I'm pleased with the way things are going at the moment. The increased distances between towns are forcing me to plan more, and be more disciplined; sometimes I even leave my motel before the 11 am checking-out time. Yesterday I covered twenty-eight miles, the longest distance yet, simply by getting up early.

My feet are also behaving themselves, and I haven't had any pain or blisters for a long time. Even the stroller is being surprisingly docile, having covered around 175 miles with barely a murmur of complaint, though a friend said I should have a sweepstake as to when the first wheel falls off.

Another friend suggested I have a competition to give the stroller a name, but I think that's a bit tacky, and besides it doesn't fit with my buddha-like renunciation of affection for material objects. Like everything else travelling with me, if it doesn't pull its weight, out it goes. But if it does get me all the way to California, I might buy it a drink.

As you'll know by now, it seems that all the people who pass me on this desolate road do one of two things: offer me a ride, or dial 911. The owner of last night's motel said I'd make it into the local paper because it lists every 911 call the police have received during the past week, and promised to send me a copy. I said I'd treasure it more than any of the other newspaper articles that have been written about me.

I've also been turning the offers of rides to my advantage. Today, the walk from Roby to Snyder was 33 miles, which is at the top end of what's feasible in one day. Fortunately, someone stopped for me at about 5 pm and brought me to Snyder, so once again I'll have to hitch back to where he picked me up and walk the remaining 21 miles tomorrow. This has the added bonus of allowing me to book a motel room for two nights - an exquisite luxury for me.

When I got into the car, I introduced myself and asked what the driver's name was. 'Jesus', he said, quick as a flash, and pulled a gun on me. Fortunately, he was only joking. His name was Wayne.