8/5-8/6/08: Denver V-Scalped!

Tuesday was a defining day, although I am not sure of the definition provided.

Work was fine, and I had emailed my people at Coors Field to arrange tickets for the game against Washington. If I were to pick ONE team I would LEAST like to see, it would be the Nationals, but ya can’t beat free.

I really did not feel like going to the game once I had relaxed after work, but knew that would change once I got there. Eric picked me up at about 6:00 and since he parked about 10 blocks up the street, we had time to chug a beer or two before we reached the “$6.25 Beer Zone”.

I had two extra tickets, so rather than let them go to waste we decided to find people in line to try to save them some cash. I never sit in these seats anyhow; I have a friend who is the usher in the section behind my old camera well and he seats me in some of the vacant box seats behind the dugout whenever I go.

I thought it would be nice to hook up a father/son with these Row-5 seats as a nice surprise if Eric couldn’t find his "hot 30-year olds"! We had arrived late, so there were very few people to fit the bill. The last thing I wanted was to hand these out to some drunken fool, or some backward hat wearing Frat Monkey, in case we HAD to sit there for whatever reason.

We were about to give up when I looked across the street and saw a guy from suburbia trying to buy scalped tickets across Blake St. The scalpers had always driven me batshit when I worked at Coors. Whenever I would walk toward the stadium, they’d pounce. “Got any extra tickets man?!?! You work here dude…you can get me some tickets, brah” (‘brah’ is ‘scalper’ for ‘bro’ apparently; they all say it)

This was my opportunity to piss them off just a small fraction of what they had annoyed me. I bounded across Blake St., and asked the suburbanite if he wanted two free tickets in Row-5. The look on his face screamed “Hell yeah!”, but before I knew it another Peruvian looking scalper was in my face saying “I do!! Duuuude! I want em!!”, and in the process reaching across my body, in front of my face, trying to grab these tickets! Oops.

Remember The Greenpeace Affair?

Ron?

Yeah….

This was much worse however. I have no recollection of exactly HOW I got in this guy’s face, yelling, screaming, and completing a full time warp back to my Redneck Youth. However, there I was none to nose with this idiot telling him to “back the fuck up”, “Stand down motherfucker”, and “step the fuck back”. 

Lots of ‘fucks’. None with an upward inflection.

I could see the mental evaluation process in his eyes. Should he lip back, or let this one go? First, it was amusement because, apparently, he thought I was kidding. Then there was “oops, I messed up”. I believe he saw A LOT of rage in my eyes, because then I could see much fear in his. I had him. Todd was an Honorary Redneck again.

When I saw his fear and realized how close I actually was to fighting this guy, I regained control of myself. I literally have very little connective memory of this exchange, until I heard his fellow scalpers, who wanted no part of me themselves, egging him on. They used the time honored trick of questioning his manhood. He was a “pussy” if he didn’t… get his ass kicked! Pure Michigan in Denver! Then his posturing changed.

All of the sudden he appeared to WANT to fight again, and told everyone so, as he was running away from me! Sprinting. Can you picture the comedy of a grown man talking trash while running away from you? My blood was still boiling rapidly, so I began to pursue him. My agitated reptilian mind was telling me that this would be a glorious way to release pent up frustration. But common sense got the better of this debate. Either he did not want anything to do with me, and this was how he could save his “Scalper Cred”, or maybe there was a weapon stashed wherever he was running. Whatever. Both scenarios told Todd to turn around and just go enjoy his ballgame. Therefore, he did.

The suburbanite/gentry-type man had a look of shock on his face when I walked back across the street and asked him if he still wanted the tickets! Unfortunately, so did his kid. He was probably eight or nine, and I had completely forgotten he was there during all of this. Eric not-so-gently reminded me by informing me that “Well, you freaked that kid out, dude.” I felt like an ass. In all honesty, the kid (and dad back at the office) now has a hell of a story to tell his friends later, but still…

The adrenaline rush was astounding and familiar. I was literally shaking like a leaf in anger as we walked toward the gate, and Peruva-punk followed, still running his mouth…on the other side of the street. I blew a kiss to him as I obnoxiously waved my tickets high overhead. He reminded me of the dog behind a fence who WANTED to do SOMETHING, but just couldn’t quite climb it.

