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....The story continues....
This traveler get picked up shortly after I snap these shots as I'm trying to hustle a little closer to get a better shot, no such luck me. I keep walking towards Shiloh, Tennessee a place that had been recommended a number of times since I began, if nothing else for the historical significance of something so close, I'm truly glad and inspired that I was able to go. I reach the town of Crump and take a hard left on 22 to head towards Shiloh and I have to say I am thinking that a ride would be nice for the short distance I have to go, not even a mile down 22 and Paul, though some refer to him as "Nashville", picks me up. A quiet fellow with a steely demeanor, I could see him being a hard-nosed, yet fun-loving father of one of my friends. He drops me at the park entrance and I begin the march into Shiloh.
It is still as I meander down the road, memorial cannon balls, cannons, placards and stone monuments line the way, till about a mile in where I spy the visitor center. I mosey on over to it feeling pretty wiped out for the day, as I approach a bright eyed and vibrant Mona, who informs me of the grim fact that the camping area is four miles away. Uncertain that this is and hopefully may not be true I decide to wait for one of the park rangers. When a very well mannered and helpful Park Ranger Heather Smedley confirms the truth of the camping being four miles away. She says she's going to get a Coke-Cola and I tag along thinking it sounds nice with my burrito of peanut butter, granola bar and strawberry oatmeal, (really good by the way). Heather was staying late to give a presentation on the Civilian Conservation Corps or CCC and said I could stay and watch it. Most people don't know how much I admired the movement of the CCC and what it did for the country during the Great Depression. I also believe that something similar to this, with a modern twist, may be the current and future economies saving grace and not bank bailouts. So I decide to stay, when I meet Roy Kirk of Pocahontas, Tennessee and his two brothers.
Roy at 93 was part of the CCC and like so many people that were part of this legendary group of individuals that saved our country not once, but twice as many of these individuals went directly into WWII, it was a real honor to meet him. For the feelings of fatigue that I had were long gone as I my day turned into a real eye opener from the presentation and the motivation that I received from this spry old timer, who looked at my backpack as if he was going to sling it over his back and go for a hike that very instant. Heather was kind enough to take me down to the Shiloh Primitive Campground, where James, the kind owner with his daughter in tow floating around him like a butterfly, let me camp for free, I think because no one camps in the south in the summer time. I woke early and left late to head back into Shiloh, this time to experience the park. I walked in a back route that was shown to me and right into a bus groups tour they laughed and so did I, not the first time of being a spectacle in a state park. I breeze through the course that I devised through the park over to the part that had native history, that of the South Appalachian Mississippian culture.
I finished my tour of Shiloh State Park and head back up 22 towards 64, the road that covets the now paved history of the Trail of Tears. Shortly after leaving the park I stumble upon my first artifact and souvenir for this journey, a broken arrowhead. The arrowhead made my mind drifted towards when I stayed at Chet's in New Hampshire, oddly enough I also found a New Hampshire quarter shortly after the arrowhead. I kept progressing down the road till I reach 64, I took the hard left to be back on coarse, when a fellow named Otis Henson, "The Bicycle Man", who has a variety store on 64 offered me a cold beverage. How could I resist, I happily enjoyed a cold Mellow Yellow and he inquired about my guitar. he said why don't you strum a little, I thought my first payment for playing guitar is a soda. I accepted graciously and began to play a little. I finished me soda and thanked Otis, both for the soda and the opportunity to play. As I walk ever closer to Memphis the song, "Walking in Memphis" rings in my head. A nice guy who seemed quite down on his luck and pushed around by life, John Poland offered me a ride into Adamsville. He told me of his service in the military, being robbed in Las Vegas and how it all became too much negative pressure for him to endure alone, being his family and friends were here in Tennessee he returned to sort things out. Still unsure of his path, I prayed for him as he told me his story. He helped me find someone in town I was looking for Officer "PeeWee" and Officer Daniel who would allow me to camp at the community center. I was happy to have that figured out and quickly set up camp so I could make and early rise of the day. I awoke early and trotted off hoping to stop at the library, though my luck of the day would have it closed, so I pressed on. I would push hard on this day, I would clear 20 miles, my biggest day yet, with a two mile lift and some ice cold popsicle, from John. I had hoped the library would be open in the town of Selmer, Tennessee, alas as John showed me it was not. He dropped me at the McDonald's where they had wifi, but I improperly logged out of my accounts and was not able to log back in. I pressed on to finish this day as I realized some five miles or so outside of town that I had lost my bite valve and with that my water. I came upon the Full Gospel Baptist Church, standing there an unfinished work in progress, I was in need of water and this, a saving grace moment in my journey, I can only imagine what the house will be like when finished. After filling up with water I pressed on and stopped at the farm of, Deanne and Dave Sparks. Deanne said with enthusiasm, "We farm!" I was and still am quite happy they do, they keep the food on America's tables and often tables around the world. I made camp in their cow pasture under a tree with good shade, I dropped like a rock and slept like the dead, I felt I must have been my own tombstone that day. I woke up late, around midnight to eat the other half of the Subway I had purchased for lunch and abruptly passed out till around six in the morning. I met Dave in the morning another quiet and good natured fellow along the way. Dave reminded me of a mix between my college roommate Eric, only aged and softened by time and my high school mentor Greg. We parted company and I moved on down the road, on to Bolivar, Tennessee. The semi-trucks and dump trucks flew down the highway, pushing their engines like indy-cars, it brought me back to my days at the Indianapolis 500. I pushed hard again this time, about 21 miles till I stopped at the Three Way Gas Station, where I met Tara Sipes. She was a kind hearted girl from the south that life had made wise through it's processions. She talked with me as I filled my water, got a cold beverage, treated myself to a sandwich and popsicle. She wished me well and to stay safe as I exited and headed for the center of town. Here I sit at the Bolivar library, with the help of Cheryl at the front desk as a storm thunders outside, making the lights and electricity unsure if they want to stay on. On the Walmart where maybe I'll find a bite valve for my water bladder, and if I'm lucky I'll find a place to do laundry and take a shower as well, I think I need it.
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