Day 98, Walk for Warriors

I slept very little last night. Images of my walking through the gates at Fort Benning rolled around in my brain with slight variations all night long. During the daily walks through Lordsburg, Abilene, Toomsuba, and Gulf shores, I rarely allowed myself a chance to imagine the end of this journey. I walked through Columbus as one of those invisible characters in a fictional tale.

Once in it, the routine of the day became my sustenance. I relied upon the order of rising at 4:30AM, setting up my cooking apparatus, brewing the coffee, and stirring oatmeal with honey and raisins. Although there were occasional variations upon that theme, this was an important part of moving toward the first step of each morning. Today was not so different but the bridled anticipation of ninety-seven days was about to be liberated and with it, me.

As was my habit whenever confronted with walking in a city or larger town, I ended up in the poorest, most desperate part of town. No matter, I found a new energy with which to enjoy the sights and sounds that accompanied me through the neighborhoods of overflowing trash bins and nervous canines. Time was suspended and in the quiet of the morning I could still hear the mockingbird’s aria.

I found a stream as I stood over a bridge with a narrow pedestrian walk-way. A scruffy man on a bicycle loaded with bags of groceries needed to pass so I pressed myself against the concrete rail to give him room. “Thanks, man. What you lookin’ at?” He asked.

“I’m looking for fish.” I said, reminded of how many times I had uttered those words.

“Yeah? Well I can tell ya they in there,” he said with reassuring confidence.

Three hours into my walk I realized that the smile on my face had become permanent. I thought, “Smiles lasting longer than four hours might be a symptom of a more serious medical issue….” A policeman drove slowly by inspecting a strange man laughing alone between a ditch filled with trash and an uneven sidewalk. Thankfully, he lost interest and sped away to a more pressing scene or the donut he had neglected at the start of his shift.

I received calls from family and friends who had obviously stretched their routines to include a call to me at o’dark thirty, local time. The last call came from the reporter for Fort Benning Television. Susanna was raring to go and wanted to rendezvous with me at a corner where a big old barbershop and Fort Benning Road intersected. The addition of another person into the stream of my walks was usually something I tried to avoid but today was different and I looked forward to having Susanna along.

We met twenty minutes later at the appointed site and she gave me the outline of what how she wanted to proceed for the next three miles. She drove ahead of me, parked beside the road into the base and took long strands of video of me walking. “Eyes forward, please. Just walk naturally. I’m a perfectionist so I will need yards and yards of you walking,” she explained. I complied happily.

I could see that she was working really hard to get the right shots and we were both sweating in volume by that time. After several hours of walking I usually emitted an aroma akin to that of a barnyard hog, and I apologized a couple of times for it. She said, “I thought it was me. Besides, I interview sweaty soldiers for a living.”

We repeated that sequence of Susanna driving ahead, filming my stride, driving ahead filming my stride, until we reached the official check point at the intersection of Fort Benning Road and Custer Drive (honest). It was my symbolic and genuine crossing the finish line of a two thousand two hundred mile walk across the country and I was elated. The guards allowed her to film me as I crossed into the base and we stopped under some kind of security structure so that Susanna could explain what she would like to do next.

We talked briefly and I recounted the story of someone I had met along the way who had inspired and touched me. I think I was talking about Nurse L. and the loss of her nephew in Afghanistan. Susanna shuttered and said, “I’ve got goose bumps.” I could sense her close connection to the story. I know her husband is a Ranger. Rangers are in the thick of any combat theater so she had to have been touched by many stories like Nurse L.’s.

She drove ahead to the parking lot of the gas station on Custer. She didn’t want to infringe on the other reporter’s time slot so we got going with our video interview upon my arrival at the gas station. As we spoke it dawned on me that my journey had come to an end. I thought for sure I would come off as an ecstatic nut, but I didn’t hold back. She asked me many questions and put me at ease so that I would not ruin the sheer spontaneity of the moment. Her passion and genuine humanity allowed me to enjoy the interview under a blazing sun.

Cheryl R., the reporter for the Fort Benning Bayonet arrived. Susanna and she had a brief and genial confab as to how everyone wanted to proceed. Both women were gracious and an accord was quickly reached to allow us to finish the video interview. Susanna wrapped up the interview. Before she left she told me that her husband would be leaving the Army soon and that his status will be as a disabled vet. The full circle of the Walk for Warriors had been closed.

I thanked Susanna heartily for her effort. I now wish thank Ranger Lynch for his service to his country.


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©2010 John Van Dyke Cote’
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