Police... of course

Geneseo is a nice town. It definitely has a small town feel because, well, it's a small town. I ended up having a long conversation with the owners of Roy's Taco House. They are very nice people and have good tacos.

I've discovered that wearing a backpack and walking around town looking tired makes you a bit of a celebrity. Everywhere I go people want to know where I'm from, where I'm going, how long I've walked and of course, "How heavy is that thing?" The daily life in small towns is quite slow in comparison to what I'm used to being near Chicago and all, so a hiker with a possible story is quite an event.

After Geneseo, I continued on the Hennepin canal into a town called Colona. There wasn't much there that I saw but I was just passing through. It was this town where I finally completed the canal trail. The total distance was somewhere between 60 and 70 miles I think.

I met a rather interesting fellow at the end of the canal who told me with his beer breath that he was a one man band who performed in the Quad City area. He offered to ferry me across the Rock River in his canoe, but he seemed pretty drunk. I have my digital camera and cell phone on me that probably won't work well after submersion. He seemed to be quite drunk. I told him thanks anyway and went on my way.

The the trail dead ended at the river with the canal, so I had to double back about a mile to get back to town. At that point the American Discovery Trail continues invisibly along the roads.
In a few miles I crossed the Rock River by way of highway bridge and it was getting dark. Needing a place to sleep I found a slightly wooded field and set up camp about 200 yards off of the highway. Paying for a place to sleep is overrated. Welcome to freedom.

I continued on through Silvis, East Moline and Moline in the morning. Not being overly interested in the city, and not wanting to be stuck in an urban area looking for a place to sleep, I hopped a city bus to get to the Centennial Bridge. The bus cost me a whopping eighty cents.

After I got off of the bus I got all covered in sunscreen, and walked across the Mississippi. They have a railroad bridge just down the river from the Centennial. It has a large section in the middle that disconnects and rotates so that the larger boats can get through.

I met three nice guys on the bike path going south from Davenport. They were drinking out of paper bags and had cans of Old Milwaukee laying about. I said hello to the fellow travelers but didn't have the time to make that much conversation. I asked them how far to the Buffalo Shores campground just south of Davenport and they told me 20 miles. It turned out to be 10 but that was alright since I wasn't going to make it there before dark anyway. They also informed me of all the places in the city that I could get a free breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was nice of them. I guess they are the type of people you want to meet if you're traveling on foot.

I had a bike path to travel on for the first two or so miles along the Mississippi then it ended and I was on the highways and byways again. Rain was in the forecast according to my handy dandy crank radio, and possibly storms.

I was just about to set up my tent to beat the rain when I saw another bridge going over the river about a mile and a half away. It turned out to be the 180 expressway bridge. I reached the bridge and set up my tent beneath it. It rained, but sadly no storms. Sleeping under a bridge. Am I a hobo yet?

Buffalo wasn't much of a town I discovered, it looked like it was dying with empty shops and buildings everywhere. I thought it was kind of sad. The campground was about one mile south on the main road.

The next morning I decided to walk to town for breakfast at the local diner. It was good food but on the way back to camp, the local police officer stops on the other side of the road. I wave and say hello and he waves me over. He ends up asking me for my ID and goes back to his car to run a check. I'm annoyed. I notice a small truck pulled over on the side of the road watching. When the officer comes back I ask if he was looking for someone he said no, and almost apologetically says he was just running a check because someone called in a complaint. He shakes my had and says have a good day. He was a nice guy, actually.

Obviously I must have looked like a scary guy, having a clean shave, wearing a rather nice Columbia jacket and clean khaki colored pants. How dare I walk down the road.

It is quite sad that people are so afraid of everyone else that you can't be a stranger without someone freaking out. Maybe if Buffalo was a little more welcoming it wouldn't be dying. I for one, don't plan to be back.

On the other hand, the campground was very nice. It is state run yet very well maintained, with nice sites and clean showers. The ranger there was quite nice and we had a lengthy conversation.

One of the old folks there in an RV offered me a ride to Muscatine, the next major town on my way. I've found that travelers have a kind of community. They are always willing to help other people of the road. We're all strangers, but all family too.

I'm considerably stronger now. The pack only seems heavy at the end of a day of walking. I still have blisters and my feet still bleed, but pain seems to become good company when we spend so much time together.