 25 feet of water with Katrina’s storm surge– they pointed to a neighbor’s flag pole to show me how high the water rose. Almost everyone had evacuated; however, a few stubborn locals had the “I’ve survived every other storm and I’ll survive this one too” attitude, and such stubborness cost many of them their lives.

After nearly an hour with Darrel’s family, despite feeling invited to hang out all day (and maybe longer), it was time to return to the road. For the first time while walking, I was seeing neighborhoods of houses on pilings– stilts twenty feet tall onto which the homes sit. Cars and other storage items rest below these homes, and long stair cases lead up and into each of the homes.

15 miles into the day, beyond an antique, narrow drawbridge and a tall, mile-long bridge with a great view, I reached Rigolets, where I crossed paths with a Brian, a Hawaiian who had been bicycling all the way from Tampa, Florida. After ten minutes of chatting with Brian, I reached a large, black Ford pickup where Aubrey & Mrs. Norris, a retired couple, had pulled up to speak with me. Of course, they asked me the standard what and why.

“For cancer prevention…” I explained.

“How does walking across America prevent cancer?” Aubrey skeptically probed.

“I’m taking countless steps across America with the goal of inspiring fellow Americans to take steps forward in their lives, lead healthier lifestyles, and create better, brighter worlds for themselves as well as for those around them. At minimum, I ask people to take a daily walk. Exercise, eating, and stress management all lead to a decreased risk of cancer.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Washington, DC; however, today I’ll end the day in Pearlington.”

Aubrey proceeded to give me about five minutes of his meaning-of-life perspectives before asking me,”Well, do you need a place to stay? We live in Pearlington. You can throw your stuff in the back and hop in now if you’d like…”

“I may have an invitation or two in Pearlington, but I’d love to take your number, just in case.” People who’d hosted Andrew Forsthoefel in Pearlington were willing to let me camp in their yard, and Pastor John of the local Baptist church told me he could arrange for a room and a shower for me. As the sun was setting though, and as I had another ten miles to walk, it was clear I wouldn’t be arriving before 10PM. The cart was cumbersome, and the roadside shoulders would soon be narrowing into traffic-only space, much trickier for pushing the cart. So, thinking fast before they left, I asked, “what if I put my stuff in the back of your truck now, and catch up to you in Pearlington, would that be OK?”

“Yes, sure!”

I was free of the cart for the next three hours. After dark and within my final 2 miles of Louisiana, I began placing gratitude-filled phone calls to many of the people who had made Louisiana such an overwhelmingly beautiful experience for me. I wish I could have spoken with all of them, but the handful of conversations and messages left before the Mississippi border really helped to seal off the oh-so-special Bayou State experience…

Though it took me till 10PM to arrive, Aubrey’s help made those final ten miles twice as easy as the previous fourteen, and was especially useful to me as I arrived exhausted, so ready to sleep. I’d canceled the other invitations on the way.

Though I was utterly exhausted, Aubrey was enthusiastic to engage in conversation for another couple of hours. Some of it I remember; much of it I don’t. Being a good guest translates to not simply arriving and demanding a bed to sleep in however, no matter how much the body may desire that. Establishing a positive rapport is essential, even if that was to take many post-exhaustion hours to achieve.

I awoke tired on Easter morning, body aching from Saturday’s long, against-the-wind miles. The miles, mosquitoes, and sun all added up to do a number on me, and I was not going to be in any condition to walk 19 more miles to Bay St. Louis. That said, I also don’t just invite myself into peoples’ homes for extra days. Aubrey did invite me to stay longer though, and I accepted this invitation pretty quickly. I did very little all day, resting my aching body, and getting to know Mr. & Mrs. Norris better while here.

Early this morning, I still feel aches and pains under the skin, but I also feel my strength quickly recollecting to empower me across the miles ahead. Those 24 miles may have worn my body out, but my spirit remains strong. This will be my first full day of walking in Mississippi, and I’m excited!

Last Day in Louisiana, 24 miles through the Bayou Savage National Wildlife Refuge

Last Day in Louisiana, 24 miles through the Bayou Savage National Wildlife Refuge

Last Day in Louisiana. For the first time, I'm walking by homes on high stilts (pilings). These are for the storm surges. Nonetheless, many of these homes were underwater and/or destroyed by Hurricane Katrina

The last one I see in Louisiana, New Orleans Fire Station #17, where fellow walker Andrew Forsthoefel had spent a night just a few weeks earlier, resupplied me with mosquito spray, and gave me a New Orleans Fire Department T-shirt for the road!

On my final day in Louisiana, walking out of the state via Chef Menteur Highway, I noticed so many of the surrounding homes had "greeting signs" in their front yards, many of admirable artistic style. I haven't seen so many artistic, front-yard welcome signs anywhere else in America. I love it! Here's one of my favorites:

Last Day in Louisiana, a sweet family invites me off Chef Menteur Hwy for a few minutes, for a meet & greet & eat.

Last Day in Louisiana, a sweet family invites me off Chef Menteur Hwy for a few minutes, for a meet & greet & eat. In a room off to the side, a few kind Baby Boomers are busy working their birds...

In a 1967 car crash, Jayne Mansfield died here. What I stumble upon from one day to the next on the road never ceases to amaze me.