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

2009-End of a Remarkable Year

With Shelly & Lynette

The 950-mile drive from Santa Fe to Boise was a mix of mostly state and US highways that took us overnight through Pagosa Springs, Durango, and Cortez in SW Colorado then into SE Utah near Canyonlands and Moab early Wednesday morning. By midday, we were snaking thru the Wasatch Mountains, Salt Lake City, then finally into Idaho by late afternoon.

I knew how beautiful southern Utah's terrain was, having driven it in '05, but had never seen the Wasatch between I-70 and Salt Lake on US-6. I hate to admit it, especially after regularly mocking Utah, but there's something alluring about the Land of Mormon. Salt Lake City's skyline is more powerfully dominated by mountains than any other I've seen; much more imposing due to proximity than even Denver's.

Inspired by the HBO series Big Love (and boredom), I spent a good deal of time playing ad executive; thinking of slogans I could sell to Utah and Mormon fundamentalists like Roman Grant. Picturing the billboards, magazines, and radio ads, I laughed so hard I nearly lost continence. Shalain? Not so much. Meanwhile, Joseph Smith's ghost likely sensed my attitude toward his state's fledgling theocracy and, wearing no magic undies to protect me, I believe he clearly conspired with Brigham Young to prevent weatherly cooperation. We had snow nearly the whole way from Northern New Mexico to Salt Lake City. What should have been 19-hours total was already 21 when we only reached Idaho- still a solid 3-hours from Boise.

I soon found myself once again on I-84 at the infamous Albion exit...for the third time in less than 18-months. The stretch of road between Pocatello and Boise is approaching I-40 in familiarity, second only to the now-tiresome I-25! I pointed out to a politely-interested (or keenly disinterested?) Laina some of my little landmarks from 2008 before we pulled into Boise around 8pm or so Wednesday night, exhausted but glad we had not waited until Wednesday morning to leave, as was our original plan. We were in town early enough to get (re)acquainted AND get a good night's sleep for New Year's Eve. Despite the weather and my initial misgivings as to its wisdom, in retrospect the beginning of this winter adventure really did work out perfectly.

Coming into Lynette & Dave's subdivision naturally invoked a flurry of Warm Fuzzies from September, and it again occurred to me that this was going to be the first time either Shelly, Lynette, Dave, or anyone here had seen me out of travel mode. The last time I had seen Lynette & her family, Chris and I were strapping on our packs and heading down a barren US-20 toward Caldwell. Laina's predicament wasn't lost on me; she had heard much about my drama's characters, but had yet to actually meet any of them. Now, she was about to be baptized by fire: meeting nearly all of my new family at once! I knew they were curious about her too: "How does she put up with you doing this?" was something I was asked 100 times over the summer!

Lynette came out to meet us walking up to the door, and it was as though I had never left. I gave her a big hug, quickly introduced Laina, then strode to the door to give Shelly a hug. Again: like I'd never left. I had to remind myself that it had been six-months since I had seen Shelly, and nearly four since Lynette. SIX MONTHS? Unreal. Ben & Brad were also there as were Dave's kids, Amanda, Mike, and Steph. The same cast as September. I kept telling Amanda & Mike I won't know what to do if I ever visit while they're at home in California. I'd miss 'em.

As I mentioned, I was exhausted from the drive and lack of sleep in the days prior to leaving Santa Fe. I blame my new supplements but whatever the reason, this fatigue led to one of the goofiest and nearly most awkward moments...ever. As I was introducing Laina to everyone, I was working very hard to keep names straight. I know everyone quite well, so normally: not a problem at all. Tonight? A slight problem! For a split-second, I lapsed Dave's name! I'm NOT proud of this, nor do I find it particularly flattering. I mention it only to submit to my sentence inside The Cone of Shame. In my defense, I was so tired that basic recall had begun to fail, and I KNEW it before hand. My radio background spared me the total in-the-moment humiliation in that I know to THINK AHEAD while speaking to be certain of what spews from my mouth. What was seen to unknowing eyes probably resembled Todd being a smartass...but I had to ask myself 3x if I got it right: "DAVE, right?? NOT DOUG? NOT DREW? Fuck! I'm losing my mind!" My shame is everlasting. Once again: Sorry, Dale.