I said hi to a couple of friends I had worked with, more or less just to calm myself down. That helped a bit, but now the realization had set in that I was actually in quite a precarious mental state. Telling a Greenpeace Puppet to fuck off is one thing. Some might even say admirable! This, however, was something else. Dangerous. Foolish. Immature? All of the above?

Eric had yet to see that side of me, and I expected him to either laugh, smack me in the head, or never speak to me again. He knew about the other things that had happened however, and had some remarkable insights to offer: the same insights as Chris. I had no tolerance for any unnecessary hassles associated with being ‘plugged back in’. I’d been literally in survival mode for over a month, and apparently had liked it. I literally felt like I was short-circuiting when I tried to readapt to contrived priorities. I felt caged. As Veronika put it in California: I’d “tasted the blood”.

As we sat there and watched the game, it began to dawn on me that I really needed to move on. It had been three weeks since I’d ridden into Denver with Ken, and it was obvious that I was seriously disturbed by being there. I concluded that it did not really matter where I went, but it had to be soon.

We finished watching the Rockies beat the Nationals, and then walked adjacent to the train tracks back toward the truck. The parking lot spans 12 city blocks, so we had ample time to survey the yard, and chat. 

A funny thing happened during that long walk; something not so surprising. My energy level skyrocketed, my mental awareness sharpened, and I felt… oddly…at home. Everything I had been missing since I had returned from the road. Smokers will get the metaphor that this was to my brain like the first cigarette after going 2-days without. That was telling in the sense that it seemed apparent, all of the sudden, that I was seeing a mental manifestation of what Chris and Eric had been telling me: "get the hell out of here"!

On the way back to The Friary, I decided that I really needed a drink. Eric had decided not to work Wednesday, so I called Chris and we arranged, against my better judgment, to head to Barracuda's. I just needed to chat about this stuff and did not want to be in the house caged for the night.

Remarkably, the night was rather uneventful, but productive. We discussed alternative ideas about the temper flares and even talked about the possibility that tonight’s example may have been The Road’s way of tapping into something a bit more primal than I am used to thinking about: a return from the Laws of Man back to the Law of Nature. The Anarchists in the audience will love that! When I thought of it in that light, it didn’t seem so bad.

Much of the debate leading up to this trip had a lot to do with talk v. action, and killing duality by living your ideals as opposed to those imposed upon you. I will post a lot of that when I get more time, but these three weeks has seemed to bear that fruit.

Another series of discussion went along these lines in that the common theme with these outbursts have centered on manipulation. I was not yelling solely at the Greenpeace Puppet; I was yelling at the puppet master as well. The scalper had gotten to the brink of violence because he had gotten physically in my space by reaching in front of me, and was trying to protect his ‘Manipulation Zone’ as I saw it. There may be a small bit of rationalization in there, but as is usually the case, there are probably elements of truth in all of this. Either way, it was becoming clear that it was time to move on. Remember the two day (week?) rule? HA!

We went from Barracuda's to the Park Tavern for a couple of drinks, just because I’d never been in there-even during the year that I lived in Capital Hill. Amazingly, considering my initial mental state, we did not drink much and got to bed relatively early.

Wednesday was a chill day. Not much of anything outside of walking to Office Depot to get business card paper for the next leg of the trip. While there, I decided to buy Chris a stick of RAM for his laptop as a thanks for letting me stay. 

That took an extra trip, but it was worth it. His computer really needed the added memory! I spent the rest of the night writing and dwelling more on the previous night.

7/1/08: Oregon

So ready for California to be behind me now! I slept WAY too late in my soft grass, and didn't rise until 10:30 or so. Eric and Marine had taken a hike down to the beach and had been up for awhile, so I hurriedly packed up and we hoofed it out of there back to the car.

My cell phone was still dead , and I had no idea where I'd stay once we got to Portland, so I really needed a library. I also needed a lift in my spirits. The feelings that I'd hung on with these guys, despite the fact that they'd not indicated it, were really starting to set in too. We got out of Crescent City and headed toward the state line. Eric stopped when we reached Oregon so I could hop out and take my picture. That really helped. I had spent 18 days in California, had some great times, but now I was in new territory- a place I'd never been. My energy level skyrocketed.

