Quick post! Below are a few articles that have come out in the past month.
In perhaps my first unedited Caller-Times piece, I wrote a little about the more spiritual side of the hike. Click here for the article. I don't write the titles, by the way.
In my syndicated column, I wrote about the Texas Panhandle hospitality and contrasted it with a now outdated XIT rule of conduct. Click here for the article.
Finally, a local Kermit publisher/editor/reporter/writer of the online Winkler Post did an interview with me. Click here for the interview with photos.
Until next time...
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Kermit, Texas
Kermit, Texas is so named for a Roosevelt, son of our former president Teddy. The county wraps around the bottom left of the Texas Panhandle, and I've decided to stop here for the night to get some work done.
A quick note on the corner: I may or may not write about this in one of my columns, so while I can't say much, I will say this: it's at the only sign not facing the road. I know, hard to believe. But it IS there on 1218 within the confines of Flying Pan Ranch. You can find it, point-seekers!
After a quick bite to eat at a Mexican carneceria and bakery (It's on the northern end of town on Hwy 18. Good hot asado burrito. Finally, the food had some kick to it! Everything's hotter in West Texas, I guess.), I entered the heart of Kermit. I mailed some books out at the post office and dumped a ton of trash. My bag feels like a normal weight for the first time in several days. Alas, with the huge empty stretches ahead, this will be a short-lived victory.
My friend Darren just informed me that Orla (my next PO drop) is a ghost town. Hoowee. Really takes the wind out of you, hearing something like that.
Welcome to West Texas. There is more to come.
Until next time...
A quick note on the corner: I may or may not write about this in one of my columns, so while I can't say much, I will say this: it's at the only sign not facing the road. I know, hard to believe. But it IS there on 1218 within the confines of Flying Pan Ranch. You can find it, point-seekers!
After a quick bite to eat at a Mexican carneceria and bakery (It's on the northern end of town on Hwy 18. Good hot asado burrito. Finally, the food had some kick to it! Everything's hotter in West Texas, I guess.), I entered the heart of Kermit. I mailed some books out at the post office and dumped a ton of trash. My bag feels like a normal weight for the first time in several days. Alas, with the huge empty stretches ahead, this will be a short-lived victory.
My friend Darren just informed me that Orla (my next PO drop) is a ghost town. Hoowee. Really takes the wind out of you, hearing something like that.
Welcome to West Texas. There is more to come.
Until next time...
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Muleshoe, Texas
I got most of my work done at the Muleshoe Public Library, so I really didn't get to post about my time in the town itself.
The very first store I went into was the Williams General Store, specifically to buy socks. I met the owner, a very friendly lady named Dawn, and she showed me their sock selection. I was pleased to have more than one choice at all. It's very unusual to have a specialized store in a town of 4000 to 5000 people. (A quick note: Yes, it's called a "general" store, but it focused on outdoor apparel as well as athletic gear.)
After I picked out a couple of thick Thorlos, Dawn and I chit-chatted a bit. She was very curious about my trip, and I asked her a few questions about life in Muleshoe. Then in walked Steve Friskup, her cowboy church pastor and proprietor of a line of cowboy hats (the hats take up an entire wall of the store). We shook hands, and Dawn explained what I was doing. Again, friendly chit-chat.
[I want to step out of the story for just a second. I'm making a big deal about this because it's highly unusual that the very first person I come into contact with is so nice and talkative. Usually, I have to fish for hours, that is meet a whole bunch of people, before I find one person who is willing to just talk. I have a suspicion that while the backpack is partly to blame, so are the times. Back to the story.]
Dawn invited me to leave my backpack while I wandered around town. Again, very thoughtful and perceptive. I accepted and asked about food. Dawn gave me the low-down of the town's food options, and my ears perked up when she said you didn't even know what you were ordering half the time at this one place. Cha-ching. I thanked her and headed off for said place.
Taqueria Guadalahara. There were just Mexican-Americans inside. Or maybe just Mexicans, I don't know. The waitresses had the usual huddle-up to decide whose English was good enough to handle the gringo patron before one came over. I ordered one gordita and one taco. While the taco tortilla didn't seem homemade, the gordita certainly was, and both went down like lemonade on a hot day. I ordered some sopapillas afterward which were a little hard for my taste. What's up with hard sopapillas? I swear New Mexico's got a monopoly on good, soft sopapillas. Still, hot sauce was served with the meal, and there were already two or three hot sauces on the table! Boy, they had my number. Overall: 4 out of 5 stars.
I then wandered off to the library, did some work, and headed back for the Williams store. When I got there, I met Roger, Dawn's husband, another friendly face. They informed me that their pastor offered to put me up in a motel! Done. This happened to coincide with a little money tightness, so it couldn't have been better timing. Roger helped me get settled there.
On the way over, Roger asked me, "Have you met any other homeless people in your travels?" Huh, was my first thought. I said that by and large I haven't met many people out on the road, but I knew that we were on separate pages, maybe even in different books. I had to straighten this out.
This isn't always the easiest thing to get across. I'm homeless like a scuba diver is a marine animal. The lifestyle serves the project but isn't a permanent thing. But given the duration of what I'm doing, it's a fine distinction.
One thing that's worked is the line, "I get paid to do this." When I'm talking with people, much of what I say either doesn't get heard or doesn't get internalized. This line cuts through all that. When I've shared this line with people I've met, some have literally bounced, like I slapped them with the words. I decided to go in this direction.
I told Roger about the columns, which nearby papers were running them, about deadlines and invoices. I could see comprehension on his face. He didn't mention "homeless" again.
The night was fine. As usual, I got suckered into too much TV. ('The Office' is really good stuff.)
In the morning, I went back to the library to get work done. Oddly, I had a date in Muleshoe. The night before, my dad's friend from long ago called. Joyce Shoup found out about my trip after my time in her home town of Turkey, Texas. She had written a few emails to me earlier, but this time she called saying that her niece and brother who lived in Muleshoe would be happy to host me for dinner. I wasn't about to turn down dinner and good company.
The first people I met were my dad's friend's niece's husband and son. This, as you might imagine, was a very loose connection. I want to point out that this wouldn't be at all unusual in Africa because of their social structure, but the question remained: would it work in Texas?
Yes, like a charm.
I met Rudy and Reese, the latter giving up his shotgun seat. We chatted while Rudy drove us to Joyce's brother's home. When I got there, I met the whole family: Cliff (Joyce's brother), his wife Jimmie, Annette (the niece that Joyce called and Rudy's wife), Cheryl, and Bruce (the latter three being siblings). I also met John, the physical therapist! They were a very friendly bunch. We ate dinner, and I asked each questions about their lives.
After a few people left and dinner was settling in our bellies, Annette asked the casual, "Did you go to the local paper?" I said I had and reluctantly told them that the editor snubbed me. Annette's first reaction was "Where's the phone book?" She called people for ten minutes, and at the end of it, she announced that a member of the paper was coming over and that the local news crew (a family operation) would be over as well. "Thank you" didn't seem enough, but I said it.
In half an hour, the house was crowded with media. Terry Brewster of the paper and her high school shadower Roper Kerby came (It might not be appropriate to put Roper's whole name, but let's face it: he's got a fantastic name. I put it up there with Ferris Bueller.); Magann Rennels with Channel 6 and her son Gilrobert Rennels showed up as well. Lots of friendly banter (the crowd loved teasing Roper) and tons of questions ensued.
I was most impressed with Mrs. Rennels. Without the aid of any kind of notes, she shot question after question at me while her son filmed us in the dusk. Amazing!
