quick update

Didn't make it to Lakewood; cancelled the reservation there because I knew I'd be arriving far too late, so I stopped in downtown Tacoma instead.

Some guy in the passenger seat of a car that was stopped at a light looked at me while I was crossing the street, beheld the enormity of my backpack, and breathed, "Damn, dude!" I smiled.

An African-American guy gave me the "wassup?" nod-- the one where you nod by tipping your head upward instead of dipping it downward. Then he said the strangest thing: "'Sup, native?" Anyone got a clue as to whether this is some sort of Washingtonism? He said it again when he saw a woman of indeterminate race on the street. Perhaps "native" is part of his idiolect.

Might-- might-- have another blister from today's walk, but I don't think so.

Will be arriving at St. Martin's Abbey guest house (part of St. Martin's University; the Benedictines run the place) on Sunday or Monday. Many thanks to Father Paul, the "guest master." Am currently planning the route to the abbey and hand-laundering my clothes; can't sleep until both are done. Am planning to spend up to four nights at the abbey (it's $40/night at the guest house; meals provided), which ought to give me time to keep working on the longer, religion-heavy posts that are currently in the draft stage.

Right. More later.

UPDATE: a few more remarks:

Today's walk was 15.42 miles, about 1.5 miles of which was a waste today because I got turned around twice.

There's no escaping the noise of trains; the rails seem, roughly, to be following the coast and/or Interstate 5, which mirrors the southward path I've been taking.

In this part of the country, there's also no escaping buttercups and daisies, both of which are everywhere.

While stopping to refuel at a gas station convenience store in the town of Fife, I met a group of truckers sitting in the tiny sit-down "restaurant" section (Fife is "the shittiest town in America," according to one trucker). We talked a bit about my walk; one guy asked me whether motorists had been giving me the finger. I told him no; several truckers said that, as drivers of big rigs, they get the finger all the time. While I have had the occasional asshole comment from drivers who resent the fact that I'm walking-- not running-- across the intersection, most of the time I've had no problem. The truckers wished me luck as I lumber-waddled out of the convenience store.


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