The humidity continued to bump up against 100%, and the heat brought to mind an aphorism I’d heard earlier in the day, “It’s hotter than donut grease at a fat man convention.” 

When I ran out of water I stopped at a house at an intersection to ask if I could refill my bottles. There I talked to a couple of boys, J.R. and Michael McPhall, for about fifteen minutes. 

My knee pain progressively worsened throughout the day. The going seemed really slow, and I pressed against a mild headwind all day. I developed a stomach ache and when I arrived in Marydell I drank a Sprite and ate a moon pie because, you know, THAT’LL help a stomach ache.

I finally arrived in Carthage (pop 3,453) and ate at a place recommended by Bob Inglis for their chocolate shakes. The young woman at the counter casually mentioned that there were poisonous snakes everywhere. I wish she’d been histrionic about it. The fact that it was such a casual remark seemed to make it worse. When some police officers came in I almost asked them if I could camp at the police station. 

Instead, I rolled down the street, took a side street, then another side street, and saw what appeared to be a church. I say “appeared to be” because it had a general church-shaped appearance, but no signage whatsoever. While I was straddling my bike in the parking lot and contemplating what to do, a woman and her 5-6-year-old daughter drove up. As they were getting out of their car I asked, a puzzled expression on my face,

“... this… is a church?”

She merely nodded.

“What’s the name of it?

She squinted her eyes and gave me a suspicious look, the kind typically reserved for used car salesmen with slicked-back hair , large rings, and exposed chest hair who promise you the deal of a lifetime. Then she said,

“It’s on the sign.” 

She then quickly turned away and hustled her daughter inside. I inspected myself for gnats, and when I didn’t see any I wondered if they were from Alabama.

I checked for a sign again, thinking I’d missed it. There was no signage anywhere, but I still felt like that guy in Mt. Vernon who said he had never heard of Methodists.