6/29-7/2/09: Sit Down & Shut Up

Sunday night around the fire was profound. Chris and I had discussed several times how difficult it is to grasp the concept that we as individuals are NOT the center of the entire universe, despite the fact that our eyes make it seem we are! When serendipity or "fate" is discussed, it's often from the perspective that these events only involve or happen to us, or because of us. That's the ego at work, and oftentimes we forget the obvious fact that others also make decisions and live their lives, thereby affecting the paths presented to us. Their application of freewill sometimes requires us to simply sit still until they play things out. With my ever evolving mastery if the English language, I describe it as being put in a state of limbo and told to "Sit the fuck down, and shut the fuck up!" Ever the wordsmith, I.

If you're unable to let go of the ego's need for control, this limbo it will feel like confusion; you'll be unclear about which path to take. There's a simple explanation for that: It hasn't been decided yet, or you're waiting for someone else on the path to come to you. There have been several examples of this, both this year and last, with the most dramatic this year being with the Church Lady the day Chris's mom decided not to pick us up in New Jersey. Last year's preeminent examples were in McCammon, ID and Randleman, NC. Chris and I have talked at length about it, but it has been one of the most difficult lessons because it requires continuous neutering of the pesky ego: a practice in patience. Sunday, we remembered it and decided to put it to the test. We resolved to sit still and let things happen, while eagerly anticipating Wednesday to see if some dramatic event would unfold. That's exactly what we did.

Monday was spent playing softball one last time, and again sitting around a small campfire chatting. Tuesday was even less eventful, except for yet another campfire. The conversations on these days, however, were quite enlightening. This was a time for us to both reflect back on the past 3-months, and begin to finally grasp exactly what we had experienced as a whole, AND to apply some lessons and ideas as we move forward. Ideas about the next phase became a bit more clear as we chatted about Denver, Santa Fe, Boise, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, England, and even Mexico. Most significantly, we decided to tell someone about this revelation on Sunday. We told Bob we were going to sit tight until Wednesday, thinking something significant was going to happen. If nothing happened Wednesday, Bob would drop us off in Indiana either Wednesday night or Thursday morning. All that was left was to see if it did...

Did it ever.

My brother Mike responded to that 10-day old Facebook request. I immediately sent him an email telling him that I was planning on leaving VERY soon, but that if he was interested I'd love to meet him and would arrange my "schedule" around it. Shit, that's WHY I'm here, after all! He replied that night and said he was definitely interested in getting together before we left, but needed to find out if he was getting a three day weekend for July 4th. If so, we could get together Friday. He wouldn't know until the next day, but after chatting for an hour or so on Yahoo, it was clear that I was going nowhere just yet-even if I needed to wait thru the weekend.

I really liked Mike. Through our little online chat, he and I traded a few stories as we began the now-familiar process of comparing notes, and hitting it off quite well. His reminded me of the response I had gotten from my cousin, Dewey, when he first found out I was related to him. This was NOT the Mike I expected, although to be fair, he's also easily the sibling I knew the LEAST about. I got his number, and made arrangements to call him Thursday night to see about Friday. I immediately called Shelly to let her know what had happened, and of course she was thrilled.

Thursday was understandably a bit restless. I devised a scheme where we could possibly meet Mike in Coldwater rather than Hillsdale on Friday, and would ask if he could drop us off in Angola, IN where I-80/90 comes through. If Mike couldn't make it, perhaps Bob would get us there instead. Either way, we could get on the road Friday.

I finally drafted the email to my father, which I had mysteriously been putting off four four days. I laid out the time line of events, and exactly who I had been in contact with and for how long. In it, I could now also tell him that Mike and I were in touch, and possibly getting together. I hoped that this email didn't reverberate too much, but at least it was the truth. At least now people may be able to speak freely, if they choose to. That can't be a bad thing, and neither can the man knowing who stands where. I sent copies to Shelly and Lynn, and decided to let Mike know when he called. After this, all there was to do was prepare to leave and wait for 7pm to roll around.

Mike did indeed get the day off. Friday was a go. I was stoked. I've never had a brother and I was about to meet one...and apparently a very cool one at that. We had a nice chat on the phone, and he liked the Coldwater/Angola idea. He asked if he could bring his daughter, Ally, and her mother with him so that they could all go fireworks shopping, since they were going to be in Angola. Another niece? Hell, yeah!

Thursday night was a going away party of sorts. We had another fire in Bob's yard, and drank a whole lotta beer. Ian and Travis hung out for a bit, as did Bob's neighbors. No phones were sacrificed, so it was a good night, yet it was obvious that I was ready to go. Somewhere around midnight I mentally checked out of Hillsdale. Unfortunately, I didn't check into bed until 4:30!