We stopped in Brookings, just over the border so Eric could get gas which was MUCH cheaper here. One of the funniest things happened here. In Oregon, unbeknownst to me, it's illegal to pump your own gas. Eric didn't know this, so when the guy approached his car to pump it for him, he thought he was in trouble! I believe the guy scared the shit out of him!

I got some coffee, cigs, and even found an outside plug where I could finally charge my phone and make a phone call or two. We probably spent 45 minutes at this little gas station, then got on the road again. Eric had two days until he had to drop his rental off in Portland, so we had to get a little ways into the state. I felt better about my decision to stay with these guys too because the 101 is a mile or two inland- away from the coast with numerous roads leading off the highway to the innumerable State Parks.

We stumbled, completely by accident onto a library in Langlois where I could get online to get some Couchsurf requests sent off, and charge the cell phone a bit more. We spent some time in there, about an hour, and through conversations with the librarians, VERY nice people, I got more free maps including my Rand McNally Oregon map. I was pretty happy about that.

We continued on, stopping less frequently than before and went through some interesting little towns, and over some terrific bridges.

Along the way after the library, we spied Sunset Bay, SP on the map and decided to check it out. We again did the Safeway trip where I grabbed a single steak this time, and Eric grabbed a bottle of wine.

The state parks are a bit cheaper here, $16, and the locale seemed very nice. We got there after the Ranger station had closed, so we proceeded in and found an open site. This place, AGAIN, was infested with children. I encouraged Eric to wait to see if anyone came around to collect money, remembering Florian's experience in Big Sur. While we were setting up though, a guy came along and collected from Eric.

After we got set up, I had a bit of a surprise when Eric expected me to pay $5 for the campsite. No big deal, just wasn't expecting it. I may not have gotten the steak had I known that, but hell-- I probably would have!

I got the fire going with what little wood I could find, and we finally used a bit of the bundle he'd bought a couple days earlier. I also learned that I had a positive response on a Couchsurf request, from a guy named Dave who lives at a marina in NW Portland. I was thrilled to learn that! I already liked Portland much more than SF!

I again tried to let them do their thing, and disappeared in search of a cell signal to return a call to Friar Chris while getting a slight glow from the wine. We chatted for a bit, and I vented a few of my little frustrations.

I found my way back to camp where we all sat and drank a bit of wine and had another rather lengthy bull session. I stayed up a while after they went to bed, and just chilled; looking at the sky and thinking. One more day with my new friends, then Portland the next day.

Oregon

6/29/08: Humboldt S.P.-Redwoods N.P., CA

Sunday

The Lord hath proclaimed Sunday the Day of Rest. So hath Todd.

We got up and around a bit later than we'd have liked due to the beer consumption, and my energy level was... no so good! We didn't have far to go though, so we hopped back on the 101 and proceeded toward Eureka, Trinidad, and eventually Orick, which is the town that's essentially within Redwood Natl. and State Parks.

Eureka's always been a landmark for me as the last real 'city' in California before Oregon. Kind of a depressing little place. We stopped for coffee, which now was becoming a necessary theme, and sort of tooled around there before stopping in Trinidad for Eric to use the ATM. There was a little Artisans Market going on, and a few interesting characters milling about.

Also one embarrassing one.

I ran across the road to the gas station to reload on coffee, and while I was inside was this redneck straight out of 1965 who must be a member of the Lou Dobbs Fan Club. He was LITERALLY standing RIGHT next to a sign that read "Please take ALL alcohol purchases to the next counter!" While standing there he was berating the Mexican girl behind the counter complaining that he should be able to buy his PBR at any counter he "goddamn well pleased!" When the girl tried to explain to him that she wasn't old enough to sell to him, AND POINTED TO THE SIGN!, he went off on her perceived inability to speak English going into the now generic and tired tirade about "if yer cummin to 'Merica, ya aughts ta be able tuh speeks the Inglish!". Admirably, there was a little woman about half as tall as this endangered specimen of Redneck standing in line behind him who essentially told him to shut the hell up, learn to read, and quick being an asshole. I laughed quite loudly at this, as did a few others.

