Taking A Walk

by Dwayne Phillip

I got an iPhone shortly after ending the walking in November of 2008. I have the 3G model. Lots of Internet access and such, camera, but no compass and the goodies that come in the model of 2009 (the 3GS).

I had this iPhone the entire time walking in 2009. It was a big help. Typical uses:

• The map
• Weather
• Distance traveled
• Finding businesses
• iPod music
• Telephone

Maps: I have no idea how much I used the maps on the iPhone. During 2008, we used detailed maps that we bought along the way. They were helpful, but not always correct. The iPhone maps are much more up-to-date. I could see where I was (GPS), where I was heading, and what was in between.

Weather: I had The Weather Channel application on my iPhone. I could display the radar image for my surrounding area. This was a life-saver on three or four days. I could start walking before a storm, be under cover for a few hours, and restart the walk after the storm passed.

Distance Traveled: This was a part of the map function of the iPhone, but so important that I mention it separately. I learned how to mark the spot where I started in the morning and at any time in the day I could see how far I had walked from that spot. This wasn’t particularly important in Alabama because of the wonderful mileage markers on the side of Route 11. This was great in Mississippi and Louisiana as I didn’t have any other method of determining distance traveled.

Finding Businesses: This is another part of the maps, but so important that it deserves its own mention. I could find where I was, then search for gas, restaurant, and such. Sometimes I would search for a particular type of restaurant such as Chinese, Steak, Mexican, Hardee’s, and so on. On two occasions I had a flat tire on my bicycle and I was too tired to repair it myself. I found a bicycle shop nearby, took the bike there, and had it repaired. I cannot place a value on the iPhone on those two days. Saved.

iPod Music: A recent story related how I listened to music the last hour of the walking day. The iPhone has the iPod music function in it. Nice.

Telephone: Oh yes, I made and received phone calls on the iPhone. I used more minutes in a day on the walk than I use in a week at home. Talking to someone while walking an uninteresting section of road helped pass the time. It was also nice to be able to describe what I was seeing to someone. I am thankful to report that I never had to use the phone in an emergency as I didn’t have any emergencies.

by Dwayne Phillips

I enjoyed taking a walk for 1,100 miles or so. When asked about doing it again or doing another route, I reply that I would do it given finances and such. It was fun.

There were tough times in the walk. There were periods where the weather was either too wet, too hot, too cold, or too much of something else that made it quite uncomfortable. Weather seems to come in stretches of three days or longer, and I experienced several stretches of bad weather.

There were tough times in the walk everyday. Notably, the last hour or two of a day. The fluids in my body settled in my feet and lower legs making every step difficult. Sitting and stretching helped, but only for five or ten minutes. Sitting five minutes, walking ten, you don’t make much headway at that pace.

Then the doubts would enter my mind. “This is supposed to be fun. You are supposed to be enjoying this. Why are you out here on the road if you are not enjoying it? Quit for the day. Take a day or two off. Be reasonable.”

I found one thing that helped me in the afternoon – music. I would listen to the music on my iPod or iPhone. Pop songs, happy songs, songs that would encourage my feet to keep moving. Sometimes the beat would be too fast for a  normal walk, so I would shuffle my feet in steps that were short but quick enough to stay apace with the song. Yes, I looked funny when I did this. I would move my arms, shoulders, and upper body to the songs. That moved the blood around a bit, made me feel better, and yes again, I looked funny when I did this.

I would listen to music the last hour of the walking day. I forced myself to wait until the last hour. No longer than an hour. Somehow, this worked on my mind and kept me going the hour or two before the last hour. Music hour was coming. I was anxious for it to arrive. Something positive was happening in my mind.

Yes, there were tough times on the road everyday. Learning how to get through the tough times was part of the fun. Finding the music was a big part of the fun.

by Dwayne Phillips

Our walking in the fall of 2008 ended on November 4th as we happily drove home to see our grandson on the day he was born. This year, I was spurred on to a quicker pace in order to be back in Reston, Virginia for his first birthday. One of the tougher parts of walking in 2009 was not seeing my grandson once or twice a week. Five weeks on the road without him.

