2010: The Beginning

With most of the rest of the world, 2010 began quietly for us in Boise. Benefiting from her nearly 12-hours of sleep, Lynette was up and off to the Dilliards sale by 7am while the rest us were still snug in our beds...with Rum Runners and Champagne preparing to beat on our heads. I say "our" clearly knowing that I was likely the sole sufferer not named Mike or Lynette. I need the illusion-of-companionship at times. That being said, Laina too was unable to function due to a massive hangover. I can't even fathom how she drinks like she does. Perhaps a meeting is in order?


I feel better.

In place of venturing out, Lynette napped then decided to take down Christmas decorations; another one of those moments where I feel like a lost child at the mall or Neverland Ranch. (Too soon?) Since I was 11 or 12, I've had a tree exactly once; at the request of my ex-girlfriend, I believe in 1998! I seem to remember she was introduced to the fact that I was Cheer Challenged; saying something about "damaged goods." This from the woman who literally hid inside our apartment on Y2K. True story. I'd pay serious money to peek in her windows on 12.21.12! This decade began much better than the millennium, but I digress...

To be fair, it goes far beyond decorations and cards. As with my birthday, I don't "do" gifts. It's one of the things Laina, and everyone I've dated just LOVES... especially on V.D. (Valentine's Day). Like nearly everything, it's the principle of the thing. I won't jump-on-cue to show I care, especially when the "cue" is coming from retailers complete with reminders that it's "my duty" to "support the economy." Umm..."fuck you." I won't have my affections evaluated by a grand total of receipts, and I'm quite sure that EVERY kiss beginning with Kay ends with emotional Herpes. Remember that next month.

Beyond bribery and a taught sense of entitlement, there's an element of hypocrisy to the "holiday season." Poor people need help in March, too. Hungry families need to eat more often than just Thanksgiving and Christmas. People still appreciate politeness and kindness in September. Except on my birthday. Your estranged mother may still want to hear from you in October. It's a Wonderful Life still plays on Memorial day, right George? Wait... do angels hibernate? It's the questions that drive us...

Sparing you a full-on rant (one I intended to write last month. Am I not merciful?), allow me to offer that self-interest driven, marketing-induced charity is NOT charity. It's a business agreement with December's deity du jour.  

Your deity knows better.

You may be better off acting like the selfish prick you really are than pretending to be righteous. At least then... you're an honest prick! Suffice it to say I don't agree with the Francis Xavier Cross Philosophy...

With all this considered, there was yet another of these "strange," out-of-character moments as I watched Lynette & Laina pack ornaments. The notion of a "family tradition" set in as I gazed at Ben & Brads early childhood ornaments. Stability. Something to count on and look forward to every year. Something I literally have NO concept of. It was as though I finally learned something taught in 2nd grade; something that illuminated another barren wing of my psyche. All this from the most mundane of things. That theme holds, even in my metaphorical cave...

This is when I realized just how well Laina was taking to everyone. This was a familiar element to her, granted, but it went beyond that. I was oblivious to the fact that she was observing me, too. Being self-absorbed, the obvious had never occurred to me: this was the first time she had ever seen me in a family setting of my own. She'd met my mother and sister of course, but at best only on my shotgun 2-hour "in & outs." I discovered later that watching me interact with my sisters, Dave, and my nieces and nephews gave her a fresh, positive perspective. For a guy who prides himself on his observant nature, I screwed the pooch* on this one.

* No pooches were screwed making this blog...

Saturday came much too soon. We had another day-long drive and Laina worked Monday. Ben & Brad had gone to their dad's on Friday, so the seven of us left were off on Todd's Great Journal-Insert Hunt and a late lunch before Laina and I hit the road around 5pm. It was hard to leave. Casa Fogg holds many memories in 4-months and, as I wrote in September, this was another of those experiences that help people pass from simple siblings to being brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles...and Dave.

I kid the lawyer. It's reflex; I'm programmed to detest lawyers & politicians. Dave's an anomaly.

** FUN FACT: The first shirt I wore when I met Lynette & Dave in August read: "The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers!" Lynette's response, "I can't believe you're actually going to wear that shirt in this house." After an emphatic, "Oh, FUCK!" I turned about 40-shades of red and borrowed the "Michigan" shirt you see in the pics...