He didn't take to kindly to that, but the only thing he could say was, "Do you live here?", as if being a proud resident of Trinidad, California gave you some mythical license to be an elite breed of Xenophobic Prick.

I got in line behind my new hero and tipped the girl $2 for my $1.19 coffee.

We got back on the road after this little nugget of Americana, and eventually to the Redwoods NP Visitor Center where we got information on camping and a few other things. Eric and Marine decided on Elk Prairie Campground, so off we went to set up camp again. Another $20 site for them, but per our conversations the night before they let me slide on this because they were going to be getting these campsites anyway, and it didn't matter if there were two or three people. I had made it clear that there was NO way I could continue paying for camping on a daily basis, and beer, etc. They were wildly cool about that, as long as I wasn't costing them anything.

This campground, while beautiful, was another episode of Romper Room. SOOO many damn kids! LOUD kids this time!

I was still pretty wiped out from drinking the night before, so I wrote in my journal for a bit and then collapsed for a couple of hours while Eric and Marine went on a long hike. As with Florian, I tried to stay conscious of giving them time to enjoy themselves alone... without me tagging along all the time. Plus, I was exhausted. The nap did wonders for me.

I woke up, and since we had dead wood lying all around I decided to flaunt the park's Wood Nazi policy that you MUST purchase THEIR shitty $8 wood bundles, and began to collect dead Redwood pieces/ parts from around the area. It was quite abundant, and soon I had a nice little fire going. When Eric and Marine got back from their hike, they had gone to the store and Eric returned with wood, but we ended up not even needing it. At least I contributed something to the day, and Redwood smells GOOD- almost like the Pinon I've become addicted to in New Mexico!

I was sort of off in my own little world the rest of the night, listening to music and pretty much keeping to myself. The evening was uneventful, except for the beginning of the nagging feelings of annoyance at myself for tagging along with these guys for so long. It's nothing to do with them, and may have had to do with the fact that I was tired, and that the cloudy, smokey, cold- ish weather may have been affecting my mood. It's typically what happens after I'm with people for more than 2 days though... remember the Two Day Rule?!?!

5/30- 6/2/08: An Interlude

June 2
Santa Fe, NM

I woke up on Chris’s couch at about 1:30 Friday quite hungover. It’s not that I drank THAT much, but obviously have next to no tolerance; a good thing. I stumbled around for awhile, then after Chris woke up we just lounged around for an hour or so then walked to Dazbog’s and Barracuda’s so he could drop off the rest of the tip for our waitress from the night before. Who DOES that? Friar Chris does.

He had a meeting to get to, and I had 330 miles to drive, so I left his place and walked to the car, drove back to his place to pick up the pack and hit the road. I finally left Denver at about 5:00.

The drive was nice. It was about a perfect day, and even the 5:00 traffic seemed to cooperate as I headed down I-25. I hadn’t really thought about it, but having the time to reflect on the last 10 days alone in the car was nice. I realized I hadn’t really accomplished much, relatively speaking, but it was an important step. I now have some confidence, and know more about where I want to be or, maybe even more importantly, where I DON’T want to be.

I reflected back on my mindset before I’d left and realized that I had definitely felt ALIVE for the last week and a half; something I mostly hadn’t felt since last summer when we moved to New Mexico. The beauty of the Front Range was intoxicating too, especially in that state of mind. I love Colorado; never gotten sick of being there.

I turned off I-25 at my familiar spot in Walsenburg, and started down US 160 just north of the Spanish Peaks and headed toward La Veta pass and eventually Ft. Garland where I head south toward Taos and home. The sun was setting, and even if I could create a day, I wouldn’t change anything. Warm, blue skies, and the setting sun shining hues of red onto the mountain sides.

I of course was questioning the wisdom of heading home so quickly, but whenever I’d think about that I have to credit myself with the fact that I WOULD have taken any ride headed toward California! I broke camp with Fresno as my goal, but as is seeming to be the case more often than not, my plans never seem to be realized. Improvisation is the method of choice, and since I got a ride to Denver I could now return the car to New Mexico so my girlfriend wouldn’t have to gather it later on. That really is significant, although it wasn’t part of my thinking when I left Rawlins!