A good night's sleep worked wonders for New Year's Eve. Lynette & Shelly took Laina shopping while Drew(?) & I hung around the house. He had gotten a telescope for Christmas and was learning how it worked, and after he showed me some of their home improvements, he brilliantly articulated something I had been struggling with for a month. It was something to the effect of: the more you're around family that you get along with and care about, and begin to have positive drama-free experiences, the more you want it. It took awhile for that to settle in and I'm not sure if he was speaking from my perspective, his, or Lynette's but it didn't matter; he hit on a significant portion of my drive to get here.

Going back to August/ September there are two things about Dave, among others: he's insightful, and has a way of getting to the point and simplifying things with a minimum of words. The first I respect. The second I admire because it's something I struggle with. I've become quite fond of "that husband of hers," and will be quite certain to challenge Ward & The Hens on their chosen scapegoat. Oh! my silliness! Ward & The Hens! Sounds like a Dukes of Hazzard spinoff. Or, Hugh Beaumont porn. Consider it trademarked; my intellectual property.

From there, Dave cracked open a new can suggesting that when I'm "done with this," Laina and I move to Boise. Shelly intends to move back there from Ohio sometime over the next year, so considering how little I like/much I hate Santa Fe, it's worth considering. In fact, back in October Laina and I discussed moving to Portland in order to be closer to everyone. I cannot stress enough how foreign it feels having, "move CLOSER to family" rattling in my skull!

The positive energy between Laina, Shelly, and Lynette was immediately obvious, and continued the "at-ease" I had felt in September; it was obviously not a fluke. All was well. All that was left to do Thursday... was ring in 2010! Food was prepared, and more importantly Dave was mass-producing his famous Rum Runners.

**Quick story about the Rum Runners that I've yet to tell: These concoctions are so good, that while at another friend Dave's, the harbormaster in Portland, I was taking pictures of a yacht entitled the 'Rum Runner' in order to pay homage to Sir Fogg's Wagon-Killer Brew. I was literally taking this picture when Andre and Cody sailed the MasterCraft in, and the Portland Adventure began. They're just that good!**

Stephanie and her boyfriend, Stewart, joined us as did Lynette & Dave's neighbors, Mike, Wendy, and Bailey. The drinks flowed and the food fed as we played a game of Apples to Apples before taking the party across the street for a game of Rock Band on X-Box. Having been deeply scarred by drunken karaoke a decade ago, I abstained. But, my sisters and girlfriend are apparently repressed rock stars. Never shy, Lynette took to the role of what can only be described as a cross between Belinda Carlisle and Sidd Vicious: singing the Go-Go's Our Lips Are Sealed while yelling at her band to, "get it together." Video exists. It's taken great restraint to keep it contained, and is now secured within a bank vault in Manhattan. Laina has applied great pressure to release it to the world, but despite that--I stand firm. Honor me.

This reminds me: I also repelled great temptation induced by Stewie, Steph's boyfriend. He spent the evening trying to coerce me to smoke and break my noble & righteous vow, but verily! I steadfastly refused. Despite slanderous claims that it was I asking for a cigarette, I am proud to say that due to my steel resolve in rebuffing The Stew, I have proudly hit the 8-week mark smoke-free. Also, a new hand-to-hand challenge from Young Ben was accepted, and while details are hazy at best, I'm happy to say that the young apprentice was once again easily vanquished by Ye Strong Arm of Errantry, again despite despicable, vile rumors to the contrary. Honor me! (When exactly did I become Lancelot?)

Stewart & Steph

While Sidd and her Go-Go's were reminding us all of garbage bag attire, Dave was taking odds on whether she'd see midnight. He wasn't convinced. At 9:30, she was a rock 'n roll tour-de-force; there was nothing stopping her and it became clear to me that Lynette and I could be trouble if the sun & stars happened to align beneath the banner of Bacardi or Blue Moon. By 11:00 she was in the fetal position- at home, asleep. I shook my head out of an odd sense of genetic familiarity, laughed, gave her a peck on the cheek, and wobbled back over to the Snyder's to welcome in 2010.

