8/17/10: Elmira and Corning, NY

When Tuesday dawned, I was far from certain about getting to Ohio for the week’s-end rendezvous with my brother. Casey & Julia had dropped me in a great spot as far as shade, camping, and a truck stop. The problem was no traffic! It reminded me of '08's Mormon Black Hole near Pocatello!

By 9am, I had broken camp, repacked, returned with water & coffee, and hoped to quickly pass Elmira, which Julia had aptly described a bit “shady”; a vibe I’d noticed both with Alex and in ‘09 with Chris & Stacey. It seems the best of Elmira's attributes is that it is a gateway to either New York or Pennsylvania!

"WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING HERE?"

The traffic never picked up; often as infrequent as a car every half-hour. As morning became mid-afternoon, I began to repeatedly ask, “What the fuck am I doing here?” This wasn’t in the predictable, dismissible tone of simple frustration.

Sitting in the sun, sipping water, and throwing stones at signs, I again had time to reflect back over the near-year since meeting Leslie, Lynette, and Andre, during my northern jaunt of 2009. Another baby step toward the coming reconciliation came with again seeing how much I had lost touch with what were once cornerstone beliefs.

Since leaving Port Townsend, the core energy and vibe of these little travels had changed. From Andre to Wendie all the way to Ray and my relationship with Chris, everything had taken a distinctly different, sometimes sinister tone. I had cultivated doubt in myself and my own beliefs as I dissected those of others, particularly after the Don Quixote manifesto, and now, particularly since Brian’s this summer. All the old ideas of universal synchronicity, even the 'Side Car' & 'Sit Down & Shut Up', sounded deluded and ridiculous when trying to articulate them. It was as though I’d performed a Broadway version of the R.E.M song Losing My Religion! I had hoped that this trip, to places unknown, would rekindle my sense of wonder and adventure; reignite what I’d lost and missed terribly: belief in a purpose and, to a great degree, myself. 

It nearly had, until the infamous Asscrack Incident! Despite my opinions of Ginger and Ahab, I wasn’t kidding myself into thinking that it was anyone’s fault but my own, yet I couldn’t comprehend what had changed in myself in the time between meeting Lynette & Andre and now...beyond losing touch with my Innards, and that thing I call The Voice. 

With such an obvious solution, it would seem easy to convince yourself to just “believe” again, and some can do that! I am not one of those people. I had inadvertently opened logic & reason’s door and wielded empirical proof as a weapon against spirituality, synchronicity, and intuition... then pointed that gun at myself! While challenging other’s possible “delusions”, I was scuttling my own foundation!

Mother. Fucker.

I’m sure that a few certain readers will savor my self-inflicted pain--perhaps call it Karma. Maybe deservedly so. But, you’ll need to wait for the moneyshot! For the purpose of continuity, Tuesday eventually provides New York’s companion-catalyst to the Asscrack Incident, this one a mercifully  external example helping to advance this tortuous process of spiritual realignment & growth, at least to some degree.

ELMIRA & CORNING

After five-hours, I was imagining spending next month’s birthday in Tioga Center when, out of nowhere, Levon pulled over and invited me in for a hop to Elmira. For the next 45-minutes we (mostly he) talked sociology and politics. He appeared to be in his mid to late-20’s and was on his way home to Watkins Glen after hiking a bit of the Appalachian Trail.

Levon’s father is involved in politics in some capacity, is himself is a passionate small-government Libertarian and, if I recall correctly, not a fan of The Alaskan Road Whore & her Teabagging Minions. That meant we got along beautifully! So well in fact that he offered me food, his number, and a ride to Erie, PA if I somehow became stranded and in danger of missing my Ohio connection. I like these New Yorkers!

Levon

Elmira required improvised, technical navigation. Meaning I had to walk. Levon’s drop-site was busy, but at a spot that was impossible for someone to stop. I took to the grass next to the interstate, hopped a fence, crossed a massive mall parking lot, and ultimately found accommodations on the ramp re-entering I-86 next to the airport. The heel blister had healed nicely to that point, but this little urban trek destroyed that!

Soon enough, I was in the car with “G” and on my way to Corning, famous for it’s glass making and home to CorningWare! “G” was in his 50’s and really nondescript but offered some great information on where to hop a train if I decided to AND drove me thru the pleasant little town that seemed a good place, since it was getting late in the day, to camp until Wednesday morning if needed. 

That would not be necessary...

8/16/10: Tioga Center, NY- A Nymphomaniac, Abortion, and End of an Era

Monday morning's alarm never had a chance to ring, deferring instead to the ominous chimes of thunder at 5:45. The skies offered a temporary reprieve, so I hustled to pack and sprint out of the woods to the truck stop hoping to ride out Mother Nature's drama. Thus began one of my most bizarre days!

