NOT COMPLAININ’, JUST EXPLAININ’
BETWEEN WALKING LONG STRETCHES OF HOT DESERT HIGHWAY, I performed several concerts in venues along the way and did numerous phone interviews, as well as segments for Great American Country and Country Music Television. Alanna Conaway, a writer for Country Weekly, came out on the road and wrote several outstanding articles, including one titled “Still Going Strong,” with a photo of me trudging up the highway, wearing Marmot clothes, with large steers eyeing me suspiciously in the background. People magazine sent out a reporter and a photographer and spent three days with me in Socorro, New Mexico. People later designated me as one of their hottest men in country music. How could I miss on that one? I was walking in the desert!
It was always interesting to note the differences between the ways people treated me. At concerts or media events, when I was onstage, girls were screaming at me or clamoring for autographs or pictures. The next day, when I was back out on the road, many people passed right by, reluctant to even look at me, perhaps assuming I was a homeless vagabond or worse.
For instance, earlier in the walk a church leader stopped along the road and told me in glowing terms about his church. “Jimmy Wayne, so great to meet you!” he exuded. “If you need a place to stay tonight, come on over to the church. We have lots of room. I’ll stop back and check on you this evening.”
I thanked the man, and he went on his way. Later that day I accepted another invitation after having visited a city mission. When the church leader returned, I told him that I was covered for the evening. “But I met two homeless guys at the city mission, and they could really use a place to stay tonight,” I said.
“Oh, we couldn’t do that,” he said. “No, thanks.”
ON JUNE 30, 2010, AT 8:40 P.M., I FINALLY CROSSED OVER the Arizona state line. I still had a long way to go, but just seeing that Welcome to Arizona sign lifted my spirits. That’s where I resumed the walk on July 1, and on the first day in the state, a group of young supporters came out to walk along with me. Someone in the media asked me if I was trying to get homeless teens involved. I said, “No, they’re already involved. I’m trying to get everyone else involved.”
Picking me up even more, the following week Eric “Barrel Boy” Gruneisen, from KNIX Radio in Phoenix, came out to walk with me. Wearing only a large barrel and bowling shoes, he looked hilarious! He quickly discovered that walking in the barrel was impossible, so he put his clothes back on and kept pace with me. We walked eighteen miles the first day he was with me.
Barrel Boy’s sense of humor was as quirky as mine, or worse, so when we walked past a sign advertising Barry Wong, a local politician, we both cracked up laughing. Two nights later, when we arrived in Show Low, Arizona, at Barrel Boy’s insistence I entered a karaoke contest as “Barry Wong,” dressed in a pink tank top, tight black jeans, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat. I looked ridiculous!
I sang a Brooks & Dunn song, “Neon Moon,” to a room filled with cowboys, truckers, and rednecks, and I intentionally tried to annoy them. I succeeded in getting booed right out of the bar.
Some special friends from the state of Indiana, Samantha Marx and her entire family, had come out to join me on the walk, and they had come along to karaoke night with me. When they saw the reaction of the crowd to my Barry Wong character, they feared for my health and well-being. Samantha’s daughter, Kayla, overheard one cowboy talking about me to another cowboy, saying, “You hold him, and I’ll hit him!”
Even when I went back and tried to sing a song as myself, the tough crowd was unforgiving. The media picked up the story, so our craziness indirectly raised a lot of awareness about Meet Me Halfway. Samantha and her family hung out with me for nearly a week, walking more than sixty miles through the hot desert.
I WAS HEADING DOWN THE HOME STRETCH TOWARD Phoenix; that was the good news. The bad news? During daylight hours, I was walking distances of 22.2 miles in temperatures that reached 117 degrees! Despite some great new shoes from Merrell, I had eight blisters on my feet, including one under my toenail—ouch!
Barrel Boy had returned to walk with me, as well as drive the gorgeous, new KNIX support vehicle donated by Beaudry RV. Brian had gone back home to college. I was sorry to see Brian go; I joked hard with him, but I love him dearly, and I appreciated his service. And he made me laugh—a lot!
As we drew closer to Phoenix, more people came out to support us. Some walked along with me; others simply cheered or offered kind words of encouragement. At one point John Erlandson from Famous Dave’s restaurant brought out food for us. Sonic drive-in restaurant provided bunches of gift cards. Kohl’s Ranch delivered steaks to us. “Doughnut Dan,” from a local Krispy Kreme doughnut shop, brought out eight hundred boxes of fresh doughnuts so we could give them away to passing motorists, drawing more attention to Meet Me Halfway. We were doing great until a policeman came along in Show Low and ordered us to stay off the main highway with the doughnuts because we were creating a traffic problem.
About sixty miles out of Phoenix, I noticed a dull pain in my right foot. That wasn’t unusual since I had been dealing with blisters and muscle spasms for more than six months. But this was different; the farther I walked, the more my foot hurt.
