Probably neither truly silly-season ideas. Farfetched, yes. But not totally beyond pale, given sufficient impetus (i.e., desperation — cornered rat apt to try anything).
No, not really silly — silly is debating whether might be possible very quickly to breed special strain of mosquito (limited to drinking hominem blood); securing very small notes to very tiny collars, sending out to spread word.
Now, that’s silly…
And demonstrates lengths will go to avoid facing “What now” question. Not that have any real choice: Big world; only information even potentially helpful is Tarzan File, whether current or not. Must be verified, unto bitter end if necessary. As well might be.
So. Six down, 93 to go. Next stop: Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University; Barbara, James, Frederick Harper. No, not related — family: Idyllic ménage à trois of several years’ standing. Harpers, according to file, enjoyed benefits, protections of marriage laws, without violating them but without common-law togetherness risks, by simply cohabitating; defining responsibilities toward one another, to heirs, regarding assets, etc., by forming corporation, incorporating into bylaws useful provisions from marital, probate law. Reported very happy. Perhaps all three being doctors, dovetailed specialties, helps.
Discovery piqued curiosity. Checked further through File. And learned plural living arrangements not uncommon amongst AAs: Fully one-third involved in family units of more than two. Largest such encompasses five.
Intriguing. But not sure my cup of tea. Earliest memories pervaded with gently intense love emanating from, between, all around Daddy, Momma Foster. Couldn’t have spent formative years basking in glow always surrounding, enveloping them, anyone near them, without being imprinted to some extent with bias toward general wonderfulness of twosome life — joy of being single most important thing in life of Someone Wonderful.
Certainly hope Harpers home. Apart from obvious, interested in observing daily workings of family life; see whether they glow together. (If so, at what intensity in which combinations.)
Off tomorrow to Baltimore — or perhaps “toward” more realistic preposition: Though only 427 miles, according to map, know about map distances now (been through that before, haven’t we). So don’t expect to make it in single day. Or even two, three.
For one thing, must retrace path around much of Connecticut, Hudson rivers — doubles distance right there. Additionally, frequent stops to post leaflets in promising locations takes time. Finally, map shows two additional major rivers between here, there (Delaware, Susquehanna); both so convenient to large populations, almost certain downstream bridges useless.
Can’t take less than week. Maybe two.
If possible at all — for very different reason: While hasn’t been hint of residual radiation heretofore, Baltimore very close to Washington. Capital one of few targets across land scheduled for broken windows: According to Daddy’s secret papers, favored with many direct hits. Quite conceivable D.C. area still hot. Equally probable, Baltimore unsafe as well.
Been testing ambient background radiation periodically with geiger counter from shelter (recent design: lightweight, quite sophisticated [nine-tenths of capabilities completely over head]). Will step up checking frequency as approach Baltimore area.
Bedtime again — after another deliciously hot shower. Then to that firm, cool bed.
Tomorrow beckons…
Yes, Posterity, derelict again — sorry. Trying to do better, really. Sometimes difficult to muster energy. But trust me: Missed nothing through failure to enter daily progress from Boston on regular basis. Omissions, if any, not substantive in nature — events not substantive; absence from history books not world-shaking.
Because mostly dull. Indescribably so. Hundreds of miles. Some on roads, some not. Thoroughfare varied from expressways to pasturelands; passability from utterly not to unobstructed. Myriad get-out-and-copes. Engaged four-wheel-drive lots. Cleared path with winch frequently. Doubled back often.
First break in routine came while working southward through rural portion of Pennsylvania, apparently egg-farming region. Accidentally rediscovered old source of fresh meat: Hit chicken. Happily, not going very fast; killed cleanly with bumper instead of mashing flat with tire. Stopped, cleaned immediately; roasted over charcoal for early dinner.
Delicious — thought so myself — but Terry transported beyond ecstasy: Waded in with gusto; split, pulverized bones; cleaned out every scrap of marrow, gristle. Long time since last chicken dinner; poor baby probably in throes of withdrawal.
Experience profitable long-term as well as short. That night switch clicked in brain, disturbing sleep. Old switch. Primitive circuit.
Found self suddenly awake, staring into darkness. Pictured clearly in mind’s eye was tee shirt seen on tourist several years back: cartoon of hungry vulture glaring down from tree branch, muttering, “Patience, hell — I’m going to go kill something…!”
H. sapiens not scavenger. Was, in fact, puny physique notwithstanding, deadliest predator on planet. Any reason for successor to be less forthright about satisfying appetite? Moral issue, perhaps? Should H. post hominem be vegetarian, as philosophical principle?
No…! Nothing philosophical about vitamin deficiency, creeping malnutrition. Granted, probably entirely possible for hard-working, full-time agrarian to raise sufficiently diverse crop to constitute balanced meatless diet. But for explorer, nomad, simply not practical.
So next day, again feeling carnivorous (anticipating brother’s vote if asked), stopped van, caught chicken in footrace. Issue considerably in doubt at first. Prey ran to, fro, dodged about squawking. Wondered for time if might have to resort to gun.
But finally zigged when smart money all on zag; fell victim to feral pounce to gladden heart of primalest hungry raptor ever admitted to guild — which, in fact, by then apt self-description (though neither growled during chase nor stood with foot on kill afterward, beating chest, screaming mangani victory cry).
Dinner that night especially tasty. Perhaps calories expended in pursuit honed appetite; perhaps enjoyment on more atavistic level. Hard to say — and don’t much care: If reverting, will enjoy it.
Began edging westward to flank Delaware River while still far enough north that detour of little consequence. Finding passable bridge never became issue.
But same not true of Susquehanna; another matter entirely: long, extending far northwest, very wide. Bridges encountered during initial exploration all collapsed. Began to think might have to circumnavigate after all. Until came to railroad trestle.
Stopped van abruptly. Stared. Deliberated at length, with distaste. Reconnoitered on foot, all the way across. Took careful measurements.
Yes, was possible — probably not even actually dangerous. But uncomfortable notion: Span between tread centers and track separation identical; giant mud/snow flotation tires fully 15 inches across tread face, providing perhaps four inches’ grace either way before risk mounted. And even if did allow vehicle to slip off rails, wooden ties sufficiently closely spaced to permit crossing completion by bump-bump-bump method, assuming care, deliberate progress.
(Rather not slip off rails, though, thank you. True, walked entire span; inspected structure for apparent faults. But layperson; key word is “apparent”: Not versed, personally, in abstruse skills required to determine at single glance which tie sound, which rotten. And cantilever loading provides severest test of strongest member; little doubt that bump-bump-bumping whole way across surefire system for substandard tie detection. Quick, positive detection.)