Obvious word for today: SOLITUDE. Today starts the solo journey for the final miles, 910 of them. Gulp. Another Mark Twain quote here: “The worst kind of loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself.” I’m pretty comfortable with myself, no masked insecurities here, and I’m feeling pretty confident about finishing this thing. I expect I’ll be lonely at times, but if I focus on all of the amazing things in this adventure, it’s really rewarding.

The goal today was to be on the water at 9:30, and get to where I get to. With the low water and no more dams, sandy beaches seem easy to find, so I’m expecting premium stealth camps around every bend. However, I wasn’t expecting a sandy island in front of the Cape Girardeau boat ramp! What a hassle. Christin helped me load the boat, then I paddled fifty feet, unloaded the boat, dragged it with Christin about 200 feet to the actual river, then reloaded and launched for real. It always seems a pain coming off the river; except in Memphis I don’t plan to do it again.

Once I got to the edge of the channel, I was impressed by the current. This river was really moving now! It was a welcome relief to overcome the sadness of saying goodbye again to my favorite person. Did I say Christin has been awesome and I couldn’t be doing this without her support? I’m very blessed for her to invest so much in my Riverquest.

Thankfully with the fast current I made the mile back down to Cape Girardeau in quick time, quick enough to get under the bridge and watch as Christin drive across with ‘Ol Yeller headed back to Batavia. That felt like the final act in my solitary confinement: there would be no second boat from here, there would be no side dishes to support me, there would be no other support planned of any kind for 910 miles. I get asked periodically why I’m doing this, and I sometimes wonder myself; this question was heavy on me at that moment.

But after Cape Girardeau was out of sight, my thoughts changed, largely because I was cruising at a consistently high speed. A small tugboat pushing 6 barges had left Cape Girardeau about 10 minutes before me, and he still looked to be about the same space in front as when I started, maybe closer! Could it be that I was closing in on a tug boat? This no doubt spurred me on.

I began thinking, what if I caught him? He must feel like those guys in that Captain Phillips movie, being pursued by a relatively tiny craft with relatively large aspirations. Yes, maybe the old adage “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” was applicable. “Yo-ho-ho, a pirates life for me!” I shouted. I would charge ahead at their stern and clamber aboard with my knife between my teeth, ferociously waving the business end of my paddle. It didn’t really matter what cargo they were carrying, someone would pay to get it back from me.

I looked at the time: this pursuit continued for over an hour now, and I was certainly gaining ground. I had a full quart of Gatorade glacier freeze to sustain me, and if I had to I knew I could do this all day. Every swig of the Gatorade left a little sand in my teeth; this gritty reminder reinforced my knowledge that it takesguts and determination out here. I would not give up; another hour like this and my quarry would be in reach. I wondered what kind of defenses they were mounting against my eventual attack. Then suddenly, the ship was slowing. Were they planning a peaceful surrender? That would be wise; I would go easy on them if they cooperate. But, they were pulling to the side near a building. This must be some sort of river law enforcement authority, a safe haven for tugboat captains in just this sort of situation. I didn’t know much about these things and thought I should just paddle on. Besides, there would be bigger barge toes with bigger payouts in the future. But now I was convinced: a pirate’s life it will be!

I checked to clock and the map: 11:04am and I had travelled just over 10 miles – I had been doing about 7 mph all morning. At this pace I’ll be ahead of schedule by a few days. On a good day I may make 70 miles! That will be excellent.

I thought about the piratey things I might undertake. Capturing these tugboats might be easier with a crew. Perhaps if the side dishes each had their own boat, we would have a small armada and own this river. Maybe we’ll start simply: like the prohibition era rum runners, we’ll smuggle Loon Juice down to ‘Nawlins. That stuff is probably worth it’s weight in gold to wintering loons in the Big Easy. Once we have this smuggling enterprise operating with success, then we’ll move on to swashbuckling, attacking villages and other daring do. I know, it seems uncharacteristic of the Leechman to go all piratey, but the Green Lantern and Mister Fantastic both turned evil at some point; nobody’s perfect.

I’ll have to come up with a good pirate name. I thought maybe something to go with my side dishes: Captain Entree? Captain Maincourse? Captain Chef-d’oeuvre? They just don’t sound very intimidating. Captain Calicobeard?!?! Other pirates seem to have made a good name for themselves with a nod to their beards. Nope. How about the dread pirate Blueboat! Like in Princess Bride I can then will the role to somebody else once I’m done pillaging and plundering; maybe Isaac would want to dabble in piracy sometime? Or my nephew Andy?!?! Yes, he’s just the smoldering swashbuckling type; he’ll look great in pirate costume! Yo-ho-ho indeed!

I spent the rest of the day enjoying the flow and thinking piratey thoughts. Around 5:30 I pulled up to what was once an island, but with low water it was now a small peninsula; it seemed a great place for stealth camp. There were 3 deer on the beach that didn’t appear happy to see me. They made some snorting/whistling noises as they looked me over and bounded away into the woods. I was kinda glad to have heard this noise and understand it’s source because I had heard this sound one previous night while I was laying in my tent; now I know this sound is just deer profanity and I need not be concerned if it happens again in the middle of the night. Though this also sounded similar to the sounds from Room #1 at the Burlington Hotel, I think I should be able to tell the difference in the future based on situational circumstances.

I tied my boat to a large rock on the wing dam, set up camp, and again felt like I was master of this small domain. I sat on the log and tried to blog as the sun was going down. I retired to my rent, and a short time after dark a tugboat pulled in and parked across the river. I was surprised and slightly annoyed that he chose this spot to sit with engines idling most of the night, but at least he was keeping his searchlight out of my tent. I slept in short stretches, and sometime in the middle of the night the tugboat moved on upriver.

Having come off a relaxing day with Christin yesterday, and now headed on my own toward Memphis, I’m feeling pretty good about everything: the flow-assisted journey, the peaceful camp, the great friends and family cheering me on… all is good on the river. Today’s playlist addition with this mindset – Elvis Presley songs Gentle On My Mind.