Two hours, three pots of coffee, and a steak-and-eggs breakfast later, the storms had passed Central Square, the camera, cell phone and I had a full bellies, and all were prepared for a day-long push toward Binghamton then east toward Erie & Cleveland. My hope was to find a cannonball thru Syracuse right away. When Liz pulled over (another single woman!) 10-minutes later in what appeared to be her combination commuter/farm vehicle, it seemed to be a modest uneventful 10-mile start to the day. Ninety-minutes later I was disembarking from, aside from Dennis, what may be the strangest, most uncomfortable ride I’ve had since beginning these travels in 2008! 

Liz was married, in her early or mid-20’s, quite round, and already had a large flock: five kids. Once she felt assured I wasn’t a freak she relaxed, bypassed her original 10-minutes and just kept driving. And driving. Once thru Syracuse, I learned firsthand how women must often feel! Liz steadily, and without subtlety, manipulated the conversation to share that she was a "raging nymphomaniac", "addicted to pornography and the male form”, and that her husband was as "insatiable" as she. Oh, also that I should consider seeking out "work" on the Internet because, “with all the walking you do, I’m sure you’re in really good shape!” I regularly felt as though I should remind her that my eyes were “up here”. I didn't, and request that you remember that next time I'm accused of having no filter.

Liz repeatedly asked if I was uncomfortable with her steadily intensifying advances and, wanting to get as close to Binghamton as I could, I just rolled with it answering questions like, “what do you do about, you know, sex while you’re on the road? Do you just jerk off?” "Ya ever get a lot-lizard?"I laughed because, while it sounded bizarre coming from this critter, it wasn’t the first time I’d been asked that question. I  braced myself for what I assumed was the inevitable demand to watch in exchange for the ride! A demand that, thankfully, never came! But, with that question, all I could think of was Ahab and Ginger's daylong Cirque du Soleil coital-harpooning ceremony in Watertown! Some things you just cannot un-see.

When she finally figured out she was being stiff-armed, Liz quickly bored of me. In Binghamton, she took a spontaneous exit, and unceremoniously dumped me out in a Lowe’s parking lot next to US-11. I felt dirty. Used. Like was being shoved out of the car after being taken to Red Lobster and refusing to put out ! I'm a human being, goddammit. Not a wandering sex toy. Hold me.

I must admit I got a few laughs imagining the signs I could write up if I took Liz's "work" advice: "Will whack for ride." "Erect 'til Erie." "Let's bone to Boise!' Feel free to come up with your own.

Despite all that, I could care less. It was barely 10:30 and I had made it thru Syracuse all the way to Binghamton while rebuffing the advances of a would-be BBW porn star! I could now pivot east and making it to Ohio by Friday was looking good! 

One of my fatal-flaws is laziness. It always has been, and while I try very hard to fight it, I have colossal lapses that occasionally create comical scenarios. Allow me to present Exhibit #562. 

After fending off my voracious sexual predator, I was rather disoriented and misjudged the layout of Binghamton. I also underestimated its size. We had just left I-81, I was looking for I-86, and saw a sign for I-88. That’s a whole lotta 8’s! Rather than simply pulling out my map, I relied on my hazy recollections from the ride thru in 2009, lazily assumed I’d mistaken I-86 for I-88 and confidently pranced onward-- to the north then east-- following the signs to the interstate. 

Ooops...

When I’d arrived at I-88 forty-five minutes later, there was no place to hitch and only after walking another 20-minutes down an industrial service road did I finally decide to look at my fucking map. My discovery? I had not only mistaken the interstates, but this one ended in Binghamton! It did NOT connect with I-86. In fact, I-86 (despite what Google Maps said) did NOT pass thru or even touch Binghamton. I-86 in Binghamton was a trasportational phantom! The road I needed was NY-17. The question: how the hell was I supposed to get there from here! 

Blister McBastard, which had been doing well, was no longer doing well. It now paired painfully perfect with this little navigational abortion. And the weather was deteriorating! Downpours began as I cursed everything Binghamton and put my head down resolving to simply escape Binghamton one way or another. A couple of hours and several miles later, I had my bearings and set the proper course to my new obsession: Route 17. Incidentally, all I had needed to do at the outset was turn left instead of right when Liz let me out. It would have been obvious had I just USED the fucking map I was hauling around! That’ll piss a guy off. 

Eventually, I found a place to set myself up with a sign at a busy entrance ramp back on to I-81. Busy ramps are deceiving. One would think it would be easier to catch a ride at a place like this, but that’s usually not the case--especially in cities. Three hours later, the midday rain was replaced by a blazing mid-afternoon sun, heat, and humidity, and I felt as though I’d begun to grow roots from my ass to my backpack. I needed some positive energy. I found it in the form of a couple of great kids.

