When dawn arrives the rain has blown away and the sun reigns once again. The shoulder less Route 92 is a challenge to walk along safely. The many rolling hills do not help. After a short day I reach Kearney, Missouri and head to the Kansas City airport to await another boring plane ride home. OK despite the heat, hurricane, hills and hurt I already miss My Dream Walk!

It has been a long, hot dreary and dusty day wobbling across the lonely corn laden back roads of Western Missouri.
Small towns, tiny way side restaurants, and a precious few spots with fine table cloths have served my dining needs for the last several days. Then there is Luigi’s! Located in a shopping center on the Northern outskirts of Smithville, Missouri. “We actually own seven restaurants in four states”, the waitress confides as I savor an excellent Linguini smothered with very fresh clams. John, the head chef, and a member of the family who owns the restaurant, comes by my table to check on me. “All of our locations are called Luigi’s”, he says. “They honor our grand dad Luigi”. “Actually, he continues in a distinctive Italian accent, “I was born in Germany but I call the United States home”

It is always the way. I will need to return to the Eastern U.S. in two days so this will be my last long day. I am glad to be well into Stage 10 yet am anxious to take a break again. Fortuitously, I find an n enjoyable side road dotted with new estate homes where corn fields once ruled. By mid afternoon the storm clouds have rolled in, the wind has kicked up and I am galloping to get back to my support vehicle before the downpour soaks me through. Sadly, I do not make it in time. But, that is how life works on the road.

Got sick last night –nausea. It must have been the fried catfish I ate for dinner, or perhaps gulping two glasses of white wine to quench my thirst, was the culprit. [The temperature reached 98 degrees today] I was OK walking this morning, but sluggish. I battled small hills all day while dodging trucks stuffed with farm produce as they sped along the shoulder less road. Gratefully, I completed 22 miles for the day. So, that is the definition of “plugging”. Push, or plug, along all day even if you feel like Hell.

“You can shoot the goose here starting on Halloween”, the local bar owner told me. “Snow goose can be hunted a few weeks earlier but you won’t see any around here at that time”. That’s how the conversation went at Quacker’s Bar in Mound City, Missouri. Everyone seemed to be waiting for the coming hunting season when bird hunters, armed with shotguns would descend on the community and once again create welcomed seasonal full employment. An older man dressed in familiar farmer’s overalls added “Framings fun, until you run out of money”

James Ottoman and wife Rita are real nice folks. “You got to get the horse to trust you. You see these horses are a lot like us”, James counseled me as he educated me about horse and cattle ranching. James had seen me walking along the highway and later inquired about what I was doing. “This man walked to Rockport all the way from Alaska”, he told the local newspaper reporter by telephone. From that a nice article about my journey, and effort to end Malaria, appeared in the local weekly newspaper.

It was 1804 when the intrepid explorers Lewis and Clark suitably impressed by the bare hills rising from the Missouri River plain coined the term for the area “Baldpated Prairie”. I am pushing hard up and down these hills around the town of Rockport and agree that the explorers were right in describing the areas beauty. But, those fine men had it easy traversing this community on horseback. If they had been forced to walk, like me, they may not have noticed the beauty and the term Baldpated may not have made the history books.

The joy comes late in the afternoon. I see the river ahead, cross an old iron bridge, and after walking 4400 miles I reach the great state of Missouri – the Show Me state.

So are the wind and hard rain of a hurricane better walking companions that stifling heat and blistering humidity? Well, since the heat is back up as I wobble my way East across now dry Eastern Nebraska I know the fun is gone yet maybe it is better than nonstop rain.

It is harvest time during these first days of September, particularly on the wilting corn fields which had been suffocated by the unforgiving dryness. Smoke billows from the fields resembling a brush fire. No worry, it is just a hard working farmer clawing up ultra-dry dirt.

Well, I am back! The heavy rain and gently blowing wind didn’t stop me from having a restful night’s sleep. The hotel air conditioning, and mild exhaustion from the long day’s air flight, droned out the unwanted sounds of foul weather. I wasn’t so lucky the following morning!
Before the sun awoke I semi-cheerfully battled the remnants of hurricane Isaac as I fought off pelting rain and shirted hazardous mud filled water puddles along the road. I was grateful that the wilting corn fields finally were drenched in the cooling rain. By mid-day the sun and humidity returned as temperatures again topped 90 degrees a storm once called Isaac disappeared somewhere far to the East.