Chapter 1: In the beginning
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, FemaleDom,
Desc: Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1: In the beginning - It all started as a walking vacation around coastal Florida. It became the adventure of a lifetime!
Hi! Welcome to my campsite. Pull up a rock, here under the tarp. How long have I been doing this? Oh, about seven years now. You really want to hear about all that? I don't mind. All in all it's been fun.
Let's see ... It was early in 2008 when I decided that I wasn't getting any younger. I wanted to see some of the U.S. That I hadn't seen before: the south coast. I didn't have much in the way of cash, but started socking away whatever I could. I didn't waste a dime. I sold my old re-enacting camping gear as it was too heavy to go on this trip and I was clearing out.
I dug out my old copy of "The Complete walker", by Colin Fletcher, now deceased these past few years. I browsed through that tome, bemused at his thoroughness, and his propensity towards a harangue or two. Unlike him I wasn't prepared to carry my world on my shoulders. I decided to go with a one wheeled burro: a plastic-bodied wheelbarrow with a big inflated wheel. I started an exercise regimen: push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups; all that bother. Advil became my friend.
I spent some time that spring breaking in a couple pair of army boots and collecting the odd-and-end that slowly filled in the picture forming in my mind. I settled on a closed-cell foam mattress as it couldn't spring a leak and leave my butt on the ground. Ebay came up with an unused M-65 olive green field jacket--the kind your and my grand-daddy wore in Vietnam. It gave me a kick to sew on my old sergeant's stripes and the black-horse insignia. I bought an army poncho with liner as well. Tried and true, tried and true.
Some guy in Tennessee was making a waterproof single-layer tent that crested at about 6"2". It had no floor and was light as hell. It cost about a hundred and twelve bucks. I'd sleep wrapped in an army O.D. Wool blanket and a small tarp. Nylon tarps are waterproof, tough, lightweight and easy to clean. When the ground was saturated I'd angle back the wheelbarrow and sleep in it. I might need to clear a campsite or break up a bit of firewood. Gerber makes a sharp-as-hell series of hand axes. Their latest offering is called: Sport Axe II. I was becoming one of Campmor's better customers. A local harware store came up with a little rake that was made for under shrubs and hedges. I cut off the handle and threaded on a fitting that would clamp to a stick.
I had a couple 'fishing' shirts that cleaned up nicely. I bought two pair of loose, fast-drying 'Bermuda' shorts, six pair of padded socks, a couple pairs of undershorts and a baseball cap. For cooler weather I stashed a pair of black Microfleece pants, a watch cap and a decent pair of gloves that I already owned into the clothes bag. In went a towel, too. You can always use a handkerchief. I threw in three big ones ... they were about a square yard each. I never did like providing lunch for sand fleas so I bought a pair of knee-length gaiters and a couple of big bottles of jungle juice. I bought four hundred feet of black parachute cord, fifty feet of which I doubled and twisted into a push-thru clothesline. I set aside a couple of three-inch nails for the purpose of supporting it.
To hold everything I bought a big four-foot long black canvas duffle bag and had a big no-fail brass zipper put into it. Those little nylon jobs take one look at me and laugh. I don't laugh with 'em, damn-it.
Each time I looked at that big pile of crap I walked u to it, grabbed the handles and gave it a walk around. I would nod to myself and say "Yep, first week is going to be a bitch."
I still had to add food and a kitchen and I didn't want to carry fuel if I didn't have to. I knew a guy that ran a car repair shop. He would weld up about anything for a few bucks. I had him put together an aluminum cylinder, 6" in diameter and 6" high, with a fully-welded bottom, all made out of 1/4" thick aluminum plate. He punched a few holes in it for ventilation and cut out a hole in the side for adding fuel. Another guy anodized the whole shebang. It looked pretty cool when it was done. I drilled four holes just under the top rim and ran some 1/4" steel rod to hold up a pot. It seems like a lot of work for a little camp stove, doesn't it?
I went through so many camp stoves and spent so much money on them that I gave up. I'd tried everything from a coffee can to propane stove to a Svea 123 to an MSR Shaker-Jet. The Esbit stove was the last thing I'd tried. It was beautiful, made of Anodized aluminum but damn-it, it was too small. All you could burn in it was their stupid fuel tabs. I figured that my ugly Esbit's big brother could burn Esbit tabs, charcoal, found wood or wax fire-starters, if I had to. I had a nice nesting set of anodized pots that would work well with my contraption. I sewed up a little canvas bag to keep it in. I knew that it would collect soot like good suit collects cat hair.