During lunch, it dawned on me that Lynette, Shelly, and I had spent next to NO time talking about Ward & The Hens. I pointed out, more to myself than aloud, that I saw this as significant. It showed that there was more focus on the future, rather than just bitching about the past. I was relieved that the three of us could relate beyond simple idle gossip and dime-store Drama.

Mike

Amanda & Lynette

Part of that future continued to be speculation about "Rallying 'Round the 'Black Sheep'" in Boise. Shelly seems to have gone from considering a relocation, to determined to get it done. Laina and I had talked about it a bit more over the couple of days there, but it always came back to the same thing: "When am I going to be done with this?" Any talk of relocating from Santa Fe begins and ends with that question; one of those which has no answer... much like, "How can an attorney sleep at night?"

I kid the lawyer.

Laina finally distracted me enough with coffee & fudge to get us moving, and after hugs, handshakes, and a quick REI exchange-stop, we were on our way back. The weather cooperated nicely to Salt Lake City. Rather than returning the way we came, at the last moment Laina inexplicably decided to take I-80 thru Wyoming and Denver! Why? I have no idea. It was as though a confused, misguided navigator had influenced her to take that exit. I'll spare further analysis and move on, but whatever the reason, after we had gotten thru the staggeringly gorgeous Wasatch mountains east of the city, a familiar theme resumed. Snow. Again. It would appear that the ghost of Joseph Smith was holding a grudge and that he was really bored... because it would only snow when I drove!

A nice part of Wyoming was stopping in Rawlins, revisiting the truckstop where Doug had dropped me off and I'd met Cesar in 2008. Next was the Laramie-Cheyenne snowstorm...which stopped as soon as Laina started driving! Despite having 75mph speed limits and one-way traffic the whole way, because of the snow it still took us 24-hours to get home. We were both exhausted, and Laina was getting sick. She did call in to work after all!

Rawlins, WY Revisited

8/29/09: The Canadian Express: Bozeman, Butte, & Boise

Considering its beginning and end, this was one of those monumental days.

I was lazily unrushed after waking up, tinkering around taking pictures of everything from my nest to an inchworm that had found refuge on my water bottle. I've seemed to learn to tune in to my senses, and when I suddenly felt an urgency to pack up, get coffee, and out to the ramp, that's exactly what I did although, after five hours of nothingness the night before, I had no logical reason to be in a rush.

Saturday, however, was NOT Friday.

I was at the exit ramp no more than five minutes when Don stopped in front of me. This was the first time I can recall a car doing this. The second thing I noticed was that this fancy van had Ontario plates. These were both good signs. He had obviously picked up hitchers before, had a smile painted on his face, and I have had phenomenal success with foreign rides dating back to Florian (German) and Eric (French) in '08.

I instantly knew I was going to like Don. He was an original 60's hippie and on his way from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario to Nevada for Burning Man; a pilgrimage he made every year. There are two Sault Ste. Marie's. One in the upper peninsula of Michigan, and the other directly across the border. This gave us the immediate connection of familiarity, since I had visited Sault Ste. Marie, MI. When Don asked why I was going to Bozeman (my sign), I replied, "Because it's on the way to Boise." His reply changed the entire complexity of my immediate future. He too was going to Boise to meet friends, then continuing on to The Burn... and I was welcome to ride along the entire way if I liked. He had been driving a long time, and simply wanted some conversation to help pass the time. Billings to Boise? In one ride? Holy Shit.

The offer was incredible, but I still wanted to try to connect with Michele in Butte first, if I could. I was in no hurry to get to Boise because no one knew I was coming, and I had no idea when I would ever be back to Montana. I sent an immediate text and email to Michele, hoping she happened to get to the Continental Divide to get cell service by the time we were to Butte, a couple hundred miles away. If I heard nothing from Michele by then, I'd be contacting my sister, Lynette, to tell her that if she was around we could finally meet each other face-to-face for the first time! I had not set a time for my arrival, not knowing myself when I would get there, and hadn't talked to her in a couple months. She simply had no idea where I was.