These goings-on lasted well into the evening. When things were finally wrapping up, I was still planning to hike a few miles out to get a head start for the next day. After all, I'd spent a day and a half in Muleshoe. Then Annette stepped forward and offered to let me crash on her and Rudy's couch. I hesitated, still thinking of miles. Magann intervened and said, "Matt, I'm going to be your mom on this one. Stay with Annette." So I accepted.
When Rudy and I showed up at the house (Annette and Reese had taken off before us), I thought the evening was over. Nope! Reese asked if I knew chess, and I said that I did. Apparently, no one in the house knew the game, and he'd been curious about it for a while. So I gave Reese his first chess lesson!
I've been teaching chess since I was a Peace Corps volunteer, so I have my methodology down. Reese was a natural player, so together, we had a really successful lesson. Later, I spoke with his parents about the lesson, and both said basically the same thing: "We heard you asking him question after question after question, and he kept answering them all. We thought 'whoa.'" Later that evening, Reese asked his mom if she would learn the game so they could play together.
I haven't met a chess player who's ever remembered the exact day they started learning the game, but in Reese's case, it's easy: April 14th, 2010, the 75th anniversary of Black Sunday, the single worst day of the Dust Bowl. What a day for a panhandle kid to learn chess!
I hiked out the next morning with a hug from Annette, a handshake from Reese, and breakfast and a handshake from Rudy. It was a really nice visit.
I like to think about the people I've met while I walk, the freshest memories always in the forefront, so it was a little surprising to see Cliff pull up in his truck. Cliff stopped smack in the center of the road like it was a parking spot. He told me, "I thought you'd be right about here." He wanted to make sure I didn't need anything, and I told him I didn't. "Well, okay then." He wished me luck and turned around and took off. What a family.
All in all, I'd say my Muleshoe visit far exceeded my expectations.
The very first store I went into was the Williams General Store, specifically to buy socks. I met the owner, a very friendly lady named Dawn, and she showed me their sock selection. I was pleased to have more than one choice at all. It's very unusual to have a specialized store in a town of 4000 to 5000 people. (A quick note: Yes, it's called a "general" store, but it focused on outdoor apparel as well as athletic gear.)
After I picked out a couple of thick Thorlos, Dawn and I chit-chatted a bit. She was very curious about my trip, and I asked her a few questions about life in Muleshoe. Then in walked Steve Friskup, her cowboy church pastor and proprietor of a line of cowboy hats (the hats take up an entire wall of the store). We shook hands, and Dawn explained what I was doing. Again, friendly chit-chat.
[I want to step out of the story for just a second. I'm making a big deal about this because it's highly unusual that the very first person I come into contact with is so nice and talkative. Usually, I have to fish for hours, that is meet a whole bunch of people, before I find one person who is willing to just talk. I have a suspicion that while the backpack is partly to blame, so are the times. Back to the story.]
Dawn invited me to leave my backpack while I wandered around town. Again, very thoughtful and perceptive. I accepted and asked about food. Dawn gave me the low-down of the town's food options, and my ears perked up when she said you didn't even know what you were ordering half the time at this one place. Cha-ching. I thanked her and headed off for said place.
Taqueria Guadalahara. There were just Mexican-Americans inside. Or maybe just Mexicans, I don't know. The waitresses had the usual huddle-up to decide whose English was good enough to handle the gringo patron before one came over. I ordered one gordita and one taco. While the taco tortilla didn't seem homemade, the gordita certainly was, and both went down like lemonade on a hot day. I ordered some sopapillas afterward which were a little hard for my taste. What's up with hard sopapillas? I swear New Mexico's got a monopoly on good, soft sopapillas. Still, hot sauce was served with the meal, and there were already two or three hot sauces on the table! Boy, they had my number. Overall: 4 out of 5 stars.
I then wandered off to the library, did some work, and headed back for the Williams store. When I got there, I met Roger, Dawn's husband, another friendly face. They informed me that their pastor offered to put me up in a motel! Done. This happened to coincide with a little money tightness, so it couldn't have been better timing. Roger helped me get settled there.
On the way over, Roger asked me, "Have you met any other homeless people in your travels?" Huh, was my first thought. I said that by and large I haven't met many people out on the road, but I knew that we were on separate pages, maybe even in different books. I had to straighten this out.
This isn't always the easiest thing to get across. I'm homeless like a scuba diver is a marine animal. The lifestyle serves the project but isn't a permanent thing. But given the duration of what I'm doing, it's a fine distinction.
One thing that's worked is the line, "I get paid to do this." When I'm talking with people, much of what I say either doesn't get heard or doesn't get internalized. This line cuts through all that. When I've shared this line with people I've met, some have literally bounced, like I slapped them with the words. I decided to go in this direction.
I told Roger about the columns, which nearby papers were running them, about deadlines and invoices. I could see comprehension on his face. He didn't mention "homeless" again.
The night was fine. As usual, I got suckered into too much TV. ('The Office' is really good stuff.)
In the morning, I went back to the library to get work done. Oddly, I had a date in Muleshoe. The night before, my dad's friend from long ago called. Joyce Shoup found out about my trip after my time in her home town of Turkey, Texas. She had written a few emails to me earlier, but this time she called saying that her niece and brother who lived in Muleshoe would be happy to host me for dinner. I wasn't about to turn down dinner and good company.
The first people I met were my dad's friend's niece's husband and son. This, as you might imagine, was a very loose connection. I want to point out that this wouldn't be at all unusual in Africa because of their social structure, but the question remained: would it work in Texas?
Yes, like a charm.
I met Rudy and Reese, the latter giving up his shotgun seat. We chatted while Rudy drove us to Joyce's brother's home. When I got there, I met the whole family: Cliff (Joyce's brother), his wife Jimmie, Annette (the niece that Joyce called and Rudy's wife), Cheryl, and Bruce (the latter three being siblings). I also met John, the physical therapist! They were a very friendly bunch. We ate dinner, and I asked each questions about their lives.
After a few people left and dinner was settling in our bellies, Annette asked the casual, "Did you go to the local paper?" I said I had and reluctantly told them that the editor snubbed me. Annette's first reaction was "Where's the phone book?" She called people for ten minutes, and at the end of it, she announced that a member of the paper was coming over and that the local news crew (a family operation) would be over as well. "Thank you" didn't seem enough, but I said it.
In half an hour, the house was crowded with media. Terry Brewster of the paper and her high school shadower Roper Kerby came (It might not be appropriate to put Roper's whole name, but let's face it: he's got a fantastic name. I put it up there with Ferris Bueller.); Magann Rennels with Channel 6 and her son Gilrobert Rennels showed up as well. Lots of friendly banter (the crowd loved teasing Roper) and tons of questions ensued.
I was most impressed with Mrs. Rennels. Without the aid of any kind of notes, she shot question after question at me while her son filmed us in the dusk. Amazing!
These goings-on lasted well into the evening. When things were finally wrapping up, I was still planning to hike a few miles out to get a head start for the next day. After all, I'd spent a day and a half in Muleshoe. Then Annette stepped forward and offered to let me crash on her and Rudy's couch. I hesitated, still thinking of miles. Magann intervened and said, "Matt, I'm going to be your mom on this one. Stay with Annette." So I accepted.
When Rudy and I showed up at the house (Annette and Reese had taken off before us), I thought the evening was over. Nope! Reese asked if I knew chess, and I said that I did. Apparently, no one in the house knew the game, and he'd been curious about it for a while. So I gave Reese his first chess lesson!