I got to Santa Fe at about 11pm, and was glad to be out of the car! Saturday was pretty uneventful, although I must confess it was nice to relax. I also realized that one of the Santa Fe Library branches is staffed by hippie-Nazis! When I left the library, there was a bright, shiny object sitting stationary in the southeast sky. A funny looking thing that seemed to have a glimmer to it; obviously inside the atmosphere but NOT moving from its position. It also appeared to have a dark spot in its center. Nothing like it do I remember ever seeing. Of course, we all know what the explanation was that night on the news. Weather balloon!

Sunday was another lazy day in a sense, but I did begin to process more experience v. the philosophy. I wrote a whole diatribe that I was going to publish here, but decided against it. Instead, I'll just post a fraction of it, and save the rest for later on. I also noticed myself getting a bit comfortable here; the same as I did in Glenwood Springs. I'm slowly coming to the conclusion that I may need to set one rule when this continues this week: the Two Day Rule. I think that's plenty of time anywhere, and after that I begin to adapt too well to my surroundings. We'll see how that goes!

I've decided to leave again either Tuesday or Weds. I've not 100% decided which direction to go yet, but am edging toward I-40 going west. I'm a bit intrigued by Okalahoma, and keep eyeballing the Chama river north of here toward Colorado, but I think I've spent enough time up there.

Things here have been nice for the last few days, and have noticed a sense of calm about myself; a sense of calm that NEVER lasts! I'm soaking up the atmosphere, and beginning to gear up mentally to leave again. I'll let you know how that goes!





Thoughts over the past few days:

Rules and expectations are a funny thing. Especially other people’s.

I resolved to have no rules; be beholden to no one’s expectations but my own. Did I expect to be back in Santa Fe after 11 days? Of course not, but if there are no expectations other than living and experiencing the freedom of the road; riding with fate; why question it? It would be easy to compare other people’s experiences and judge my actions accordingly, but I’m not trying to re-live anything or emulate anyone.

I’ve heard the ‘Into the Wild’ comparison a lot, and there are some similarities there when it comes to an innate disgust of a corporatist society, yet I’m not nearly as rigid in my personal expectations and methodology. I’ve been asked, ‘What are you running from?’ several million times and the answer is...expectation, servitude, and someone elses ‘program’. I want to find my own answers to life and where I see it going rather than simply accept the ‘answers’ I’ve been given. Indoctrinated with. I believe these ‘answers’ are bullshit, and I want to find the truth.

There is more to life than economic servitude. Working to attain material status. Produce, consume, repeat. That’s the point: escape from this Matrix of Materialism in search of the truth of existence. Pretty heady stuff, and I’m not kidding myself in believing I’ll ever find all of these answers. The truth of one’s existence has been sought after since Joe Caveman stumbled onto fire. Enter religion.

I simply believe it’s the one thing that each person should seek out independent of doctrine, ‘social norms’ and the expectations of the “Ministry of Standards & Practices”: family, friends, education, institution, and especially the media and it’s golden image of ‘success’ that’s portrayed in every single frame of every single broadcast.

Styx’s ‘Grand Illusion’: “They show you photographs of how your life should be-that’s just someone else's fantasy...”

Think about it next time you watch something. Your told what you should look like, how you should talk, and what & how much ‘stuff’ you should have to be ‘happy’, ‘comfortable’, and ‘successful’!

Who defines happy? Comfortable? Especially ‘successful’? What the hell IS 'Normal'? And who benefits when these are defined FOR you? Surely not the investment banker with four boats, a huge house, and an emptiness in his soul the size of Montana that he can’t fill with his Capitalist Achievement Badges.

I’ve also been fighting a battle with self-doubt, ego and my own self-perceived arrogance for a while now. Quite a potpourri of traits! It’s sometimes hard for me to accept that I’m actually RIGHT, and the personal responsibility that comes with it. I have a tendency to seek out people who seem smarter, and are more accomplished and ‘educated’ than me in an effort to actually prove myself wrong.

