Life on Foot: A Walk Across America by Nate Damm

Author:Nate Damm
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Non-Fiction
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2014-02-28T06:00:00+00:00

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The next morning, a Ford Taurus came noisily down the dirt campground road and stopped by my campsite as I was packing up. It was Mr. Bishop. "Wanted to bring you a few dollars so you can get yourself a nice breakfast at the diner in town. And here's an envelope with my address on it. Send me a note when you make it to California,” he said.

I thanked him, said that it was a pleasure to have met him, and that I would not only send a letter, but call him too when I hit the ocean.

Mr. Bishop recommended The Tip Top Cafe for breakfast, which sat about a mile away. I made the short walk there after getting Wilson packed up. I parked Wilson and walked in as a few of the locals inside looked at me curiously. I smiled and nodded. They smiled and nodded back.

Eating at the Tip Top Cafe was like eating at home. It was comfortable and friendly. Kansas University memorabilia lined each of its walls. There were KU posters, clocks, calendars, and stuffed animals to be seen. There were a few booth tables and a bar style counter, where a few men sat sipping coffee and talking about the wheat harvest. Their muddy boots left little spots of dirt on the floor. Every conversation I eavesdropped on had to do with either the crops or the weather.

The dining room was small, but didn't feel cramped. There were windows letting in the morning sunlight and the walls were clean and white. If you looked at the proper angle from many of the tables, you could see into the kitchen. Glasses were stacked neatly behind the counter next to a pile of silverware wrapped in paper napkins and a couple of old coffee machines.

A man walked in and sat alone at the table adjacent to me. He had "regular" written all over him. The man removed his tattered hat and sat patiently with his hands folded in front of him as if he was praying. His jeans and shirt were dusty. He was the type of guy who got a half-day's work done before most folks even woke up in the morning. A full breakfast magically appeared in front of him within a few minutes. He hadn't uttered a word since he had walked in, except for when he greeted the waitress with a nod and a "Mornin'."

A busy lady in the kitchen, who appeared to be doing all of the cooking on her own, kept poking her head out into the dining area. She surveyed the room every once in a while, then darted back to her duties through the open door. Through that same door I could hear the faint crackling of bacon and sausage being cooked.

My waitress took my order for an omelet and jotted it down on a small pad of paper, then tucked it back into her apron pocket. The food came quickly. I ate quietly and watched as the

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