Even on a seemingly chaotic odyssey like mine, there is a semblance of daily and even weekly routine. Every morning I contact Alberton, I let them know my location and what I think will be the days destination. At the end of the day, I contact them if I have any “gossip,” our euphemism for significant events. During these communications, I tell them if I’m in need of any resources and Alberton will arrange to a rendezvous with the needed supplies.
On Sundays, I take extra time to formulate an idea of the week’s travel. I never over plan or worry about keeping to the week’s itinerary, after all, I refuse to be itinerized. As my Campaign manager spouts, “It’s all about Tactical flexibility.”
Watching the Weather forecast this morning, my tactical flexibility will be tried this week, and so will my one rigid rule for this campaign, every state in the contiguous forty-eight must be visited. Tropical Storm Fay will complicate matters, especially if the storm develops into a hurricane. Originally, I was planning a sweep through Northern Georgia before heading into North Carolina and work my way to Florida. I am altering this plan, I will cut out Northern Georgia, instead I will work into the heart of North Carolina. Depending on storm’s progress, both in intensity and movement, I will either expedite my campaign swing or find a place to hunker down.
Midmorning: I was planning to spend more time in Chattanooga, but unfortunately, I had to turn away from the gateway to the Deep South. I returned to the DeButt yard and eyeballed an eastbound freight. Within an hour, I was onboard a flatcar motoring through Cleveland, TN. I hated to backtrack, but the quickest way to North Carolina was via Knoxville. Throughout the leg, I created the images which I spoke of a couple of days ago. Through towns like Athens, Englewood, and Maryville, I stood and waved my sign at the stopped traffic.
Afternoon: In Knoxville, I resisted the urge to spend another afternoon in the city, and hoofed from the yard eastward until two hours later, I caught a freight heading to the Tar Heel State. Outside of Erwin, TN the train crossed into North Carolina. The landscape was beautiful, and it made for an enjoyable trip. I imagined the Appalachians as they used to be, when they were the size of the Himalayas. The elderly Mountain Chain serves me a reminder of the wears of time and environment.
Around 5ish, outside of Hickory, I jumped off the flatbed and landed hard on my knees. Pain seared through me and I looked down to see my skinned knees protruding through my ripped pants. I stood, wiped the dirt from my pants and gimped into town.
I stumbled into the Side Pocket Lounge. A sign on the door stated you must be a member or a guest. I told them I’m a guest, and they let me sign the book and step inside. At the bar, I was beginning to enjoy my tall blonde when I was approached by a gal who reminded me very much of wife #7, in as much as her face was, let’s say challenged. She said her name was Torri and after a few moments of conversation, she introduced me to the regulars and I began a long evening of stumping.
The Side Pocket resembled Campaign HQ in regards to the colorful personalities. Not to mention, I haven’t seen as many long beards since leaving Alberton. A youngster name Frank invited to shoot a game of pool, with the stakes being if I won, he would vote for me, if I lost, I would buy him a beer. The game was Eight ball, 1, 15, side, follow you last ball, tournament rules. It all translated into, you can play defense and win. Frank almost ran the table, leaving only the 8 ball, I played it safe and snookered the cue ball between a side rail and one of my balls, there was no way he could hit the eight ball and I won on a scratch.
As I said, I will do anything for a vote.
I left the bar and found a small park on the corner of 1st and 3rd, I transmitted my blog and set about enjoying a warm, humid night under the stars.
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