The ride thru Bozeman to Butte was one of the best to date. Don and I chatted about everything from history, to politics and sociology, to spirituality and conspiracy theory. He was an extremely intelligent, insightful, and aware individual, and it seemed that we always had something to add to the other. I was particularly interested in his political views, since he was Canadian, and was intrigued that he had extensively studied Roman history and viewed the US as running the same road. He found the entire health care "reform" debate laughable, and the opposition to socialized medicine as a simple case of special interest trying to keep control of the coffers. Being Canadian, however, he seemed convinced that government was the answer to most problems, which of course, with me in the car, led to healthy debate! The more I have discussed these topics, the more convinced I am that the best solution for this country, right now (in lieu of a clean swep of all politicos) is the neutering of government, and limiting its influence to as great a degree as possible.

Don was also a musician, and claimed to have been in a rather successful local band, The Pavement Artists, in Sault Ste. Marie. We also shared an acquaintance there: City Commissioner Ray Bauer, who was once in radio and the man who hired me at WRKR in Kalamazoo. We had a very nice discussion on music, and I don't believe there was a lull of more than a minute.

Around Bozeman, Montana becomes Montana. The Rocky Mountains come into view, the climbs become steep, and the views incredible as you approach Butte and its statue of Mary watching over the small city. Don stopped at a Flying J south of Butte as both a pit stop, and a favor to me to give Michele a few more minutes to get my messages. We got snacks and coffee, and stretched for about 45-minutes before accepting fate and moving south toward Idaho, and VERY familiar grounds along our new road: I-15.

I soon received a call from Lynette thru our sister, Shelly, and let her know that we planned to be in her backyard in just a few hours. I hated that I was giving such short notice, but she and her husband seemed happy to (finally) have me. I quickly thanked God, and as we crossed into Idaho, Don and I had resumed our chatathon.

Idaho Falls came and went, and soon I saw familiar sights. My 2008 route had taken me across southern Idaho, and as we passed through Pocatello I began to point to significant spots that I had enjoyed so much... although at the time, I sometimes didn't realize it! "There was the spot where Z had picked me up... I crossed the Snake River here... I slept there." Pretty soon, as dusk approached, we happened to gas up at the Flying J that made them my favorite truck stop: Jerome/Twin Falls. The spot where Jack dropped me off. This was, obviously, quite cool for me and I came to realize how much I had enjoyed Idaho, and the unexpected nostalgia last year's trip had generated! I was very glad we did this in the daylight.

Around 10pm, with Don fading, we were entering Boise in an intense, but dry, lightning storm. Don and I found the spot where Lynette had asked us to meet her, and after grabbing a shitty, expensive espresso all that was left to do was wait for the moment when I would finally meet the last of the still "unknown" sisters...

7/12/08: Pocatello to McCammon, ID-Slaying a Dragon

I woke up rather late beneath the bushes huddled beneath my raincoat for protection from the sprinkler and the chilly night. I packed quicker than normal because I was unusually close to the exit ramp, and rather than being in a depression in the terrain, I was on a small hill in plain view of Pocatello’s Saturday morning traffic.

Then it was off to the Flying J gas station. I got my 65-cent coffee refill and sat down outside hoping the backpack would help strike up a conversation leading to a ride to at least the truck stop in McCammon. I got half of it; the conversation. There was a couple of trucks filled with Boy Scouts returning from camping in the Tetons but headed west; toward Rupert. I would not be going back to Rupert.

I was now fixated on the "real" Flying J in McCammon, and hoped getting there would help me decide: Montana or Denver. (Still undecided!) It had become clear, and did not escape me, how fearful I still was. Montana, or anywhere but Denver carried with it risk. Denver was safe and within reach. My fear was overpowering my sense of adventure and clouding judgment preventing me from relying on recent history and hard-earned experience. I "knew" I’d gone through all of this before, in San Francisco, and that there was little difference between then and now, but just couldn’t get the clarity needed to allow that experience, and the memory of meeting Eric & Marine, guide me. I would not "really" be able to see that until much later.

After an hour, I made my planned trip to the Walmart Supercenter, conveniently located directly behind the gas station, to get food and cigarettes while at my apex of the indecision cycle and thinking Montana was the way to go. I went directly to the canned food section grabbing some salmon, off-brand Beefaroni, and a new staple: pork & beans. I also picked up Ibuprofen, razors, and a couple of Clif bars.