7/13/08: McCammon, ID-Ciel

“Adversity introduces us to ourselves.”

I like that saying. Life is easy when things are easy. What happens when life gets difficult ultimately defines you. These ideas would soon have new even more personal meaning.

I had set the cell alarm for 4:15 in order to catch the 5am ride to Salt Lake. I wondered before I went to sleep if I would hear it, or ignore it. There should have been a “c” for ‘both”. It was not out of total laziness that I kept sleeping, although that WAS probably a factor. It was another of those weird feelings, this one telling me, “Stay in bed, things will be fine.”

At about 8:30, I rolled out of bedroll and made my way to the coffee machine. This day had a different feel than I had gotten used to. There was a mild scent of purpose, and an out- of- place feeling of calm about me; at least compared to the last few days.

I resumed my position at the table facing the truck drivers. I had not even bothered with the passenger cars since I had gotten there, or even tried the on- ramp. I was truck hunting. I liked my little perch right there where they could ALL see me when they walked inside.

Hitching with truckers’ aint what it used to be. There was a time in a simpler day when they would be happy to pick people up. Now, due to insurance liabilities (of course) it is a terminable offense for those driving for trucking companies to give rides, although some still do. Forget them pulling over though. Owner- operators are a different story. They OWN their own trucks, pay their own insurance, and therefore are not beholden to company ‘policy’. They however do have to beware of the Point of Entries, and can run the risk of scrutinizing POE officials if they see you and decide to check paperwork etc. I understood all of that, and never harassed ANY of the drivers going inside with the “Hey bud, how boutta ride, man?” I had various signs on my pack, which was on the table next to me, so I figured that if they wanted, or could have a rider, they saw me. I have a ton of respect for these people anyhow, especially since diesel prices have shot through the roof. They are the ones who are literally on the front lines of this economic storm. If you do not believe me, hang out at a truck stop and chat with a few… I’ll spare you the lengthy rant… for now! This day is interesting enough.

As I was seated there eating sandwiches a man had given me the day before, I saw a young woman hovering around between my smoking and looking like she wanted to sit down at the table with me. Yesterday I probably would have let it go, but my menstrual cycle had eased a bit this morning, so I invited her to sit down.

Ciel appeared at first sight to be either an athlete, or a farm girl who had bailed much hay in her life. Quite sturdy; NOT fat. She appeared to be in her mid 20’s and was very friendly, out going and almost uncomfortably open! She loved to talk, but when she spoke, I noticed impairment; though not one that was severe. She immediately reminded me of the Cerebral Palsy- inflicted character from the 80’s sit- com “Facts of Life”.

Poor observation.

Ciel said that she lived in Salt Lake City, was a Special Needs teacher, and had driven up to McCammon only because she loved the area. She liked the truck stop because she enjoyed people watching, something I had learned to appreciate in my near 24 hours there.

She told of going atop the small mountain across I-15, and just sitting. She would just watch animals and spoke enthusiastically about a family of skunks she had encountered. Then she told about just watching traffic and then the stars. She seemed captivated by it all, and had no interest in justifying it, which greatly appealed to me because had she tried, to someone who did not understand, it would have been useless. She also said she hoped to move there soon because she said she ‘just LOVED McCammon’. She spoke with such passion about the place that I immediately knew what she meant and, although I did not feel the need to tell her so, the same thing had drawn me to Santa Fe. I can’t explain that to you to this day.

Then, the conversation got interesting.

Remember how I said she was open? She LOVED to swear! She swore almost TOO much, and that says something coming from me! She seemed to have a very soft verbal- filter; just said what was on her mind.

She seemed curious and often amazed by what I told her of the trip, especially the train, of course. She asked the typical ‘how do you trust people’ questions, and seemed to be encouraged when I repeated the now tired: “I’ve yet to meet ONE asshole, knock on wood.” We began to chat about the whys of the trip, and expectations v. how we REALLY want to live and the idea that it is really up to us to define our lives and ourselves. I talked about looking for answers from other people and the realization that all the answers we all seek come from within through first learning to be honest with OURSELVES. The hardest thing there is to do. No, the irony of the last few days was NOT lost on me at the time. This conversation was needed at exactly that moment, and, I was setting myself up.

The first story she told me was about being a lesbian in Utah. In addition, I had nailed the athlete part. She had been a softball player, and apparently a good one. The two connected beyond the pathetic stereotype. Ciel told me that she and several other women in her family just “liked women more than men”. Not an isolated case. When she was a sophomore in high school, she had been cut from the softball team because she was gay. Her parents were hardcore LDS (Mormons) and hated the fact that she is a lesbian, but apparently hated SOMEONE ELSE hating it more than THEY hated it. Funny how that works. In short, they almost went batshit on the school and sued; decided to move her to another school instead.

