Making a Sketch

From Helper, Utah I am heading north toward Duchesne, Vernal, and then up to Flaming Gorge where I'll cross over to Wyoming from Utah. From the land of compact car size bears and Yellowstone (no worries here,right), I'll head into Montana and Crow Country.
Winter comes early to the northern 48 when the rubber under my feet is the only transport I use so there are no quick get aways. Without much perceived delay in Montana I'll head over to Northern California/Southern Oregon and then run these legs up the coast up to Olympia National Park, Washington to end my walk somewhere in northern Washington on the coastal waters of the Pacific late this year or early spring. So much on this journey depends on the weather, and of course the people I meet along the way.

More and more people ask me what I'll do after the walk. Is shrugging an answer? Years ago I worked with people with special needs. On Saturday I would make a grand breakfast for six to ten of my smilingly buoyant clients. All the while as they lit into pancakes, bacon, berries, whip cream, coffee, and fresh orange juice they would be asking me about meals to come and the great eats we might have next week. There is so much on my table still as I walk north I cannot think about sitting down to anything else while all my heart is still romancing a freshly packed Crow Dog back under a sun cover (to save thread burn), and into another day of walking miles I have, in spite of all my tests and worries, come to adore. There are books to write, talks to give, friends to re-remember over a cold glass of green beer and hot wings, and the lazy ease of predictability, and the novelity of it to enjoy...for a while. Already I consider walking across New Zealand and The Land Down Under. Nepal? Perhaps I am also thinking of three egg omelette's with a mouth full of home fries. I think about not walking until all I can think of is this current joy, these people I have come to know, and so many maps that wait for my fingers to wander over. Inside I will always be walking regardless if these feet ever settle. I shrug my shoulders to the old man on the oak bench that is looking for warmth from a morning sun that is still too weak. "So ya gonna teach again when you settle this walk?"
"I wonder if I'm all settled out."
He squints over my shoulder, "I'd walk with you if I didn't have these legs."