I had been trudging up the White Mountain range, crossing over at an elevation about eleven thousand feet above sea level. The scenery of the surrounding natural environment was absolutely breathtaking! Now I had to walk down the White Mountains, which was actually more difficult than walking up. If you’ve ever trudged down a big hill, you know the toll it takes on your knees, shins, and feet as you negotiate the downhill grade. I wore a knee brace to help compensate for the intense 6 percent slope as I walked nineteen miles downhill coming out of the White Mountains. That night my right foot was really hurting. When I awakened the next morning, my foot felt slightly better, so we took off again, walking 20.5 miles, from Star Valley through Payson, Arizona, and down the steepest mountain I’d seen yet.
THE THIRTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF BEA’S DEATH, JULY 29, 2010, somehow motivated me. I knew I was running behind schedule and didn’t want to miss our target date of August 1. Even though I was hurting, and it was growing dark, with rattlesnakes shining on the road in the moonlight, I wanted to keep walking in Bea’s honor. My left hip was now hurting from favoring my right foot. It was raining and cold in the mountains, so I took a quick break at the RV. “Okay,” I said to Barrel Boy, “I’m going to do it.” I strapped on the Marmot reflective gear and headed back out to walk four more miles.
Going down the mountain with a headlamp on my hat, I was “pulled over” by Arizona state trooper Eric Lamb. He was concerned for my safety. “This is the deadliest state route in Arizona,” Officer Lamb told us. I believed him. Besides the many sharp curves, twists, and turns coming down the mountain, there were numerous snakes lying on the warm asphalt. Officer Lamb kindly followed me in his patrol car with his emergency lights on as I made my way down the mountain.
On July 30, just two days away from the finish line, I walked thirteen miles, much less than usual, but that was as far as I could go with the excruciating pain in my foot. Every step hurt. I had caught a cold and had a fever as well. I was miserable at a time when the adrenaline should have been pushing me past my abilities. But the pain was unbearable. I don’t think I can take another step, I worried.
At one point that day I lay down on the concrete because I was in so much pain. Barrel Boy picked me up and carried me to the support vehicle. Barrel Boy said he knew a bit about icing and wrapping ankles from back in his sports days, so he did an excellent job using plastic trash bags to form an ice-sock, icing and taping me up at the end of the day. My foot was so numb from the pain that I barely noticed the ice. The finish of the walk was definitely in doubt.
About the time I was ready to quit, two foster parents brought their son out to meet me on the road. We took some photographs together, and when that boy shook my hand and looked into my eyes, my heart leaped, and I knew I could take another step, regardless of the pain.
THE NEXT MORNING THE SWELLING ON MY FOOT WAS worse. I was sad, angry, and determined all in the same mishmash of emotions. I can’t believe this! I thought. After all these miles, here I am five miles from the finish line, and I can hardly walk. This is unreal!
But God was still connecting the dots. Officer Lamb, who had escorted me down the mountain a few days earlier, had a squadmate whose brother was a podiatrist. Dr. Brian Allen came into his Mesa office on his day off and X-rayed my foot. He looked at me and said, “Jimmy, I’m sorry to tell you this, but the bone on the back of your right foot has broken. It is as though one part of your heel has broken off. More than likely, it was a progressive injury, getting worse the farther you walked, but the worst probably happened as a result of walking down the White Mountains.” He estimated that I had walked more than fifty-seven miles on a broken bone.
The doctor suggested I keep my foot in a boot cast and stay off my leg for six to eight weeks. I knew that wasn’t going to happen, even if I had to drag my foot across that finish line. So Dr. Allen gave me a protective boot to wear on my right foot and some strong pain medications to see me through the next few days.
“Thanks, Doc; how much do I owe you?” I asked, reaching for my wallet.
“No charge,” Dr. Allen responded without blinking. “I read about you in the People article, and this is my contribution to Meet Me Halfway.”
I thanked him and left his office, literally on my last leg. I still had five miles to go to get to the Phoenix city limit sign and then on to HomeBase, where we planned a celebration and concert. With three miles to go, it started pouring rain, but I didn’t care. I was determined to get there.
A number of people who had followed our walk, from various locations around the country, joined us for the finale. Lauren returned from Sacramento so she could cross the finish line in her wheelchair shortly after I did. She was incredibly courageous, and I felt awful when she turned bright red from the hot desert sun. But I was honored that she felt compelled to be there. Barrel Boy stayed with me, and Alanna Conaway, who had written so many articles about my journey, was there at the end as well. Dreama Gentry came to celebrate with us too. Dreama had facilitated the Meet Me Halfway website from the very beginning, and it was deeply meaningful for her to join us for the culmination of the walk.
On Sunday, August 1, 2010, the Bear regiment of the Basha High School Marching Band led the parade of several hundred supporters as we walked through Phoenix to HomeBase Youth Services. Wearing my usual combination of khaki shorts and a green Marmot T-shirt, I burst through the welcome banner and raised my arms and walking sticks high in the air. I smiled broadly but was nearly overcome by emotion as an enthusiastic group of foster care kids greeted me. It had taken seven months—213 days—to walk from Monroe Harding to HomeBase.
That night, hobbling around on my designer boot, I performed for a packed house at Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar and Grill. The following evening I did a special performance, especially for the foster kids and our supporters, at Hard Rock Café in Phoenix. Despite the pain and my lack of mobility, it was one of my most enjoyable performances ever! I felt as though Bea was sitting in the front row—and it was Beautiful!