Google video chat to the rescue.

Before departing, I setup the Google video chat service on my youngest son’s MacBook computer as well as on mine. We tested it a few times to ensure it would work. On the evening of the seventh day of the walk we used it for real. There he was, my grandson live on the computer screen. I talked to him, he looked at the screen and smiled. At least it seemed to me that he was listening to me, looking at me, and smiling. Perhaps he was smiling because his dad and uncle were letting him touch the buttons on the computer.

Regardless of the reason, the video chat was the highlight of the week. It was the highlight of the next week. And the next week after that. The last couple of weeks of walking I didn’t see him on video chat. I was in a place on those Sundays that didn’t have sufficient Internet access. But then I was home in a little while and playing in person.

by Dwayne Phillips

It was a rainy Saturday in Meridian, Mississippi. I had been out on the road a few hours in the morning only to be chased in by heavy rain. Then I went out again just after noon only to be chased again by rain. I gave up on walking for the day. Instead, I went back to the motel to shower and spread everything to dry.

I spoke to my sister-in-law in the afternoon to arrange when and how I would drop by and collect my brother for the next couple of weeks of walking. He would be my support driver. While talking, my sister-in-law told me about her daughter Susan, my niece, and how she was playing in a marching band show that evening in Meridian.

Susan plays in the Jones County Junior College marching band, a.k.a. The Maroon Typhoon. There are about 200 students in the Maroon Typhoon when adding the dancing teams to the musicians. This is a special unit. They have played in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and the Tournament of Roses Parade on New Year’s Day. Those are the premier events for marching bands in the U.S. This is a special marching band.

Meridian High School was hosting a high school marching band competition. I think this was a regional final or something special. Bands from that area of Mississippi were competing against other bands from schools their size. The Maroon Typhoon would close the evening with a special performance.

This sounded interesting, but I was tired of being out in the weather. It was still drizzling and it was a Saturday the end of a tiring week of walking. I thanked my sister-in-law for the information, but went about other activities for the weather-shortened day.

After a while, I went to the Wal-Mart SuperCenter nearby. I had a craving for tuna salad. I cannot explain the craving, but I had it and I knew that Wal-Mart sold already made tuna salad in their deli section. I picked up the tuna salad, some soft drinks, and a large bad of big-scoop Fritos Corn Chips. I was set.

I stepped into my van in the Wal-Mart parking lot armed with my Fritos and tuna salad. I felt much better than before, and the drizzle had stopped (temporarily). I found Meridian High School on the map on my iPhone and headed for it.  Turn right, turn left, go a while, turn a few more times. I found myself in an area of wonderful old houses. I didn’t know Meridian had such. A few more turns and I saw the lights of the football stadium. A grass parking area was full and I was waved past. That was fortunate as I found a smaller lot on the other side of the street with one empty space. Easy in and easy out.

Admission was five bucks. I liked that. The underside of the concrete stadium was buzzing with hundreds of teenagers and a dozen parents. I passed a couple of openings that led out on the seating area. I kept walking. Ah, there it was, the line for pizza. If there are teenagers, there is probably pizza being sold for $1 a slice. I passed it by as I was satisfied to know that such was universal.

About the middle of the stadium, I walked through an opening and out into the crowded seating area. The competition was between bands and the field was empty. I walked a ways through the crowd.

“Hey, Uncle Dwayne,” yelled a young lady. It was my niece Susan. I looked up to see her running down the stairs. She gave me a hug.

It is pretty nice for a young lady to acknowledge an old man in front of her friends. That could be really embarrassing, but Susan wasn’t embarrassed. That was pretty darn nice of her to honor me that way.

