“Yes,” I said. “I’ve walked through Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia, so I’ve eaten a bucket of them. Maybe a wheelbarrow.”
Ted laughed. “Glad to hear it. I’m especially partial to ours.”
“Then I look forward to trying them.”
He walked back to the kitchen.
“Did you say you walked through all those states?” William asked.
“Yes. And many more. I’m walking across America. I started in Seattle, Washington.”
“Oh my,” Naomi said.
“What’s your profession?” William asked.
“Right now it’s walking,” I said.
“How does it pay?”
“It doesn’t,” I said. “In my former life I owned an advertising agency in Seattle.”
“That explains it,” William said. “Lots of money in advertising.”
“There can be,” I replied.
“How many miles are we from Seattle?” Naomi asked.
“Nearly three thousand,” I replied.
She shook her head. “The stories you must have to tell.”
“I have a few.”
“Where are you headed?” William asked.
“Key West,” I said.
“Key West’s a little more than five hundred miles from here,” William said. “You taking the Ninety-Five?”
“You can’t walk the Ninety-Five,” Kelly said. “It’s an expressway.” She turned to me. “And they’ve always got it tore up. Take the One—the Old Dixie Highway. It ends in Key West.”
“No, he should take the A1A,” Naomi said. “That’ll give you the prettiest view of the ocean.”
“The A1A doesn’t go all the way through,” William said. “He’d have to backtrack.”
“I’ll probably do a little of each,” I said. “I’ve looked through my maps, but I’m sure things will change. I’ve learned that the maps aren’t the road.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Kelly said.
Ted and Alease’s teenage daughter, Mariah, came out of the kitchen carrying a glass of orange juice. She was a pretty, tall girl wearing a yellow apron and a bright crimson blouse that seemed to glow against her smooth ebony skin. She seemed a little shy as she set the glass in front of me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” she said, walking back to the kitchen. A moment later she returned with a bowl of fruit topped with yogurt and granola.
“Thank you,” I said again.
She smiled. “You’re still welcome.”
I was hungry and the fruit tasted good. My table companions let me eat a moment in silence. Then William said, “Did you come down from Waycross?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you visit the swamp?”
“I took the tour.”
“The tour’s better down here,” Kelly said. “It’s federal run. You should take it.”
“I don’t think I’ll have the chance,” I said. “I’ve got to get on my way.”
“How far do you walk each day?” Naomi asked.
“It depends. I’ve gone as far as thirty miles.”
“Lord, almighty,” she said.
“But I usually walk around twenty to twenty-four.”
“Is it dangerous?” Kelly asked.
“Of course it’s dangerous,” William said. “There’s a lot of crazies out there.” He turned to me. “I’d be carrying if I were you.”
“Sometimes it’s dangerous,” I said. “I walked over those tracks last night. That seemed a little dangerous.”
Naomi nodded. “With this many trains you’ve got to keep both eyes open. We’ve had our losses. Like Uncle George and Beth.” She looked at Kelly.
Kelly frowned. “Yes, George and Beth.”
“They were killed by a train?” I asked.
“About four years ago,” Kelly replied.
“Darndest thing,” William said, shaking his head.
“What happened?”
“They were coming back from Chucky’s baptism—”
“Chucky’s their grandson,” Naomi said.
“It was late,” Kelly said. “Their car stalled on the tracks and George couldn’t get it going again. Then he heard a train coming. He got out and went to help Beth out of the car, but she panicked and locked the door.”
“They were older,” Naomi said. “In their eighties.”
“Beth wasn’t all there,” William said. “Hadn’t been for years.”
Naomi added, “George’s friend, Marshall, was in a wheelchair across the street. He saw it all.”
Kelly looked annoyed. “Will you please just let me tell the story?”
“Sorry,” William said.
“I was saying, Beth locked the car door. George pled with her to open the door, but she wouldn’t. Then he looked down the track at the coming train, walked back to the driver’s seat, and got in.”
“The train took both of them,” Naomi said.
“He didn’t want to go on living without her,” William said. “It was tragic.”
“It’s tragic and beautiful at the same time,” Kelly said, surrendering the story. “They got to go together.”
After a moment I said, “I can understand why he would do that.”
Mariah came out carrying a plate with three strips of bacon, two biscuits, and scrambled eggs with cheese melted on top. Ted followed her out but stopped near the doorway, as if supervising her.
“There’s blackberry jelly right there,” Mariah said. “For your biscuit.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Ted smiled proudly. “Does everything look satisfactory?”
“Yes. Thank you. It looks delicious.”
Mariah walked back into the kitchen.
“The eggs are real fresh,” Ted said. “In fact, you just missed Chicken George.”
“Chicken George?”
“He lives just down the street. He brings us fresh eggs every morning. Would you like some coffee?”
“Please,” I said. “Thank you.”
He walked back to the kitchen. I broke open a biscuit, forked some eggs inside, then folded a piece of bacon and put it inside, making a breakfast sandwich. My companions watched in silence.
I asked Kelly, “You said you’re here for a funeral?”
“My brother’s,” Kelly said.