Hmm. Knife, fork, spoon, spatula, cup, whisk, bowl; all were taken care of from my old kit. I wanted a five-pound bag of rice, a couple bags of noodles, a dozen 5-ounce cans of chicken, a half-dozen boxes of mac-and-cheese (cut into half-box portions and put in baggies), a squeeze-bottle of cooking oil, a big baggie of Bisquick and some of the rarer, more expensive foods from a camping store: dehydrated pea soup, vegetables, fruits and Ghee. (long life butter) The boy scouts have learned that a small can of evaporated milk added to good quality powdered milk tastes very close to fresh from the cooler at the grocery store. I don't mind stealing ideas from other people, if it works. A pound or so of corn meal and a big bag of raisins gave me an oatmeal replacement for breakfasts. It cooks nicely into funky pancakes too. I had a little 'squirrel cooker' from my reenacting days. It was a long iron fork with a pole stand. I had a three-inch crossbar brazed to the thing five inches back from the pointy end. This would hold meat spread out to cook. That gave me a pretty flexible kitchen.
Lehman's had a little olive oil lamp that I favored made out of a little bitty mason jar with a screw cap, about the size of a cup. I'd try it out until I left to see if it was dangerous to transport. I bought a bottle of olive oil, a squeeze bottle of dish soap and a dish tub. My water supply consisted of a quart canteen and two one-gallon bottles of water (made from Arizona Iced Tea jugs--very tough plastic). The weight of all that water was a heart-breaker but I knew better than to neglect it. A roll of paper towels in a waterproof bag served as a toilet paper supply. A couple packs of wet-naps went along for those times that one's belly decides to turn itself inside-out. With that in mind I packed a little plastic trowel to dig cat-holes. An M3 medic kit and a roll of garbage bags topped off the mess. Oh, I added a few things to the medical kit; like a bottle of Advil, some cimetidine anti-acid pills and a couple packs of Benadryl tablets--nothing prescription. I threw in a twelve-pack of Durexes out of sheer optimism.
A compass, a set of maps and a forehead-mounted lamp took care of navigation. I decided to cover the whole thing with my sleeping tarp and a spider-web bungee, such as you often see on the back of a pickup truck. I made sure to buy a length of chain and a padlock to make sure my gear didn't grow legs and walk away. I own a small Indigilo (push the button and it glows) digital alarm clock with a temperature sensor. It runs off of one AA-cell for nearly a year. I kept a quart Gatorade jug as a pee jug so I didn't have to roll out of a warm berth during crummy weather to empty my bladder. (It's a guy thing. Forgetaboutit.) I socked away a couple of nice, thick paperbacks to read during down times. Many, many preparations for small trips all merged into one great and grand trip manifest. Everything came together as if it had eyes. Bloody brilliant.
I was puzzled to figure out how to mount the wheelbarrow behind me and walk with a staff, towing rather than pushing. I settled on a belt with a coupler on each hip connecting to a short length of PVC pipe on either side which slid over the handles. A couple of hooks secured it all through a pair of holes drilled just under the rim of the barrow. It followed well and didn't whack me in the ankles. I replaced the tent pole with a slim yet sturdy ash pole 6"2" long. I would the bottom inch with steel wire and put a crutch tip on it to keep the wood from splitting or wearing down.
I took a final run through goodwill to see if I could find anything else that I couldn't live without. All I could find was a black Micro-fleece hoodie that I could layer under the field jacket, and a nicer Micro-fleece watch cap than the one I already owned.
I'd been in a dialog with' Outdoors' magazine and received a phone call from one of their editors. They agreed to publish a journal of my travels, laden with their advertising, of course. They offered to pay me five hundred dollars a month. I counter-offered that I do it if they bought the laptop I'd need, paid four hundred a month into my debit account and kept my public storage bill current while I travelled. They agreed!
Two days later I received a box from them containing a GPS-enabled cell phone with a data tether and a nice little armored laptop, with a charger for each. The laptop had a current set of U.S. maps on it, with software that would interface with the phone's GPS function. The paperwork gave me a web address where I'd send my journal. I grinned. My vacation just became open-ended. I had Two-Guys-And-A-Truck ™ pack up my stuff, rented a public storage 10x10, sent the contract info and my bank account number along to 'Outdoors' magazine and hit the road. I didn't notice the guy with the camera taking 'before' shots of me starting down the road at Amelia City, Florida. I had a naïve idea of following 1A down the coast, staying within the sound of the ocean as much as possible.
I didn't realize that 'Outdoors' had made a deal with the State of Florida Tourism department not to hassle me, otherwise I 'd never have made it out of the county without being put behind bars for operating a non-motorized vehicle on a state highway.
After about five miles I stopped a Amelia Island State Park. I had paused in Franklintown for a pair of leather-palmed gloves to keep from getting blisters. I also picked up a little piece of beef and a three-pound bag of charcoal. My feet were holding up and my legs had just a little burn. My shoulders were noticing the load, as were my hips. I had yet to catch my stride. It was about fifty-two degrees during the day, and might hit thirty-two at night, if it were clear.