The Clif bars had by now been all but eliminated due to cost. Some places charge as much as $1.85/ea. and, while they are great for energy and convenient, I was spending in the neighborhood of $20 a week on them; something I could easily eliminate. Walmart had them for $.75 making it a difficult decision not to get a whole box!

I was a great curiosity at Walmart. I guess people are not used to seeing a fully loaded backpacker come through doing his Saturday morning shopping. The looks! It was curiosity mixed with utter amazement at the size of the pack and my appearance. I took no small pleasure in this. Kids were the best! I overheard one saying to his dad, “He looks like Survivorman!” I got a kick out of that because Survivorman (Les Stroud) is my favorite TV show, but I also felt a bit ashamed! I doubt Les would have been plagued by the asinine, fabricated, mental drama I had created over the last 24 hours! Let alone be caught dead at Walmart buying Clif bars and canned salmon!

On the way out, I realized that I had forgotten my tobacco (horrors!), so had to go back to the ‘tobacco line’. At the register, I slowly began to recognize the young man working it! It was the kid driving the overheated minivan in Jerome! I could not believe it, but after a moment of metaphysical reflection, I could. He remembered me and said, “This is all the farther you’ve gotten?” I just shook my head not repeating what I was thinking. “Why the hell didn’t I hit you up for a ride when I had the chance?” That was one of the more odd events of the trip so far. Eerie. It was as though the universe is mocking me saying, “See? I tried helping you. You refused. Dumbass!” I walked out shaking my head dumbfounded.

The plan was to sit down outside, pack my new loot, and then head to the I-86 ramp to score a ride to McCammon. There was, thankfully, a different feel to the day and I felt optimistic that I’d have success at getting out there and perhaps beyond.

I was walking past the lawn furniture display and sitting there was a large, badass looking young man who, despite looking like he belonged on the cage fighting circuit, was quite friendly and asked what I was up to. I thought he had the right idea and became another person demonstrating the comfort and versatility of this luxurious Walmart lawn furniture. I began packing while chatting with Trevor about the California and Oregon coasts, and he got particularly interested when I told him about the freight train. Funny thing about that train: it seems to be the one story I have that garners the most attention even though, to me, after the initial euphoria, at the time it was no big deal; even something of a disappointment.

He asked where I was going next, and when I said I was trying to get to the Flying J truck stop in McCammon he lit up saying he and his friends were going right by there on their way to Lava Hot Springs where they were going to drink beer and "play on the river". He immediately called a friend to see if I could catch a ride. After some creative ways of generating gas money: no problem. I felt bad that I could not really offer them anything but that was the reality.

Trevor seemed like a decent dude, but he offhandedly talked about how he would be going to jail on Monday because of a failure to pay his probation officer. This left me mildly concerned, and I spent a few moments creating my now famous imaginary scenarios that conclude with me in a bloody heap out in the desert, minus my (almost empty) wallet and backpack. I can be a creatively disturbing cuss. I caught myself slipping into Paranoid Bitch role, again, and quietly, but severely chastised myself, then felt quite at ease when his friend Dustin and his girlfriend emerged from the store. It helped to remember how much of a tool I felt like after the Boise ride.

I again declined to load my pack into the trunk (just a good policy if you can help it) instead keeping it stowed on my lap in the front seat as we set off toward the "real"  Flying J, 25-miles south of the I-86/I-15 interchange. These were just some kids off to have some good (mildly) clean fun. They reminded me of people I would have hung out with if I was a bit younger, and for a while, I missed those days! Drinking beer, basking in the sun, and hoping you didn’t get hurt. At least not too bad! I even thought about tagging along to experience a REAL Idaho Saturday night but decided against it in favor of trying to get my head on straight and getting this indecision under control. In retrospect, going with them and not thinking about it may have been exactly the tonic I needed, but I will never know for sure.

Trevor (the bald guy), Dustin, and Mystery Girl dropped me at the truckstop after quite an enjoyable and informative ride. I learned quite a bit about the area and found it to be not unlike where I grew up. Just fewer trees! I got a picture and they went on their way while I began surveying the Flying J I had been so hellbent on.

It was definitely a "real" truckstop. About the same size as Jerome' and had good traffic. It was also located on US-30, so I could indeed go either way: Montana or Denver. Even to Utah if I could find a ride through it, or at least to a truck stop that may serve as a haven shielding me from fascists and Mormons!

