But we also saw square miles of cornfields, and forests with canopies so thick we felt we were indoors. In Minnesota we camped by lakes and bathed in streams. We swam in the ocean off an Alabama beach and we stepped over the Mississippi River where it begins. We saw flatlands for miles and miles, and then slow-­rolling hills and finally mountains. We saw birds and rabbits and deer and moose. There were squirrels and chipmunks, elk and bear and wild pigs. Nature spoke the loudest and the clearest, and I knew in my soul that it was the strongest. Man against the ele­ments was a fallacy. Man looked his finest when dancing with Nature; he appeared a fool when prepar­ing for battle.

The places I made my bed were as diverse as the sights I saw. I slept in trees, in culverts, and under the stars. I slept in motels, hotels, abandoned barns, and homes with fresh linens. I stretched out, spread­eagled, on the top of a knoll in the middle of acres and acres of meadowland, and counted eighty-­eight shoot­ing stars. I slept in a train yard and in a cemetery and under a freeway.

I always slept alone.

During my nightly meditation, I contemplated the events of the day, and though tired, I renewed my enthusiasm for the adventure of the day ahead.

With every morning came my precise toilet. I washed my body thoroughly and changed to fresh clothes. Then I washed the previous day’s clothes. Every day I was glad I’d always kept my blonde hair short. It was never a burden. I learned to bathe in service-­station sinks; I could wash my hair and my underthings, soap up and rinse down very quickly. If I was moving, I’d pin my wet clothes to the top of my pack, where they dried in the sun before being folded away again. Otherwise, I just laid them over a tree branch, or a fence, or the rearview mirror of a parked car. Only then was I fit to make new friends. It was surprisingly easy to find accommodations for this, even in the wilderness of the big city.

For over a year I encountered the daily challenge. It was America that I saw; it was Nature that I heard; was survival that I learned. After a while it no longer challenged. I was ready for something new. And something new was delivered.

It was late September, and I was in Missouri for the second time when I encountered Earl Foster. I had returned to a place that had provided comfort in the past. This was, in fact, the first time I’d actively sought out a destination, rather than just going where life led me. I arrived mid­afternoon, found a perfectly suitable Ozark campground, and tied my hammock up between two sturdy trees, next to a picnic table.