Plastic bags just love to loose my food all over the ground. I want to carry less food, not more. More towns, more portages, less need to carry three weeks worth. I'm not sure I can afford it, anyway. Pick up a tin, put it in a different bag - bit more than shreds of plastic. Hold my new fuel can in one hand, a barrel of oats under the arm. When the first bag ripped, it was easy enough to redistribute to the other three. When the second one fell apart -- obviously I was having difficulty but no one was going to just pull over and help. With the last hundred yards to go on my mile trek back from the grocery store, under the unthinking gaze of Paul Bunyan and Babe I dumped it all on the shore and walked to the canoe.
I came back in the boat to pick up my things, when a woman came running out of her car.
"Excuse me, do you need a plastic bag?"
"Oh, thanks!"
"I tried giving it to you earlier, but..."
-- but I knew no one was going to help.
Day 121 continues.
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