She finishes high school, and is on the verge of getting softball scholarships to schools in Florida and Montana. Then, one of the most timely, and intense things I have ever heard first- hand.

Ciel had mentioned several times that she had been in a car accident. She was about to go off to college, at 18, when the accident happened.

Ciel was riding home in a Blazer with the woman that she repeatedly referred to as her ‘wife’, and the woman’s two boys; ages nine & six. The children were buckled in while the adults were not. I do not recall from where they were returning, but do know they were in a very isolated part of desert. She said that they were having a wonderful day, and that at the time of the accident were laughing so hard that they could barely contain themselves.

Neither of them saw a VERY large rock in the road and they slammed into it, throwing both women in the front seat into the ceiling, so hard Ciel said that it severely gashed her head. The next thing that she remembered was her wife being unable to stop because she had lost the brakes. There were closely spaced bumps in the road, and since there were no brakes, she lost control of the Blazer and it began to roll, throwing both women from the truck.

Ciel flew through windshield and apparently much further than the other woman. The next thing she remembered was having no feeling in her body, unable to move. She said she saw the truck rolling toward her with the other woman was in its path. Then she saw the truck roll onto her, stopping just short of Ciel.

I was sickened. How could someone experience something like that? Yet, the story was not over.

The kids, who were buckled into the backseat, managed to free themselves. Apparently, her wife had not died instantly. The 9- year old tried to help his mother, and was taking her pulse when she passed away. Ciel told of how this child closed his mother’s eyes after she died. I could not even fathom that. THEN this kid then removed two blankets from the truck, used one to cover his mom, and the other to cover Ciel to try to prevent sunstroke.

A NINE year old.

Ciel witnessed all of this, then began to lose consciousness. She described her right sandal as being ‘up by her ear’, having difficulty breathing due to a collapsed lung, fluid collecting in her abdominal area, and her skull being ‘opened’ in four places from the windshield, not to mention a broken hip, clavicle and several ribs.

This kid had lost one of his shoes in the wreck but knew he had to walk, since they were in the middle of nowhere. Ciel then told of how he removed one of the shoes from his mother’s body, put the six- year old on his back and walked for 2 ½ hours until he found help.

A NINE year old!

Incredible. Rarely am I that captivated by someone’s story, but hearing her tell this one kept me completely riveted. How could someone experience all of that, and come out the other side?

Then… the lightning bolt of perspective I had been waiting for.

Todd, you are a whiny little bitch.

I told her that too: “I’m a whiny little bitch, aren’t I?” She laughed. I didn’t.

It all became clear, and all at once. How in God’s name could I justify ANY of my pathetic little complaints? How could I whine about having a bit of trouble getting out of Idaho? How could I piss and moan about DOING what I CHOSE to do in following an idea, when there are people everywhere who DO NOT have the option?

The complaining stopped. So did the chastising of myself. I now realized why I was there, and this incredible sense of resignation, faith, and some weird sort of CONFIDENCE, came over me. Just… calm.

Ciel then told me the story of how she recovered which ties into the first line of this entry. What you do in the face of adversity DEFINES you. I had experienced no REAL adversity yet, I came to realize.

She was in a coma for 3 ½ weeks, and while unconscious, says she first heard the doctors tell her parents that she was going to be a ‘vegetable’ and ask them what color wheel chair she’d want. Then she showed me something I understood, and showed how she was sitting at this table at a truck stop in Idaho: defiant ANGER! She said to herself, “I’m 18 fucking years old! There’s no way I’m spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair!”

How many people would have simply rolled over and died, giving in to self- pity? She told ‘fate’ to go screw itself, and not only survived, but also recovered almost completely. How?

Call it fire, spirit, rage, discontentment, rebellion; whatever you like. THAT is the essence of life. Not settling. Not accepting what is dictated to you, expected of, and expected FOR you. The guts to tap into something you KNOW is right, in the face of everyone telling you you are wrong. Then, having the courage to move past the mental masturbation and fight the battles to get what YOU expect out of life.
THAT defines you as a person.

Not the toys, “career”, bank account, witty personality, or quantity of friends. I saw these things personified in this “odd little person”. The exact things that I value the most, and find the least, in people. The things I fight to achieve, often failing miserably, in myself. I began to realize that this “odd little person” was anything BUT odd. She was rare. A very special human being I was in the company of. The kind that mirrors the person you aim to be, while at the same time showing you just how far you still need to go, despite all the flowery compliments you receive along the way for even trying. A person I “chanced” to meet at an Idaho truck stop? I knew better.