I sat outside for a bit then trudged into the trucker’s lounge to write and charge the cell. I was disengaging. If you would have asked me why I could not have answered. I just felt like it was the right thing to do. I had reached the point where I simply had to begin the process of reflection, self-examination, and the same processing of events I'd needed back in Fruitland. There were no intermittent destinations to help me to procrastinate the inevitable. This was it. So, there I sat. Writing. Thinking. Drinking coffee.

The weight of my money issue became THE significant problem. So much so that, at times, it factored into every detail of my thought process. Like the fog on the coast, I could not see through it.

There were times that I was sure the trip was over; even for good and that,= I was destined to be back in Santa Fe, even if it were via Denver for a short time. The thought of going back to find work seemed to lead only to my contrived inevitable: quitting.

Yet, through all of this negativity there were examples of clear recollection fighting to escape.

I remembered the conflict with myself in San Francisco. Again. Deciding to enter the Headlands was obviously a bigger decision than I realized at the time. It also reminded me of one of my favorite questions to ask yourself, “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?” 

I had also asked myself in San Francisco, “Would you have traded meeting Florian and his family for anything?” Of course not. Then why eliminate the adventure up the road to Oregon? That is what had reset my brain in California and led to Eric and Marine 3-days later. But, despite that, it still was not working today.

During the day Laina surprisingly pointed out, or rather reiterated, something that had been obvious to me until this point. Things always work out. Things come along at the right time. I had seen this, and now believed it. Friar had seen and experienced it on his cross country walk. Laina now even believed it! Nevertheless, for me, then, it was impossible to lean on. It seemed that my faith in not only that, but myself, was beginning to fail. I was fully aware of the attitude changes of the past couple of days and wondered if I could rely on myself to keep a clear head, make good decisions, and follow through.

A nasty rabbit hole I had descended in to! 

***I had no way to realize it at the time, but this episode was a miniature example of something that would continue to haunt me on a much larger scale much later on.***

Fear and Impatience won Saturday’s battle, even though I knew for sure that, for whatever reason I was supposed to be here. Even though I could see the forest through the trees, I didn’t want to just accept that the forest was there. I had taken 10-steps back: trying to intellectually and institutionally manhandle the situation; something I knew better than to try to do. I was painfully relearning a most valuable lesson. An important lesson was being bonded into my brain.

Things got progressively worse as the day moved to night. I had found a table outside where I could sit, relax, smoke, write, and hope for a ride. I sat there thinking, lost in my own head until I came to the realization of the obvious: the source of my frustration was…myself.

It was not "money's"’ fault. It was mine for losing sight of the original vision and getting giddy about how much "fun" I was having. It was my own fault if I had to quit. It was my own fault if I could not make the decisions I wanted to make now because of foolish spending all along. I was not frustrated or mad with anyone but my own damn self!

Not even the Mormons! Well, maybe a little...

That realization came slowly and as my mood began to lighten, with both acceptance of it and a developing stubborn, ornery, resolve to “fucking fix it!”, things began slowly returning to normal. My thinking moved away from self-pity “woe is me!” to lessons and solutions.

Shortly after all this began, I found a potential ride with a trucker. He was going to Salt Lake City in the (Sunday) morning, and while SLC did not thrill me, I had begun to alter my thinking back to taking things as they came. The driver said he was leaving at 5am, so I said I would be there at 4:30.

With that, a very trying, troubling day came to a merciful end. I walked to the opposite side of the truck parking, set up the nest, set the alarm, and tried to get a few hours sleep before my chariot to Salt Lake City departed. 

I had trouble sleeping as I thought about the course of the day. Lying there, I began to reclaim a bit more responsibility for myself and the fact that I control the future of this trip. I concluded that this day, as unflattering (and embarrassing to write about) as it was, was going to be one of the most important of any I will have as long as this lasts.

7/11/08: Pocatello, ID- "Z" and a Reckoning

This day I was prepared for. In fact as I went to bed I resigned myself to the fact that I may be sitting right there, at the Albion exit, for perhaps MORE than just a day. I was NOT going to repeat the mistake of Jerome. I would be getting to Pocatello, or grow roots right there!

