I met a guy at brekfast who was from the same town i was born in Michigan, small world hey. The chef who made my pancakes must have also been from the same diner i ate at last week, if you cant even make pancakes right then you should get another job, perhaps in McDonalds or one of those burger vans that sits outside nightclubs at 3am.

Leaving Pittsburgh was not only sad but also a nightmare. The only routes West were Interstates, so i had to use all 2 of my mapreading skills to navigate my way out. I finally made it to route(or rowt)22 by late afternoon. I treated myself to grub at crackerbarrel, the only place you can buy a meal and an armchair. I'm going to write ''no, I'm not Australian', 'i wish i was 25 but I'm not' and 'YES, I'm really walking!' on my pack. I was thinking about writing 'if you can read this I'm roadkill' but i thought that would just be tempting fate.

A quick thank you to Paul Cukanna who i met in Crackerbarrel. We only spoke briefly but he kindly donated some money towards my next meal. promise i will make it a good one Paul!