I've been teaching chess since I was a Peace Corps volunteer, so I have my methodology down. Reese was a natural player, so together, we had a really successful lesson. Later, I spoke with his parents about the lesson, and both said basically the same thing: "We heard you asking him question after question after question, and he kept answering them all. We thought 'whoa.'" Later that evening, Reese asked his mom if she would learn the game so they could play together.
I haven't met a chess player who's ever remembered the exact day they started learning the game, but in Reese's case, it's easy: April 14th, 2010, the 75th anniversary of Black Sunday, the single worst day of the Dust Bowl. What a day for a panhandle kid to learn chess!
I hiked out the next morning with a hug from Annette, a handshake from Reese, and breakfast and a handshake from Rudy. It was a really nice visit.
I like to think about the people I've met while I walk, the freshest memories always in the forefront, so it was a little surprising to see Cliff pull up in his truck. Cliff stopped smack in the center of the road like it was a parking spot. He told me, "I thought you'd be right about here." He wanted to make sure I didn't need anything, and I told him I didn't. "Well, okay then." He wished me luck and turned around and took off. What a family.
All in all, I'd say my Muleshoe visit far exceeded my expectations.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Days One Hundred Eighty-Six to Two Hundred Twenty-Nine
Okay. So I didn't post my miles for nearly a month and a half. So kill me.
.
While looking through this, there are two numbers to keep in mind: the actual distance around the state of Texas (2842 miles according to a Texas textbook) and how much I have actually covered (my total miles are probably in the 1600 range). I haven't sat down and added everything up, but I'm confident my ballpark estimates are close nonetheless.
.
Miles first, this time, then pictures and journal entries and thoughts. Enjoy!
.
Day 186: Near Turkey, 10 miles
Day 187: Parnell Station, 22 miles
Day 188: Intersection of Ranch Rd 1619 and County Rd K, about 20 miles
Day 189: Hwy 83 south of Wellington, about 15 miles
Day 190: Hwy 83 north of Wellington, about 16 miles
Day 191: Hwy 83 south of Shamrock, about 15 miles
Day 192: Hwy 83 north of Shamrock, about 15 miles
Day 193:Hwy 83 north of Wheeler, about 13 miles
Day 194: Canadian, about 28 miles
Day 195: Zero day in Canadian
Day 196: Marvin Lake, about 14 miles
Day 197: Higgins, about 25 miles
Day 198: Lipscomb, about 20 miles
Day 199: FM 1454 south of Follett, about 20 miles
Day 200: Top-Right Corner of the Texas Panhandle, about 16 miles
Day 201: Old Railway Path which parallels Hwy 15, about 16 miles
Day 202: Past Booker, about 18 miles
Day 203: Perryton, 15 miles
Day 204: Waka, 17 miles (I walked the first mile in Perryton looking for the church below.)
Day 205: Zero day in Waka
Day 206: Beyond Hansford, about 17 miles
Day 207: Intersection of Farm Rd 1262 and FM 2535, about 17 miles
Day 208: Texhoma, about 26 miles
Day 209: FM 2677 (I walked due west of Texhoma and came down), about 21 miles
Day 210: Northwest of Stratford, about 8 miles
Day 211: High Lonesome, about 21 miles
Day 212: Thompson Grove, about 19 miles
Day 213: Top-Left Corner of the Texas Panhandle, about 18 miles (9 to Texline, 8 to the corner, and 1 bouncing between the corner marker and the tri-state marker)
Day 214: Hwy 87, about 16 miles
Day 215: Dalhart, about 28 miles
Days 216 to 218: Three zero days in Dalhart
Day 219: North of Hartley, about 14 miles
Day 220: Channing, about 15 miles
Day 221: Hwy 385, about 15 miles
Day 222: Vega, about 20 miles
Day 223: South of Adrian, about 18 miles
Day 224: Hwy 214, about 20 miles
Day 225: Hwy 214, about 19 miles
Day 226: Beyond Friona, about 16 miles
Day 227: Hwy 60, about 22 miles
Day 228: Past Lariat, about 13 miles
Day 229: Muleshoe, about 12 miles
. . ..
While looking through this, there are two numbers to keep in mind: the actual distance around the state of Texas (2842 miles according to a Texas textbook) and how much I have actually covered (my total miles are probably in the 1600 range). I haven't sat down and added everything up, but I'm confident my ballpark estimates are close nonetheless.
.
Miles first, this time, then pictures and journal entries and thoughts. Enjoy!
.
Day 186: Near Turkey, 10 miles
Day 187: Parnell Station, 22 miles
Day 188: Intersection of Ranch Rd 1619 and County Rd K, about 20 miles
Day 189: Hwy 83 south of Wellington, about 15 miles
Day 190: Hwy 83 north of Wellington, about 16 miles
Day 191: Hwy 83 south of Shamrock, about 15 miles
Day 192: Hwy 83 north of Shamrock, about 15 miles
Day 193:Hwy 83 north of Wheeler, about 13 miles
Day 194: Canadian, about 28 miles
Day 195: Zero day in Canadian
Day 196: Marvin Lake, about 14 miles
Day 197: Higgins, about 25 miles
Day 198: Lipscomb, about 20 miles
Day 199: FM 1454 south of Follett, about 20 miles
Day 200: Top-Right Corner of the Texas Panhandle, about 16 miles
Day 201: Old Railway Path which parallels Hwy 15, about 16 miles
Day 202: Past Booker, about 18 miles
Day 203: Perryton, 15 miles
Day 204: Waka, 17 miles (I walked the first mile in Perryton looking for the church below.)
Day 205: Zero day in Waka
Day 206: Beyond Hansford, about 17 miles
Day 207: Intersection of Farm Rd 1262 and FM 2535, about 17 miles
Day 208: Texhoma, about 26 miles
Day 209: FM 2677 (I walked due west of Texhoma and came down), about 21 miles
Day 210: Northwest of Stratford, about 8 miles
Day 211: High Lonesome, about 21 miles
Day 212: Thompson Grove, about 19 miles
Day 213: Top-Left Corner of the Texas Panhandle, about 18 miles (9 to Texline, 8 to the corner, and 1 bouncing between the corner marker and the tri-state marker)
Day 214: Hwy 87, about 16 miles
Day 215: Dalhart, about 28 miles
Days 216 to 218: Three zero days in Dalhart
Day 219: North of Hartley, about 14 miles
Day 220: Channing, about 15 miles
Day 221: Hwy 385, about 15 miles
Day 222: Vega, about 20 miles
Day 223: South of Adrian, about 18 miles
Day 224: Hwy 214, about 20 miles
Day 225: Hwy 214, about 19 miles
Day 226: Beyond Friona, about 16 miles
Day 227: Hwy 60, about 22 miles
Day 228: Past Lariat, about 13 miles
Day 229: Muleshoe, about 12 miles
. . .
Taking Back the Land, Collingsworth County, Day 190
. . .
Day 190: Hiking sticks gone! After looking around the library, I found one broken, half in the garbage can and half on the ground.
.
Day 191: Woke up in the middle of the night and peed off to the side of my sleeping area; got a bag strap and my mat! Ah! I sprinkled sand on everything. [Note: I literally urinated while lying down. When it was cold out, I hated getting up and losing my warmth. I acknowledge the gross factor here, but before you judge, go spend a night out in the cold.]
. . .
Mural, Shamrock, Wheeler County, Day 192
. . .