I awoke earlier than I probably should have, 7:45, considering how tired I was. On some level, I was subconsciously prepared for the day and wanted to get going ASAP. I went over to the now open Shell station to begin the day with some coffee as planned, study a map, and do some writing. There was a rather attractive, very friendly, almost creepy, cashier working that morning with whom I become acquainted through the day.

I sat there for a couple of hours writing and charging the cell phone, not really in a big hurry to get on the ramp to nowhere. I did however get out there, at about 10:30, and began receiving the same blank, fearful stares as the day before. This went on until 1:45 when I trekked back to the Shell for more coffee and the hope that I would be able to MAYBE converse my way into a ride. No such luck, but I did wind up chatting a bit more with Heather. The fact that she was nice (not so creepy now) gave me SOME hope that there were nice people around there.

I probably should clarify something, since I have been assailing eastern Idaho quite heavily! The people there ARE nice. They are not the pricks that perhaps I have led you to believe. They are, in fact, very friendly, and will chat with you at the drop of a dime. They seem quite down to earth and personable, just as they did in the western part of the state...until you get on the highways and put out the thumb! It was rather difficult to remember the kindness at times though; perspective. Foreshadowing. I also had stopped even bothering trying to thumb cars with Utah plates. If they were here, they were going to Utah most likely anyhow!

After chatting with Heather, and learning that she got off work at 3:00, I walked slowly back to my spot. Same results. At about 2:50 I was just about to enact my long shot plan: ask Heather for a ride to the I-84/ 86 split. That would have been indescribably foolish but I was beginning to wonder if I was REALLY stuck there. It seemed like an eternity after my luck 2-days before, but in retrospect I was mentally bundling everything that had happened since then and projecting it onto Friday! Dangerous waters to navigate.

Just as I was about to venture back to the Shell station, the skies opened, the seas parted, lightning rained down from the Heavens...use any biblical reference you like...I had a ride! AND... it had Utah plates! What the hell?

He wanted to be called ‘Z”; would not tell me his real name. He appeared to be a younger guy of about 25 or 26, had a rather thick accent, had a dark complexion, so I ignorantly just assumed he was Mexican. He said he was heading home...to Ogden, Utah. I really wanted off that ramp, so I asked him if he’d take me as far as the 84/86 split; again rolling the same dice that came up craps the day before. The split was only 5-miles up the road, but I was happy. I had even considered walking there the next day and was beginning to see how the Hippie had walked 25 miles a few days ago.

I got the “something told me to stop” story again. He was different. Different good. I learned that he was on the verge of losing everything due to his inability to find work in Utah, and that he had just ‘gone for a ride’. Somehow, at this point, I was leaning toward Denver (indecisiveness!), and he told me that he’d been considering moving there, but knew nothing about it. I told him I had lived there for 2 ½ years and he became quite interested in what I knew. He offered to take me to the next exit past the I-84/86 split, and thank God. There was NOTHING at that interchange but highway. I would have had no access to water had I been stuck there. I also had done my homework. I knew that the next exit was something like 25 miles up the road. I nestled in and began chatting with this VERY interesting person.

Z was not Mexican or anything close. His family had moved to the US from Afghanistan in 1986 after a Russian missile hit their neighbor’s house. On top of that, he wasn’t so young. He was in his mid 30's, and he was eager to talk about the philosophy of life, its purpose, all of that. He was in the process of losing everything he had worked toward chasing the “American Dream”. House, car, everything. And it is the third time it has happened. He’s Muslim, so he defined it as God’s will, but I interjected my own thoughts on the matter. He was not the dogmatic Muslim we are indoctrinated to believe make up the entire faith. He was VERY open to other ideas, opinions, and possibilities. He simply used the Muslim teachings as a foundation.

We talked about freedom, freewill v. fate, even Thoreau’s thoughts on freedom equating to the things we can do without; as opposed to the things we’re tethered to...physically OR mentally. I had that discussion knowing I was failing miserably in that respect; at least failing to make progress. Z bypassed the next exit. And the next. And the next...

Near the end of the ride, he quoted Mohammad as saying something to the effect of “Live your life as a traveler”. He said it was this that had made him stop; I'd reminded him of it. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but was honored.

I came away from that conversation feeling much better about things, and had a new appreciation for the idea that people are people. Governments, ideology, and religions fuel divisiveness. Not individuals.

NO! That does NOT mean you can call yourself a “World Citizen”, ya damn hippie.

