Gah, what a terrible movie that was. I was only sixteen years old when that steamer of a summer blockbuster came out, and even then, despite my sixteen-year-old stupidity, I knew it was garbage. Maybe somebody can explain to me why Hollywood keeps wasting leading lady roles on Jodie Foster (and don’t give me any of that “tay in the win” nonsense; we both know actors shouldn’t win Oscars for roles where they speak gibberish and hop around in the nude all huggy and stuff. I mean, I could do that. And you probably wouldn’t even have to pay me). I won’t bother ripping on Matthew Mcconaughey. I’ll just let my old friend, Stewie, take care of the job (en Español!).

Alright then. Good Monday, reader. Given my tone last week, I realize it’s possible that you’re checking in today to make sure I’m not blogging from a rubber room somewhere. Well, I’m not. You’ll be happy to know that in three days’ time, I’ve managed to regain my sanity. I owe it all to Jeanette, of course, who did a wonderful job of talking me off the ledge during her visit this weekend. I teetered on the brink there, reader. Teetered on the brink. I was lonely. My joints were creaky. My head swirled, a jumbled mess. The prospect of even one more day in this savage heat just didn’t resonate well with me. It was all I could do to keep myself from renting a car and heading home.

But that’s all behind me now, reader. My confidence is renewed. Having walked thirteen miles today despite the 95-degree weather, I’m feeling better about my chances of making it all the way home without succumbing to what I’m sure would be a terrifying and possibly hilarious case of heat stroke. And I don’t spend any more of my time trying to come up with reasonable excuses to call it quits (just out of curiosity, would a mildly sprained ankle have been sufficient excuse?). Anyway, forget about all that. I’m gonna make it. I might have to drag myself across the finish line, but I’m gonna make it. Now, Adama…I’m not sure. More on that subject later.

So obviously, three whole days and nights with the woman I love was exactly what I needed. I think that a large contributor to last week’s sullen mood was the fact that I hadn’t seen Jeanette in five weeks. But it wasn’t just that I missed her, reader – it was that I’d had very little human contact (hence the title of this post) of any kind for weeks. No, I’m not talking about physical contact, perv. I’m talking about something akin to face to face conversation. Haven’t had it since the Kings’ house two or three weeks back.

See, I have now officially entered a place and time on this route where the heat is absolutely silly, and it seems that the good people of South and North Carolina have the sense to remain indoors when the temperature dial cracks 90. The result is that I encounter exactly no one on the roadside – at least no one who isn’t roaring past in an AC-jacked car. To get terribly cliché, it’s been a long and lonesome road, of late. Where I would see and often interact with someone every mile or two in Florida, for the past 300 miles, I have occasionally gone days without any real human contact. That’s a more difficult thing to deal with than I ever would have imagined.

Fortunately, Jeanette and I managed to spend almost every waking minute this weekend on the act of shooting the breeze. My conversation cup has thusly been refilled, and I’ve been properly pep-talked into rejoining my route, albeit at a shorter mile-per-day rate until this heat wave breaks.

It wasn’t just renewed sanity and confidence that I gained this week, either, reader. I also got me a new pair-a shoes, compliments of Jeanette (an early birthday present, and a much needed one). I can’t properly explain how nice it is to have a new set of tracks beneath my feet, so I’ll just let these pictures do the talking:

 

In the first two pics, the old shoe is the one on the right. In the third one, it’s on the left. I figure it’s the second one that’s the most telling, though. Look at what 750 miles does to a rubbery surface! This picture doesn’t quite do justice to that gray circle on the heel, either. That gray circle isn’t just raw sole, it’s a near-hole. For the past fifty miles or so, the ground has essentially been making direct contact with my insoles. Crazy.

That wasn’t my only present, either. Adama bestowed upon me a new Cubs hat that looks exactly like the one he destroyed about a month back. I figure it was Jeanette’s idea, the hat. She’s never been a fan of my alma mater, so the ND hat just wasn’t gonna fly. Oh well. It’s good to be rocking the Cubbies again, even if they are eight games out of first place. And hey, right after I put on the hat for the first time, my boy, Ted Lilly, nearly threw a no-hitter. So maybe the luck’s been renewed.  

Speaking of Adama, I have an announcement to make. Sad news, really. Although I guess it could qualify as happy news, depending on your perspective. I’ve decided that while I can handle the aches and pains and can at least suffer through the mid-90’s heat, Adama most certainly cannot. His legs still occasionally tweak out on him, and he’ll limp for a day or two. Worse than that has been the effect of the heat. The hotter it gets, the more unbearable it is for him. For me, if it gets too hot and sticky, I just spend the morning wiping the sweat from my brow. But Adama doesn’t have that luxury. He’s sans sweat glands. And he’s basically trotting around the American south in a winter coat. In summer. When it’s 95 degrees for me, it’s more like 115 degrees for him, and that’s just not safe.

So, dear reader, I’m afraid that this will be Adama’s last week of walking. He’s going to have to power through his pains until Sunday – which I’m sure he’ll manage just fine – but after that, he’s headed home with my dad and brother, Kole.

“How’s that going to work?” you might ask.

Well, reader, my dad and brother, Kole, plan to drive out and join me in Statesville, NC on Thursday. From there, we plan to spend the next few days walking together between Statesville and Mount Airy, NC. Come Sunday or Monday, they’ll head home by way of Pittsburgh, where they’ll leave Adama with Jeanette. My boy can then plan on spending the rest of the month and a couple of weeks into July splitting time between our apartment at the Cork Factory and his romping grounds at Bow Wow Doggie Daycare (assuming there’s any space still available this summer). That should be a whole lot more comfortable for him. And I figure it’ll add at least two years onto his life – or rather, prevent me from shaving two off, as I might have, had I forced him to walk another 450 miles in this murderous weather.

Yes, I recognize that sending Adama home is likely to amplify my loneliness problem. Yes, I realize that I will be without my second most effective bear deterrent (behind the bear spray that Jeanette left with me this weekend) and probably my most effective crime deterrent. But it will keep him healthier and happier. And you know what else? It’ll allow me to spend more time each day on actual walking. I won’t have to stop every half-mile so my companion can rest in the shade. And I won’t have to plan the rest of my walk around dog-friendly hotels. This makes for a more direct route, and one that I can complete in quicker fashion. There’s really nothing you can’t like about this plan. It’s a good plan.

Anyway, only one more week to read about Adama’s misadventures. Maybe he’ll rejoin me for the last week or so of the walk, but at the very least, he’s going on hiatus for a while. So say your goodbyes while you can, dear reader, for you’ll have to suffer a blog about me and only me from now on…