I was damned glad that I'd stashed that butane lighter in the medical kit! I'd almost screwed the pooch and forgotten fire making gear altogether. Idiot. Well, I was still shaking down. I set up the tent, then grilled and ate my cube steak with a little salt and pepper. I carefully washed and dried my dishes, socks and feet. I set my boots upright to dry and fell asleep.
Come morning I stuck my nose outside the tent and saw a rime of frost covering everything. My eyebrows rose to find my hairline. I dug out a watch cap and field jacket, then started my little cooker to get some water going. I wanted a hot cup of sugared tea for breakfast. I ate a nasty-tasting excuse for a date-nut bar to get my furnace going. I had a long walk ahead of me to cross a bridge.
Cars and trucks zoomed by me at sixty-five miles per, no matter what the damned speed limit signs. About eight miles onward I found myself at the Fort George River. I camped out under the bridge. It was a bit noisy from the traffic but I had no problems with homeless, dogs or raccoons. It was mac'n cheese for dinner. The portion was about right but I missed having something sweet. I'd get over it. I made my first journal notes. I preceded the journal by listing my inventory with the rationalizations that led me to pack said items, where every ounce counted. I cleaned up and hit the sack.
I rose with the sun, had my tea, shook off the cold, packed and cleaned up the camp. I made it as 'no-trace' as I could. Then I set off. About two miles into my walk I saw that 1A was taking a dog-leg. I followed it. It was a ferry! Well, I'd get to ride a bit, even though it did cost me a few bucks. I was there too early to board so I hit a little grocery store to, once more, see what I couldn't live without. (Going into a store with the idea of "What can't I live without?" rather than "What do I want?" has a dramatic impact on your pack weight!) Hard candies! Yeah! I bought a bag and a pound of raisins. They had a little bakery at the back of the store. An older lady was bent over decorating a cake. She was giving that thing her undivided attention. I patiently waited until she took a break. She seemed startled to find me patiently standing there, waiting for her.
"Can I help ya?"
"Could be. I'm camping my way around the state and I'd like something like a fruitcake to get me started in the mornings. Do you have anything like that?"
She smiled and said "Don't go away, sugar."
She hustled away and returned in a bit with a paper bag of something. "These are honey-nut cakes, with some candied fruit in 'em. They didn't sell too good, and got a little stale. I can let you have 'em cheap, if you want." She tore off a little chunk and handed it to me across the display case. I nibbled on a bit of heaven. I groaned. My grin let her know that she had a $ale!
"How much you got?" I inquired.
"Oh, about eight pounds. I'll sell it for a quarter of retail, since it's stale. How 'bout two bucks a pound?"
I shook her hand and said, "Sold!"
She was one hell of a baker. It was flaky, like baklava, was filled with nuts and candied pineapple, and had a definite taste of honey. Being a bit stale just gave it some more body and density. I wrote down the name, phone number and address of that market so that I could add it to my journal. I took a picture of her smiling face to send along with the day's journal entry. I did about nine miles that day. I was gaining a bit, day by day. I'd hoped to top out at about twelve miles per day but I might not make it. I was using the old Roman march order—travel a mile, rest for a finger's width of the sun passing, then repeat. We'd have to see.
After a couple of miles of what appeared to be a tidal swamp I found myself in a subdivision. A loooong subdivision. I dug out my map book and found that a few miles ahead 1A crossed Atlantic Boulevard and Florida Boulevard took its place, to meet up about a mile later. It would cut off a bit for me, and looked on the map to be less of a highway. I soon picked up 1A again, headed south. A couple of miles further on came a nasty intersection with Beach Boulevard. Signs pointed towards Jacksonville Beach. It was getting late and I wanted to set up camp soon. Beach Boulevard was an expressway. I followed a parallel side-street down to the beach. I found showers, picnic tables, garbage cans and beach grass.
A block or so up the beach was a place called—no shit—Joe's crab shack. I pulled in and settled down at the bar for dinner. The fried shrimp and cold beer went down very nicely, thank you. I'd gotten disappointed with my route for the past day or so. It was all divided highway—expressway. This wasn't the slow beach trek that I'd expected. Jim, the bartender, commiserated with me and I learned that it was the same way all the way south. Shit. I needed to head west, over to the panhandle. This wasn't fun anymore. Too many people. Too many cars. Too much asphalt.
I slipped the bartender ten bucks to charge my phone and computer, then I had more shrimp and beer while everything charged. After a bit I sent my journal entry. Then I got a call on that little cell phone. It startled the hell out of me.
"Stay right where you are! You'll get a plane ticket to Perry-Foley airport within forty-eight hours, max. We'll set you up with a bicycle and a trailer! You've got a lot of people following you. We've got manufacturers lining up, wanting to show off their products or underwrite you. It may just be a flash in the pan, but right now you're hot. Let's get you somewhere that you can honestly say that you're having fun again."
I gave a wry smile as I gazed out the bar's window down the beach. "I can deal with that. I'll sack out on the beach and wait for your ticket. Thanks for helping out."