Soon we were on the southern fringes of Pocatello when he finally HAD to stop for gas. I had told him I would have ridden all the way to Denver with him if either of us had the money, and I meant it. I got a picture; he bought me a liter of Cherry Coke, and then was headed back toward Ogden. I laughed quite loudly when I realized yet ANOTHER foreigner had come along to treat me better than my own people...and this guy was a MUSLIM! From AFGHANISTAN! In IDAHO! The irony of it all...I thought we were the "Evil Satan" or some silly shit like that.

This gas station was desolate and had no traffic whatsoever, so armed with my cold bottle of tasty Coke: to the ramp. Briefly. It too had no traffic, so after about 5-minutes I was walking a new interstate: I-86, which connects I-84 and I-15. I still have not figured out WHY exactly it is an "interstate". It’s only in Idaho as far as I can tell.

I was of course hitching, but had fully learned by now the futility of hitchhiking while walking an interstate. Traffic volume and speed. There is too much traffic for people to stop safely, and even if they wanted to, it would take almost 1/4 mile to do it and then they would have to wait for me to catch up. It just was not going to happen at around 5:00-5:30, but doing it DID make me feel better!

After a few miles, I hopped a fence to the frontage road, which appeared to follow I-86 all the way into Pocatello. Shortly after, I came to a little truck stop that had two wonderful things: cardboard and a shade tree. I repacked a bit, ate, and made a new sign: “I-15: Montana”. Indecision: it blows!

I situated the sign on the pack where the few trucks that had gathered could see it, and dozed off for about an hour and a half. It was beautiful beneath that tree! The weather had not been quite as hot; upper 80's, but it was still nice to be out of the sun.

I awoke to the sound of Laina calling. I was groggy, needed coffee, and wanted to get back on the road hoping to get to that magical point: US-30.

US-30 had been with me since Portland, but Pocatello is where it breaks off and winds east into Wyoming joining I-80 toward Cheyenne. If I were to avoid Utah AND go to Denver, this was going to be the place I would hang a right. At least I thought. I had not looked at the map closely enough...but that’s not important now. The important thing was to make a decision on which way I was going. Montana v. Denver. I even broke out the dice, or single die. I had done this once before when I was stuck between the northern and southern routes of the Discovery Trail in Colorado. It had come up ‘North’ on something like FIVE consecutive rolls. I went north. This time it was almost as clear. Odd: Montana Even: Denver. The first two rolls were three’s. Then a six. Then ANOTHER three. The dice say Montana. Let’s see what US-30 says.

I got back on I-86 and walked at a pretty good clip toward US-30, 3-5 miles up. I was feeling quite good and didn’t even realize I’d walked something like 7 or 8 miles since Z had dropped me off. Finally US- 30 came.

Here it was. I HAD to make a decision. Montana to Michigan? Denver? What would it be? I had no idea and needed some input other than my own; I was still suffering a bit from my own mental diarrhea and could not see the forest through the trees. Part of that may have been due to mental fatigue, or maybe the mental exhalation of leaving Oregon. I don’t know. I do know that I DON’T function as well when I don’t have at least some sense of at least a general direction. I am telling you, INDECISIVENESS BLOWS! Well, this was going to be the time I would decide…at least that’s what I told myself.

Laina and I talked for a good hour, trying to figure out money v. time frame. How I was going to get through August if I kept going? Hell, would even get thru July? It was here that my failure to remember past experience began haunting me. And where I let fear reclaim control.

I had forgotten San Francisco. I'd had the same conversation the night before I entered the Marin Headlands. The difference was that now I was closer to Denver and had opened it up as an option; my safety net. I didn’t realize this at the time, of course. All I saw was possibly being stranded in Montana, broke, and being chased by Brokeback Bears. Forest through the trees Todd. Forest through the trees.

The conversation ended with a call to Friar Chris to see if he could get online and price bus tickets. I had almost reverted to the person who would need a bus out of Pocatello. I had gone nearly 2,000 miles by now...and was pricing bus tickets out of Pocatello! The pricing knocked me back into commonsensical, even metaphysical, reality. No way would I be bussing to Denver. Or anywhere.