Shelly & I

As the new decade commenced, poor Mr. Snyder, or someone, mentioned politics...while I was drinking. Yeeaaaah. That should trigger Civil Defense Warnings. Eh, Chris? I'm surprised Laina didn't just bust a champagne bottle over my head as a public service, but some of her anecdotes involve Brad and Bailey (Mike's daughter) counting how many times I used the f-word. It appears that Mike, Wendy, and I were probably in agreement on most everything, but that's never stopped me from drunk-arguing before! Right, Chris? Dave hit it on the head the next morning, gleefully telling me that he "saw a side of me he'd never seen" in this drunken, nonsensical, circular political "conversation!" Guilty. But, I think it was a backhanded compliment; he seemed to imply that I usually make sense! I've intentionally tried to avoid the political/ social discussions around these folks in an effort to benefit them from the mistakes of/with others! Right, Chris? But dammit... sometimes that ranting little fucker breaks free. How do you discipline an unruly, chemically dependent pundit-child? I honestly have no idea how long Mike, Wendy, and I stumbled around inside the politics/religion (that too *cringe*) maze. I do recall having a terrific time, and considering Mike accepted my Facebook friend-request, I guess I didn't piss him off too much. That's a blessing... and always a good sign. Not all my acquaintances, or even friends, survive these! Right, Jason?

Over the last couple weeks of '09, and as midnight approached, I often thought back to last January-when Chris and I were pondering what we thought the year would look like. From NYE '09 in Denver to NYE '10 in Boise, 2009 was exactly what it should have been. And more. I don't know what I would have changed, other than the distancing of Pam and not meeting Skip. I do regret the faded relationship with Pam in the grand scope because we are closely connected whether we like it or not. Nothing can change that. And, Mike's enough of a brother!


2009 in a nutshell:

- The Veggie Bus
- Kim and the Cops in Tennessee
- Trent and Megan in Chesapeake Beach, MD
- Chris and I making our way by foot and thumb from DC to Lewes, DE
- The Beach in New Jersey
- The Corbin Cafe
- New York City
- Massachusetts to Michigan with Stacey.
- Meeting and spending most of June with Shelly, not to mention meeting my brother Mike & his daughter Ally, Ben & Brad, Travis, seeing my father for the 2nd time AND reconnecting with all my friends in Michigan after 10-15 years. Maybe the most relentlessly intense 5-weeks of my life.
- The week at the Iowa 80 & King Dirk.
- Learning about and processing Dennis's death. The eternal 5-hour ride.
- Devils Tower
- Leslie & Carthage, SD
- Joel, Don, Grand Forks, Williston ND
- Meeting Lynette, Dave, Mike, Amanda, & Steph in Boise
- Andre
- Port Townsend
- Meeting Amber
- House-sitting, selling the car, and PROCESSING PORTLAND
- Quitting smoking
- New Year's in Boise

And, this is just the inadequate cliff-notes version. Thanks to Chris, Bobby, Devin & Leif, Brian & Joey, Gus, Lauren, Mandela, Cody, Wendie, Katie, Fast Joe, and everyone else who made 2009 what it was! I wish I could list everyone, and as usual I wish I would have stayed in touch with more people. Maybe next year?

Wendy, Lynette, Dave, & Bailey

NYE Snowstorm

9/9-9/10/09: The Dalles-Portland, OR

Riverfront Park and I liked each other! I immediately made my way to the shore of the Columbia River and, looking across to Washington, thought about Lewis and Clark. I had gotten my first glimpse of Mt. Hood the day before, and was continually amazed at the intense beauty of Oregon. My kinda place.

I sat on the ramp for a couple hours, but as dusk approached I knew I needed to get back into the park, which was Day Use only, and find a place to hide for the night. I was tired, and had begun getting frustrated at a perceived lack of drive and vision. I held the "Sit Down & Shut Up" idea close, but when I am fatigued I tend to get bitchy. As I dozed off in a perfect, soft spot just off a nature trail adjacent to the park, I was wondering what the hell I was doing. I also knew I needed sleep! Sleep, as it turned out, would not be a problem. The grass was at least 4ft. tall, which made for something of a mattress beneath the bivy, and I slept uninterrupted for nearly 12-hours. We had crossed into Pacific Time the day before, so the sun set an hour earlier. Getting to sleep at 8:15 gave me a great jump on a monumental Thursday, and had also given my psyche a colon cleansing. I was tuned-in, present, and excited about where I was. And, I should have been.

I was noticeably relaxed as I set up a little day camp on a picnic table. All I wanted was to relax and enjoy a morning next to the Columbia. Logic said I should get my ass to the ramp and try to take advantage of the early start to get thru Portland, but my intuition was telling logic to go fuck itself! I decided to side with intuition. I fully charged my cell batteries, repacked the pack, ate, shaved, and just...was. It was phenomenal!

Around noon however, being still present, I noticed a shift. It was inexplicably time to change locales and get to the ramp. I followed without question, and spent the next 90-minutes writing before a small SUV suddenly appeared from nowhere. Let the festivities begin.