Day 194: Hiked to Canadian ~28 miles; tough walking against the wind ... went to a meal at the Cattle Exchange with Tamera Julian, Director of the Community Development Center, her sister, parents John & Lee Ann, and family friend Dawn Webb. Lots of questions! [Tamera, whom I had spoken with earlier, had kept the entire party a secret from me, so having dinner at a full table was an unexpected surprise. The evening with her family and Dawn was the perfect end to a rough day. Then Tamera put me up in a Best Western for a couple of nights!]
. . .
First Day at School by Norman Rockwell, The Citadelle Art Foundation, Canadian, Hemphill County, Day 196
. . .
Day 196: Went to Citadelle Art Foundation in morning; met Sue and Wendie. [Such a plain entry for such a great place! Wendie is the Director and is rounding the end of the foundation's first year. Given what I saw, she's done a great job. Sue Cox volunteers once a week at the foundation and gave me the run of the place. The collection is wide and varied with paintings, sculptures, photos, even a cross blessed by a pope. These three shots are my favorites in the collection.]
. . .
Sweet Sixteen by Christian Vincent, The Citadelle Art Foundation, Canadian, Hemphill County, Day 196
. . .
. . .
Twins by Jono Rotman, The Citadelle Art Foundation, Canadian, Hemphill County, Day 196
. . .
Day 196: On the way met Tray Webb, brother of Dawn; he stopped and shook my hand ... When I finally reached Marvin Lake, I met Sue again from the art museum! She offered me a night in; I accepted ... had some really nice conversations with Sue and Lonnie Cox, both in the ranching business.
. . .
Day 198: In Lipscomb. Tiny place. Staying at Naturally Yours thanks to Debby and Jan.
High Plains Recycling, Lipscomb County, Day 199
. . .
Day 199: I met Boone Tyson of Tyson Ranch. He was youngish, red pick-up, backward cap. I complimented the panhandle, and he said simply "It's home." We chatted a bit, then he took off. In leaving he said, "I will be praying for you."
.
Before meeting Boone, I met another man who stopped to see if I needed a ride. But there was more. He invited me to a meal and a prayer group. I turned all three down. I tried to explain I was in the middle of a project, but he couldn't hear me where his mind was. I thanked him, and he took off. Later, he passed with his wife and daughter and offered again, this time only mentioning the food. I declined, smiling. They looked like they were ready to adopt me.
.
The difference between these encounters is stark. Boone asked my name, gave me his, and shook my hand. We were equal. The other fellow just saw me as a bum to be saved.
. . .
The Panhandle's Top-Right Corner, Lipscomb County, Day 201
. . .
Day 201: Woke up near corner; hopped fence and found marker. [Back in Follett, everyone was asking me about the marker. Men who'd lived there their entire lives had never seen it. My little expedition got them all excited about it.]
. . .
Going Rates, Booker, Lipscomb County, Day 202
. . .
Day 203: Frost again! Everything covered. ... Hiked into Perryton; scared up several pheasants and rabbits; took a lot of breaks, too; problem? ... I went to the library and posted a blog; bought a book by Plato for 25 cents; wisdom is cheap. [Donnie Dendy, whom I met in Lipscomb, put me up in his future home this evening.]
. . .
Key Heights Baptist Church, Perryton, Ochiltree County, Day 204
. . .
Day 204: Wild goose chase; in Perryton trying to find my old pastor's old church before he came to Corpus; First Baptist Church was a bust; the secretary was scared even. ... Accidentally found Donnie at a restaurant with two women; one had known of my old pastor, so I was able to find the above church!
. . .
Batman Grains, Ochiltree County, Day 204
. . .
Day 205: Nice night under a warm Ecuadorian wool blanket. [For two evenings, I was hosted by Mike Ladd of Waka. He's a former Peace Corps Volunteer, so we exchanged a ton of stories. The blanket was a Peace Corps byproduct.]
. . .
Windmills, Spearman, Hansford County, Day 206
. . .
Day 206: Walked to a small canyon; Bud the dog followed me from a few miles back. [Several dogs have followed me along my trek, for a mile or two or three. Most turn back after a bit, but Bud stayed true. At my campsite, he dug up a rat for dinner, ate it and puked it up in the middle of the night. Bud stayed with me underneath my tarp, growling from time to time throughout the night. In the morning, I gave him some jerky, called his number on his tag, and his mom came and picked him up. She told me that collies can be very protective.]
. . .
My First Snowman in Texas, Hansford County, Day 206
. . .
. . .
Grandpa's Tree, Hansford County, Day 208
. . .
. . .
Target Practice, Sherman County, Day 208
. . .
. . .
Five Miles to Go, Sherman County, Day 210
. . .
. . .
Bloody Toe, Sherman County, Day 210
. . .
Day 210: I'm getting the homeless vibe again. My waitress could hardly keep a straight face, part giggly, part embarrassed. Ah, to be known... [I had camped out in the snow and wind, so I probably didn't look too great. Take my feet, for example. I walked into Stratford in the shoe you see above. My toenail on my foot had buckled to the pressure of walking everyday. As a result, I bled a lot, straight through my sock and shoe. I later went to a laundrymat and washed the whole thing.]
. . .
I'm Sure You Will, Stratford, Sherman County, Day 210
. . .
. . .
Where the Antelopes Play, Rita Blanca National Grasslands, Dallam County, Day 211
. . .
Day 212: Wind! The wind actually started last night as I was settling in; lasted all night and all day. Tore apart my tarp in different spots. Wrecked the Hilton [My tarp set-up had been extra-spacious that evening, and I called it the 'Hilton.'], though the stakes held. Stayed in bed till 10:30am!
. . .
The Builder, Dallam County, Day 213
. . .
Day 213: [The above was on an abandoned well in the Kiowa National Grasslands in New Mexico, just north of Texas in the northwest of the panhandle. I was looking all over for that corner marker and stumbled upon this well. It is nowhere near the corner, but what a neat thing to see.]
. . .
The Panhandle's Top-Left Corner, Dallam County, Day 213
(Close-up below)
. . .
. . .
41.19 Feet to Corner, Dallam County, Day 213
. . .
. . .
The Other Marker, Dallam County, Day 213
(Tri-State Marker of Texas-Oklahoma-New Mexico)
. . .
. . .
Sunset on the Top of Texas, Dallam County, Day 213
. . .
. . .
Dalhart Consumers, Dalhart, Dallam County, Day 215
. . .
Day 215: Finally made it Dalhart. After meandering with a pint of ice cream in hand, I made it to downtown and met my couchsurfing host Nate French. I also met his dog Mr. Lambert who was wearing a glittering collar and a blue shirt that read Cool Pups in sequins. We talked, I cleaned up, and we went out to eat. Nate also gave me an impromptu tour of the town. ... Great host, great guy, nothing but helpful and nice and giving.
.
Day 220: In trying to find Randy's yard [where I was going to be camping for the evening], I met Pastor Tim Hooten. He let me use his computer to post a blog. We talked quite a bit. He would frequently go into sermon-mode, but it wasn't so bad. He gave me a Bible and prayed for me. "God, this is my new friend, Matt." I smile at that.
. . .
Billy the Kid's Old Hangout, Oldham County, Day 221
. . .
. . .
Farming the Wind, Oldham County, Day 222
. . .
Day 222: Phyllis from Gruver gave her son Scott Atwood the heads up that I'd be going through Vega. I met his wife at the grocery store, and we chatted. A little bit later, I met Scott at the Shell station. We talked a little bit, then parted amicably. [I went to the Shell station, bought a shower, and cleaned myself up. When I came out, there was a note in my backpack inviting me to stay at the Atwood's house!]
