The Downtime Reassessment

While I am enjoying some down time, I’ll explain what the daily routine is like for a guy who is walking across the entire country.
Let’s start in the morning: Once the cart is packed and secured by bungee cords, (in my case—no backpack for me—too much weight on the legs) it is time to hit the road---slowly at first, and after about an eighth of a mile any stiff muscles are loosened up and the rhythm is set for the next three hours or so. The eighth of a mile number came from Caleb Gosa, when he was trying to tell me about the pain, and how to minimize it. He was dead on, because after just that far, about 700 feet, all pain ceases to exist as long as there are no blisters or sprains to contend with.
It is really important to keep hydrated, even in colder temperatures. In hot weather, for obvious reasons, you need to drink a lot of water just to avoid the possibility of collapsing on the highway, where there are no small number of birds and animals who only see you as a potential snack. In cooler weather you sweat almost as much but don’t necessarily notice it, so vigilance is a must. Another thing I have learned from experience is that water is best, not soda, which tends to make you want to drink more, not to mention the complications of caffeine and other chemicals that aren’t necessarily too good for you. I don’t always practice what I preach, however, and often go through 5 or 6 cans of diet Coke a day. I know I shouldn’t but I love it. I will try harder because it is very expensive when you add all those cans up.
Three hours is plenty of time to walk before a break. If you are used to walking, and can keep your mind occupied you can easily cover 7 or 8 miles in that time. I have great stamina, and can thank my elliptical training for that. What I did not factor in so much was the pounding that my feet are taking, which has given me bad blisters and achy bones. I’m healing and resting so I should be good to go in a week or so.
After three hours of walking, I only rest for about 15 minutes, or maybe a little longer if I come to a town or a gas station. Those stinking convenience stores with their unofficial policy of NOTHING NUTRITIOUS HERE are the bane of my existence, but are also the lifeline I need most of the time. Even when there are no towns around there are often convenience stores around for a rest and a drink. So I load up on sweet crap and rest while my phone and other stuff charges. My phone is the main concern, because it is my connection to the world should something go wrong, as it did last week. The next concern is my camera battery, which I don’t need to charge often but I’d hate to have it go dead on me when that shot of a Bigfoot boarding his UFO presents itself to me.
Charged up and sugared up, I then hit the road anew, and try to go for another three hours. By now it is getting hotter and I am naturally getting more tired, so the mileage isn’t as great, and the small breaks are more frequent. But the miles still pile on, and after another break and refreshments, It is time for the home stretch. Late afternoon turns into early evening, and as the air gets cooler I walk a bit faster and really start focusing on finding a suitable site to set up my tent. In small , or even large towns it is a little difficult to find a spot that isn’t in view of houses or businesses, so I try not to be there at the end of the day. My first night in Savannah was a nightmare, in a bad neighborhood and I was terribly tired, and unsure of what to do. I slept on the open ground on my tarp, in my awfully , uncomfortable sleeping bag. The first night, I hated the whole experience. By the fourth night I was loving it. Even after the nightmare night in Metter, Georgia, pursued by some silent light wielding individual in the dark, I love the experience. of sleeping in the tent.
One thing I should mention to the potential fellow walker: it is really good to take yor shoes and socks off whenever you stop for more than a few minutes. Let the dogs breathe a little bit. Massage the feet really hard, and it makes a huge difference in the next step of the day. If you have medicated powder, load up your socks with it. It helps both keeping your feet dry and feeling cool. This was a trick taught to me by Ms. Rachel Milano, an inspiring young lady who walked 250 miles from Savannah, GA to Atlanta, GA several years ago, pushing an 850 pound cart, and who suffered not a single blister the entire time, although she was hit by a semi truck at some point (Maybe the blisters would have been a better alternative)...
I admit it. I was not completely prepared for this in some ways. I never took my tent out of its pouch to try to set it up first. I didn’t get better shoes because the ones I had seemed to be just fine. I packed way too many cans of tuna and energy packets of the 4-C type, Energy Rush, and do not think I will need them all. I am currently re-configuring my route slightly, and my supplies. I will stop earlier to set up my tent and hit the road earlier each day to make up for it. For the first week I was getting out at about 8 am or so, but when I was near a McDonalds or a place with wifi I would linger around to write and check emails and recharge. I now have a solar panel charger for my phone and some new shoes and even a camping air mattress, a cool gift from my aunt Pam, who is a veteran camper. When I hit the road again later this coming week, in the waning days of March, I will be gone for the duration. No more blisters, no more safety nets..just me, the open road and a dream.

