Recently, on my way across Atlanta, I met a woman named Rebecca– a friend of a friend. Almost every time I meet a Rebecca, I reveal to her that had I been born a girl, my name would have been Rebecca. The Atlanta Rebecca whom I met was fascinated by this– for if she had been born a boy, her parents would have named her George.
Had you been born the other gender, what would your parents have named you..??

Well, yes, I do sing in the rain– especially when listening to the right music!
However, as devoted as I was in the beginning to walking rain or shine, I’ve found the need to evolve the practical application of such devotion.
First off: the rain that keeps the Pacific Northwest so gleefully green is typically just a light, never-ending drizzle. Despite the fact that we get rained on the majority of the year, many of us who spend our lives in the PacNW don’t even own umbrellas.
These thunderstorms that I’ve been experiencing here in the South, however, are a much different story. They’re downright scary. On the 22-mile day in which I walked from Cross Plains to Lake Brownwood, Texas, I was so fortunate to receive some form of shelter, and to have timed the day’s walk when I did– for not too long after I finished walking for the day, we were receiving severe thunderstorm warnings from the National Weather Service: “be on the lookout for a tornado and tennis ball size hail.” As it turned out, golf-ball-size hail hammered the very path I walked to Lake Brownwood earlier in the day, and just three miles down the lake, softball-size hail dropped from the sky. The hail from this storm ended up crashing through skylights in a nearby mall, and shattering car windshields across a span of miles.
I’m told the hail doesn’t get that large here; however, I still have no interest in being out in even the dime-size hail that may fall around here.

To add to this, walking alongside major highways, while still doable, definitely becomes more hazardous in the rain.

Also, something I’ve learned from experience: when I walk for hours in the rain, my glasses steam up and I can no longer see through them!

The family-owned Wayfarer Hotel is awaiting my arrival in Monroe–20 miles from here– and has even contacted local schools for potential speaking appearance(s) from me. Given today’s soggy forecast, I don’t see myself making it to Monroe. Loganville is probably the furthest I’ll get– not even halfway to Monroe– but definitely some form of “progress,” provided I can find the right break between the storm cells.

There's a trail which runs from Atlanta all the way to Stone Mountain-- nearly twenty miles. I spent most of my day on this trail, from Oakhurst/Decatur, to Stone Mountain Village

A small pottery shop behind an art studio in Stone Mountain is home tonight.
I had been invited in by Jay– someone I’d met along the path today; however, after arriving here and catching up with him on the phone, he rescinded his offer after I politely answered his question that no, I’m not gay and no, I wasn’t interested in becoming gay for him tonight.
I have friends who are gay, which I’m completely fine with. I’ve even stayed with gays in multiple spots across the miles. They (male and female) have been some of the best hosts to me. I was disappointed with the late, after-dark phone call, but ready to move forward nonetheless. Blindly seeking hosting AFTER dark is typically one of the scenarios I most seek to avoid, and not a scenario I find myself in too often anymore. Serendipitously, upon hanging up the phone here in Stone Mountain Village, I looked around to find that they’re having their monthly art walk here this evening. Many of the attendees enthusiastically approached me to hear the Walk story, and I had an important question to follow the many answers I was giving them: “Do you know of any safe place in town for me to spend tonight?”
Friendly locals pointed me to The Art Studio, whose owners, the Thomases, are very involved in the community. I met Mr. Thomas at The Art Studio, and he didn’t hesitate to open his pottery shop to me–complete with bathroom and electricity!
I spent the final hour mingling with the owners and crowd at The Art Studio before closing. I even received a late message from Jay that he “wasn’t looking for sex, but making out would work well.” I immediately chose to ignore and delete all correspondence with Mr. Creep. I’d much sooner walk through thunderstorms and hundred-degree weather than communicate with him again. You know, in the what-have-I-learned-from-this realm, I believe I now know how women feel when working to shake off a creepy guy. Empathy has evolved to sympathy.
Tomorrow, I’ll visit at least part of Stone Mountain, as a dozen more miles await me from here to the home of Marianne & Family, in Snellville.
Funny how some of these days wind up. Once again, I find myself most thankful to the Road Angels who continue to emerge to assist me on this journey!

Spending the night at Stone Mountain Village's Art Studio. Thank You, David Thomas!

Thank You, David Thomas, for providing me with a solid, secure place to sleep for the night (with no strings attached!!).

Yesterday, on our way to Decatur, Rocio and I walked the recently-opened, yet-to-be-christened, first 2.5-mile stretch of the new, 22-mile pedestrian/bicyclist beltway that will ultimately circle central Atlanta. The trail truly is “hot off the press,” and locals already love it. Though still under construction, art is already making its way to the trail. Less then half a mile in, Rocio & I found a white ribbon exhibit. Scores of white ribbons are tied across a line of tall, narrow bamboo posts, firmly planted into the dirt. The ribbons hold peoples’ personal thoughts, ideas, ambitions, favorite quotations, names of loved ones, and more.  Blank ribbons, sharpie pens, and a wooden plank to write your choice of words on a ribbon sit aside the exhibit. Rocio & I filled out our respective ribbons and tied them to the exhibit. We met a family of others who were doing the same. Their sixth-grade daughter wrote a beautiful quotation onto hers, a quotation which is also a personal favorite that I use repeatedly in conversations across the miles: “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.”

Shoot for the moon!

I’m pretty used to the process of arriving and departing by now, so it’s pretty rare that any tears reach my eyes when saying goodbye to all the awesome hosts. Tears reached my eyes tonight though, as Rocio and I parted ways, after getting to know each other pretty well over the course of the past couple of weeks here in Atlanta.
We share a passion for world travel, similar senses of humor, and the same three languages!
She accompanied me to CNN last weekend, and joined me for today’s walk to Decatur– outside Atlanta city limits.
A precious gem to the Universe! I look forward to our paths crossing again, somewhere…

Rocio pushes the Chariot for a few blocks on our way out of Atlanta...

What you'll find on the interesting edges of Atlanta's new 22-mile beltline, a hike & bike trail being constructed in a long loop around the city. 2.5 miles of it have been paved, and will be officially christened next month. Rocio and I walked it during today's miles to Decatur.

Rocio & I arrive to Decatur after dark

How many of you knew that Atlanta’s first name was “Thrasherville”? Not I. Nor did I ever take the time to learn the name of the author of Gone With the Wind– much less where she lived. On my many walks around Atlanta, in addition to bumping into a numerous Civil War and other markers, I unexpectedly came across these landmarks. Fun stuff!

Thrasherville & Margaret Mead House

Following intuition, which so-often guides my walks, toward the end of today’s spiritually-fulfilling Midtown Atlanta miles, I’ve come across something etched many years ago into a North Avenue sidewalk: “GEORGE ♥ BARBARA 4EVER”.
George is my father’s name. Barbara was my mother’s name.
Most of walking across the country is sidewalk free, and I don’t see many etchings. I don’t remember stopping to read any sidewalk scribbles that I have noticed; however, after catching just the first three letters of George, and slowing to read everything, this one obviously engulfed me…
Across the ♥ , I’ve placed the golden bracelet that once belonged to my mother, which I’ve carried in my pocket for thousands of miles…
Interestingly, and probably not coincidentally, I’d taken some time out today to disappear into the trailside trees and focus on a love-centered meditation– ♥ even to include all the mosquitoes that were actively biting me.
The focus on developing the universal ♥ has led me to this…