Zeno was a middle-age, pony-tailed former UN artist. Yes, an artist that worked for the UN, and on his way to pick his daughter up from the Portland airport. He was also one of the more fascinating rides ever, and set the tone for the rest of the day. Zeno had been wildly successful with the UN, and had traveled all over the world. He found himself on the floor of the General Assembly with regularity, and met numerous diplomats and world dignitaries. Zeno had also given all that up when he discovered he had a daughter who was in her early 20's, and moved to The Dalles, just to be near her. The transition had not been easy; his artwork was being held hostage because someone felt his quitting was, somehow, a breach of contract. His assets were frozen, and this man who had made a fortune was now scouring for work at places like McDonald's. It was odd to hear a well spoken, articulate, worldly man give an educated dissertation on Syria, then tell of applying at Burger King! After a short time, I greatly admired Zeno. He was a man of conviction who followed a distinct sense of right; "career" be damned. The conversation eventually transitioned into how to make money while traveling, and he was a gold mine of insight and information. Taking notes, I soon had a page full of avenues to follow. Avenues such as how to work guarding workers from bears in Alaska, and traveling to archaeological sites to work, paid, as a digger! I greatly enjoyed every minute of my ride through the Columbia Gorge with Zeno, and again wished he were one of the multi-hundred mile variety!

He dropped me at the Pilot in Troutdale, on the far east-end of Portland. I knew from 2008 that this was where the rail line ended, and since it was still relatively early, if needed I could get to the far west end by transit system. I wanted to pay a visit to my friend and '08 Couchsurf, Dave, who runs a marina off US-30 in Linnton. My thoughts were that if I could get there, it would be smooth sailing to Astoria, then the Pacific Ocean. My worry was navigating Portland. The day, however, had by now took on a life of its own.

Zeno and I had gone in for coffee and before he had even returned to the car, I had been offered a ride, literally, to Dave's doorstep. Brian had approached me asking to "buy" a cigarette. He was trying to quit, but was obviously jonesing! I have been there, and could sympathize! He noticed that I was wearing a "Michigan" t-shirt Lynette had given me, and I soon learned that he was from Schoolcraft, MI and had listened to my old radio station. We were fast friends and he, like Zeno, was an interesting guy but for very different reasons. I learned on the way to Dave's that he and his wife have 8-kids, and live for free on National Park and BLM land as they save their money. He was a self-described political activist, and had very strong views on banking and the nexus of political power. Obviously, I greatly enjoyed our little ramble through Portland in his overfilled station wagon; one that was outfitted with a Corvette engine! Brian dropped me off at Dave's door, as promised, and out of my typical character, I gave him some money both out of great appreciation and respect. Eight kids? BLM land? That has to be a bitch at times.

I had called Dave from Troutdale to let him know I was around, and to be sure he hadn't moved! We had not chatted since July '08, but had become good friends over the July 4th weekend I was there. As I walked up, it appeared little had changed in 14-months. Fred's Marina was the same, and I found him in the same spot I had last summer: manning the store. We quickly caught up, and exchanged stories before he invited me in to his floating home to meet his son, who is also quite a talented musician. Pretty soon, it was time to leave and continue up US-30 toward Astoria. We took a picture, but before we could exchange out proper goodbyes, a sudden influx of customers needing gas for their boats, or candy for their kids left me standing there feeling slightly awkward. Then, in pulled a blue and white Master Craft needing gas. Inside was an odd pair. One looked to be a middle aged, boisterous Italian, while the other was a dreadlocked young man who looked to be barely in his 20's. The kid saw my pack, and asked if I was traveling. I said yes and, just like that, the most extraordinary, random weekend of either summer commenced.

Fasten your seat belts and put your tray tables in their upright & locked position...

9/6/09: Boise-Caldwell, ID

Chris and I had grand plans of being on the road early Sunday, and beginning a kind of reunion adventure west. Of course, plans are ridiculous, as I keep saying and eventually will realize. I was honestly in no hurry whatsoever. I was putzing around pretending to pack, while in reality I was enjoying a final, very cool day with Lynette and her family. Morning became mid-afternoon, and suddenly we found ourselves seated around the table feasting on delicious pork with the entire Fogg clan. It was a perfect ending to a perfect week.