A Letter from Caleb.....

I just got word from WhyHunger that a letter came in from Caleb Gosa, the man I met on my second day out. Along with a small cash donation to WhyHunger, he wrote the following ( I just called him for permission to reprint his words, to which he replied, “Y’all can do what you want with it, friend, I aint got no copyright on that thing.”)
Ladies and Gentlemen,
I am sending you a report on the guy that started walking across the US from Tybee Island, GA to San Francisco, Calif. to benefit your organization for the hungry. I do not know his name but we talked a while at the McDonalds on 3/16/11, the second day of his sore feet journey.
I will refer to him as “SF” for sore foot:
SF was sitting at a table in McD’s on his computer and also charging his cell phone.
I thought he was a homeless person because he had his backpack on the floor beside him.
I told him I had walked across the US 10 times in 28 months, walking, not hitchhiking but taking a ride when offered. I told him how to stop the pain, mostly.
He gave me your calling cards and the “Imagine” pin of John Lennon.
After I finished my conversation with him I left. When I stopped to fill up the truck, 2 women saw the sign on the truck doors and gave me 3 cases of fruit and a large carton of cakes. By the way, the sign on the truck door says, “FEED THE POOR. Help me help them”
I knew where to take the food to a place downtown to the homeless where I have fed over 50,000 meals.

SF has my calling card and said he will keep me updated on his journey. I wish I had thought to get his email address to give him encouragement not to stop his cause of his journey.
Bill Gates, Warren Buffett and the Sam Walton’s family could stop what has been going on for 10000 years of hunger but the interest of the account is all they will give and only a small portion of the interest. Their 100,000,000.00 homes is more important to them than the pain of hunger. I have gone 3 to 10 days without food many times…
Well, Ill shut up now but I want to send you a tiny seed and let you plant it and see if it grows.
By the way, I lived at the corner of 86th street and Central Park W (8th Ave) behind some bushes for 3 and a half months before the new park director discovered me and had the police run me off. I saw many celebrities walk by but not one offered assistance.
I love you guys so do not EVER stop your cause.
Caleb Gosa, a son of God.
Quite a nice letter, and one that really makes me feel like this world isn’t just full of creeps and sleazy politicians and people with bad thoughts and all of it. For every evil Chris Robbins there are a dozen Caleb Gosas who give me the motivation to carry on. See you again somewhere, Mr. Gosa.

A Break in the Action...Dammit!