. . .
Alex Jones Supporter, Oldham County, Day 223
. . .
Day 223: [If you're not familiar with Alex Jones, you may want to know in advance that he means what he says and says what he means. I read an article about him in Texas Monthly, I believe. He's tagged as a conspiracy theory fellow, but he backs his stuff up with quotes. The article was compelling, and to some degree, so was the man himself.]
. . .
Short Circuit, Dallam County, Day 223
. . .
. . .
Midpoint Self-portrait!, Adrian, Dallam County, Day 223
. . .
Day 223: Went to Adrian; MID POINT. I ate a burger and fries and two slices of pie at the Midpoint Cafe! [I was in the vicinity of my midpoint, having certainly traveled the requisite 1421 miles, so I celebrated big. The burger and pie were amazing.]
. . .
Carpe Diem, Adrian, Dallam County, Day 223
. . .
. . .
Old Bull, Deaf Smith County, Day 224
. . .
Day 224: [Didn't journal about this bull, but I liked this guy. When you're walking, cows will come up to you in a herd, wondering if you've got food. The quickly figure that you don't and stamp away in a cloud of dust.
.
This old bull didn't budge an inch. I had picked up two dogs which the bull eyed warily. Didn't seem in the least bit interested in me, to tell the truth. I was able to snap several shots while he watched the dogs scamper around, but I was careful to stay clear of those horns.]
.
Day 225: Started talking to an old man in a jeep. Very friendly fellow named Mr. Rucker. We were chatting about his family when another vehicle pulled up and the driver got out. It was Sandy Drake of Waka, Texas! She had been to a quilting fair in the area and brought me cookies, Nature Valley snacks, and a book with a letter in it! Incredible!
.
Day 228: Turned phone on and chatted with John Mark Beilue of the Amarillo Globe-News. He has my ideal job - full-time columnist! We talked while I walked. [Note: nature called at the same time, but I was able to accommodate both.]
And with that, I leave you! I hope I have appeased the photo hounds.
.
Until we meet again...
Taking Back the Land, Collingsworth County, Day 190. . .
Day 190: Hiking sticks gone! After looking around the library, I found one broken, half in the garbage can and half on the ground.
.
Day 191: Woke up in the middle of the night and peed off to the side of my sleeping area; got a bag strap and my mat! Ah! I sprinkled sand on everything. [Note: I literally urinated while lying down. When it was cold out, I hated getting up and losing my warmth. I acknowledge the gross factor here, but before you judge, go spend a night out in the cold.]
. . .
Mural, Shamrock, Wheeler County, Day 192. . .
Day 194: Hiked to Canadian ~28 miles; tough walking against the wind ... went to a meal at the Cattle Exchange with Tamera Julian, Director of the Community Development Center, her sister, parents John & Lee Ann, and family friend Dawn Webb. Lots of questions! [Tamera, whom I had spoken with earlier, had kept the entire party a secret from me, so having dinner at a full table was an unexpected surprise. The evening with her family and Dawn was the perfect end to a rough day. Then Tamera put me up in a Best Western for a couple of nights!]
. . .
First Day at School by Norman Rockwell, The Citadelle Art Foundation, Canadian, Hemphill County, Day 196. . .
Day 196: Went to Citadelle Art Foundation in morning; met Sue and Wendie. [Such a plain entry for such a great place! Wendie is the Director and is rounding the end of the foundation's first year. Given what I saw, she's done a great job. Sue Cox volunteers once a week at the foundation and gave me the run of the place. The collection is wide and varied with paintings, sculptures, photos, even a cross blessed by a pope. These three shots are my favorites in the collection.]
. . .
Sweet Sixteen by Christian Vincent, The Citadelle Art Foundation, Canadian, Hemphill County, Day 196. . .
. . .
Twins by Jono Rotman, The Citadelle Art Foundation, Canadian, Hemphill County, Day 196. . .
Day 196: On the way met Tray Webb, brother of Dawn; he stopped and shook my hand ... When I finally reached Marvin Lake, I met Sue again from the art museum! She offered me a night in; I accepted ... had some really nice conversations with Sue and Lonnie Cox, both in the ranching business.
. . .
Day 198: In Lipscomb. Tiny place. Staying at Naturally Yours thanks to Debby and Jan.
High Plains Recycling, Lipscomb County, Day 199. . .
Day 199: I met Boone Tyson of Tyson Ranch. He was youngish, red pick-up, backward cap. I complimented the panhandle, and he said simply "It's home." We chatted a bit, then he took off. In leaving he said, "I will be praying for you."
.
Before meeting Boone, I met another man who stopped to see if I needed a ride. But there was more. He invited me to a meal and a prayer group. I turned all three down. I tried to explain I was in the middle of a project, but he couldn't hear me where his mind was. I thanked him, and he took off. Later, he passed with his wife and daughter and offered again, this time only mentioning the food. I declined, smiling. They looked like they were ready to adopt me.
.
The difference between these encounters is stark. Boone asked my name, gave me his, and shook my hand. We were equal. The other fellow just saw me as a bum to be saved.
. . .
The Panhandle's Top-Right Corner, Lipscomb County, Day 201. . .
Day 201: Woke up near corner; hopped fence and found marker. [Back in Follett, everyone was asking me about the marker. Men who'd lived there their entire lives had never seen it. My little expedition got them all excited about it.]
. . .
Going Rates, Booker, Lipscomb County, Day 202. . .
Day 203: Frost again! Everything covered. ... Hiked into Perryton; scared up several pheasants and rabbits; took a lot of breaks, too; problem? ... I went to the library and posted a blog; bought a book by Plato for 25 cents; wisdom is cheap. [Donnie Dendy, whom I met in Lipscomb, put me up in his future home this evening.]
. . .
Key Heights Baptist Church, Perryton, Ochiltree County, Day 204. . .
Day 204: Wild goose chase; in Perryton trying to find my old pastor's old church before he came to Corpus; First Baptist Church was a bust; the secretary was scared even. ... Accidentally found Donnie at a restaurant with two women; one had known of my old pastor, so I was able to find the above church!
. . .
Batman Grains, Ochiltree County, Day 204. . .
Day 205: Nice night under a warm Ecuadorian wool blanket. [For two evenings, I was hosted by Mike Ladd of Waka. He's a former Peace Corps Volunteer, so we exchanged a ton of stories. The blanket was a Peace Corps byproduct.]
. . .
Windmills, Spearman, Hansford County, Day 206. . .
Day 206: Walked to a small canyon; Bud the dog followed me from a few miles back. [Several dogs have followed me along my trek, for a mile or two or three. Most turn back after a bit, but Bud stayed true. At my campsite, he dug up a rat for dinner, ate it and puked it up in the middle of the night. Bud stayed with me underneath my tarp, growling from time to time throughout the night. In the morning, I gave him some jerky, called his number on his tag, and his mom came and picked him up. She told me that collies can be very protective.]
. . .
My First Snowman in Texas, Hansford County, Day 206. . .
. . .
Grandpa's Tree, Hansford County, Day 208. . .
. . .
Target Practice, Sherman County, Day 208. . .
. . .
Five Miles to Go, Sherman County, Day 210. . .
. . .
Bloody Toe, Sherman County, Day 210. . .