Susan told me that it was going to be two or three hours before The Maroon Typhoon performed. I didn’t want to sit around that long on a metal bench in a concrete stadium in a light drizzle with falling temperatures. Sigh. I went back to my van, turned on the engine and ran the heater a while. I used the big-scoop Fritos to eat the tuna salad. I was pretty hungry and ate all the tuna salad. It was good.

I then walked around the neighborhood. A short walk around felt good after a big dinner, and it had stopped raining for a few moments.

I went back into the stadium and watched marching bands for the next two hours. I was impressed. These teenagers from various Mississippi high schools stood at attention, marched in step, played music, and did lots of other things well. Be stiff at one moment, dance at another moment. Know when to do what, and do it as a team. Such comes from hours of hard work and minutes of intense concentration.

When finished, some of the bands stood at attention on the edge of the field watching the following bands. They stood at attention in the drizzle for half an hour and longer. Amazing.

Some of the bands returned to the stadium after their performance. I was sitting among hundreds of teenagers when it hit me. All these kids were behaving in an examplery manner. There was no cursing, no hazing, no trash talking, nothing of the sort. They were all polite to the others around them and even to an old man wearing a bright yellow L.L. Bean rain jacket. Further amazement.

I walked around watching the performing bands from different vantage points. They were good.

Another thing hit me – this was Mississippi. High school students in Mississippi score last or near last on every national test of every sort. These kids were doing great and they were well behaved. The band directors were reaching these kids, teaching these kids, and enabling them to do amazing things. If the band directors could reach the kids, why couldn’t all the other teachers? I’ll leave that to someone else to answer.

The Maroon Typhoon finally performed after all the high school bands. They were great. Not bad for a group of 18 and 19-year-olds from rural Mississippi.

I found myself standing alone at a good vantage point. I cried and cried. I cried silently without tears. I don’t know why. Remembering my own high school? Wanting to be part of a group like a band after three weeks of being alone on the road? Fatigue releasing itself? Proud of these kids? I don’t know, but I cried and cried.

I am glad my sister-in-law told me about the marching bands.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

I wrote about parts of this evening in my other blog on systems, systems engineering, and other things. See the entry “I Think We’ll be Alright.”

by Dwayne Phillips

I like chile relleno; I have for years. See the Wikipedia page about chile relleno. You take a green chile of one type or another, put cheese and sometimes meat inside it, batter it, and fry the whole thing. They are great.

One time in Livingston, Alabama and one time in Laurel, Mississippi I went into a Mexican restaurant and ordered a chile relleno. Never again in either Alabama or Mississippi will I do so sight unseen. What they served me was a pile of hamburger meat with cheese melted on top of it. I saw no resemblance to a chile relleno. And the thing they gave me didn’t taste good anyways. I was a little sick to my stomach later.

Perhaps there are excellent Mexican restaurants in Alabama and Mississippi. I tend to believe there are; I mean it isn’t impossible to open such a restaurant in either of these states. There isn’t a state law against it. Perhaps I stopped at the worst Mexican restaurants in both states. The odds are low, but they are greater than zero.

I will stick to catfish restaurants in those states. They have excellent farm-raised catfish in the region and they know how to fry them in a light corn meal batter. Excellent.

So, if traveling through the region, I recommend the catfish and urge you to stay away from the chile relleno.

by Dwayne Phillips

I stopped walking about 3PM every day. Every day, that is, except for two. Once near Attalla, Alabama there was a midday storm. I waited for the storm to pass and then walked in the humid, cloudy aftermath from 3 to 6 PM. The second day I walked after 3PM is the subject of this story.

This episode centers about the little town of Boligee, Alabama and a mid-morning rain storm. I had walked south out of Eutaw on an overcast morning. Around 10AM the heavy rains came. I sat in the Boligee Diner and waited for the rain to stop. I grabbed a really good hamburger to go at noon and started walking.

The sky cleared; the sun shone brightly. It was a warm afternoon.

