My sister May and I would pack our gear - a treasured mess kit, my favorite trench tool, apples and pb&j done up in a bandanna bindle - and strike out across the yard or neighborhood. If we could find a
So, last month, when May told me she planned to walk the Natchez Trace - a small paved highway of more than 400 miles between Natchez, Mississippi and Nashville, Tennessee, it seemed like the obvious next step. The trip we'd been training for our whole lives. "When are you going?" I asked. "Do you want company?"
Fall of 2010 and yes.
For a day or two, I said maybe. Maybe I would think about it. Maybe I would walk a little in the evenings and see how I felt. Have you seen me lately? I am not a small man. After a lifetime as a fat kid and 10 years with the state, I am not exactly up for strolling a few dozen miles with a pack on my back every day. But. But but but. The Stand. Huck Finn. The Canterbury Tales.
So now May and I are sort of obsessed, and, if I want to go, I need to stay that way. I'm In Training, for a certain definition of that phrase. I'm limbering up and starting to walk again. I'm sweating my way around the neighborhood at night, cursing the heat, cursing my tired legs. If may can do it, I can do it.