As 5pm approached, Chris was itching to get moving. I sensed some very familiar, and foul vibes that began to stink of Michigan. He tried very hard to conceal his it, but a thespian he is not! I began to believe that re-visiting Spring was ill-advised. When Lynette invited me along to gather school supplies, I accepted. This was the last day I was there, we had a good moon to walk by, and besides: Chris was free to exert his sovereignty, and leave whenever he wanted. I silently refused to sacrifice precious time at Lynette's in order to accommodate his personal urgency to continue on. As always, there was no animosity involved, it just was matter of quietly saying, "In a hurry? Then...go." We had been here before.

The school supplies trip was short, and soon enough we were both packed, watered, and taking pictures in front of Casa de Fogg. Ben wanted to visit a friend in Star, so Lynette offered to drive us down US-20 for a 10-mile head start. Brad stayed behind, so I gave him a big hug, and as Lynette, Dave, Ben, Chris and I drove away the realization that this visit had ended and that I was back on the road settled in. The reality followed shortly at a rural intersection on Hwy. 20/26. Lynette echoed Mike's sentiments exactly when he had dropped us off in Battle Creek: "I feel weird just leaving you here!" We laughed at the deja vu, and assured her that she was just playing by the rules! Saying goodbye was tough, but light. Dave had an odd look on his face that I still haven't figured out, saying finally, "You two sure have some adventure in you." We all hugged, then as we crossed the road I watched the new family members drive off. I would miss Boise, but have some priceless memories, and will forever feel Bob Seger's "traces they left on my soul"...and I don't deal in melodrama!

I had yet to decide on a tactically specific course. Either way, the crossroad seemed to lie near the Oregon border in familiar territory. Fruitland, ID and Ontario, OR are places I had ventured through in 2008, and also relatively close to Chris' chosen US-20 that would take him toward Bend, OR. Neither of us knew rather anyone would stop for two apparent backpackers, so were very encouraged when, after 10-short minutes, we found ourselves in the back of a pickup heading to Caldwell, I-84, a Flying J, and a decision.

Following half a coffee, I ignored my Spidey Senses, deciding to bypass I-84 (and the obvious route toward Fruitland and Oregon) in favor of embracing adventure, a new method, and trying out my new boots. We headed directly into Caldwell so we could chat, reflect, and relive old times. We did exactly that as we made the unexpectedly long walk thru the heart of town and surprisingly found ourselves using Google Maps to find US-20. Soon after dusk, we were descending a treacherous, steep 80 ft. concrete embankment beneath an overpass, walking Union Pacific train tracks into the back country, and feeling like the Intrepid Adventurers we fancied ourselves in the spring. Eventually, we were spit out onto US-20 near the I-84 interchange. We deduced that we had probably walked six miles... to progress three. That didn't bother me in the least. Chris and I had much to talk about; our conversations continue to evolve. We had both experienced much recently, and I noticed that our abstract ideas had much more personal flavor to them with actual life beginning to enhance, and often even supplant, empty words as the primary fuel. All was not well on the Vagabond Front, however. My conditioning became an issue. I was physically feeling the fact I had done no significant walking since April or May! My wind was fine, but endurance and muscle tone were not! Since Chris and I were contemplating an Eastern Oregon desert crossing, it was an acute concern. We knew from experience that tandem hitching is much more difficult. I was afraid that these grandiose notions, for me at least, were bordering on McCandless-esque hubris. Plus, I had no beaming interest in Bend. I needed to consider things carefully. A mile down US-20, away from I-84, I decided it would be wise to bed down for the night and think things through in the morning. I could honestly see no payoff in continuing this direction, but knew I tend to become a bit more negative when I am tired. We hopped a barbed wire fence into some ridiculously tall vegetation, with me destroying my thin hiking pants in the process, and I quickly dozed off to the sound of coyotes with a growing sense that this made no sense.

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...

7/9/08: Fruitland-Twin Falls, ID-Jack

I got up early again, seemingly falling back into the routine of rising between 8:15 and 8:45. I packed up to the curiosity of the many onlookers who were passing through the driveway between the Shell station and I. Then it was off for the morning ritual of coffee, and to get a feel for where I was, and GOING, in Idaho. I knew next to nothing about the state; did not even realize how close I was to Boise.

A significant thing had happened between when I'd gone to bed and gotten up in the morning. I realized that I was now OUT of Oregon, which posed a slight problem. Remember Wyoming? Destinations? Just where the hell was I going anyhow?!?! Time to try to figure that out.

