what's on my mind

I mentioned earlier that I wanted to talk about an important mental shift I've made. This has been burbling around in my head for a bit and has produced some mixed feelings, but ultimately I think this is for the best despite the blow it deals to my pride and ego.

I had originally said that, as a matter of policy, I would not be accepting any rides except in the event of serious injury. I may even have used more pompous and melodramatic phrasing like, "I will not step into any vehicle unless..."

Well, the uncomfortable fact of the matter is that I've stepped into vehicles three times, last night having been the third time. Forgetting for a moment the "oughts" implied by my no-vehicles policy, the "is"es are enough to show that the policy is a sham and should be dropped.

As you'll recall, I accepted my first ride after having walked all night from Bellingham to Samish Island, a walk that pretty much killed my feet and left me lying in a Mount Vernon Best Western for two or three nights. I simply could not have walked the extra 15 or 16 miles that day (back when my backpack was ten pounds heavier), so I gave in and accepted that ride from Glen, who kindly drove me to that hotel.

My second ride wasn't really a choice: State Trooper Boisen drove me off Route 522 after he asked me to get into his car, and took me most of the way to my destination in Bothell. While he was polite, I wasn't really in a position to say "no" to his request to get in the car.

In both of the above cases, I feel I can be forgiven for having chosen the options I did, but last night was different, and this is what has finally forced me to acknowledge the fundamental incompatibility between my policy and my actual behavior.

Last night, I made it on foot to Steilacoom from downtown Tacoma; I doubt the walk was even fifteen miles, but I started late and the march was tiring, whatever the mileage. When I belatedly looked up the local inn, the Above the Sound Bed and Breakfast, I discovered the B&B was completely booked through the entire weekend.

I seriously considered repeating my Bellingham-to-Samish Island stunt, i.e., walking through the night from Steilacoom to Lacey, a distance of nearly 20 miles in this case. I also considered doing something radical, like finding a spot in Steilacoom on which to camp (or snooze homeless-style) illegally, but after two encounters with the police, I was more paranoid than ever about ending up on the wrong side of the law. Steilacoom is a beautiful little town, but all its property is spoken for. The way I saw it, it would be impossible for a guy with no street smarts to find a spot where he would be guaranteed a respite from the police.

At the same time, I was also turning over the question of what time I should arrive in Lacey. I had told Father Paul I would likely be arriving late on Sunday, but despite Fr. Paul's flexibility about scheduling (he's a kind and easygoing chap), I felt I would be inconveniencing him by requiring him to make arrangements with the campus office that handles nighttime security.

With all that in mind-- my fatigue, the late hour, the evening chill, the worries about the next day's schedule-- I decided to call a cab that would take me to Lacey. (Thanks, Ken, for responding.) I reasoned that, as with the Samish Island and Route 522 rides, I would put the sixteen unwalked miles "on my tab," so to speak, and would walk the missed distance later.

This is, in fact, what I plan to do on Monday and Tuesday morning: walk 20 miles each day to make up my 39 miles. I'll be doing the walks without the backpack but will bring along the Camelbak for hydration.

Yet I can't shake the feeling that I'm cheating. Part of me thinks it's perfectly legitimate to walk X miles to make up for having been driven X miles-- other trans-American walkers have done similar things, largely for the same sauver l'honneur reasons. But in making those miles up, I will have walked the appropriate distance, but not the appropriate path. In my case, I need to make up 39 miles, but the walks I do tomorrow and Tuesday won't be those 39 miles, if you know what I mean.

And unlike with the two previous rides, I feel I wimped out last night. I was on my last legs at Samish Island and had no choice on that bridge on Route 522, but last night I probably could have chosen to keep on walking, despite what it would have cost my feet. I didn't choose that path, and it bothers me, and that's why I was so oblique, earlier, about what I was doing in Lacey. The astute reader will have noted that I'd gotten to Lacey mighty quickly for a guy who had just arrived in Steilacoom.

So the upshot is that my "policy" is one I haven't lived up to, and probably shouldn't try to live up to. While it sticks in my craw to realize (and to publicly acknowledge) how weak-willed I am, I can't see any other course of action than to admit my personal failings and to retool the policy according to what lies within my current abilities: accepting rides when I'm at my limit for whatever reason, and making up the missed mileage as soon as possible.

At the end of the day, I still want to be able to say that, in crossing the country, I walked the entire distance I set for myself. And I suppose I will have done so: by the time the walk is done, I will have walked somewhere in the neighborhood of 3000 miles, all in the space of a year or so. What I won't be able to say, though, is that I literally walked all the way across America.

Don't mind me. A lot of this is just pride talking.


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