This was in early October – the Fall of the year. The sun stays fairly low in the sky during the Fall. Even if it doesn’t set until after 6PM, but at 3PM it is sinking low. My Tilley Hat works great, but it doesn’t cover my face. The low sun peaks under the wide brim just enough to uncomfortable.

Another thing happens between 3 and 5 PM – the road and heat. The road had soaked heat most of the day. Now it was time to give back the heat.

Sun, heat, afternoon – all this combined to produce more heat and light coming up from the road than coming down from the sky. The wide brim of my Tilley Hat now served to trap the from-the-road heat and light on my face. I could have taken off the hat, but that would have let the sun in the sky burn my head.

I left Boligee at noon and walked until 5PM. I stopped on the south side of Epes. The good part was that the landscape between these towns (some eight miles) was flat as water. It was also straight. The walking was relatively easy.

After getting off the road, I ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant outside of Livingston, Alabama. The food wasn’t good. I, however, was hungry and ate it quickly – too quickly. A little dehydrated from the double dose of sun and heat, I downed three or four glasses of iced tea – too quickly. The night was the only one in which I felt sick. Too much sun and heat and too much food and drink consumed too quickly.

The weather cooperated enough so that I didn’t have any more 3 to 5 PM walks in the sun. And I learned how not to eat dinner.

by Dwayne Phillips

I walked through many small towns and many small, small towns. All these towns were one of the highlights of my walk.

Many small towns are not doing well economically. I would judge their health by the percentage of empty storefronts in their old downtown areas. Far too many were half occupied. Others had something in the storefronts, but they weren’t businesses. They were government offices or government-funded charities. Those serve a purpose, but they aren’t the same as a viable business with jobs.

Jobs move out of downtown areas and to the Golden Mile by the Interstate. I don’t like to see those as much as the downtown jobs, but they are jobs and have their worth.

Then there are the jobs that moved to the nearest Wal-Mart SuperCenter. I have met a lot of people who don’t like Wal-Mart. That company builds these giant stores that sell everything. Those stores employ people and sell products at lower prices. There is much good to be said about that. As a side note, my opinion of Wal-Mart went up quite a bit in the aftermath of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita a few years ago in Louisiana. Wal-Mart helped its employees re-locate to new places and keep their jobs.

Anyways, the Wal-Mart SuperCenter depletes jobs from nearby small towns. Wal-Mart usually sits aside the Interstate. People in the surrounding towns drive half an hour on a Saturday morning, farmers are up at 5AM, do all their shopping, and return home by 7AM. It all works well for these shoppers as the prices are lower and the store is convenient enough to pay for the gas and travel. These people, however, no longer shop at the local grocery and hardware store in the small town. Those stores close, and we have empty store fronts in the little, old downtowns of America.

I don’t like empty store fronts. There are no jobs there. An empty store front, however, has its hope. Some day, some one can open another business in that building. It may take a while, it may take an unforeseen circumstance, but the hope remains.

Hope does not remain on a concrete slab. I visited several small towns where the buildings in the old downtown had disappeared. All that was left was the concrete slab. Those concrete slabs are the Tombstones for a small town. The slabs signal that the town has died, and all that is left are those flat markers looking up to the sky.

Boligee, Alabama comes to mind as a town with such tombstones. I had coffee and later a hamburger at the local diner. It had once burned to the ground. Local farmers and other workers rebuilt the diner on the same slab. They wanted a place to eat lunch. I wandered a hundred yards from the diner to the downtown area next to the railroad tracks. There were a couple of brick buildings abandoned but still standing. What was sad were the half dozen concrete slabs. Fire, wind, or maybe just termites had removed the buildings. No one rebuilt them.

Wal-Mart stands down the Interstate a half hour away. Perhaps some of the people of Boligee work at or around the Wal-Mart. I would hope that part of this and other little towns lives on in the Wal-Marts.

by Dwayne Phillips

I was in a northern suburb of Birmingham, Alabama. It was midday and I was hungry.

There was a pizza place in the end unit of a shopping center. It wasn’t a chain of any kind, just a local place – perfect.

