Day 99

Northbridge, MA to Crystal Lake, CT
$55 :: BF, snack, grocs, campsite
52.16 mi :: 4.43 hr :: 40.5 mph :: 11.0 mph :: 6561 mi

During the night I get an idea and can’t sleep. I sit on the clifftop, smoke, and think. The essence of it was that, as Sun built an empire on the idea that the network is the computer, there is an industry waiting to be built on the idea that the directory is the network. If a company could host the directories of other organizations in one massive tree, untold possibilities would arise. I resolve to look further in to the idea.

I notice at breakfast the accents have vanished. Advertised as the best breakfast in the world, it tries but doesn’t match Vinny’s.

In Oxford I take care of some chores at the library, but don’t feel I have enough time to supplement my reading of Moby Dick or begin looking into network directories. I send a couple of emails to soothe my uneasiness to Carter (Colin actually) and Julie. I feel more are needed: Hadie & Earl, Eileen, Mom.

Talked to Dad about Into Thin Air. He was similarly facinated by it I think, but I’m not sure he got as much appreciation of our relationship from it as I did. I really felt it showed that our relationship, though neither of us are perfect, has proved strong enough to get me through the phase that brought an end to Chris McCandless. I feel the same way about Mom – the book increased my appreciation of the trust she gives me.

Another fun ride by wooded, ivyed, Nichols College, where teams of girls in tiny skirts play Lacrosse. More hills. I scream into Bigelow Hollow State Park at 40 mph. There on Bigelow Pond a frustrated father yells at his two boys instead of teaching them to fish.

At Stafford Springs I grocery shop and decide to sleep at a campground if I can find one. I need a shower and a place to cook dinner comfortably. After asking several people I find Del-Arie Campground, and talk the dour proprietor down from $17 to $15.

I’m immediately greeted by two other campers, Jamie and Furly Dangerous. I can’t understand a word Furly says, but I see he’s touring with a mountain bike and trailer. Jamie translates for me. He stands 5’4″ (5’3 1/2″, actually), in jeans and T-shirt, with trucker tattoos all over his arms. He likes to brag about the money he makes as a trucker, challenge people to races, give me beer, and occasionally bust out with a loud cow-call. He and Jamie invite me to their fire and feed me beer. Furly bitches about his wife in Florida while bragging about his 100-acre spread there. He invites me to stop by, insinuating that I might be interested in his twin 17-year-old daughters. Furly never stops making noise, and soon I understand much of it. Carlton stops by, and starts giving Furly the business. Everything he says gets Furly more riled up and babbling all sorts of threats and protestations.

“Furly, I was down at the store and saw your wife. She’s looking for you.”
“Fuck the wife…”
“Oh year, she knows where you are, and she’s pissed.”
“Screw you, she can’t find me…”
“She’s got a beeper on that bike of yours, Furly. She’s comin’ to get your ass.”
“Shut the fuck up, fuck the wife…”
“Not only that, she found your girlfriend you tried to bring up here.”
“I’ll run your ass down in my truck, that’ll shut you up…”
“She’s gonna come and shove that shiny bike of your clear up your ass.”
“I’ll put a goddamn bullet in your head…”
“I know you’re scared, I saw you over here waxin’ that thing today.”
and so on, and on, and on….

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