The first week of my walk ended badly, I guess it is fair to say. Still, I did about 120 miles in 7 days, the last two of which were slower in pace due to the achin’ foots….
I spent night #6 at a motel in Swainsboro, Georgia, where I was suffering from so many bad blisters on swollen feet that I just wanted to get indoors for a night to recoup a bit and get a shower so I could assess the damage to my feet. I actually was going to camp in a small park near a WalMart, but a woman at McDonalds told me that the cops would hassle me there, and recommended a bigger, nicer park a half mile up the road. Besides, she said, there was supposed to be a huge thunderstorm coming an a few hours and in her opinion I wouldn’t want to be outside for that. With sore feet pounding I pushed my stroller up the hill for the half mile to the park she had mentioned, figuring that there were enough places to hide from the rain if I needed to for the time it took the storm to pass (in Georgia thunderstorms are usually short lived but violent affairs—very different from the ones I used to love in New York) but when I got to the park, it turned out to be a baseball field, and locked. And in an intersection that was too busy for my taste anyway. I headed back towards WalMart and saw the motel and just decided that 30 bucks for the room for the night was worth it, and except for the giant insect that greeted my entrance, it was. I swiped a pillow too, since I have not had one with me and I figured since the motel’s ice machine was out of order, coupled with the 8-legged uninvited room guest, that I was somehow entitled to that pillow.
The following morning, feet swollen and sore I set out for Kite, Georgia, a crossroads community about 15 miles west of where I was in Swainsboro. It took me all day to reach Kite, because of my aching feet and the 90 degree heat, which left me depleted and thirsty. I couldn’t find water anywhere, and need to learn to ration my supplies better in the future. Note to self: lay off the diet Coke, and stick with real water. Second note to self: Be real---You won’t stop with the Diet Coke, but drink more water!
After knocking on several doors of houses that looked to be occupied, and with no luck and no outside spigots, I found a nice man named Henry Carter who not only let me take as much water as I needed but also a photo of him with his hose. He informed me that Kite was only 2 miles away and that was a relief since another error I have made was to not have a map with me for perspective. A five minute drive in a car is often a two hour walking trek and if you stop to rest for a few it all becomes a little incalculable.
By the time I left Henry Carter’s, I was so sore and tired from fighting the pain that the 2 mile walk to Kite took two hours, interrupted by a few collapses on the side of the road and a total capsizing of my cart once. I knew I had a decision to make as to whether to continue or to call it a day. I quickly realized that to continue meant more pain and possibly a serious or permanent injury, so I decided that when I made it to Kite, where a gas station awaited me, I would call home and take the time to heal and re-boot. I also could discard what I don’t need and make changes to my route. I chose GoogleMaps’ walking route because it avoids interstates where pedestrians are not allowed, but it also sadly takes you down some very, very boring places, dirt roads, and into other, not so desirable areas.
While sitting at the gas station, called the Penny Saver, I was approached by two different individuals who asked me if I needed money, food, or a place to stay for the night. I was very surprised and pleased to hear that kind of attitude. My recent experience had almost been the polar opposite of the meaning of “southern hospitality” (Metter, GA—an awful place full of narrow minded paranoid people—at least on Rosemary Church Road) and this was a nice respite from the bad feelings….
The two ladies who ran the Penny Saver were kind and understanding of my situation and allowed me to not only allowed me to loiter til my ride arrived but also gave me a ten dollar donation, which I am forwarding to WhyHunger, along with a five dollar bill that a random driver handed me the day before.
Anyone passing through Kite , Georgia, can be assured that the Penny Saver gas station is friendly territory indeed.
My ride came, and I am now home for a few days, likely to return to the road on or about April 1st. No fooling.

Should I stay (the course) or Should I go?

This is hard. Really hard.
I have serious injuries to both feet. My small toe on my right foot is one large blister, both feet have massive blisters on the area behind the middle toes, and every step feels like I am walking on red hot nails. And yet I continue.
The past two days were a challenge though, and have made me think about whether or not to continue. The pain notwithstanding, last night an incident left me shaken very badly and I am pondering whether to call it quits. After a very long day, with about 21 backroad miles behind me, a man let me use his outlet to charge my phone while we talked on his porch. He told me that everyone knew all about me already, and as I was thinking that is a good thing, he continued to inform me that all of the old ladies on that stretch of road were widows and were all afraid of me---a stranger pushing a cart in that neck of the woods was not a daily occurrence---and while I seemed like a nice guy, he felt I should know that. He even took a card from me and said he would make a donation to WhyHunger. I thanked him and headed up the road. It was about 8:30, and dark.
A mile later, a local sheriff’s deputy pulled up behind me in the dark, and asked for ID. I gave it to him and he told me that he had received 3 calls from the local old ladies all expressing concern about my presence. He offered to drive me the 15 miles to Swainsboro, just to get me out of there, but I demurred, since the purpose of walking across the country is to WALK. He also told me not to tent in plain sight since the young kids on meth would mess with me. He suggested a lot about 3 miles up the road as a safe enough place to set up my tent.
What happened next made me wish I had taken the ride.
I went another half mile or so and soon noticed a bright light shining on me from behind, very narrow in focus, and very bright. I turned and saw it several hundred feet behind me, obviously a flashlight of some sort. It went off. I sped up as much as my injured feet would allow me to. Several minutes later the light reappeared, and when I turned around to see where it was it was almost on top of me. I said “Just walking through” in a loud voice and got no response. As I said, it was dark. Very dark, and the perigee full moon had not yet risen. The light went off, and I sped up more, almost running. The light came on again but further back and it faded in the distance as I ran.
I decided to not use the lot that the cop had referred me to—paranoia had made me think it was a set up. I found an old cotton field, up a hill, and camped there for the night, out of sight, and was treated to a beautiful moon and a cool, peaceful breeze.
In about 5 days I will be passing through Jackson, Georgia, where I live, I will take a couple of days to heal and regroup, and maybe re-route my trip, avoiding the really rural areas like Metter, Georgia, where the above took place. A bucket list adventure like this isn’t supposed to be what makes me kick that bucket. It is supposed to be fun. It has been fun, even with the pain, but when my life or safety is at risk, it is time to reflect. Think about a calm, blue ocean…...and relax.
As I said, this is very very hard but I am sure I will see it through. If I do make the decision to stop, I know a lot of you will be let down, so it is for you that I write this, as a window to what is and has been. I also know that other places in this country are not this way, so if I hang in there, I’m sure it will be worth it. A few days to re-calibrate and rest at home will let me know. In the meantime I hope you all enjoy not only my blog posts but all the hundreds of photos I post on my facebook page. Even the great roadkill…..