Day 210: I'm getting the homeless vibe again. My waitress could hardly keep a straight face, part giggly, part embarrassed. Ah, to be known... [I had camped out in the snow and wind, so I probably didn't look too great. Take my feet, for example. I walked into Stratford in the shoe you see above. My toenail on my foot had buckled to the pressure of walking everyday. As a result, I bled a lot, straight through my sock and shoe. I later went to a laundrymat and washed the whole thing.]
. . .
I'm Sure You Will, Stratford, Sherman County, Day 210. . .
. . .
Where the Antelopes Play, Rita Blanca National Grasslands, Dallam County, Day 211. . .
Day 212: Wind! The wind actually started last night as I was settling in; lasted all night and all day. Tore apart my tarp in different spots. Wrecked the Hilton [My tarp set-up had been extra-spacious that evening, and I called it the 'Hilton.'], though the stakes held. Stayed in bed till 10:30am!
. . .
The Builder, Dallam County, Day 213. . .
Day 213: [The above was on an abandoned well in the Kiowa National Grasslands in New Mexico, just north of Texas in the northwest of the panhandle. I was looking all over for that corner marker and stumbled upon this well. It is nowhere near the corner, but what a neat thing to see.]
. . .
The Panhandle's Top-Left Corner, Dallam County, Day 213(Close-up below)
. . .
. . .
41.19 Feet to Corner, Dallam County, Day 213. . .
. . .
The Other Marker, Dallam County, Day 213(Tri-State Marker of Texas-Oklahoma-New Mexico)
. . .
. . .
Sunset on the Top of Texas, Dallam County, Day 213. . .
. . .
Dalhart Consumers, Dalhart, Dallam County, Day 215. . .
Day 215: Finally made it Dalhart. After meandering with a pint of ice cream in hand, I made it to downtown and met my couchsurfing host Nate French. I also met his dog Mr. Lambert who was wearing a glittering collar and a blue shirt that read Cool Pups in sequins. We talked, I cleaned up, and we went out to eat. Nate also gave me an impromptu tour of the town. ... Great host, great guy, nothing but helpful and nice and giving.
.
Day 220: In trying to find Randy's yard [where I was going to be camping for the evening], I met Pastor Tim Hooten. He let me use his computer to post a blog. We talked quite a bit. He would frequently go into sermon-mode, but it wasn't so bad. He gave me a Bible and prayed for me. "God, this is my new friend, Matt." I smile at that.
. . .
Billy the Kid's Old Hangout, Oldham County, Day 221. . .
. . .
Farming the Wind, Oldham County, Day 222. . .
Day 222: Phyllis from Gruver gave her son Scott Atwood the heads up that I'd be going through Vega. I met his wife at the grocery store, and we chatted. A little bit later, I met Scott at the Shell station. We talked a little bit, then parted amicably. [I went to the Shell station, bought a shower, and cleaned myself up. When I came out, there was a note in my backpack inviting me to stay at the Atwood's house!]
. . .
Alex Jones Supporter, Oldham County, Day 223. . .
Day 223: [If you're not familiar with Alex Jones, you may want to know in advance that he means what he says and says what he means. I read an article about him in Texas Monthly, I believe. He's tagged as a conspiracy theory fellow, but he backs his stuff up with quotes. The article was compelling, and to some degree, so was the man himself.]
. . .
Short Circuit, Dallam County, Day 223. . .
. . .
Midpoint Self-portrait!, Adrian, Dallam County, Day 223. . .
Day 223: Went to Adrian; MID POINT. I ate a burger and fries and two slices of pie at the Midpoint Cafe! [I was in the vicinity of my midpoint, having certainly traveled the requisite 1421 miles, so I celebrated big. The burger and pie were amazing.]
. . .
Carpe Diem, Adrian, Dallam County, Day 223. . .
. . .
Old Bull, Deaf Smith County, Day 224. . .
Day 224: [Didn't journal about this bull, but I liked this guy. When you're walking, cows will come up to you in a herd, wondering if you've got food. The quickly figure that you don't and stamp away in a cloud of dust.
.
This old bull didn't budge an inch. I had picked up two dogs which the bull eyed warily. Didn't seem in the least bit interested in me, to tell the truth. I was able to snap several shots while he watched the dogs scamper around, but I was careful to stay clear of those horns.]
.
Day 225: Started talking to an old man in a jeep. Very friendly fellow named Mr. Rucker. We were chatting about his family when another vehicle pulled up and the driver got out. It was Sandy Drake of Waka, Texas! She had been to a quilting fair in the area and brought me cookies, Nature Valley snacks, and a book with a letter in it! Incredible!
.
Day 228: Turned phone on and chatted with John Mark Beilue of the Amarillo Globe-News. He has my ideal job - full-time columnist! We talked while I walked. [Note: nature called at the same time, but I was able to accommodate both.]
And with that, I leave you! I hope I have appeased the photo hounds.
.
Until we meet again...
Books on the Edge
I do a lot of reading out here, usually at breaks and before sleep but on a nice day you can find me reading while walking. I have tried to read what might enrich my walk around Texas, though I change it up from time to time. As per books that pertain directly to the state, I present the following:
. . .
. . .
In Brownsville, Oscar Casares presents nine fictional stories about life in Brownsville, Texas. Why then, you might ask, is there a really long tail on the cover of the book? The tail belongs to the collection's only monkey, which makes an entrance in just one tale, though in the story, only the monkey's head plays a role. I had my doubts, reading about Bony and his bizarre obsession with the monkey's head which ultimately puts him at odds with his parents, but Casares made the darn thing work. In fact, I found myself getting into the lives of his characters more than I thought I would: a boy who gets a job working at a fireworks stand, a female bowler whose lucky ball gets stolen, a father whose son isn't tough enough for him. The prose is simple and straightforward, the commentary on life and purpose profound. And when there's a joke, which Casares works in form time to time, it's a long, hard belly laugh. Enjoy.
. . .
. . .
Ron Hall and Denver Moore (with Lynn Vincent) share the tale of their friendship in Same Kind of Different as Me. Set in and around Fort Worth, a homeless man (Denver Moore) eventually runs into a wealthy couple (Ron and Deborah Hall) trying to spread some love at the local homeless shelter. After a vision, Deborah is convinced that Denver is important to their lives and that they need to reach out to him. Eventually, Denver reaches back, and during the rest of the story, they all learn about friendship, devotion, spirituality, and love. A quick, uplifting read.
.
Though no doubt true, it was a little happy-happy joy-joy for me. I have a new perspective on the whole thing after being out here on the road. I can sense the difference between pity and a genuine helpful attitude. Both come from the same place, and while it's easy for a recipient to see the difference, it seems to be extremely hard for the giver to differentiate. I'm not the only who understands this either. A store owner back at the start of the panhandle commented on his assistant who gave me a candy bar before he clocked out for the day. After the guy left, he said, "See that? He thinks he's better than you, like he's the big man helping out the poor. All he sees is the backpack." I'm not saying that's what happened in the above book, but my experiences have allowed me to read it in a different way, perhaps the same kind of different way as you.
. . .
. . .
The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan is still a book I'm working on, but it is fantastic. It details the general story of the Great American Dust Bowl while bringing the whole disaster to life with the personal tales of survival of about half a dozen main characters. I'm 200 pages into this 300 page book, and all the details have come together beautifully. I'm shocked. I don't remember enjoying Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck at all (that was in high school, though). It helps that I've walked through some of the towns he mentions (Follett, Oslo, Darrouzett, Texhoma, Dalhart), but the story stands on its own. The Worst Hard Time is fascinating and wonderfully told. Read it, read it, read it. While the cover quote is a little cheesy ("This is can't-put-it-down history." - Walter Cronkite), it is so so true.
