Month: July 2011

About a week ago, I decided I better not drive my van anymore until I can get the brakes fixed.

That’s a little inconvenient, since I can’t mail Things from the house until I get a printer going with the new computer I haven’t gotten yet.

So far, I’ve gotten by with just one ten dollar taxi ride although I know that’s going to get worse, and while I was under no obligation to mail Things today I was out of cigarettes.

After spending the requisite hour thinking about why I should quit smoking cigarettes, I decided maybe I should just walk up the road to the local Inconvenience Store to get them and that would probably teach me. That store, according to Google, is 1.6 miles away.

Today was one of the hottest days we’ve had lately. I think I heard a local announcer say it was the equivalent of 104 degrees with the heat index (whatever that accursed calculation is). I took along a bottle with 20 ounces of water.

After all, I used to walk back and forth across Iowa City, and I can remember that those treks could actually be pleasant, so off I go.

Right away, I noticed I live on a cement street with not much adjoining grass on the side facing traffic, but I walked on the cement, said hello to two guys who mentioned it was pretty hot, had an interesting little nine block walk up to the Cobblestone.

From there, the trail system through the parks is available, and there are lots of big trees with some shade. I decided to smoke my last cigarette. No go, forgot to fill the lighter. How ironic.

Well, I head off down the trail, which winds, carefully noting where the spot-a-pots were located along the way and also carefully noting that it takes me about 20 minutes to walk to Sunrise Campground where there are machines with Coke Pepsi and stuff.

This life on foot isn’t so bad, I think, carefully choosing to ignore the large blister forming on my right heel. I’m a little hungry though, this exercise is bad that way, I’ll get more than cigarettes when I get to the oasis.

Past the Canada Geese which consider this territory to be their own, past the two hot city workers trimming brush by the lake, past not one other trail user because this is the stupidest day of the year to be out walking on it.

I got to our new resort. I found a way to walk through it, availing myself of their nice men’s room, but I’m pretty sure they’d start to recognize me as a regular non-regular if I do that too often.

I’ll bet homeless guys make a science of this stuff, I thought.

The resort is across the street from the cigarettes, and after I waited my place in line behind two vans full of Japanese college students, I had my stuff: smokes, a lighter, two Hostess apple pies, a loaf of way-overpriced bread.

Whew. I only had to get back. Trouble was, I was getting a little weak, so I had a picnic of one of the Hostess pies sitting on a stone bench on the way back. Ah, this is the stuff of us Street Guys I thought as I finally LIT one of the cigarettes with the new yellow Bic.

The park’s nice-it’s grass anywhere but the actual winding path, and I made quick order out of ignoring the path and walking on the grass, until I once again reached the Cobblestone, the beginning of cement town.

The other side of the street is a little better; there’s some grass, a few trees, and it became an object of the march to spot the next little patch of shade up ahead.

As I got dizzier from my impending dehydration, the next little patch of shade up ahead became real important. Apparently 20 ounces of water was not quite enough.

But I made it, a little alarmed by what the march had taken out of me, but feeling smug nontheless that these were regular-priced cigarettes, not ten dollar plus cigarettes. Nevermind the part where it took a few hours to feel like smoking them.

Or getting out of bed.

I saved the ten bucks though.