Once I realized the local gators might want to have their own spontaneous “MarkFest” if I camped, I reconsidered and decided instead to splurge and get a hotel since it was my last night. 

Tomorrow I’d be home. 

Unfortunately, it was Saturday night so all of the hotels were full. I decided to call one of the local churches and ask if there was a place to camp anywhere in town. If they say they don't know of anyplace, then I planned to ask whether their church grounds would be okay.  

The man who answered said that the City Park has restroom facilities and a shower. He also invited me to a revival. It was on the way to the City Park and I thought it might be interesting, so I stopped in. No one even looked at me twice in my cycling shorts. 

It was only sparsely attended (I suspected all of the locals were in the hotel rooms I’d wanted) and didn’t include speaking in tongues or snake handling, so I was a little disappointed. 

The last words of the preacher were, 

"Hug someone and tell 'em you love 'em in the Lord!"

If you’ve ever met me, you’ll know that I’m not much of a hugger. I’m not opposed to getting so close to someone that if they have a contagious skin disease I’ll likely contract it. 

Or walking away from that 6’ 4” person’s hug with a smelly wet stain on the top of my shoulder from a sweaty armpit. 

Or that awkward feeling when the hug that should’ve lasted about three seconds is still going on at fifteen. 

Or even when I can smell what they had for breakfast, not only today but several days ago because I compressed their thorax. 

Honestly, none of that really bothers me. It’s just the way we grew up. We simply weren’t huggers.

So, when I accidentally made eye contact with the guy across the aisle, I thought,

 “Damn it… I should’ve taken my chances with the alligators.”

Miraculously, and I use the word because, after all, we WERE in a church, he stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Mark Koelemay.... and he did it without a hug (although, come to think of it, considering how I smelled by the end of the day, he'd probably be the one who came out on the short end of the stick with a hug from me).

We chatted briefly about my bike trip, then he introduced me to his wife, then the preacher, then the preacher’s wife. As the church emptied, the five of us spent the next fifteen minutes talking.

When the Koelemays invited me to dinner I promptly agreed, as did the preacher and his wife. After putting my bike in the church’s kitchen to pick up later, the five of us drove to the Koelemays’ house where we were treated to the most delicious shrimp gumbo I’ve ever eaten. 

We stayed up talking late, and I remember the pastor making a really dumb joke that I’ve remembered ever since. I had forgotten who said it until I went back through my journal. 

It was getting late when he quipped,

"I wish y’all would hurry up and go to bed so we can leave."

Yes, it’s dumb. Maybe that’s why I remember it.

As I was walking to the door, Mrs. Koelemay asked if I wanted to spend the night in their guest bedroom. Does an alligator sleep in the swamp?  I thought. Then an addendum to that thought: Does an alligator sleep in that swampy area near where I'd be camping if I say no?

I agreed without needing to put much thought into it.

The three of us stayed up until 12:45 talking. At one point, she slipped into another room and brought something back,  

“I want you to have this.”

I had accepted a number of gifts along the way, mostly foodstuffs, but also a down jacket, a pair of dress shoes (yes, a pair of dress shoes), a small softbound Bible (Marcia's mom), a pair of dress slacks, and now…

... a large hardbound book. 

It was entitled A Walk Across America, by Peter Jenkins. It had been recently published, in 1977, and several people during my trip had compared my journey to his. I’d never read it, so I thanked her, asked her to inscribe it for me, and determined to find a way to pack it on my bike tomorrow.

Although I know I must've heard it, I don't even know Mrs. Koelemay's first name. My journal just says "Mrs. Koelemay" in spite of the fact that she couldn't have been more than a decade older than me. 

I only have a vague recollection of what the Koelemays looked like, but I remember Mrs. Koelemay’s eyes. They were large and kind, and hinted at some unspoken sadness. I wondered of what.