.
(Side note: Today is April 14th, the 75th anniversary of Black Sunday, the worst duster in the history of the whole mess.)
. . .
. . .
. . .
In Brownsville, Oscar Casares presents nine fictional stories about life in Brownsville, Texas. Why then, you might ask, is there a really long tail on the cover of the book? The tail belongs to the collection's only monkey, which makes an entrance in just one tale, though in the story, only the monkey's head plays a role. I had my doubts, reading about Bony and his bizarre obsession with the monkey's head which ultimately puts him at odds with his parents, but Casares made the darn thing work. In fact, I found myself getting into the lives of his characters more than I thought I would: a boy who gets a job working at a fireworks stand, a female bowler whose lucky ball gets stolen, a father whose son isn't tough enough for him. The prose is simple and straightforward, the commentary on life and purpose profound. And when there's a joke, which Casares works in form time to time, it's a long, hard belly laugh. Enjoy.. . .
. . .
Ron Hall and Denver Moore (with Lynn Vincent) share the tale of their friendship in Same Kind of Different as Me. Set in and around Fort Worth, a homeless man (Denver Moore) eventually runs into a wealthy couple (Ron and Deborah Hall) trying to spread some love at the local homeless shelter. After a vision, Deborah is convinced that Denver is important to their lives and that they need to reach out to him. Eventually, Denver reaches back, and during the rest of the story, they all learn about friendship, devotion, spirituality, and love. A quick, uplifting read..
Though no doubt true, it was a little happy-happy joy-joy for me. I have a new perspective on the whole thing after being out here on the road. I can sense the difference between pity and a genuine helpful attitude. Both come from the same place, and while it's easy for a recipient to see the difference, it seems to be extremely hard for the giver to differentiate. I'm not the only who understands this either. A store owner back at the start of the panhandle commented on his assistant who gave me a candy bar before he clocked out for the day. After the guy left, he said, "See that? He thinks he's better than you, like he's the big man helping out the poor. All he sees is the backpack." I'm not saying that's what happened in the above book, but my experiences have allowed me to read it in a different way, perhaps the same kind of different way as you.
. . .
. . .
The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan is still a book I'm working on, but it is fantastic. It details the general story of the Great American Dust Bowl while bringing the whole disaster to life with the personal tales of survival of about half a dozen main characters. I'm 200 pages into this 300 page book, and all the details have come together beautifully. I'm shocked. I don't remember enjoying Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck at all (that was in high school, though). It helps that I've walked through some of the towns he mentions (Follett, Oslo, Darrouzett, Texhoma, Dalhart), but the story stands on its own. The Worst Hard Time is fascinating and wonderfully told. Read it, read it, read it. While the cover quote is a little cheesy ("This is can't-put-it-down history." - Walter Cronkite), it is so so true..
(Side note: Today is April 14th, the 75th anniversary of Black Sunday, the worst duster in the history of the whole mess.)
. . .
. . .
Until next time, readers...
Dear Perimeter Hiker
Now it's time for another installment of "Dear Perimeter Hiker." Let's go straight to the questions:
* * *
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,
You've been a little light on the blog. What gives?
Surfing for Blog Posts
* * *
Dear SfBP,
I apologize to you and the other faithful readers who have had to get by on the 140-character tweets that fly from my phone on occasion. I don't carry a laptop and have had to make due with whatever computer time I get, whether in public libraries or at a friend's home.
I also have to obey various restrictions from place to place. In many instances, this has meant that I can't upload photos or files of any kind. This should explain the many picture-less posts I've put up.
I am currently at the Muleshoe Library, and the entire Facebook site is blocked. Imagine Facebook being blocked! That's like punching in google.com and being denied. What is this, China?
* * *
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,
How have you handled the panhandle winds?
Please Take Them with You
* * *
Dear PTTwY,
I'm from Corpus Christi, and the winds can get pretty nasty there. There's a big windsurfing competition every year to give you an idea. Down in Corpus, I've probably walked or rollerbladed at most a few miles in the wind, and I mean that for my entire life.
The winds in the Texas Panhandle are an altogether different beast. They come in through New Mexico or down hard from the northern plains. They have nothing to buffer their intensity for hundreds of miles in all directions.
There were several places I had to endure the wind. Walking into Canadian, while doable, was an exhausting affair. The wind plowed into me for hours, perhaps 30 to 40 mph with occasional big gusts. Hiking from Texhoma to Stratford proved to be doubly difficult because it was windy AND snowy. The weather stayed warmish (as warm as wet snow can get at any rate), but the moment I felt the temperature drop, I had to break for camp. By the time I got my sleeping bag out, my fingers had become numb. And in Dalhart, I just plain lucked out. It was windy when I walked into town, but nothing compared to what struck a couple of days later. While I was staying with my couchsurfing host, the wind was around 50 mph in town with gusts even faster!
While I can't take the winds with me, I promise put up some resistance with "winds" of my own. Not sure if that will help or not...
* * *
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,
Are you nervous about hiking the border?
Concerned about You Vato Loco Perimeter Hiker
* * *
Dear CaYVLPH,
Yes, I'm nervous.
I was just told that Fort Hancock, Texas got taken over by a Mexican cartel. In case your geography's not that great, Fort Hancock is smack on I-10.
This is just a rumor, mind you. Something like that is likely to be all over the news. However, I don't really want to know what part of the rumor comes from fact and what part comes from fiction.
I'll be introducing myself to the law enforcement agencies that govern the border region when I reach El Paso. That may take a while, as several government agencies and homegrown agencies have stepped up in recent years to patrol the area. I hope to get some good advice from these folks.
* * *
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,
When do you expect to finish?
Waiting in Corpus Christi
* * *
Dear WiCC,
I'd like to finish by July, August at the latest. I pitched both my columns as a year-long, twelve-part run (with an introductory column), so that's part of what's guiding me in.
If the walk takes longer, though, I'm committed to taking as long as I need to take. I'm especially sensitive to safety concerns and will be taking every precaution.
* * *
* * *
* * *
Until next time, folks...
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,
You've been a little light on the blog. What gives?
Surfing for Blog Posts
* * *
Dear SfBP,
I apologize to you and the other faithful readers who have had to get by on the 140-character tweets that fly from my phone on occasion. I don't carry a laptop and have had to make due with whatever computer time I get, whether in public libraries or at a friend's home.
I also have to obey various restrictions from place to place. In many instances, this has meant that I can't upload photos or files of any kind. This should explain the many picture-less posts I've put up.
I am currently at the Muleshoe Library, and the entire Facebook site is blocked. Imagine Facebook being blocked! That's like punching in google.com and being denied. What is this, China?
* * *
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,
How have you handled the panhandle winds?
Please Take Them with You
* * *
Dear PTTwY,
I'm from Corpus Christi, and the winds can get pretty nasty there. There's a big windsurfing competition every year to give you an idea. Down in Corpus, I've probably walked or rollerbladed at most a few miles in the wind, and I mean that for my entire life.
The winds in the Texas Panhandle are an altogether different beast. They come in through New Mexico or down hard from the northern plains. They have nothing to buffer their intensity for hundreds of miles in all directions.