Yet, with almost NO exception, these people always disappoint. I have to take them right back off that pedestal and every time it happens, it reinforces the conclusions I’ve already come to and I’m quite straightforward in saying so. If that makes me arrogant, so be it. I’ll be the first to let you know when someone enlightens me! Friar Chris tends to think I have a low opinion of myself, believe it or not, and thus battle arrogance AND self- doubt at the same time. Talk about duality!

I’ve come to the conclusion that’s because we’ve been engineered to believe that we ‘ordinary’ people are incapable of accomplishing anything of substance; that greatness is only attainable by the truly ‘great’. Those who have been deified by the culture as flawless: those who have been “Santa Clausified”! We’re led to believe that if you’re not perfect, you should just give up because we’re unable to change or offer anything, or to live an ideal.

Martin Luther King is a perfect example, and one I use a lot. Here’s a guy who probably accomplished more in the 20th Century than any other American, yet he was besieged by self-doubt and was a flawed human being! He cheated on his wife regularly! He wasn’t a saint in any sense of the word, but he progressed his people and offered hope and inspiration in a way that no one else could. It just astounds me that MLK was plagued with self- doubt and depression! How could he doubt his cause?

Lincoln: depressive. Jean Jacques Rousseau, an architect of the French Revolution: manic depressive. I can relate to this, and understand, to a degree, where it’s coming from. It’s that inner sense that ‘something’s wrong’ and either being unable to decipher what it is, and/or change it. An inner- struggle for singularity of mind and body: bringing the vision to reality.

I’m convinced that there are literally millions out there that just know instinctively that something’s amiss, but can’t explain it. They just ‘feel’ inner turmoil and the wounds of that battle manifest themselves in depression. These people may the truly ‘blessed’ ones because they are part of the evolution. Oftentimes, but not always, they are scorned as alcoholics, addicts, derelicts who refuse to conform for, apparently, no reason. Their minds receive a frequency that they can’t quite tune in and it causes a disquiet: White Noise of the Mind.

They’re all over.

They simply have this ‘feeling’ that they’re afraid to talk about. That ‘something’s coming’. Something devastating, but natural and inevitable. I’ve had that since I was a tiny kid, and I meet random people who after a brief conversation, their eyes light up in understanding when I mention it. It’s like “YES! I’m NOT crazy??”

I’ve heard a lot of mention of the year 2012, and the Mayan calendar. The Theocratic/ Fundamentalists in Christian society will poo poo the notion as utter foolishness; blasphemy!: that nature could POSSIBLY correct ITSELF! Yet, these same people clutch desperately to the idea that there’s an All- Powerful Manlike God, sitting on his throne in the sky, watching everything we do; keeping score so that he’ll know who’s ‘good enough’ to live in ‘Paradise’! Seems a bit shortsighted to me, and borderline hypocritical.

It seems to me that nature has a funny way of righting itself when things become unbalanced. If you doubt there’s a lack of balance in the world today try to find a clean river to drink from, or a spot that’s not been polluted either with chemicals or someone’s inconvenient trash.

It seems that with all the technological ‘progress’ we’ve lost many of the skills and most of the knowledge our ancestors had. And forgotten how to relate to each other. With every technological dependency comes a loss of skill. Try calling a friend without your cell- phone in tow. Grow some food. Build your own shelter. Could you even build a little fire if the bundle of firewood wasn’t provided to you? We’re pretty much at the mercy of technology. Without it: prey.

A lot of thoughts and reflection this weekend. As I told Dennis on the ride to Glenwood Springs, I believe that all the answers begin within. It’s a cliche’, but a good one. Once you begin to listen to and BE HONEST with YOURSELF about who you are, what you think, and what you want, the answers will slowly begin to present themselves. It’s a mother being honest with yourself, because there’s no one there to challenge your clever, witty little rationalizations; YOU have to do it! Yet the only way out is brutal honesty: truth. If Gandhi swore by it, it’s good enough for me!

Yet, even trying it is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But alas, waiting for Pink Floyd's 'someone or something to show you the way’ is an exercise in futility. No one has your answers but you; trust yourself.


Wayyyy too much idle time this weekend?!?!?!