Sometimes, in the pain and loneliness of my losses, I forgot that I was only one of hundreds of thousands bidding their loved ones goodbye. It’s like standing at the airport and not seeing anyone around you.
“Your brother lived in Folkston?” I asked.
“Just a half mile north of here,” William said.
“Are you also from Folkston?” I asked.
“We live in Macon now,” Kelly said.
“I’ve got a machine shop in Macon,” William added. “Naomi lives in Jacksonville.”
“How far will you walk today?” Kelly asked.
“Hopefully twenty miles. I’m breaking myself back in to walking. I went home for a few weeks, so I’ve gotten a little out of shape.”
“I bet your family was glad to see you,” Kelly said.
“There’s only my father,” I said. “But he passed away.”
“I’m sorry,” Naomi said.
“We all have our losses, don’t we,” Kelly said.
Ted returned with my coffee. A few minutes later Kelly, Naomi, and William excused themselves to get ready for the funeral. I finished eating, then looked in the kitchen to thank Ted and Mariah, but they were gone. I left a five-dollar bill on the table for Mariah, then went to my room and packed.
As I was about to leave the inn, Alease and Ted walked into the foyer. Alease handed me a brown paper sack. “I put some of the banana nut bread in there,” she said. “Just in case you need a snack on the way.”
“You be sure to come back,” Ted said. “We’ll leave the light on.”
“You’re very kind,” I said. “Thank you for everything.” I stepped outsid
e. It was time to continue my walk.
CHAPTER
Twenty-Six
Perhaps the greatest mystery of death is why it’s a mystery.
Alan Christoffersen’s diary
The day was overcast and the road was wet, spotted with occasional puddles. Soon a comfortable mist filled the air—much like what I was used to in Seattle.
Walking east, I crossed the railroad tracks again. There were even more people gathered to watch the trains. After the tracks, I continued along Main Street to Second until I reached the edge of town.
Less than five miles from the inn I reached the Florida state line and the border town of Boulogne. Across the border it was easy walking along smooth, flat stretches with grassy shoulders hemmed in by a corridor of tall trees.
After two hours I reached the town of Hilliard. My legs were already sore. I walked another mile and a half, then stopped for lunch at the R&R Wings Café. I had a bowl of the Underground Chili and a half-dozen garlic honey wings, then hurried back out before my legs cramped up.
I had walked another mile when I came to a Winn-Dixie supermarket. I stopped inside for supplies, which included bottled water, canned fruit, pork and beans, protein bars, jerky, and raw almonds. I also purchased some Epsom salts to soak in later. I shopped for just half an hour, eager to keep moving.
A block from the store was a sign for the next town:
CALLAHAN 11 MILES
Callahan would put me at around twenty-two miles for the day. I thought it was a respectable goal for the first day back. I just hoped my legs had it in them to walk the whole way. As I left Hilliard the speed of the traffic increased, while mine steadily declined. I reached Callahan at around six p.m. The city sign boasted:
Home of the
FLORIDA CHEERLEADING
STATE CHAMPIONS
The first motel I came to was called the Ship Inn—a long, narrow row of rooms. The rental office was situated apart from the hotel in its own building near the road. I went in to reserve a room.
An Indian man was sitting on a mat on the floor playing a card game with a woman who was dressed in a saffron-colored sari. The office smelled of incense and curry. The man seemed annoyed that I had interrupted his game.
I got a room for just forty-five dollars. Once inside, I fell back on the bed, exhausted, my legs cramping. I lifted my legs and pulled them toward me until my hamstrings stretched. As hungry as I was, I was too tired to walk to a restaurant, so I ate Alease’s banana nut bread and cold beans and fruit. Then I filled the tub with hot water and the Epsom salts and soaked until the water started to cool. That night I slept much better than I had in Folkston.
The next morning as I lay in bed, I saw where someone had written on the wall:
Where will I go when I die?
My mind went back to the conversation I’d had with my father about the afterlife. I couldn’t help but smile. I took a pen from the nightstand and wrote beneath the query:
Toledo
I remembered a story one of my former employees, a graphic artist named Charles, told me. He said that when he was young he’d had a cousin with leukemia. He said that one night he woke in the middle of the night to see her standing next to his bed. When he asked her what she was doing in his room she said, “Tell my mother and father that all is well.” Then she was gone. The next morning his parents told him that his cousin had died in the night.
I don’t know if Charles had really seen the girl or not, but I’m certain that he believed he had.
Toledo. I wondered where my father was—physically—if the word still applied. Was he walking with me? Would I even know it if he was? I thought of his dream about sitting in the garden with my mother and McKale. I hoped he was there. The thought made me feel peaceful.
I dressed, then sat down on the thinly padded carpet and again stretched my back and legs. When I felt sufficiently limber I grabbed my pack and set off for the day. It had rained during the night, and the sky was still overcast. All around me the ground and roadway were pooled with water. Walking on water, I thought. A mile and a half into town I reached a Huddle House restaurant. I stopped for a breakfast of blueberry pancakes.