They sold pizza by the slice. I looked at their pieces of pizza behind the glass case, judged the size of the pieces, the time or day, how I felt, what was ahead of me (all parameters in a complex model), and told the guy behind the counter that I wanted two slices and a soft drink. After paying, the guy gave me a cup for my drink and I stepped to the side to start filling it.

Before the guy behind the counter could serve my two slices, the next customer stepped up to the counter and announced, “I need a large pizza, fast.”

“We only sell pizza by the slice, sir,” replied the guy behind the counter.

“I need a large pizza, fast,” repeated the customer.

“We only sell pizza by the slice, sir,” replied the guy behind the counter.

These statements were repeated a few more times. I lost count as the exchange didn’t make any sense to me, and besides, I was hungry and still waiting for my two slices of pizza.

The exchange took a different direction, “These are the slices we have now,” said the guy behind the counter as he pointed to the assortment of slices in the display case.

“Well, give me all these slices,” said the customer.

“This man,” said the guy behind the counter as he pointed to me as I was drinking from my cup, “has already bought two of these slices.”

“Well, give me all these slices,” said the customer.

I started to pay closer attention to the previously mundane conversation. It hit me that this customer was trying to take my lunch, and I was hungry. I slid sideways so to be close to the display case and my two pieces of pizza. I counted the slices in the display cases. “Let’s see,” I thought. “There are eight slices in a pizza. There are 11 slices in the display case. This guy can have eight of them, I get two, and there is one to spare.”

I was relieved, until the thought hit me, “Maybe they cut their pizzas into 12 or 16 slices.”

“I need a large pizza, fast,” repeated the customer.

“How many times does he have to say that?” I questioned silently.

“I want one of these and one of those,” I said aloud while pointing to a piece of pepperoni and a piece that had everything in the place on it.

“I need a large pizza, fast,” repeated the customer for what must of been the tenth time.

This guy was really getting on my nerves. Thankfully, the guy behind the counter put the two pieces I had noted on a paper plate and handed it to me. Saved.

I sat down, ate my pizza, and drank my Coke (plus a few refills as it was a hot day in Alabama).

I am not sure what happened to the customer who needed a large pizza, fast. I think the guy behind the counter gave him every slice he had in the place and charged him for a few extra.

by Dwayne Phillips

She was walking across a U.S. highway crying, her face covered with tears. I saw her first and pointed to her to show my wife. My wife left the car immediately, pulled by a force to the little girl.

We had just completed our walking for the day and had set in our car. It was parked on a wide spot next to Route 11. Across the highway from our car was a large house with several sheds and other structures.

The little girl said her name was Lisa. She was six years old. She had stepped off the bus a few minutes before, gone to the front door of her home, and tried in vain to open the door. Her mother didn’t answer the door; her father didn’t answer the door. Surely they were home, because to a six-year-old girl someone is always home because someone has always been home. Except on this day the parents weren’t answering the door.

We walked across the highway to the house. We knocked on the front door loud and long, yet no one answered. I walked around the house knocking on the windows and doors that I found. My wife stayed with Lisa on the front porch consoling her and trying to learn more.

Lisa told us that a man named Tony also lived on their place. He lived in a small place next to the main house. We knocked on the doors and windows there with the same silent response.

Lisa said that her grandfather worked at a tourist attraction up the road. We recognized the name of the place, but it was about ten miles from the house. She also said that Tony worked at the gas station nearby. We also recognized that name of it, and it was only a mile in the other direction.

We got in our car and drove Lisa to the gas station. I was scared. I could think of a thousand terrible outcomes of taking an unknown six-year-old girl for a ride down the highway. We also thought of a thousand-and-one terrible things that could happen if we left a six-year-old girl crying on the side of the road.

