All hands on deck: Some easy miles through Pittsburgh with family like niece Kylie) over Thanksgiving weekend.
RV = righteous vehicle.
Hard to express how thankful I am this day, one removed from Thanksgiving weekend. In Pittsburgh, a city I’d never visited, we made our makeshift home; “we” being this walker and the eight family members who spent their holiday driving to Pennsylvania and joining the walk across America. We soldiered on together, a rolling reunion, a gathering with purpose. For two weeks, there was Barry and the Jamb Van. But this weekend, he was joined by son, Barry, 20, my wingman for a 15-mile journey over the hills and across the bridges into Pittsburgh. We landed at Primanti Bros., hungry enough for a sandwich with fries shoved inside, and a table of 9 awaiting us at the renowned Steel City eatery.
Barry Bernardo hung tough for the calf-burning climb into Steel City.
On Saturday, there was a ten-mile walk along Penn Ave. through the city’s northern neighborhoods with sister-in-law Renee, followed by an afternoon session with brother Jim, nephews Jimmy and Shane, and niece Kylie (7 and a HALF!) as we headed for Turtle Creek. When they all ultimately departed for the east coast, it was hard to forge ahead, to regain my gameface. However, it’s not time to let up. Ahead are more than 300 miles and a chain of mountains to cross before the Atlantic. There’s still work to be done. Celebrations are premature. But for three days in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, I was home.
After finding a cold water bottle left for me by the universe ...
... my niece wasn't the only one who was tuckered on the long road out of Pittsburgh.
Holy $#!*, I’m in Pennsylvania! Wedged here between the hometowns of Clark Gable and Dean Martin, there’s an old familiar feel (like fake teeth or a used martini glass). The West Virginia border sits about 4 miles away, the Pennsy perimeter another 8. This time tomorrow, I’ll be sleeping in my home state, staring down the mountains at the Keystone State (prematurely decorated for Christmas) — two weeks and a day after crossing into Ohio. It’s a blur ,,, at 3 miles per hour. A knowing in the universe this day, as I planned my exit strategy — the firm handshakes and deep stares, State Trooper Dee padding the Onny and Oboe Fund, the gray skies that never unloaded.
To those who have questioned, inquired, and disbelieved that Mrs. Mikey Walks is a genuine supporter, allow me to shed some light on my position. 
Michael is creative, caring, determined and courageous. He is good on his word and doesn’t take no for an answer. He has intuition, guts and a sense of humor. Over the course of our marriage, his well-being was compromised by the lack of a balance. He did not complain, judge or feel sorry for himself, but his peacefulness suffered quietly behind unfinished business. I could sense it when we talked about the future, when he didn’t want to make plans. I could sense it when we talked about the past, when he had forgotten from where he came. I knew it when he seemed unsatisfied and frustrated with the projects he had done, and guilty for the ones he had not. 
