Today was hard. It was hot and I was so thirsty. I may have underestimated how much water this walking requires. I can’t eat much without feeling bilious, and the iron rations in my pack have turned out to be unappealing. After 29 kilometres, I’ve stopped beside the Moose Jaw River to rest. It’s a good spot to camp and a lovely valley, but the sun is hammering down and this chokecherry bush, right on the cutbank, is giving little shade. I might move on; I haven’t decided.
There’s no cell service here, either, which is another reason to keep going. But my fatigue is keeping me here for now.
I thought about the sounds I’ve been listening to for the past two days: the howl of trucks in the distance on the Number One highway, train horns, the rumble and squeak of machinery digging another pipeline, but also innumerable crickets in all the fields, and birds (like the bank swallows I hear now), and of course the crunch of my feet on the gravel.
Time shifts when you’re walking. It slows. An hour passes and you look at my watch to learn it’s only even 10 minutes. Something on the horizon–today, a potash mine–seems to stand still for hours as you walk towards it. But eventually you pass it and trudge towards the next landmark.
It is lovely here, and I’m so beat, but that sun won’t quit. Maybe I’ll stay a little longer. I don’t know.
Later: I decided to walk a little farther. Good thing, because all the roads in the valley dead ended at gravel pits. I was thoroughly lost. I flagged down a passing SUV. The driver pointed out an abandoned road that led across a condemned bridge. That, he said, would take me into Moose Jaw. Had I started walking early tomorrow morning, I doubt anyone would’ve been around to give directions.
He was the second person to stop and chat. The first was a cyclist heading to Pense from Moose Jaw. I thought I was the only crazy person out here, he said. And a family stopped to ask where I was going. All these interactions are meaningful when you are engaged in such a solitary activity.
The road wasn’t marked on my map, or was it? The details are sparse. I crossed the bridge and set up camp in the shade of a scrubby ash tree.
I’m drinking tomorrow’s water–this is a problem.
Now to force myself to eat something and then try to sleep.
All the best to you Ken. A challenge for sure!
Harder than the Haldimand Tract!
You are so amazing.
Or stupid.
A tough day, but I know you’ve had these before. It comes with the territory doesn’t it. Good thing you were able to obtain some directions. Ok, now on to today’s walk to see how you managed your water!
Your evocative writing is stirring memories of my recent pilgrimage on the plains of La Mancha – those endless horizons, snippets of engagement with passers by, the heat and weariness and thirst. It sounds hard, and great, and no doubt it is touching deep places within. Hang in, my friend, this is a good walk and work.