Letter Home (6 of  7)
10-29-93
South Carolina

Life knows no boundaries
Not born of self
Yields only to those
Who forge their limits

The Pounding of The Rain on The Roof. (a poem)

It comes at times in waves
Hard as a tempest at stormy seas
An abstract African rhythm beating a tempo
Composed by their gods
A pounding of the wicked drums of the warlords
Weaving melodies which seem to embody the language of the night
The language felt, heard and understood by primitive beasts
Millions of years before man confined his body
To this planet we call earth
And then it stops

Only to return as an intrepid lover
Adorned in diamonds and sheerest of lace
Ribbons touching the ground
It comes sounding as an aria scored by angels
Soft with wings of feather as fine as flaxen sand
The delicate sounds bring the cantor his cloak
With dreams of a wistful harmony impending

The harmony arriving gently at first
A soft pitter patter it builds deep rich and mellow
Bringing with it the voice of the creator
With each moist drop which embraces our abode
Then silently makes it's way back to the earth
Of which it were born

Here I reside
Awaiting the final crescendo
A silence to fall on the night
To bring with it a new day
With the freshness of the dew on the leaves
The sweet aromas which will be allowed
To satiate all of my senses and possess me

-----------------------------------

With this rain comes a day of reflection where I might begin to tell you not of the places I've been to first, but instead of some of the people.  Some of these people who've added character to my trip.

There was the couple in their fifty's who were parked next to me in Grand Junction, Colorado who had been traveling for five years.  The most surprising thing I found was that their travels did not take them throughout the states.  Their circuit they traveled seemed to always be the same.  They would stay in Colorado then Arizona and on to Florida and Texas for the winter.  Each year they would retrace their steps and never go anyplace else!

Then in Nappanee, Indiana is where I met Amber.  Most campgrounds I stay at have a playground setup for children with slides, swings, a jungle gym and a merry-go-round.  While still being a child myself I often indulge myself for a few minutes on the swings.  It was while doing the swings that I met Amber.  She was a darling little six year-old girl with long brown hair, big eyes and a very sweet smile and personality.  Seeing me on the swings she walked up to show me the frog she had caught.  While slowly unclenching her fist she allowed me a small peak at "Jennifer."  This is the name she had now given her frog.  During our brief conversation I asked her how many brothers and sisters she had.  She then said five and began to recite all of their names but then she said, It's actually six cause now I have "Jennifer" and she's my sister.  With this I asked her what her daddy did for a living to which she replied, "He works for Mobile."  She then looks me straight in the eyes and with complete sincerity in her voice she says, "And what does your daddy do?"  I began to explain that he was retired but by then her attention span seemed strained so with darkness approaching we bid fond farewell.

In Virginia Beach, Virginia I was led to my campsite by a guy who with a flashlight, guided me in till I was properly parked.  The only thing unusual about this was he seemed to speak perfect English but I could not understand a word that he said.  The way he mumbled and drawled his words with a thick accent made him incomprehensible.  I just kept saying 'yes, right and thank you' to any break in his conversation until he left me in a complete state of confusion.

While on this trip I carry a five gallon container for drinking water which I fill up as needed along the way.  Usually stopping at a Kmart or Walmart which sells fifty cent gallons.  I then pour them into my larger container for the trip.  IT was while doing this task in Lexington, Kentucky that I was approached by a local with whiskers as unkempt as mine.  On seeing me filling my jug with water, he said, "looks like you're fixin' to do some huntin', huh?"  All I could think of was right, I'm gonna sneak up on some mule deer, soak him in water with hopes that he'll catch pneumonia and die. 

Then last night on Myrtle Beach, South Carolina I had an enlightening conversation with a fisherman.  I noticed he had caught about five silvery fish which looked to be about six or seven inches long in his pail.  Everything I thought was going very smoothly what with me asking all kinds of stupid questions and he feeling the mentor till another person walked up.  With one quick question he put a chill in the air and an abrupt end to the warm, loving rapport I had so diligently created in so very few moments.  He asks, "How do you catch such small fish with such big hooks?"  When no answer came after a minute of silence I felt as if Count Dracula had just received a stake to the heart.  I somehow felt like it was time to move on so that is precisely what I did.

