Dagnabbit

The mega wind has kicked in again and stranded me in Quincy, Illinois this time. I'm inching ever so much more closely to St. Louis (150 miles away). I went past the 1000 mile mark yesterday.

It's Been a While

Unbeknownst to but a small number of you I've been off on one of my hare-brained adventures. I'm paddling the Mississippi and have been going for a month (900 miles). I'm not sure how much longer I'll keep going because I'm just doing this while it's fun, but here's a snippet from the journal I've been keeping of the experience.

Day 29, June 14th

If you can't handle waking up moist, don't camp next to the Mississippi River. I'm getting tired of it, but whatchagonnado?

I ran into my first wind for the past few days but that stopped, thankfully, after I made the ten miles past lock- and- dam- 13 (of 27). After the lock I paddled on but my strength failed and my eyelids were heavy. I beached the bow, dropped down into the canoe and napped, hard. I woke to a start thirty minutes later when it rained, which almost put me in the drink. Aggrieved that the heavens should conspire against my rest, I kept paddling as the drizzle faded quickly.

My spirits were given quite a boost when I was visited by river "angels", if I might usurp the handle given to those that buoy Appalachian Trail hikers. A couple came puttering up to me in a small yellow motorboat and offered me ice water, which I gratefully accepted. We chatted for a while and they kept saying how "great" it was that I'm doing this. The woman remarked that that all the time for reflection must be fabulous for getting to know myself.

I joked, "Yes, and for going crazy."

I continued, "What I've been a bit disturbed to discover, as I come from a long line of illustrious alcoholics, is that alcohol really helps out here."

They raised their eyebrows.

"Not continuously drinking, but, at the end of the day, a beer or two (I didn't mention '...or three or four or five...') loosens your body and raises flagging spirits."

I could tell this mightily upset the woman, who I believe was waiting for some yogiistic, transcendental truth, not merely "beer's a helluva thing."

Her husband, in an effort to steer the conversation, replied, "Well, it's been said that two drinks a day is good for you."

"Oh yes. My step-brother is a brain doctor and he called up my dad and gave him orders to have two glasses of wine a day... of course, he didn't specify the size of the glass so dad got around it by drinking out of vases."

The man squirmed in his seat and his wife was simply and purely aghast. As any struggling comedian should do, I gamely barreled on.

"Of course, I'm kidding. But, back in the 80's when soldiers in the Army were allowed to have two beers at lunch, they'd drink two pitchers, directly from the pitchers, so that they weren't in violation of the rule."

Now he was aghast and she was pale and turning slightly blue from not breathing, which was quite an accomplishment because her mouth was so wide open she could have chewed on a fews hours worth of air simply by closing it.

Suffice it to say, we parted ways shortly thereafter, though only after they inquired as to my name and promised to pray for me; they did not specify as to whether they'd be praying for my safety on the trip or my dissolute soul.

I was pretty down on Iowans and pretty up on Illini, since that's where the couple was from, but within five miles a muscular Iowan, who in his ballcap and sunglasses looked to be the spitting image of the Pittsburgh Steelers head coach, Bill Cowher, rode up on a waverunner and offered me a beer. It was with great reluctance, as I was falling behind schedule, that I joyously accepted and we drifted and shot the bull for an hour.

Dan, a fifty year old, puts my adventuring into the proper perspective. First of all, he's a captain in the Fire Department, which is adventurous enough, but then he went on to tell me about boating the Missouri River, boating from Tampa to Key West in a gale, buying an airplane and flying to all 48 contiguous (he's not finished yet), and nearly being arrested when he accidently landed on a Special Forces helicopter runway (The "airport" on the map had the same last name as him so he thought he'd land and get a Tshirt. He didn't notice the military designation on the map). He'd river angeled for a few people before, including a pair of 20 year old girls, one of whom said she was doing the trip "because my dad needed a good pissing off." He gave me a couple more beers and two sodas and then headed home. Iowa has thoroughly trounced Illinois.

I got to Davenport late and needed to get though the second lock of the city to make the 50 miles for the day. It was nearly dark by the time I got to the lock, but I figured there'd be a marina close by on the other side.

Wrong.

I paddled, terrified (of massive barges) for another hour, hugging the shoreline, til I found a halfway decent area to camp. And by halfway decent, I mean the whores and crackheads had already gone home from there for the night. The locked and loaded pistol put my mind somewhat at ease, but the explosion I heard in the middle of the night, whether real or dreamt, did not. Aah, Davenport!

P.S. Before Pop feels the need to defend himself, he is not an alcoholic.