Saturday, 19 February, Tallahassee
We’re in our room after having done the Tallahassee walk, showered, napped, and eaten supper at Applebees.
Let us return to Olympic Centennial Park next to downtown Atlanta. Did I fail to mention that we paused to rest and wait for “Lunch with the Elephants?” Some kids told us, “The elephants are coming. The elephants are coming.” And we believed them. The circus was in town - we saw their tents beside Turner Field - and in just a few minutes, we saw them, tail to trunk lumbering down the road with visions of apples, bananas, and melons in their eyes. In anticipation, we all cheered and shouted, “Elephants.” I’m sure that clears up the questions about the elephant picture.
Yesterday morning we checked out of our hotel and took a slow walk down Peachtree to the Greyhound station. Arriving two hours early, we nevertheless were among those responsible for a late start. For improperly tagging our luggage, we were required to take it back in to the station and get the proper luggage registration and identification. One nice lady was also improperly tagged, and a second had her luggage and tags but lost her ticket. Still, it all ended happily for everyone except for those who hadn’t wanted to leave 25 minutes late.
The bus ride, only about six hours in length, was uneventful, even boring. The last two hours dragged by to the accompaniment of someone a few seats behind us snoring. S/he had no sleep apnea, no halts and gasps. The snoring was steady as the rhythm of a copy machine.
We have a free day tomorrow, mostly marooned with limited bus service. What is exciting about tomorrow that Jeff, the kitchen man here at the Holiday Inn, is going to teach us how to eat gritz for breakfast.
Walking in strange cities and towns has an element of risk to it. One could, after all, get run over, or thrown over the top of a van. Usually though, it turns into an unending game of chicken. The vehicle, with either an oblivious driver or a pedestrian loathing psychopath at the wheel, comes roaring toward you in a crosswalk. The average person will stop or jump backwards. The steel nerved walker continues with a “Not this time,” glance at the driver. Again, what’s crucial here is the front-end damaging potential of the walker.
In 1989, we had the opportunity to be pedestrians in Scandinavia. We learned to watch ourselves because if one looked as if she was even thinking of stepping off the curb, drivers would stop. By the time we had been back home a week, that behavior had been extinguished.
Tomorrow: Something potentially mildly interesting happens. Stay tuned.
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