A Love Story in south Georgia...

This is a love story, at its core.
Here is what happened to me in Blitchton, Georgia on the third day of my walk…a woman grabbed me around the neck and kissed my face and told me she loved me. Right in front of her husband. And he didn’t mind.
I was resting my feet at the only gas station in Blitchton, and waiting for my phone to charge. There was a woman working the counter, and two other female customers. An elderly, but very fit looking man came in and was yelling quite loudly and pointing in our general direction, “Come here! Come here! Help me!” Each of the women pointed at themselves and said, “ Me?” And he said, “No, no, no---HIM”, pointing at yours truly. I was thinking, “How rude, why not ask nicely?” but went outside with him.
As we neared his old pickup he explained that his wife was in the truck—I didn’t see her—and that she had fallen, and was stuck. Sure enough, she had fallen off the seat, down onto the floor, had one leg wedged in a painful position, and because she was fairly heavy was unable to extricate herself. She smiled up at me from her low position, and I said to her, "Pleased to meet you. Now what are you doing down there?"
With the help of another woman, we managed to get her out and in a standing position, none the worse for the wear. My job now was to physically lift her up and get her back seated as she was before she fell. She required a walker and couldnt get herself up on the seat. As I lifted her up and got her in place, she put her arms around me, kissed my hard on the side of my face and said, “I love you!” I kissed her back on her cheek, said, “I love you too” and let her go. Her husband thanked me profusely, telling me that she had Alzheimers and wasn’t in good shape mentally or physically, and that he had to do everything for her, but that since they had married for 63 years, (he was 88, she was 84) he didnt mind at all. He went on to tell me that he had been in the Reserves during WWII, and when he came back from flying C47’s to the Burma Road, he saw her at a dance, and said that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and that he was going to marry her. They dated three times and got married shortly after.
Sixty three years later they are still a couple and live in a nice house with a pond, next to their daughter’s house.
They thanked me and drove away after getting gas, and I figured that would be it.
As I resumed walking, I noticed, about an hour later, the man, parked near a pond, tossing something in the water, and saw that his wife was still in the truck, watching him. On the same property a younger woman was hanging laundry. I called out to her and she came over. I asked her if she was related to the couple and she said that yes, she was their daughter. I related the story of her mom falling and the subsequent lift and kiss incident, and I expressed my admiration for her father, having taken it upon himself to take total care of his beloved wife. She laughed, and said that the truth was that both of her parents were suffering from Alzheimers and that she was caregiver for both of them and had been for several years. As we watched her father and mother drive off and almost get creamed by a car, she said, “See? He is getting so bad..he is going to kill someone one of these days. “
I can only hope that as their memories fade into the jumble of confusion that Alzheimers inevitably brings, that both B.E. and Annie Mae Roberts have one last clear thought: “ I am with the one I love the most in this world.”

Small world.....