"The Kids are Alright"

Casey & Julia were both 19, just out of school, lived a bit west of Binghamton, and heading home after signing up for community college classes. They had originally passed me then decided to return, which happens frequently and , as I’ve said before, always amazes me. I was further astonished by their spirit and hospitality. They helped me get the pack into their trunk, loaded me up with water they had on-hand in the car, and vigorously tried to determine the best spot to drop me off without taking me all the way to Elmira! 

Neither Casey nor Julia seemed sure about what they wanted to do with their lives and expressed an untapped desire to “see what’s out there” despite their parents insistence that they get busy and “make something of this life.” I’m pretty sure that’s what led them to stop, and thinking of both myself and conversations I’d recently had with my contemporaries, I encouraged them to tell mom and dad to stuff it; to take their time before getting obsessed with becoming a cog in the machine. Julia, in particular, seemed fascinated by my method and philosophy of traveling, particularly after the story of Dennis and, comparing favorably to Leslie (which is tough), she reminded me once again why I love the Youth's attraction to the mystery, excitement and the possibility of life! I’m slowly accepting that, while it’s often accompanied by unavoidable ignorance--the kids have most of it right. What’s interwoven within the synthesis of mystery, excitement, and possibility is the fountain that streams what each of us need: hope. We old fucks bitterly know it on some level, but too many have let the practical “business of life” smother the very spirit that, in my not-so-humble opinion, makes life meaningful. Then, we wonder why we can’t relate to Youth and suddenly feel empty. I was happy to spend 20-minutes immersed in and reminded of that.

Route 17 finally turned into I-86 and shortly thereafter Casey and Julia dropped me off at a truck stop just west of Owego assuring me that the people out here were "stand-up" and that I’d have little trouble finding a ride. The truck stop seemed promising with lots of traffic and an adjacent Best Buy distribution center. I wasn’t too concerned as watched the sun fall from the nearby exit ramp and found a spot to bed down chuckling at the course of this day!

I had no idea, but this would be the last time I'd stealth camp for a VERY long time. If I had, I would have taken a picture of the nest!

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.

7/7/08: La Grande, OR

I was right not to remove the sleeping bag. I awoke at about 4:45 to the sight of another train passing by very slowly, with me in full sight, only saved by the fact that it wasn't fully light yet. A quick scan of the area quickly showed that we were pulling into a train yard. This bothered me immensely! Like everyone, I've heard the horror stories about the railroad 'bulls'; security thugs who will beat you to a pulp and maybe, as the urban legend goes, shoot you.

We quickly began to try to make ourselves as hidden as possible, but being on the outside of a car, that wasn't very effective. It basically boiled down to hopping onto the side of the car on the opposite side of human eyes. The train NEVER broke 35 mph, and the rail on which we stood was pretty wide, with a natural hand hold to use so it wasn't scary. Kind of fun at first, but that would be something we'd be doing quite frequently through the day.

After we were dodging the yard workers for a short time, the train started to move a short distance out of the yard, and we were thinking we were back on our way. But just after we got out of the main section, our little "Stop n' Go Special" stopped and STAYED stopped. This was at around 5am, and by 5:30 we'd decided to get off the train and hide in some of the sagebrush in case someone came along.

Then we waited....

and waited...

By 7:30 or 8:00 I felt comfortable enough in my little hiding place, and had seen very little activity near us so I rolled some cigs, arranged all me stuff for a quick re-boarding then crawled under a bush into some shade and must have slept for at least an hour and 15 minutes uninterrupted by anything.

Around 10 or 10:15 I heard Rich saying in a loud whisper "Dude, get up... it's leaving!"

After 5+ hours--- it was finally moving again. Just like some of my Amtrak trips!

The joy of moving again was short- lived. It would seem that this train was meant to stop at least every 15 minutes, and would RARELY get over 20- 25 mph. ALL DAY LONG!

Stop...

Wait...

Go slow for 15 minutes...

Stop...

Repeat...

We eventually figured out where we were, and how little progress we were making! By 3pm, we had been on the train for 18 hours, and had gone barley over 200 miles! It was easy, for me anyhow, to remember that I had paid nothing so couldn't really complain, but Rich was having difficulty with that idea. He had been a pretty good travel partner to this point, but about now began his incessant bitching! And whining. Yeah, the progress sucked, and it was frustrating, but you TRAIN HOPPED FOOL! Do you expect a sleeper car on a non-stop? It was about here that I figured I'd get to La Grande, and resume my trip...alone!

La Grande eventually came. To our great relief. We hopped off the train from and proceeded to find a gas station to get some, water and COFFEE! I'd been plagued by headaches all day. I initially attributed them to a lack of caffeine, but in retrospect it may have been Rich's vocal menstruation. Not sure to this day.