We found the gas station and we found Tony just as Lisa had described. Tony knew Lisa and confirmed her story. I was relieved, but this wasn’t complete. The gas station was one of those combined gas station and mega-stores that are more frequent along the Interstates these days. Tony was working, was to work another four hours, and couldn’t come from behind the cash register to take care of Lisa. He needed this job and was sure he would be fired if he neglected it.

Then a boy came up to us. He was ten and recognized Lisa from the school bus. He rode the same bus as Lisa everyday, but really didn’t know her. Another long, frightened sigh. Now what were we to do?

There were several state troopers in their cars out on the road in front of the gas station mega-store. Well, they weren’t right in front of the place, but a half mile down the road. Maybe they could help. Lisa was frightened at the thought of the police coming in. Would her parents be in trouble? Another pained sigh.

Then a woman came from the office behind the cashier stand. She was the mother of the ten-year-old boy. The boy had run to her after we had talked to him about Lisa. Thank God for mothers; thank God for local mothers in local neighborhoods.

This woman – in a manager’s uniform – said she would take care of Lisa. Lisa seemed comfortable with that. Finally, a sigh of relief. We left Lisa with Tony, the ten-year-old boy, and the boy’s mother the manager at the gas station and mega-store. I could think of a thousand-and-two things that could go wrong with that arrangement, but I could also think of a thousand-and-three things that could go right.

We never heard again from anyone about the little girl on the side of the road.

To this day, I don’t know if we did the right things. I trust that we did.

People often ask me why I walked 1,100 miles to Louisiana. I still don’t have a good answer other than I wanted to. Did God cause me to spend so much time just walking down a road? Maybe God used my wife and me and others here and there to care for a few people who needed a little caring now and then and here and there. People like the little girl on the side of the road.

– – – – – – – – –

The names of the people I wrote here are not correct. The location is vague. I wrote it this way for the privacy of the people involved.

by Dwayne Phillips

This happened on the day we walked through Harrisonburg, Virginia.

It was a good day. We started out in rural areas at a spot where Route 11 crossed Interstate 81. We walked through three small towns that were wide spots in the road – Mauzy, Lacey Spring (not springs), and Melrose. I recall a good cup of coffee for only 61 cents.  I also recall one spot in the road where the trees cleared and I could see a water tower in the distance. Water towers indicate some inhabited area is approaching.

Then came the city of Harrisonburg. There was an area near downtown that didn’t look so good, so we drove through it. Downtown was okay, but nothing special. Then James Madison University – very nice.

The rest of the walk was several miles of Golden Mile-type things that led to our motel at the southern edge of the city. It was on this last section of the day that things became painful. Every step sent a jolt of pain up my right leg from my ankle to my hip.

I kept walking. This was near the end of the first week of walking and pretty much everything in my legs and feet hurt. These extra jolts of pain didn’t seem that much out of the ordinary.

We walked to the end of the city and checked into our motel. Everything went as usual (blogging, moving photo files, shower, etc.) and we ate dinner at a Chinese restaurant – good food.

After dinner, I was sitting on the edge of the bed and looked at my legs. The shin of my right leg was swollen. In the center of it was a dark red dot surrounded by a lighter red circle. My left leg didn’t look or feel like this. Something was amiss.

The next day was a half-day of walking. We quit at noon and drove back to our home in Reston. It comprised nine miles of painful walking. Every step on my right leg sent the familiar but unwelcome jolt from the ankle to the hip. I was happy to stop at noon.

The weekend at home brought some welcome rest. I saw a doctor on Monday morning to confirm nothing serious like a broken bone. His guess was that something bit me causing the red dot and swelling. I visited the dentist that afternoon (see the episode of a tooth falling out of my mouth). We stayed home an extra day so I could visit the dentist again the next day. I never thought I would welcome a visit to the dentist, but that visit gave one more day for the swelling to subside.

The swelling went away completely over the next couple days of walking. The pain also passed to be replaced by some other pain. Nothing, however, over the entire walk hurt as much as the jolts from ankle to hip from that bite. I still have no guess what bit me, when it bit me, where on the road it bit me, or anything else.