Church Dinner and Voice

The miles have softened. The hills that have worn me down become, for a while, a kind plain of far off views with trees growing rarer still. Hawks follow me out of curosity, or companionship. At Bryan's Corner it is more of the same candy, beer, and the kind of food nobody could live on....well. I buy the last three cans of baked beans, one muffin, and a cup of joe because my coffee beans have made their last cup until I get supplies in Guymon. The locals at the truckstop stare and whisper to each other without saying a word to me. I smell like the road and keep to myself.


Last night I spent at the Epp family home after a supper at the church in Balko/Bryan's corner. The field near the church would have made a fine night's rest. The wind has taken a breather making camp life alot more enjoyable. In the end though, as everybody was heading home, the Epp family kindly insisted I come and share their home, a shower, a warm bed and good conversation. Conversation is the one staple quickly missed on the road. It is 130 a.m. before we wander off to sleep.
The pastor James Epp,a man with a dream of someday riding a mountain bike the length of the Continential Divide, understands aspects of the walk without my explaination. We look at each other's lives and smile with a clean sense of wanting, yet waiting without worry. It is great to walk around a home with gear catalogs set about on the tables showing the latest, lightest gear. It reminds me of the years of dreaming---and the the joy of living the dream. The five Epp children are laughing with me over morning pancakes and sausage. Family.