"The stars seem brighter", I thought, as I lie awake sleepless, on what should be the last night of my trip. Three months of walking and running and jogging and crawling and scraping were leading to this. Tomorrow, 'round noon if my guesses were right, I'd finally reach the location I'd marked in my map, what seems like a lifetime ago. I'd studied these stars every night for so long I felt like I knew them, like they were my closest companion on the trip, except, of course, for the Table.

The Table was my friend, my compass, my map, a guide that's been with me every step of the way. I turn onto my side, and look up at the Table, in the dark, on the grass, just like I had every night for so long. Too excited to sleep, I think, before I realize it's nearly dawn, and I must've dozed off. I pack up my bag and my sack and my things and start off towards the sun, always East, walking down the length of the Table.

The Table stretches ahead of me, as far as I can see. It disappears over the horizon a thin line. I pause and look back, towards the West, from where I came. The Table stretches in that direction, too, of course, just as it has for months and months. It marks my path precisely; Where I've been, and where I will go. The dark mahogany next to my left hip, as it has been for 94 days, making sure I walk straight and never lose sight of my goal. The Table is only a few feet across, but I rarely jump over to its other side. It is upholstered with a fine green felt, but I rarely sleep on it. I did at first, but I think I've gained a strange respect for the Table. That, and the ground is quite a bit softer.

In the morning I slip into habit, and walk without thinking, seemingly oblivious to the importance of today. But only a few hours pass like this before I start to get anxious, evidenced by my leaning over the table too often, maybe every ten minutes, reading the Grid printed on the green felt. The numbers inscribed in the black and red ovals tell me roughly how far I've got left to go. I'm currently at 11-14-21-28-30-(3), and since they are sequential, the next is 11-14-21-28-30-(4). Quite a long ways I've come, in these 95 days, since I departed from 1-2-3-4-5-(1), at the start of the Table.

"The start of the Table!", I exclaim to the Table (I talk to the Table a little too much). I'm surprised that the concept of an end to this Table surprises me as much as it does. I guess when you've walked nearly 2,000 miles, and are hardly halfway to the Table's other end, you can be forgiven for forgetting it ends at all. The Table is so long, it had to be constructed to the curvature of the Earth. It would stretch the entire width of Europe. It's longer than the Oregon Trail, and cuts through mountains, over rivers and valleys, across plains and through forests. Perfectly straight, perfectly level. A marvel of modern engineering, I often wonder aloud how it has kept from warping, or staining, or breaking, as every yard of it I walk seems as good as new.


At noon my pace slows as I sense the end nearing, my end to the longest trek ever conceived. My eyes fast to the numbers, in those red and black ovals, I can't be further than a few hundred yards now. I scan as I walk, my finger on the felt, excited, yet calm, my heart skips a beat as I finally see: 11-14-22-23-31-(25). I'd wondered for weeks whether it would be in a black oval or a red oval. It's a black one. I had guessed red.

I give a deep sigh as I face the Table. I look to my right, then to my left, seeing the Table shoot off into infinities in both directions. I nod a bit, as if agreeing with myself, and reach into my pocket to pull out the bill. It's pretty well-worn, this one-dollar bill, having been in my knapsack for 95 days. I could've used it on the trip to clean myself, or start fire, or bandage a cut, but I've kept it safe the whole time just for this moment. I cross my fingers and place the bill on my black oval. 11-14-22-23-31-(25). These are my children's birthdays, my wife's birthday, our anniversary, and my age when I met her, respectively. They are my lucky numbers. That's why I decided to play them in this lottery; Placing a bet on the world's largest roulette table, one of 175 million possibilities, that might win my family $22 million (before taxes). I've got a lucky feeling about this one.

I turn to my left, my trip (half) complete, and I walk with the Table on my right hip for the first time. Three months left until I reach my family, and can see if my lucky numbers were the ones the State picks. I know the odds are long, so don't bore me with statistics, but I've got a lucky feeling about this one.