From the beginning the point of this has been, at its core, learning how to experience more with less. I had lost sight of that almost completely, and the Happy Hitchhiker thought came to mind again. This trip was in danger of ending abruptly now only because of my failure to remember exactly why I was here in the first place. That pissed off and motivated me at the same time. It also helped to realize how much I valued this and wanted it to continue. I was not ready to curl up and die in Santa Fe! 

Yet, where was the faith that the solution would present itself? I believed it would, but was I ready to really put it out there and prove it? Not yet. A great opportunity to grow significantly was slipping through my fingers. I knew it. I could see it happening right before my eyes. I just was not ready for a leap of that magnitude. However, it planted seeds. Some would sprout over the next few days. Some would take a bit more time.

The practical reality: I knew that I wasn’t going to get through 8/15 if I didn’t generate cash, and I now had a solid idea of what that amount was. Unfortunately that figure was the same as it had been a week ago...even two weeks ago...back in San Francisco! For all my pontificating and philosophizing, I am a Grade-A dipshit sometimes.

I had started down I-86 again toward US-95/ Yellowstone Ave. where Google Maps had told Friar I would find a Flying J. I was now coming into the very place I do not want to be while looking for a place to sleep: the city. Thank God, Pocatello barely qualifies. I would later discover that I’d walked about 12 miles since Z had dropped me off at 5:00 and I was still holding up ok, although rest would be good!

After another 4 miles of walking, and about 1 million miles of mental marathoning, I finally got to Yellowstone Ave. Sure enough, there was a Flying J. A Flying J gas station. Not a truckstop. I was not sleeping there unless it was in the restroom. That was not happening.

I asked the cashier about what was located at the I-86/I-15 interchange; whether there was a truckstop or not. I figured that since it was only another mile, I could walk the rest of the way if I knew what was there. He may have been the stupidest person I have ever met. He just could not process “Is...there...a ...truckstop...at...I-15.” Unbelievable.

I quickly grew tired of this spot, and him, so took my coffee across the overpass to the Shell truckstop. I was quite the novelty again. Walking up and down a busy teenager cruising lane on a Pocatello Friday Night wearing my backpack and smelling like road. I am sure all the young ladies were hot for me. I believe one of the Denny’s dishwashers actually was; he was eyeing me all the way across the bridge.

**Quick! Name that movie: “I suppose it doesn’t matter that I’m NOT a homosexual?” “Shit Andy, neither are they.” (Perhaps a slight paraphrase)**

This is the scene I remember seeing in my head as I walked past that creepy little Denny’s! That and “Idaho Deliverance”.

The woman at the Shell station was no less annoyed but much more informed and coherent than her Flying J contemporary had been. It was here that I first learned of the huge Flying J. Unfortunately, it was NOT at I-15 as I had hoped, but 25-miles out of town on I-15 in a place called McCammon.

I now had a short-term destination. From McCammon I figured I could go east OR north. And find a ride there. I was stoked to have the information, so bounded back to the exit ramp hoping to catch a ride to McCammon. One person did stop, but he was headed north and smelled like a stale bottle of Night Train.

At about 1am, the traffic just suddenly died. Next to no cars. I mean anywhere. It was as if I was seeing a B horror movie and they were running to hide from the ‘Attack of the Man Eating Mormon’. This was enough for me to call it a night.

I crossed the interstate overpass again to follow a promising tree line just off the highway, to no avail. There was so little traffic that I crossed all four lanes and the median of I-86, slowly, and wasn’t seen by anyone.

I finally found a nice little hedge row whose bushes had enough space beneath its branches to clear out a small space to conceal both me and the pack while providing a slight bit of insulation through the night. Problem was it butted up against a fence that separated the right-of-way from an apartment complex and there were still a few people up drinking. I had to be uber quiet because I had found my spot, goddammit!

I was exhausted, a bit cranky, and did not care about anything but sleeping and being left alone. Once settled, the people left me alone all right. The sprinklers did not. About an hour after finally dozing off, I heard the things go off. I hoped against hope that they would miss me all together, but immediately felt water splatter me in the face. Really? Yes, I was slightly perturbed to say the least. I muttered something about irrigating "every mother fucking thing", dug out the rain pants & jacket, covered the pack with its rain fly, and defiantly went back to sleep. I didn’t care if Noah Industry's ‘Epic Flood 2000 Sprinkler’ went off; I was going back to sleep.