The rain finally stopped, and I rode away through a swirling mist a foot deep emanating from the hot July roads. I played hide-and-seek with the storm and, later in the afternoon, I lost the game when it started raining and there was absolutely no place under which I could take cover. It wasn’t a downpour, but I was getting wetter and wetter until I finally found a store where I could wait it out.

While I was parked I talked to a lady and her kids who said it was “all downhill” from that point. I wondered if she knew how far I was going. 

Once back on the road, a man gave me a friendly honk and a wave as he passed. I passed him 45 minutes later as he was digging through four dumpsters.

When I arrived in Tuscaloosa (pop 75,211) I asked for directions to the University of Alabama. My plan was to see if I could use one of the empty dorm rooms for the night. It’s one of the tips I’d received prior to starting my trip… you know, like the one where I got a free meal after being interviewed. Again, my planning might’ve been a bit shortsighted…. it was a Sunday.

That meant that when I arrived at the campus all of the administrative buildings were closed, so I was a little unsure as to what the next step in my plan would be. I thought going to the Student Union Building might be helpful, but it was deserted. 

There was a phone there and since my mom had tasked me with saying hello to another of her coworkers when I was in town I gave him a call. Bob Inglis had worked with my mom at NASA, and when he offered me a place to stay for the night I started suspecting that she had her motherly hand in my timely lodgings.

The next morning Bob took me to Mac’s Bait House in an attempt to replace the groundcloth I had lost. They had one, but it was a 5’ X 7’… too small. Our next stop was the Army Surplus store where they, too, only had the 5’ X 7’ size. Seeing a pattern, I just bought two and would make do. 

Bob and I said our goodbyes and I started loading everything onto my bike in front of the Army Surplus store. There was an elderly Black man sitting nearby who appeared to be a permanent fixture. He offered a smile, then asked in a gravelly voice,

“Where you headin’ young man?”

I told him my circuitous route, starting in Texas and ending here, listing each state individually. He became speechless. His jaw dropped just a little bit, and his gaze slipped from me to my bike, then back to me, then to the bike again. As he shook his head I wasn’t sure whether the movement was the impossibility of my trip, or the idiocy of it.  Maybe both.

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