moseyin' along

I got off to a late start toward Lakewood this morning because I decided to take advantage of the free Belgian waffles offered by the place I was staying at in Auburn. Carbo-loading, baby.

After clickety-clacking a few miles, I shrugged off my pack and strapped one of the trekking poles to it. The object of the game today is simply to minimize pressure on my right foot which, though largely healed, still isn't 100%. I need only one pole for that.

I've met one large hill on today's walk; it was only about a quarter-mile long, but I felt every inch of it. I did manage to get to the top without stopping, but I stopped soon after when I reached a Seven-Eleven and bought one big-ass can each of Arizona brand fruit punch and peach tea. Sometimes water just don't cut it.

According to Rico, the term for what I'm doing is "credit card tourism," which sounds rather pejorative. Perhaps the implication is that a person is somehow not really on a trek if they always have a cozy place to stay every night. Well, I've made no bones about the fact that I'm not on an adventure hike or attempting anything extreme. I also find myself passing through regions where camping is conceivable but illegal. I'd rather avoid the ire of both the police and owners of private property, if at all possible, which pretty much confines me to three things: (1) whatever hotels or motels I find along the way, (2) residences (CouchSurfing or otherwise) that are willing to take me in for free, and (3) religious institutions that are also willing to take me in (free or paid). If it comes to a choice between walking and sleeping on the street, as happened my final night in Bellingham, I'd rather walk.

And walk I must now. Break's over.


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