I sat down in the same booth as the night before, began drinking the coffee, borrowed the Rand McNally Atlas off the rack and began looking ahead. I saw two very foreboding sights: Wyoming and, in particular, Utah.

Let me be very clear: I hate Utah.

Utah is the place where thought goes to die. I’ve heard only horror stories about Utah from those who’ve tried to get thru it, either backpacking (desert) or hitching (cops & Mormons). They, to a man, have told me to go around it, rather than set even a foot inside Utah, thereby risking being kidnapped to 1850. You risk being harassed incessantly. There is even a law on the books in some town where it is illegal to speak ill of the Mormon Church! Really? In 2008? Let’s just say it would be an act of utter desperation for me to even consider navigating Utah’s theocracy.

With this in mind, I began considering different routes. To avoid Utah and Wyoming:

* South immediately into Nevada via highway 93 toward Vegas and Bullhead City
* North immediately via 93 toward the Bitterroots into Montana & I-90 or US-12.
* Continue up 84 to I-15 into Montana, OR
* Continue up 84 to Pocatello then pick up US-30 to I-80 thru Wyoming (ugh!)

I liked the idea of US-12 because it goes all the way to Michigan through my hometown of Jonesville. Laina is returning to Michigan at the end of July to see family, and I also noticed that it crosses both the Dakotas then Minnesota and Wisconsin, before turning south to Chicago. I had put Montana, and both Dakotas on my places to go, but after realizing how much I despise being cold, I wondered how wise it would be to cross the Bitterroots and the REAL Rocky Mountains. The road south appealed a bit because it would take me to through Winnemucca (Mac) to Vegas, then I could go toward Bullhead City and Lake Meade in Arizona and hop on I-40 toward Albuquerque & Santa Fe to see Laina, bypassing the Michigan portion and heading toward the east from there. So many options.

I went round and round for a couple of hours. Money, again, reared its ugly head. I began to picture going into Montana and having something come up leaving me broke and stranded up there with the wolves and cows. (Are there cows in Montana?) A common psychological theme that would haunt me the rest of my time in Idaho. Despite the fact that every time I had needed something it would pop up, as long as I put forth the effort, I was beginning to let fear take hold.

In the end, I decided that going through the Nevada desert was a bit foolhardy, and heading north into the Bitterroots, at least at that point, did not make a lot of sense either. I ultimately concluded I was going to Montana via Pocatello. I would continue the course I was on, and set Pocatello as my destination & point of no return. I could either pick up US-12 further east in Helena, off I-15, or go back to Denver (again!) to try to make some money. I should have just rolled the dice then...

This posed some troubling questions for me. I had now opened Denver as an option, and in the interest of being honest with myself, that could potentially be a cop out and lead me back to the safety and security of Santa Fe. There were times that I felt road weary, as though I could use a break.

The troubling notion also began to sink in that, since Olema, I had become The Happy Hitchhiker. I was no more sustainable than when I left, and had lost sight of much of the philosophy and adventurous aspect (save the train) behind this. Was this just reality setting in? I had been gone nearly a month, traveled in the neighborhood of 1500 miles, and had gained a sense of method, for lack of a better term. I missed the idea of hiking across the Marin Headlands, not knowing what was ahead of me. The idea of setting off down Highway 1-- just walking. I needed perspective. Time for some self- examination.

However, not today.

I got out of the gas station and up toward I-84 at about 10:00, and it was already HOT! Scorching. The coming 100-degree heat was all the rage with everyone, so I was prepared. I’d even decided to dig out the sun screen; something I despise. I didn’t know what to expect when I sat down on the ramp and threw the thumb up. I felt cautiously optimistic considering the luck I’d had the day before after not starting until 4:00! I had sat there in the sun listening to music for about 30 minutes when the theme for the day presented itself. Ride #1.

Chris too was 37 and sold gas detectors to chemical companies. He was on his way toward Nampa, near Boise, to drop something off and said I could ride along. He seemed very intrigued not only in the physical aspect of my trip, but the "why". He is another in the string of people who said they wished they could do something like this, but had responsibilities. Chris has three kids and a wife, so gets his adventuring fix boating, camping, and drinking beer. He is a guy who has a distinct edge to him. We are disgusted by many of the same things; materialism etc.; but he doesn’t see what he can do about it.

He pointed out something I had not thought of or had many discussions about: being afraid to pick up a hitchhiker is somewhat ridiculous. The hiker is taking more of a risk than YOU are! For example, if he tried to rob you; all you have to do is punch the accelerator to about 90 mph. What’s he gonna do? Jump? That thought would fuel my disgust later on in the week...

