Word for today: RETRIBUTION. After the beat down yesterday, I fought back today. Today the wind, currents and temperatures weren’t much better, but I was better. With a better mental attitude I was again able to reel off 50 miles. That now puts me 50 miles from Memphis, which is my target tomorrow. 

Today’s word was nearly desolation, but I thought maybe I’ve used that already? I can’t get to my blog posts to find out. But it is desolate out here. I told about the stop in sad little Carruthersville yesterday afternoon, in the 60 or so miles since, nothing. I did see one house like structure on the Tennessee bank about 20 miles ago, but it looked like it could’ve been another gun club. Somewhat fortunately, nobody invited me in or I’d never make  Memphis tomorrow.

I think I forgot to mention yesterday, I sorta lost my voice. When I went into Semo Title to ask for water, my voice was weak and faint. I thought: like other parts of me that are shrinking (arms, chest, waist), could my voice be dwindling as well from lack of use? So I decided to start talking to myself in the early moments of today’s episode. Me: “It’s gonna be another cooker out here again today.” Me: “Yeah, but at least it’s not raining. And it feels kinda nice to start off with wet feet.” Me: “Well, I’m not so sure about that.” Me: “How about that text from Shootman this morning? ‘Hi-ho Silver!’ Of course. We should’ve thought of that!” Me: “Well I had other things on my mind, like how I lost my wedding ring.” Me: “What’s our mother-in-law gonna say about that! She’s been looking to get back at us ever since those toilet paper complaints. She’ll notice in the next photo I send that I’m no longer wearing a wedding ring.” Me: “Yes; and we conveniently “lost” it right before we get to Memphis. Like those guys who travel on business who leave their rings home so they don’t lose them while they’re away.” Me: “Remember when she texted us the night of the Hwy 6 robbery? ‘Looks like you’re in some tavern!’ is what she said.” Me: “Yep, she watches our every move! She’s nearly as bad as Ron Preston!”

I could go on, and I did for a bit, but I kind of started to think this could become an easy habit, one that will make me look even more homeless.

And I did lose my ring; I think I washed it away in my river bath last night. But it was just a cheap rubbery thing that I’ve been wearing a couple years, I think it was $8 on Amazon; so Jeff Van Meter, again no-go on the go fund me. Besides, now I’ll get a nice souvenir for myself in Memphis (maybe they’ll have them at Graceland?!?!) 

And I think my mother-in-law probably trusts me after 27 years of marriage. After all, I resisted temptation like a private invite by a two time middleweight boxing world champ to his penthouse suite with him and his 5 supermodel friends (a story for another day, or maybe the book.) 

A few folks have commented, “You should write a book!” I’ll give it some thought, probably because after this I really have nothing else to do. I did find out on the website the other day that I have 271 followers on this blog, so that’s probably 271 books sold. And maybe you all will buy one for a friend as a Christmas gift. But, I’m sure some of you are just following this to learn what gruesome way I meet my final fate (“I just had a feeling it would be something stupid. I didn’t think he’d be hit by a barge or eaten by a shark. But slipping in the shower at the Hampton in Memphis? That’s a bit of a letdown.”); so some of you won’t buy a book. But let’s say I sell 500 books (I need the math to be easy). If I factor in the time I spend blogging, then time turning that into Leechman Travels the Big Muddy, Volume 1, then multiply that by 2 times minimum wage (this is white collar work), then add publishing cost… I probably need to sell these books for about $1,500 each. You can go ahead and Venmo me to reserve your copy.

So I realized at lunch today, that I forgot to comment about the pickle for lunch yesterday. Maybe I even for to say I bought a pickle at the gas station in New Madrid; well I did: one of those big Kosher dills in its own plastic bag. It was delicious; I have Lecy to thank who was eating those Oh Snap pickle bags, well he was eating the pickles anyway not the bags, but this thing yesterday… wowza. That pickle was the bee’s knees! And the bag was full of pickle brine; I drank every drop and would’ve liked a second. I wouldn’t do that at home. 🤔 

I slept really well last night; the low slope on the beach and frequent barge traffic had waves rolling in most of the night. It does make me want to live next to waves, or at least get one of those wave noise machines. But when I woke this morning I realized, there are no songbirds here. I can’t recall the last time I heard songbirds in the morning. Was it yesterday? The day before? A week ago? Maybe that was the start of the desolation feeling. Similar observations: trains are gone. Remember when tracks lined both banks and crossed overhead periodically? I think it was the day I left Cape Girardeau when I last saw a train. And today I saw more paintbrushes floating in the river than I did bald eagles – one paintbrush. I know I’ve said I’m kinda done with the eagle thing, but suddenly to zero! Unexpected today. Desolation indeed when a paintbrush and two empty egg cartons make the top 10 most exciting things seen today. Oh, and a plastic garbage bag that looked like it was breathing; we avoid those things.

I also thought today might be the first time without speaking to a person, but I had two fishermen encounters. The first was just after lunch; we exchanged 10 words: “You doing alright?” “Yep, just fine.” “Okay, safe travels.” “Thanks!” The second was just before camp; Lance from Ripley Tennessee pulled aside with his two dogs; it looked like he got about as close as he could before his dogs would instinctively take turns tearing my throat out. He said, “I just have to ask, were you coming from and where you going?” I told him source and destination and he replied, “That’s so cool! Really. That’s cool. Were you from?” I told him I’m from 30 miles west of Chicago. “That’s great man. What’s your name?” I told him, and then learned he’s Lance from Ripley. After that, I decided to look for a beach on the Tennessee side, rather than the Arkansas side. (Again, unceremoniously I left another state behind a few miles into the day.)

I know I’ve said already, most people are generally nice; you can find good people everywhere. But I just feel like avoiding Arkansas. Instead, tonight I chose a beach in Tennessee with copious dune buggy tracks, which also doesn’t excite me. And I forgot to mention that last night on the Missouri side someone was driving a dune buggy along the shore parallel to me. I’m not sure if they were making sure I’d stay away, or if they wanted a conversation, or neither. Also I couldn’t see the driver, I could only see a large Great Dane, which made it look like a darker version of Scooby Doo was driving the buggy. Heck, maybe Shaggy was there and I missed out on some pizza and Scooby snacks! And the whole Scooby thing reminds me of that guy with the inflatable kayak that Jeff Bromenschenkel told about on day 7! (Darn that day 7 missing blog.)

So, my list of places to avoid when picking a stealth camp: water moccasins, angry beavers, coyote den, copious dune buggy tracks, meth head hangouts, places with seemingly permanent folding chairs, the underside of bridges, and Arkansas. But like tonight, sometimes you have to pick your poison.

But maybe I need to give Arkansas a try. I didn’t hear banjo music as I crossed the line; in fact there were no Emmet Otter jug band instruments at all to be heard. I may need to make a water stop in Arkansas one day – so I’ll try to stay optimistic, and always wear my life vest.

I have a few photos and videos, and I’ll include a playlist addition. But that and more will have to wait until I get through 50 more desolate miles tomorrow to reach Memphis.

Update from Memphis: I know I’m not in Mobile, but I do wish I were already in Memphis as another 50 miles tomorrow will likely be brutal: Bob Dylan Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again