Day 1, Friday
April 1,2005

Friday morning was awesome. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful sunrise. Thursday morning was so foggy you couldn't see 50 feet, but Friday was very clear. We got off a little after 7:00. Moving up 53rd St. I was unware of the challenge that was about to overwhelm me. Turning left onto Broadway/Ave. J, reality struck with a vengeance. It felt good at first - refreshing, actually - but within minutes the reality of a thirty mile an hour headwind began to overwhelm me. It was like walking uphill in a place that is flatter than a pancake. It was like dragging an extra fifty pounds. I made it to the south end of the causeway and waited for a ride over the bridge (pedestrian traffic is prohibited). The pay was churning with white caps. I had hoped to maybe find someone with a boat that would take me across the bay to the mainland, but the only boats in sight were those coming out of the water, fleeing the wrath of the rolling and windswept bay. My ride arrived and carried me over the bridge and dropped me on the opposite side and I resumed my walk, having completed just under five miles.

My pack is about ten pounds heavier than I would like, but there is nothing left in it that is non-essential. Over the next seven hours, God was going to find out if I was really serious about walking to denver. Sometime before noon, I began to feel a "hot spot" on my right heel. I'm not used to this because in all my years of hiking, I have rarely had a blister, and usually only when I am trying to break in boots other than my old favorites. But these were my old favorites, although new, I had been wearing them for a week everyday, all day long. It begins as a little rub. Then, it gets to be a little irritation. It progresses to a burn, and finally it becomes like a stabbing in the heel with every step. Your body tries to compensate and minimize the pain by using other muscles to change the normal stride process. This results in muscle fatigues in calves and ankles. And there is always the wind, steady at about 30 m.p.h. and gusting to nearly forty. The lyrics come to mind: "sometimes He calms the storm, sometimes He calms the child." I'll take either right now and I'm praying for both, especially calming the storm. And there is an occasional break. But that's all - an occasional break - otherwise the wind is relentless and the flatland hike becomes an uphill struggle with ever increasing pain. After lunch, I surrendered my "walking to denver" sign that was acting like a sail and further slowing me down.

My pace slows from my usual 3-1/2 m.p.h. to less than three. By the end of the day, my average would be about 2 m.p.h. due to all of the rest and first aid breaks. I thought I would never make my 20 mile quota.FM646 was no where in sight. If I can just get to Dickinson, I'll call it a day. I can make up a couple of miles on Saturday and Sunday. But it seemed that someone had relocated Dickinson. I walked and walked and walked but there was no sign for Dickinson. When you move by car a 60 or 70 m.p.h. miles pass in 60 seconds of less. Today, miles are passing in 20 or 25 minutes. Each new exit sign that does not say "Dickinson" assures me of at least another 20 to 50 minutes of agony.

Finally, the sign I've been waiting for - Dickinson. At least a mile short of my goal, but I anticipated being through for the day by two or three o'clock and it was pushing 4:30. I had had enough. Dickinson would have to be good enough for today. Will I be able to walk tomorrow? Will I be able to carry my pack another twenty miles - no, twenty-one to make up for stopping short today. Will the wind be blowing again. One thing is for sure, my blister will not be healed by morning.

I stayed at the League City Church of Christ in League City, hosted by their preacher, Ralph Bryant, who along with his wife, made feel very welcome and attended to my every need (except healing my blister). We met with two of their elders and several of their members and talked about walking to denver and Dry Bones.

By the way, Gary Billingsley is doing a fantastic job of setting up my schedule. I will never be able to repay him for all the hours he has spent. Thanks, Gary. Thanks also to the fisherman, "Remo" that gave me all the cash he had to help the kids when he heard the story.