Caldwell

After the hundred and fifteen miles between John Day and Vale, it was a welcome relief to be back in a more populated area. From Vale I headed east, still following highway 26, towards Idaho through onion and hay farms. The rain is following me, still, it seems, and by noon on Tuesday I had taken refuge in a hay barn to sit out the weather. I talked with a couple of the local farmers, who waited, too, for the rain to cease, and ate through some bagels while the storm came down.
Back on the road I made another ten miles under lightened sky, and turned south, toward Nyssa. The clouds built again in the late afternoon, gathering from the west, and I wrapped my pack with my poncho, and continued to walk. For seven miles, all the way into Nyssa, it rained. Never a maelstrom, but plenty hard to soak through my clothes. Three times, in the stretch, I was offered rides into town, and each denial on my part strengthened me. Overcoming the urge to accept, overcoming the want of warmth and want for ease, made me smile, and made me shout, and made me sing. Made me bellow at the height of my voice into the rain as it fell.
The thunder-egg capital of the world offered warmth. Nyssa, the town is called, gave me an A&W to sit inside, and change my soaked clothes, and dry off.
"Tell me," I said to the girl behind the register, "what's a thunder-egg?" and she explained. Apparently it's some sort of hollow volcanic rock (maybe that's common knowledge) and this is the place to find them. The town's yearly festival is even called 'Thunder-egg Days,' and supposedly vendors line the streets and sell the things.
I spent the night at the local high school, in a gazebo between buildings. I stayed dry and warm, but in the morning was awakened, for the first time on the trip, by a policeman.
"Tell me you couldn't have found a better spot to sleep," he says, smiling. There is no damage done, but I guess they have summer school classes, and simply wanted me gone before the students showed up. The policeman went on his way, and one of the ladies from the school office even brought out a bag of breakfast bars for me.
"They'll just sit around here," she said, "so you might as well take them."
I spent a few hours at the post office, waiting for the library to open, and then checked my email and read for a while. My parents had told me, the night before, that they had a contact for me in the town of Caldwell, but that the people, there, were out of town for a couple days, so if I wanted to stay with them I'd have to hang out for a while. Caldwell is only another twenty miles from Nyssa, so I was in no hurry to get back on the road. By five in the afternoon I had crossed into Idaho, but had only made three or four miles, when a girl in a little car pulled over.
"I'm going to church," she said, from her window, "want to come?" I accepted the offer and she drove me back into Nyssa, where her youth group meets at a local church. We listened to some music and watched a movie and sang some songs, and by the time we were ready to leave I had all of their blessings, for the trip.
The girl who picked me up - Joyce, is her name - offered to give me a place to sleep, for the night, at her parents' house in Wilder, and I accepted.
I spent the night in their basement, where they laid out a mattress for me, and in the morning they fed me French toast before I headed out.
At the Caldwell library I got an email saying that my parents' contact had gotten back a day early, so I called them and they came down and picked me up.
Dee and Bill are old classmates of my parents, from veterinary school, and they opened their house to me. After making some serious miles in the previous week, I was more than glad for the chance at a day or two in ease. They've been more than kind, and I feel rested and ready to head back out on the road tomorrow.