Small world stuff here:
Two or three days ago, in McDonalds, in Savannah, a woman came in to eat and use the wifi. With only one electrical outlet in the place, and it being used my me for all my little gadgets, she was going to be out of luck. I was almost finished, however, and offered her its use. She accepted and sat down as I finished up. We talked about my journey and a bit about her life and story—a writer and interfaith minister from New Mexico—she was staying in some kind of boarding situation and was unable to offer me a place to set up my tent for the night. We spoke a bit more and then parted, with me getting her name for the purposed of adding her to my Facebook friends list, which I did the next morning. Later I saw that she had accepted my friend request and she noted that she saw my alma mater listed as New Paltz, where coincidently, her uncle and his wife lived. She wondered if I knew them. I did indeed know her uncle, a professor of mine in college back in 1980, and sadly also knew about her other uncle, the professor’s brother who went berserk that year and killed someone in a terrible manner, and who was later himself shot down by police during a gun battle that left two state police wounded but alive.
What is as much a tragedy as those old family wounds is the fact that all these years later my new friend was worried that my memories of her educator uncle was a bad one and that it would reflect on her. Have no worries, if you are reading this.
Another small world item of a more personal nature: Also in Savannah, and directly on my route---the longtime residence of someone very near and dear to me, a friend now. Pics were taken and sent, and I am sure appreciated.
Next stop: Hell

My first hero guy and unforgettable character...

Caleb Gosa has the unique distinction of being the first unforgettable character that I encountered on this walk.
I was sitting in a McDonald’s, home of free wifi, this morning, in Savannah, reading all the nice comments that people have made on Facebook about my adventure, and a voice asked me, out of nowhere, “Excuse me. Are you homeless?” I looked up and there stood a tall, very Southern gentleman, wearing camouflage pants and cap and a jacket of some sort. He was holding a cup of coffee, and just fell into a conversation with me, whether I wanted one or not. He actually fell into about 25 different conversations, and the second or third line of each was, ”To make a long story short”…which he did not do.
He asked me what I was doing with a cart and all my gear, which was parked out front. I told him I was walking across the country, for myself and for a charity. He asked how was my walking going to make the charity any money, and I said that I hoped that by talking to people and handing out the WhyHunger cards that I have with me, that people would make a donation if the spirit so moved them. He proceeded to tell me a story that I just knew could not be true, until I realized that it was. He related to me that he had crossed the USA on foot, not once but about 30 times, sometimes taking rides if offered, but often just hoofing it. He struck me as the nomadic sort, in plain truth,and I doubted his stories, but as he went from one to the other, the little details struck me as sounding right on, and his eye for detail was remarkable. It was when he spied my John Lennon pin on my hat that I knew he was the real deal. He told me, “You know, up in New York, where Central Park West and 72nd Street meet, there is a little park there that is called “Strawberry Fields” and on the anniversary of {Lennon’s} death a lot of people gather there.” Old Caleb was right on the money.
It was another story that he told me that was much more poignant, and gave me some insight to human dignity, and how people can cast aspersions on those less fortunate, or feel that they are fodder for whatever comes along, whether they want it or not, just because their station in life is less than it should be.
It was one of the coldest winters in history, and Caleb was “living” in Springfield, Massachusetts. I say “living” because he actually was sheltered against the cold and wind by a board that was propped up between the two abandoned refrigerators that was a bed for Caleb. A cop pulled the board away,and said to Caleb, “There are some people here from the newspaper and they want to talk to you. Do you want to talk to them?” Caleb emerged from his spot and saw two people, a reporter and a photographer. He told them he would talk to them about their article about how the homeless deal with the cold weather, but that he didn’t want his photo taken. They agreed and left after talking to Caleb.
The next day, he was walking down the sidewalk when he saw the paper box on the sidewalk, with his face staring back at him from the issue behind the glass. The headline was something along the lines of “Am I My Brother’s Keeper” and he saw red.
I never did find out why, but Caleb Gosa, once a traveller, now is grounded, lives in Savannah, and runs a program called “Feed the Poor” that, he claims, has served over 50,000 meals since he has been in charge. I don’t know if he works alone, or much else about him, really, but we parted with a handshake and best wishes and a promise from me to call him occasionally to let him know I am okay.
But that isn’t the end of the story. After I left Caleb and headed down Victory Blvd on my way to wherever it is I am going, about 30 minutes later I hear the beep of a horn behind me, and there is Caleb in his small truck. He parked it and motioned for me to come over. He told me that he felt bad that he had spoken to me and had not offered me something to eat, and had just finished a pickup at a local store for his program. Needless to say, I left Caleb with not only a big bag of grapes, but nectarines, peaches and and a delicious entire cake. We shook hands again and I said to him, “So, are you gonna let me take your picture now?” He said, “Wait a minute” and rummaged through his truck, emerging with a black wool hat with the face cut out. It was the same type of hat/mask that he was wearing when the photographer in Springfield had snuck his picture years ago. He told me that if it was okay for her, then I could at least have the same picture.
The grapes are good. The peaches and nectarines are gone, and the cake is sitting here, almost pornographic in its call to be devoured…..
Now where did I pack my fork?