Now to get back to the travels and agenda at hand, I left beautiful Kentucky behind on October 15th and headed East through Virginia and West Virginia.  There are only two.  I'm serious, check a map.  There is West Virginia and East of that where you'd expect to find East Virginia you don't.  You find just plain - Virginia!  What this means for those demented enough to care is this.  When in Eastern Part of West Virginia you are in West Virginia still.  Then you travel further East to the Eastern part of Virginia again you are not in East Virginia but still in plain old - Virginia!  This is also where the Appalachian Mountains reside which is where they filmed the movie "Deliverance."  As a rendezvous with an inbred hillbilly in every sense of the word did not excite me, we didn't veer into the woods too deeply (I hate that word.)

Virginia is also the home of Salem.  The city where witches were once hunted and persecuted.  The city where the color black was in style way ahead of it's time.  On October 16th I spent the day at the Virginia Military Academy in Lexington, Virginia.  There I enjoyed a play which was performed by Cadets.  The Southern people I've found to be usually very friendly but the gentlemen and ladies of Lexington seem to have such an air about them, at least around the academy.  The gentlemen seem to walk in a manner as if their jockey shorts are too tight.  The ladies on the other hand carry themselves with head tilted slightly upward with a wrinkled nose and squinting eyes like someone close to them just 'cut the cheese.'  While deep fried Southern cooking combined with the pressure of 'too tight' Jockeys could in fact lead to flatulance, I'm still not completely convinced this is the case.  I still enjoyed myself in spite of a few possible fartskies.

Finally I made it to the coast of South Carolina on around October 22nd.  This is where I got one of my first rare opportunities to do some bike riding.  I donned a Tee & shorts and proceeded to pedal in searh of more rare adventures in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.  With a smile on my face and bugs in my brains I rolled out of the campground with reckless abandon, fearing nothing.  From the campground at 6th Street South and Ocean Blvd. I rode all along he coastline up to 96th Street North dodging cars along the way.  This jaunt was 108 blocks which was handled with ease untill it was time for me to begin the return ride home which was when the pain set in.  The ride back home was a true test of endurance with the distance totaling twenty plus miles and me being totally out of shape.  I knew that no friend or relative I could call would even consider the drive to pick me up no matter how much I whined.  I do confess blackmail did seem an option to attain a ride but only for aplit second and then I quickly erased the thought from mymind.  With having no choice other than be buried where I stopped, I proceeded to make the trek unaided, all on my own.  Believe me, when I did finally arrive back home I was sure wishin' I had a nice warm hot tub for the booty.  It took 24 hours of R and R as well as four asprin to cure the old ass burn but a cure was finally found.  The next day I spent in prayer to the great sun God at the beach where I was absolved of my sins and healed.  Praise the Lord!

As I've traveled across the United States I've tried hard to immerse myself in the sights, sounds and colors of the various cultures.  I've even allowed myself to be consumed by teh foldways, the ethnic folklore and the various foods of the differnt States I've traveled through.  While I was in North Dakota I parook in certain Norwegian specialties such as a dish of Krub or a morsel of Lefsa. When in Indiana I started to graze on Buttermilk Pie and Shoefly Pie, all passionately prepared by the Amish people themselves.  On reaching the Southern States I then felt obliged to have a taste of their delectable delicacies all in the name of fairness.  I had a nibble or two of mustard greens, collard greens, fried okra, fried zuccini, fried everything, banana pudding, custard pudding, spoonbread, cornbread, hushpuppies and grits and then there were the deserts!  Well, I'm not sure where in my unselfish willingness to participate it happened.  Must have been some place between Vegas and Virginia but I got FATer!

I've traveled 8,364.8 miles and I've gained 17.35 pounds!  I figure that relates to one pound every 482.12 miles.  My calculations tell me that if I continue doing as many miles through the States as I have planned to go, my cargo will exceed it's maximum limitation of ballast before I ever reach Texas!  I still have thousands of miles to go and I'm not taking any chances.  The fault I'm convinced must lie in the Ford Explorer's odometer.  It seems that with every hundred miles I gain weight!  You don't have to write and tell me, I know it's illegal but hey, my health is at stake!  I don't care what the consequences are.  I'm going to have the odometer turned back before I hit the next restaurant cause I'm getting hungry!  I'm feeling perplexed because just as I was becoming able to pinch an inch I now instead grab the flab!

Bye ya all!  Allen