Chris dropped me off at a gas station in Nampa, where I briefly walked around inside then set up on the ramp again. It was getting hotter, but I was sitting in the heat for less than 5 minutes when along came ride #2.

Inside were two black guys, I believe the ONLY two black guys in Idaho, so I felt privileged to meet them. Actually, when they pulled over I felt my upbringing kick in. Apprehension. The sounds of gangsta rap were coming from the car, and they seemed to fit every stereotype Whitey has been taught to fear about blacks. In addition, he wanted me to put the pack in the trunk, which even I know is a no no.

They asked where I was going and I asked if they could get me to the other side of Boise, and since both of my Couchsurf requests had come back negative, I wanted to get thru the city. The driver, who I had seen at the truck stop moments earlier, answered that it shouldn’t matter how far if they were offering a ride. He had a point. I decided to ignore the second thinking and hopped in the back seat-- keeping my pack on my lap.

I was immediately treated to a wonderful Gangsta Rap Sing Along. I will not lie and tell you I felt completely comfortable in that car, but they just left me alone as they just rapped along to the music. I understood none of what they were saying other than the frequently used “nigga” and either “tap dat ass” or “put a cap in dat ass”. Perhaps it was both? I was laughing quietly to myself thinking of the stereotypical display before me.

These were a couple of cool people. They had just stopped off to grab a 40oz bottle of Coors. In the end, I felt like the stereotype for feeling the twinges of judgment purely at the sight of these people. I was neither beaten nor robbed, and they even shook hands and wished me well when they dropped me off. Not my best moment.

I never got their names but they did indeed drop me off on the other side of Boise, at exit 52 or 53. I went into the truck stop to use the rest room and fill up the water bottle with ice to combat the heat.

Chris had warned me early in the day to get ALL THE WAY to Mountain Home from Boise because there was next to nothing in between. That was exactly my plan when I sat down on the ramp and waited for ride #3, which showed up 20 minutes later.

Corey reminded me a bit of my friend Joey. Very flamboyant. Gay. Personable. We exchanged stories, and I believe I caught him eyeballing my ‘nether regions’ a few times. Whatever. He was a perfect gentleman (never used that phrase pertaining to MY experience), and it was blazing hot in the high desert, so I was just happy to be in the A/C getting a ride to Mountain Home. Another perfectly enjoyable ride! Corey is also the one who warned me about eastern Idaho when I mentioned I was going toward Pocatello. He described it as having as high, if not higher, LDS concentration as Utah. Great. He predicted I would have trouble finding rides out that way. He dropped me off at yet another truck stop, continuing the theme that would stay with me the rest of the way.

It was here in Mountain Home that I ALMOST hit hitchhiking's mother lode. A cross country ride. I met a kid who was moving back to Canton, Ohio that day and had been looking for someone to ride along. He had no luck, so his mother flew out to Idaho to ride back with him. He was on the way to the airport to pick her up then. That was only slightly disappointing though, I was having a good day!

After again doing a non-spending tour of the truck stop, I went to the on-ramp again and through the familiar routine. This time I was there for about 30 minutes when ride #4 came along. One of the most interesting rides, and favorite people of the entire trip.

Jack picked me up at about 2:40, saying he was going to Twin Falls to pick up parts for his farm equipment and I could ride along. He was a farmer from Grand View who looked to be 60-65, and was very soft spoken. Almost too soft! I could understand only about half of what he said at first, but he smiled when he said it, and had a great sense of humor. I settled in for what I figured would be a nice steady, albeit slow, ride to Twin Falls: he rarely topped 55 mph.

By now, we were in the true heat of the day. It was about 100, and the temperature would begin to have its effect. Not on me, but Jack’s truck began to overheat. He pulled off at a rest stop to check the water and acknowledged that he had checked everything BUT the water before he left Grand View, and that there was NO coolant mixed with what water there was. The radiator was almost bone dry, so he filled it up and we let it cool for 20-30 minutes while we talked and watched a biplane crop duster fly overhead. I was struck by odd feelings of nostalgia; this reminded me of my childhood for some reason, and I was growing very fond of this old coot. He had such a calm demeanor and handled everything that came along the same way. He just dealt with it, I believe I was taking mental notes, and respected that about him. I would have been closer to Rich’s end of things than Jack’s!