Day One....ouch

So a day in, I am sore, tired and more determined than ever. I spent the night in my sleeping bag under the cool Savannah sky, odd little leaves from a tree filled with Spanish Moss falling on my head and making sharp popping sounds when they hit the tarp that I had thrown down first. I was in the secret back yard of a house that seemed to be empty, but I couldn’t tell. I was advised that the neighborhood was not the best place to set up a tent, so I decided to just open-air it, in case I needed to make a quick exit. No worries, and maybe the combination of windy rustling, a few dogs barking here and there, and, other than cars occasionally driving by, no sign of human beings, made for a relatively calm night. I slept about 5 or 6 hours, mostly good sleep, with a few exceptions when the little leaves, very hard leaves, popped on the tarp next to me. Really loud in the quiet night…
I think I covered about 20 or 21 miles. I didn’t follow my directions exactly from the beginning, but all roads out of Tybee Island, a peninsula as much as an island, are the same road, really, so I had no choice.
I overdid it, to be sure, the first day. My left foot felt last night like it might have sustained a stress fracture, and my right one has some kind of mass, like a blister, deep inside the area immediately behind the toes in the middle, very very painful and making each step a nail in the foot experience. Im glad there doesn’t appear to be a blister on the surface, but this is too painful to do much walking today, Day two. Ill try though, because I put an unrealistic goal in front of me---100 days, allowing up to 120 max. Even that seems today to be a dream but I am tough and determined.
On the down side because of the vast nothingness of this part of Georgia, I didnt get to really promote my cause to too many people. But, I have time, and will work in in as I can.
I am so sore.

Three days left.......

Three days left til I leave. I should be running around like a chicken sans head but instead Im just chillin’, as they say.
Since my ride to my starting point had to cancel, getting there is going to be a tricky thing, and it looks like an inexperienced driver is going to have to ride with me down to Tybee Island and return alone, 250 miles or so. If I thought I could leave my car safely there for 4 months, I would but it isn’t realistic.
I’ve got most of the stuff I need. Here is a list of what I’m taking, not complete, but close.

Cards and info from WhyHunger to distribute.
Tent
Groundcloth
Sleeping bag
Sleeping pad, or extra tarp which Ill keep rolled or folded up as a softer sleeping surface
Three or 4 pairs of underwear
Four pairs of socks
Knit cap/ Wide-brim sun hat /Baseball cap
Reflective vest, as well as a rain poncho
Camp towel
Extra pair of shoes
Two lighters
Toothbrush
Deodorant (like it’s gonna do any good)
Anti-chafing stick
Sunblock
Tools/fix-it supplies
Duct tape (of course!)
Rope
Bungee cords
Lots of waterproof plastic bags
Paper towels and toilet paper
Small cooler
Nuts, Apples , Granola bars
Peanut butter and Crackers
Fresh fruits and vegetables
Heidi Fallis-recommended energy packets from 4-C (these things ROCK!)
Melomine plate and a fork, spoon and knife.
Water (I may need up to a gallon a day during summer))
Harmonica
Journal and pens
Pepper spray
Digital camera
Mini Laptop (HP) with wifi capability
Headphones and trusty Philips mp3 player with 900 songs, all great.
Watch
Three flashlights
Small solar panel (for charging phone)
Extra batteries
Chains and locks to secure the cart
Art supplies for my art journal.
Several books, which I will read as I go and leave behind, except for Everett Ruess, Vagaond for Beauty, a gift from Lynda..sigh
And whatever else I toss in at the last minute.
It’s going to be FUN!! If I say it enough Ill believe it!!!

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World Hunger Year...Harry Chapin's legacy...