Shortly after I left the restaurant the highway speed limit rose to sixty-five again, which affected me only because of the danger of speeding cars on wet roads. An hour later I entered Duval County and reached the Jacksonville city limit. Peculiarly, someone had hung the hoods of a dozen cars along a fence. I had no idea why. Maybe it was art.
Thirteen miles into the day I climbed the on-ramp to Interstate 295. The freeway traffic was dense and fast, at least in comparison to where I had been walking, but there were also a wide emergency lane and broad, grassy shoulders.
My legs were still not a hundred percent, so I exited the freeway short of twenty miles at Commonwealth Avenue. The shoulder was under repair, and I had to hike around barricades to get to the bottom of the off-ramp and the Comfort Suites.
There was a Wendy’s drive-in adjacent to the hotel’s parking lot, and I had a chicken salad, a bowl of chili, and a baked potato for dinner, then went back to my room and soaked in the last of my Epsom salts before going to bed.
The next day was stressful going. As I’d been warned back in Folkston, the expressway was “tore up” in myriad places, making it difficult to walk. At one point I was forced to climb over barricades because of road construction.
Around noon I took the Roosevelt Boulevard exit and ate lunch at one of my favorite stops, the Waffle House. I was in no hurry to return to the 95, so after lunch I tried to keep to local roads, but after an hour I could see the freeway was the only sensible route. I walked nearly five miles more, then got off on the Old St. Augustine Road.
As I descended the off-ramp I saw a sign for a Holiday Inn Express. I turned left, crossing beneath the overpass and into a well-groomed business district not a quarter mile from the exit. I had again walked less than twenty miles, but it felt like more.
The hotel shared a parking lot with a steak and seafood restaurant called LeGrand’s. I lay down on my bed for about a half hour; then I got up, washed my face, and walked across the parking lot to the restaurant.
The restaurant was crowded, but, being a party of one, I was seated quickly. I had the best meal I’d had since I left California: skillet corn bread, a wedge salad, sweet potato pecan soufflé, and a twelve-ounce rib eye steak garnished with sautéed mushrooms.
There was a couple sitting just two tables away from me that I guessed to be about my age. They had a toddler, a boy, who was celebrating a birthday. The family looked so remarkably happy that I couldn’t help but watch them. I surprised myself by laughing out loud when their boy smashed his hands into his piece of birthday cake. As they got up to leave, the young mother glanced over at me. I smiled. She smiled back, then turned away and pulled her child close. Suddenly, all the reasons I’d given McKale for putting off having a child seemed petty.
When I got back to the Holiday Inn I went for a long swim, then relaxed in the hot tub until it closed around eleven.
The hotel provided a free breakfast. I ate a cheese omelet with bacon and sausage, biscuits and gravy, and sticky cinnamon rolls. I went back to my room for my pack, then walked back out to the freeway.
I had walked about an hour when I exited onto the 1, which, at this part of the state, was called Philips Highway. (I was to learn that Highway 1 has more name changes than Zsa Zsa Gabor.) An hour later I passed through the town of Bayard. The skies were clearing a little, but I noticed that the shoulder to my right was filled with water, so, likely in unwarranted paranoia, I kept an eye open for gators.
Since passing the Okefenokee Swamp I’d thought a lot about alligators. There’s a myth that the best way to outrun an alligator is to run zigzags, the rationale being that the reptile cannot easily adjust its path. This is wrong on two counts. First, the fastest an alligator has been recorded running is ten miles an hour, half the speed of a human sprinter and still considerably slower t
han any average adult can run. Second, an alligator has little endurance on land and rarely chases anything more than fifteen feet away from it. So the fastest way to put distance between you and a gator is to run in a straight line. While I realize that this information is probably useless, it does make for good conversation.
As evening fell I turned off on Palencia Village Drive and stopped at a small strip mall restaurant called Pacific Asian Bistro, where I ate edamame, miso soup, and unagi don—eel over sushi rice. After finishing my meal, I asked the proprietor, a middle-aged Chinese man, if there was a hotel in the area. He replied, “Yeah, it’s close. Just keep driving another ten minutes.”
Ten minutes by car was four hours by foot. I walked around the area until I finally found a clump of trees big enough to conceal my tent. I felt like I was hiding in plain sight.
CHAPTER
Twenty-Seven
Some people spend so much time hunting treasure that they fail to see it all around them. It’s like sifting through gold to find the silt.
Alan Christoffersen’s diary
I didn’t sleep well. I woke early, broke down my tent, and walked back out to Highway 1. I wasn’t too concerned with my lack of sleep, since I planned to walk for only a few hours anyway. The city of St. Augustine was only seven miles away, and I wanted to spend some time there.
St. Augustine is America’s oldest European-settled city. It was founded more than two centuries before the Declaration of Independence was signed and served as the capital of Spanish Florida for over two hundred years. The town, like most of early America, has a bloody past, and control of the region has changed hands multiple times. It was first colonized by the French, then seized by the Spanish and traded to the British.
A quarter mile into the town was a parking lot and booth with a sign that read:
Old Town Trolley Tours
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