It was here that the day provided me with one of the coolest moments of the trip, and essentially slapped me back into line mentally.

I was filling my coffee cup at the gas station, and getting ready to go pay for it when a guy walks in and tells me that he had been waiting for us outside, and asked if we were travelers. I thought it a silly question, since I was carrying a 50# pack, but let that go. I said yes, and he asked "Are you okay on money? Do you have enough to get food?" Of course, money has been a nagging problem for a couple weeks, so I told him I wasn't really sure; not an outright lie! I wasn't!

Then he handed me $5.

He said that he had done a lot of this, and wanted to return some of the help HE'D received along the way. I was dumbfounded, but not totally surprised.

Rich came out of the restroom, I paid for my coffee and Mt. Dew (love my caffeine) then told him about it when we began walking toward the McDonald's, and its Dollar Menu, the guy had told me how to find.

I thought about splitting it with Rich, but I decided not to. He had been continuing his whining since we got off the train, and he obviously had a mild disdain for the town and its people. Maybe life in general, but either way, if he wants to put out that energy, let him; I'll get my 3 Double Cheeseburgers, fries, and another coffee and have even nicer things to say about the fine people in Oregon and La Grande in particular.

On the way to McDonald's I told Rich that I was done with the train hopping. I enjoyed it at night, but having to hide from people all day was draining and I really hated that. The best part of my trip is that, in addition to spectacular scenery and cheap travel, I've met some spectacular people; the guy at the gas station came along at the perfect time to remind me of that. By now, Rich stood in stark contrast to him. I was now hoping Rich would simply go away. I even thought about telling him so, but figured I'd see if his attitude improved first. I liked the guy when he wasn't mimicking the He Bitch.

We got to McDonald's at about 6:00. From there, I decided to head up to the I-84 on- ramp and see about catching a ride. I told Rich he could come along and see how it went with two people, or go catch his train. He was terribly conflicted and really couldn't decide what to do.

I empathized with that! I even offered him the use of my virgin dice.

He came along, and when we went to sit down, lo and behold, along comes the first State Trooper of the trip! He asked what we were up, we told him we were trying to catch a ride, and he said something to the effect that this was a great place to do it, and in fact HE had gotten from Portland to La Grande in about 8 hours once. He wasn't really harassing as much as checking on us, although he did ask for our ID's. He wrote everything down, but didn't run anything. I thought that was odd, but whatever. Normally I have a real problem with searches without probable cause, and figured I may eventually go to jail because of my refusal to submit to an identity search because some ego-driven cop just wants to harass me. This guy wasn't coming off that way, and seemed genuinely interested in what we were doing.

We must have spent 20 minutes chatting with Trooper Madsen on the side of the road, and came away with clear understandings of the hitching and camping laws in Oregon. He even told me of a perfect place to lay out the bedroll that night, and informed me that walking up the interstate was just fine in Oregon. "This aint Washington" he said.

We sat there for probably an hour after the trooper left, and then Rich was heading off to explore his training possibilities. We shook hands, exchanged the obligatory promises to stay in touch, and he was on his way. I was a little sorry to see him go, but not entirely. I was rather enjoying the solitude now, and figured catching a ride with be much easier alone!

I called Laina, and while I was chatting with her, I look over and guess what...

No, not a ride.

Rich.

He's back.

He said he ran into a possible ride with some people who were trying to decide rather or not they were going toward Idaho or Washington. Apparently they said if it turned out to be Idaho, they'd swing by the ramp.

So, Rich was back and seemingly ready to hitchhike. He threw his thumb in the air and was pretty animated about it. Borderline obnoxious, but he got some smiles and waves from people and made thumbing a bit more interesting for awhile.

But no rides.

I decided to bed down at about dusk, told Rich he could hang out, and we could get to the library on Tuesday and try it again; whatever. He decided to stay, and even went and bought a couple 40 oz. beers. We got to talking a bit, and I found out a bit more about him and possibly why he tends to come off as angry.

Again, I can empathize.

It felt great to lie down on something soft and the idea of a good night's sleep REALLY appealed to me after no sleep on the train. I had a long talk with Laina about some things, and came up with an ambitious outline for a plan... I also chatted with Chris about some of the metaphysical aspects of this, which seem to get cut off in some sense when I'm too domesticated.

Just as I was about to doze off, I head a loud cracking of a branch, and shot up thinking someone was coming down to say hello... metaphorically of course.

To my shock, it was a DEER. We were camped out in a little tree grove between the on- ramp & the I-84, and there were two or three deer just milling around in there. They didn't seem to mind us much. A few minutes later, another one arrived, this one a larger buck on the other side of the tree I was under... maybe 6-8 ft. from my feet. I tried to dig out the camera, but the only pic I could get was from about 12- 15 ft.

A nice way to fall asleep: visited by deer and listening to music.