When I decided to attach my walk across America to a charity, World Hunger Year, now called WhyHunger, I had no idea who they were anymore. I barely knew Harry Chapin,co-founder, and he has been deceasd some thirty years now, of a heart attack/car accident/ strange combination of factors on the LIE in 1981. Something I read somewhere, a quote from a family member, suggested that his rigorous schedule and poor eating habits—a lot of fast food etc,--- were to blame for the apparent heart attack that killed him. What is known is that he was driving on the Long Island Expressway, on July 16, 1981, in a Volkswagen Rabbit, and for some reason pulled to the side of the road, and kept moving along slowly there. Why he pulled over is not clear---it could have been car trouble, it could have been chest pains—but at some point he decided to keep on moving and re-entered the highway, right into the path of a big truck, which rearended the little car and caused the gas tank to explode. Passerby actually managed to get Harry out of the car, still alive, but he later died in the hospital from the heart attack. A sad end to a great life.
What makes it sadder is the possibility that his own goodness killed him. He gave away almost half of the money that he made in his life, was supporting a lot of people personally, and had a touring schedule that would be a challenge to anyone. Had he just been a regular dude, like we all want to be, he would have been spending his money on himself and would have had a better car, a better lifestyle and probably wouldn’t have had any heart troubles at all. And he would still be with us. Irony---a guy who was so involved in making sure that people got proper food and nutrition the world over died from…poor nutrition.
So, with that knowledge and thought process in mind, I contacted WhyHunger for their endorsement, and was quickly welcomed into the fold. Sight unseen, they gave me their blessing and support.
I decided to take a trip to New York to meet them, especially Sue Leventhal, who seems to have enough energy to power a small city. Or a big one. I wasn’t sure what to expect…I figured a big, shiny corporate looking cube farm, with people on headsets and wearing suits and ties, but that morning when I arrived I was delighted to not only find that the place was NOT corporate clean and shiny (and sterile) but was a busy little place with a maybe 7 people in the entire office, and all were busy. Harry’s co-founder, and former radio guy in NY, Father Bill Ayres, came over and introduced himself, and presented me with a sweatshirt and a lot of good wishes. Sue took me around and introduced me to several people, all nice and interested in what I was there for. I spoke to Sue for a while, and was presented with a few more shirts and other things to take with me as I returned to Georgia.
I left the building with the knowledge that I had chosen a good charity with which to affiliate my walk. Harry’s legacy is definitely in good hands.

Two weeks away...and I'm nervous.

Two weeks from today I will set off on the biggest endeavor of my life. They say a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. What about a three thousand mile trip? Same step, longer strides?
My friend Holly Christiana suggested that I write about my expectations for my walk across the US. It is a good suggestion, and one that I have been thinking about. Most people that I tell the story to seem to fall into one of two camps: the “Jim is crazy” camp versus the “Jim is gonna have a blast: go for it dude!” camp. Fortunately, most seem to be in the latter, which is gratifying, and does make me feel like it is something I can accomplish without too much trauma.
I had envisioned myself as the lone wolf, the solitary traveller wending my way westward as the pounds and miles burned away, and by the time I immersed my tired frame in the Pacific Ocean, I would be numb to all my troubles and just completely and supremely satisfied that I had achieved something that few have ever done. And maybe that will be what happens four months from now. But as I write this it is really becoming a Goliath for this David to tackle. I know I will succeed, and I know it will be glorious. I know I’ll raise a lot of money for WhyHunger and I know I will lose the rest of the weight I want to lose. I know that when I am done, and get back, I will be disoriented and will need some time to adjust. I will take that time, use it wisely, nurture that which needs nurturing in my life, and eventually move on.
Last year I watched, several times, a particularly depressing and powerful documentary called “The Bridge” which is about the Golden Gate Bridge, and the roughly two dozen people who jump to their deaths from it each year. The film-makers set up cameras and actually caught many of the jumpers falling to their deaths. The morality of the whole scenario notwithstanding, the movie stays with you, and it has become one of my big dreams to walk across that bridge, and to see what those poor people saw in their last minutes alive. One guy in particular, a tall, longhaired man in a leather jacket and shades, paced back and forth for what seemed like hours before finally climbing up on the railing and allowing himself to fall backwards gracefully…
But I’m not gonna jump. Hell no. I’m walking across the country as a personal mission, as a charitable mission for WhyHunger, and as a hell of an adventure. I hope those of you reading this will like it, as I relate it to you, and will tell your friends about the crazy guy walking across the country for charity and donate. The website is www.whyhunger.org and if you decide to donate a few bucks, or a lot of bucks, please mention my name in the box so WhyHunger knows that my walk is being effective.