I told her EXACTLY how impressed I was, and that I was thrilled to be having this conversation with her. I believe that set her back a bit, not knowing what to think of that. I told her that surviving the ordeal was astounding enough, but to have the strength to fight, then come through the other side with a positive outlook and to be able to appreciate the little things in life that are REAL. These things elude most of us.

At this I felt embarrassment when I naturally thought back to some of the people who had told me that I am some kind of an inspiration to THEM. That I am doing something that they wished they could do, but lacked either the courage or the opportunity. I literally felt shame in that, especially after all the self- indulgent pity of the past week.

I came away from that conversation as though someone had pushed my Reset Button. Like the old Nintendos that used to freeze up, and you would need to blow the game cartridges out! It is also remarkable that this had the effect of forcing me take it easier on MYSELF as well. I quit stressing whether I wound up in Denver or Montana. I quit stressing the money thing, stopped beating myself up, and recaptured the role of passenger rather than trying to intellectually- hijack the trip.

Life was once again good, and I did not care when I got out of Idaho, or where to. (Still NOT Utah!)

We sat there chatting for a couple more hours, seemingly recharging each others mental batteries. She said that she expected to be returning to Salt Lake either that night or the next day, and that if I was still there she would take me along and drop me at another truck stop. That sounded good to me thinking I would still be there!

She left to have her Sunday, and I sat there writing and trying to process everything. The financial issues ‘happened’ to ease a bit too through a surprise phone conversation, and I now had two weeks taken care of. Things just started to seemingly fall into place.

Later on, and seemingly just for effect, I had another one of these conversations although not one that was nearly as intense. Lori, a girl who worked inside, came out to smoke and started chatting with me because I had now become a familiar face. She told me the story of how she and her husband had moved there after he had been ‘blown up’ in an oil- field accident. They needed to be closer to his doctors, in SLC, and would find out in August if he had a broken back.

All together now: Todd, you… whiny…

The rest of the afternoon, I spent chatting with a couple of drivers, both of whom were interesting. The first, an Owner/ Operator from Murray, Kentucky. One of the ‘common sense Conservatives” I was referring to in another post. We spent about 3 hours just talking about things; economics, sociology, politics, name it. He was a true independent and hated BOTH the left and right. I liked him immediately. He had been sitting at the truck stop almost as long as I had because he had gotten to Idaho ahead of schedule and could not drop his load until Monday morning. He said that if he were going somewhere that ‘made sense’ for me, he would give me a lift. I was quite happy and hopeful about that!

Next was Richard, a driver from Butte, Montana. He was an interesting character. VERY politically and socially aware; also a blatant racist and conspiracy theorist.

He is convinced that Obama is a Muslim operative planted to destroy America.

Other than that, a very delightful person! Once I got him to cut through the xenophobic and conspiratorial nonsense, he was quite fun to debate with, and had some remarkable insights into the effect the price of gas will have on the economy once more trucking companies begin to cut back or fold. He was also quite interested in the idea that I was ‘unplugging and watching’ events unfold. Unplugging from a system that he agrees is rigged, and does not amount to much more than indentured servitude at- best, and slavery at worst. Yes, I WILL spare the rant… but THAT one IS coming! He encouraged me to head to Kalispell, Montana to look up the survivalists he claimed are thriving in the area. I took note.

We spent a few hours talking as well, since he too had to wait until the next morning. He went off to sleep after giving me a pack of smokes unexpectedly. I tried to drop the hint that I’d take a ride if he were to offer it, but it was clear that he, despite his anarchistic attitudes, wasn’t going to violate company policy! I thought that was funny.

Toward bedtime, I decided to try my luck out by US-30, and while I did not get a ride, I did have a nice conversation with a Mormon truck driver who seemed very interested in how the ‘outside world’ views Mormons. I bit my tongue. He seemed like a very nice guy who was also interested in how it is to hitchhike in 2008, and the people I’ve met to date. In the end, he offered me a ride, but it was not even to Salt Lake. I had visions of the Mormon compound in Big Love, so politely declined!

I gave up on finding a ride at about 10:30, feeling oddly confident about my chances for Monday. It had been a rather remarkable, enlightening, and intense day despite the lack of real “events”. I changed spots from the night before, choosing a spot next to US-30 that was beneath some trees to shade me from the parking lot lights. After a pair of feral cats hissed at me as their welcome to the night’s nest, I fell asleep quite fast, and slept nicely all the way through the night.

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.