Montana.

Day Eighteen, 5 July, 26 Miles
At Mile 345, Poptart 92/1000
Heaps awoke. It was midnight. The ever-present wind was flinging raindrops at the tarp and a drop of blood was creeping down his face. He swore.
Three short hours later he was awake. Again. The wad of toilet paper was still in his nostril. Dried blood smeared down his face.
Oh, town days! What a pleasure you are.
Eight miles, the last along a busy highway. Passers by staring curiously at his lanky frame walking in a world dominated by wheels. Distracted, briefly. His socks squelching in his shoes. He had saved them, kept them clean. Useless. They had become wet and muddy in the first bog for a hundred miles. Soiled.
Montana does provide wet feet.
Despite that wind threatening to drag the storm over and above him he managed a quick hitch to Elliston. He had no need for Helena.
Montana does provide easy hitchhiking.
The store was friendly, his pack was bulging with poptarts.
Lawdogs Saloon.
The only customer.
He made his selection.
The one pound hot-dog.
Topped with chili, fries and cheese.
Sounds like something I would be all about, he thought aloud.
It was.
There will never be a hot-dog that betters that magic.
Ever.
You know there's a challenge.
To eat two of those.
...
Oh! Woe!
Why did you not tell me earlier!
Despair!
I am too full to attempt such a challenge!
One day.
I shall return, he promised. And I will spread the word of your challenge. The people of my community will be most interested.
Montana does provide generous portions.
He farewelled his friendly server and headed out the door.
Montana does provide friendliness.
Another quick hitch under now blue skies.
Montana does provide dramatic weather.
Back to the quiet trail, sometimes on the quiet roads. Back to the poptarts. Camped by Ontario Creek.
Heaps has been spending far too much time with himself.
Montana does provide.