When we got back on the highway, we discovered that our overheating ordeal was just beginning. It got to where the truck just refused to go any further and he had to pull off to the shoulder to let it cool. This happened a few times; the truck would eventually start, and then go MAYBE 100 yards before it would stall. I was just fine with this. I had gone somewhere between 125 and 175 miles thus far, and was happy to be in the company of someone I enjoyed. At one point, when the truck died next to a small stream, I hopped over the barbed wire fence, climbed down and doused my head and bandana with the cool water. It felt incredible. There is nothing better than a well placed river on a hot day. I remembered Rich and I thinking how great it would have been to be able to jump in one of the many streams we saw from the train, so I felt like I was making up for missed opportunities.

This went on for quite awhile. Start-stop. Start-stop. Finally, we got to Jerome, which is a little town to the north of Twin Falls. Jack stopped at a gas station to let the truck cool, refill the radiator, and douse the engine block with water to assist the cooling. The sun was now much lower in the sky and we were finally getting some relief from the heat. About now happened one of the weirdest events of the trip, although I would not realize it at the time, at least not past the sense of a lost opportunity.

A minivan pulled in overheating. Inside were a mother and two kids, one of which looked to be 19 or 20. They seemed friendly, if a bit annoyed by their car’s issues. Through conversation, I had learned that they were going to Pocatello on their way back from Washington. The perfect chance to finish this stretch of Idaho in ONE day! However, I did not bother to ask for the ride. Why? They seemed friendly enough, had enough room . . .and I had Jack standing right there as a hitcher’s reference! I just could not do it. I don’t know why—to this day. I should have. I would be reminded, starkly, in just a few days.

Jack’s truck eventually cooled enough and he had decided to go to Walmart for coolant. I was quite happy with that since that meant I could grab some more cheap canned goods. I rode along, got my stuff, and we arranged where he would drop me off: a Flying J near the interstate and well north of the city.

Jack seemed sorry to end this little adventure, and I was too. He was a terrific man. He even seemed to feel bad that it had taken so long to get there, and wondered aloud what I would say about it in the journal. I told him I would say this: A genuinely nice man stopped, picked me up and we had a perfectly enjoyable afternoon getting to Twin Falls despite his truck overheating. It is telling about Jack that the afternoon was so enjoyable despite all of that; the comparison to Rich and his whining did not escape me! We finally got to the Flying J at something like 8:00, shook hands, and I again told him how much I had enjoyed the day. By now, I think the compliments were making him uncomfortable!

From the Jerome Flying J, I had visions of catching a truck, so I sat on a bench out back where the drivers fueled and went inside. No luck with the ride, but I did find out from an employee that there was a staffing service in Jerome, SOS Staffing that was desperate for english speaking temp help. That sounded appealing; the same way La Grande sounded appealing. I wrote down the directions and figured I would try to call them the next day. I also chatted up the restaurant manager discovering a place to sleep for the night, in a picnic area next to the building out in the open, much like the place in Fruitland.

Another event of note: the stupid looking sunglasses that I had bought in Ft. Morgan finally died. They had been through a lot, so I gave them a decent ashtray burial.

With all that settled, I went inside and began a massive update in my written journal. I spent 3-4 hours in the café writing and drinking the free coffee refills while being forced to listen to Fox News. It occurred to me at that point, when I began to not-so-quietly tell Sean Hannity what I thought of him, that I had watched next to NO TV since I left, and that my tolerance was now zero for the fabricated, prepackaged selling of bullshit. I will mercifully spare you that rant. For now.

I headed out to my little nesting area, and on the way ran into the first fellow backpacker I had seen on the trip. I forget his name, but he was coming from the east, from the Rainbow Gathering at Medicine Bow in Wyoming. He told me a dramatic horror story about walking 25 miles through eastern Idaho completely unable to get ANYONE to stop, echoing what Corey had told me earlier. He had finally stumbled across a trucker at a rest area who had brought him, and his dog, to Twin Falls.

He told me to be sure that I got ALL THE WAY THROUGH TO AT LEAST POCATELLO! I heeded the warning and told him about the picnic area. He said he had gotten his second wind and wanted to keep going so we parted ways. I set up my humble little nest, put on some music and dozed off. I woke up in the middle of the night to "eliminate" excess coffee  and, to my surprise, saw him and Norma Jean curled up in his sleeping bag nearby. I guess he didn’t get out of there. I never did talk to him again; he was gone before I got up.