There were several places I had to endure the wind. Walking into Canadian, while doable, was an exhausting affair. The wind plowed into me for hours, perhaps 30 to 40 mph with occasional big gusts. Hiking from Texhoma to Stratford proved to be doubly difficult because it was windy AND snowy. The weather stayed warmish (as warm as wet snow can get at any rate), but the moment I felt the temperature drop, I had to break for camp. By the time I got my sleeping bag out, my fingers had become numb. And in Dalhart, I just plain lucked out. It was windy when I walked into town, but nothing compared to what struck a couple of days later. While I was staying with my couchsurfing host, the wind was around 50 mph in town with gusts even faster!
While I can't take the winds with me, I promise put up some resistance with "winds" of my own. Not sure if that will help or not...
* * *
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,
Are you nervous about hiking the border?
Concerned about You Vato Loco Perimeter Hiker
* * *
Dear CaYVLPH,
Yes, I'm nervous.
I was just told that Fort Hancock, Texas got taken over by a Mexican cartel. In case your geography's not that great, Fort Hancock is smack on I-10.
This is just a rumor, mind you. Something like that is likely to be all over the news. However, I don't really want to know what part of the rumor comes from fact and what part comes from fiction.
I'll be introducing myself to the law enforcement agencies that govern the border region when I reach El Paso. That may take a while, as several government agencies and homegrown agencies have stepped up in recent years to patrol the area. I hope to get some good advice from these folks.
* * *
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,
When do you expect to finish?
Waiting in Corpus Christi
* * *
Dear WiCC,
I'd like to finish by July, August at the latest. I pitched both my columns as a year-long, twelve-part run (with an introductory column), so that's part of what's guiding me in.
If the walk takes longer, though, I'm committed to taking as long as I need to take. I'm especially sensitive to safety concerns and will be taking every precaution.
* * *
* * *
* * *
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Faces of Texas
. . .
. . .
"Take care of the land, and it will take care of you."
.
- Minnie Lou Bradley, owner and operator of Bradley 3 Ranch in the Memphis area north of the Red River, on her general philosophy of cattle ranching. It was recommended that I go visit Mrs. Bradley by Cody Bell of Turkey, so when I was in the area, I looked her up. She spoke to me of her business, which started in 1955, of the ways ranching has changed in modern days, of the Land Stewardship and Environmental Award that the ranch won recently for the Texas-Oklahoma-Arkansas region. Mrs. Bradley was passionate about her work, and it was wonderful to hear her perspective. She was also a gracious host. While speaking of the cattle industry, she gave me a bowl of beans and crackers before sending me on my way.
.
Memphis, Texas
. . .
. . .
. . .
"My rearview mirror wouldn't stay on. My system was awesome."
.
- Reynaldo "Ray" Villalon, a park maintenance worker north of Wellington, on the sound system that he and his family installed in his car. I met Ray at the park after I pulled off the road to use the restroom and clean up. We talked about the weather, his family, and my trip, probably for a good two hours. When Ray spoke about his car, he beamed with pride. He said when he cranked it that the change would bounce out of the ashtray, and on one long trip, the screws on his friend's shades came up, causing the lenses to pop out.
.
Hwy 83 North of Wellington, Texas
. . .
. . .
.
- Lonnie Cox, standing next to wife Sue, on his capacity to do what I was doing. I met Sue in the previous morning at the Citadelle, Canadian's art gallery, where she works as a volunteer. In the evening as I was approaching Marvin Lake, a car slowed down, and lo and behold, it was Sue! She invited me to stay the night in she and Lonnie's home, and I accepted, grateful to get out of the wind. Lonnie is a cut-up, and we spent the evening watching "The Marriage Ref." In the morning, Lonnie squeezed in one last joke.
.
Marvin Lake, Texas
. . .
. . .
"It's a different kind of dancing. You have to pick up your feet."
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- Debby Opdyke, owner of Naturally Yours Gallery and Dance Platform, on how to dance on a wooden platform of this kind. Debby explained to me that when settlers were moving out here and building structures, that people would hold impromptu dances on the lumber before the erection of their homes and churches. She tried to recreate the experience with Naturally Yours. For fifteen years, she's held summer dances in Lipscomb, one per month, that extend well into the evening. This is their last year, and if I can get myself to Corpus in a timely manner, I intend to go. June 19th, July 17th, August 21st, September 18th, at around 7pm. Don't forget to pick up your feet.
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Lipscomb, Texas
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Hwy 83 North of Wellington, Texas
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- Lonnie Cox, standing next to wife Sue, on his capacity to do what I was doing. I met Sue in the previous morning at the Citadelle, Canadian's art gallery, where she works as a volunteer. In the evening as I was approaching Marvin Lake, a car slowed down, and lo and behold, it was Sue! She invited me to stay the night in she and Lonnie's home, and I accepted, grateful to get out of the wind. Lonnie is a cut-up, and we spent the evening watching "The Marriage Ref." In the morning, Lonnie squeezed in one last joke.
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Marvin Lake, Texas
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"It's a different kind of dancing. You have to pick up your feet.".
- Debby Opdyke, owner of Naturally Yours Gallery and Dance Platform, on how to dance on a wooden platform of this kind. Debby explained to me that when settlers were moving out here and building structures, that people would hold impromptu dances on the lumber before the erection of their homes and churches. She tried to recreate the experience with Naturally Yours. For fifteen years, she's held summer dances in Lipscomb, one per month, that extend well into the evening. This is their last year, and if I can get myself to Corpus in a timely manner, I intend to go. June 19th, July 17th, August 21st, September 18th, at around 7pm. Don't forget to pick up your feet.
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Lipscomb, Texas
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"I'll say, 'Hey, I gotta text somebody. Meet me at 'Service.''"
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- Landry Caldwell, a Follett Junior, on the difficulties of getting cell phone reception in the area. Landry explained to me that there was a single hill near town whose elevation was such that cell service was good. As befitting, all the students dubbed the hill "Service."
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Follett, Texas
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"Sasha could get anything, so about a year into my [Peace Corps] service, I said, 'Sasha, I want Dr. Pepper.' And Sasha said, 'No problem.'"
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- Michael Ladd, a returned Peace Corps Volunteer in both Kyrgyzstan and Ecuador, on his service in the former. As an RPCV myself, I thoroughly enjoyed swapping stories with Mike, which we did for several hours over the course of my two-night visit. In the above story, Mike asked his friend to get him some Dr. Pepper. His friend then contacted his sister in Moscow, Russia who bought said drink and put it on a train south. Sasha met up with the train and brought the Dr. Pepper to Mike in the middle of nowhere. Mike then asked Sasha for an entire statue of Lenin, some of which are still standing around the country. Sasha's still working on that one.
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Waka, Texas
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"He's had five bypasses, two congenital heart failures, and one stroke, but he's doing just fine."
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Phyllis Atwood, owner of El Vaquero in Gruver, on her husband Harvey. Phyllis was warned that I was coming by the above Michael Ladd. She stopped in front of me on my way into town and introduced herself. I made it to her restaurant and had a plate of good homecooked food. While I was eating, she entertained all her clients by sitting down and swapping stories, and when Harvey came by after the lunch rush, she sat next to him as he ate. Sweet as pudding, she made me feel right at home.
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Gruver, Texas
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"You're in the middle of freakin' nowhere is where you're at."
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- Walter M., panhandle rancher, on my exact position in the world. While I was hiking north toward Texhoma, Walter had to stop and meet the lone walker trudging through his heartland. About the only hippie rancher around, Walter sounded like 'The Dude' out of Big Lebowski. He said that I could reach either Canada or the west coast from where we where before I could reach Brownsville. Google maps disagrees, but I will say this: we were in the middle of freakin' nowhere.
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FM 1262 southeast of Texhoma, Texas
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