5/16/13: Santo, TX-Adventures in Chupacabraism

Day 1: Tucson to Texas 5/16/13

2/28/10: Watching the Wheels

People say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing,
Well they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin,
When I say that I'm o.k. they look at me kind of strange,
Surely your not happy now you no longer play the game,

People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away,
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me,
When I tell that I'm doing Fine watching shadows on the wall,
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball?


I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll,
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go,

People asking questions lost in confusion,
Well I tell them there's no problem,
Only solutions,
Well they shake their heads and they look at me as if I've lost my mind,
I tell them there's no hurry...
I'm just sitting here doing time,

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll,
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go.


-Watching the Wheels
John Lennon

Once the bus finally got on the road, the ride was thankfully uneventful. After appearing utterly incompetent just a few days earlier, my nemesis driver pulled us into Albuquerque two-hours late on this Super Bowl Sunday, but still ahead of the approaching storm.

There was to be no word from Chris for nearly a week. The last I knew, he was 20-miles south of Tucson and struggling to get out of Arizona. About a week later, I learned that Chris had made it to El Paso Monday, then hit an epic wall. He remained stranded in El Paso for THREE NIGHTS! To me, this is astounding! In two years , I have never gone a full day without a ride...let alone two or three...across the river from Juarez-the most dangerous city in Mexico!

Naturally, he chose not to pontificate on the metaphysics after what had transpired in Phoenix, but he didn't need to. When I learned that the occupants of his latest lillypad had made a 1,000-mile round trip to "rescue" him, I had all I needed. Remember them signs? They're not always pleasant! When we chatted later there would be no mention of that!

Also, his rescue nearly wasn't. After driving 500-miles, his friends couldn't reach him because of his dead cell battery. In fairness, he apparently didn't know they were coming and thankfully they happened to spot him on the last pass before leaving. Hearing this sent me into hyper-observation mode; curious to see how this would affect him, and what the reality of Austin would hold.

As for me, the initial idea was to remain in Santa Fe just long enough to kick "The Crud", then either return to Slab City, or perhaps east to Florida for a bit of Spring Training, then Atlanta and Nashville to see friends.

What I hoped would be a week turned into three. Whatever it was would not let go! As March approached, I finally felt better, had found a Rideshare to Tampa, and made tentative "plans" (ha!) to leave the last week of February...

You've heard how "plans" and I get along, right?

1/27/10: 2010 Launch-Viva El Perro Sucio!

The ONLY reason Greyhound is still in business is because it's a monopoly. Every year, they find new and astounding ways to baffle me with what I believed to be futility. I've since realized that it's not "futility"; they just don't fucking care. They don't have to! Why has this company been granted National Bus Line status? More on this latest vulgar display to come...

To catch you up: The remainder of January was spent sporadically chatting with Chris and adjusting my "schedule of intentions" around a string of Pacific storms. Chris had made his way from Denver to Los Angeles to see family making this a prime opportunity to consolidate a few different ideas:

1) Getting together with him to see where we each were nearly a year after boarding the Veggie Bus
2) This is the prime time to pay a visit to Slab City-in the California desert
3) Seeing an old high school friend of mine friend who now lives in Phoenix

When Chris made his abrupt decision on when to go to LA, early in January, I figured it would be worth accelerating my "plans"  (ha!) by a couple weeks in order to accommodate the opportunity. Originally, it appeared as though 1/17 would be the [first?] 2010 departure date...until the storms began battering southern California & Arizona. Chris was buried with family beneath 5 FEET of snow in a cabin near Big Bear while the California and Arizona desert experienced flooding of biblical proportions; at least it seemed that way to them.

With the storms, Chris repeatedly delayed his departure east, which in turn allowed me to creep further toward, and then to, my original date: 1/27. In the end, it worked out perfectly. It would be 1/27 after all, and I was quite glad after seeing news footage that I was NOT in the desert during these storms. In fact, we would all see the effects of these storms first-hand later on.

After coordinating with El Jefe in Phoenix, and having a nice last week in Santa Fe, on January 27, I found myself on the way to Albuquerque to catch the 11:15pm bus for Glendale, AZ. My girlfriend and I had a nice conversation on the way, and it repeatedly struck me that leaving for Phoenix felt similar to departing for Devils Tower last August. We said our goodbyes, and I found myself on that metaphorical "on-ramp" again.

The bus boarded late and was 30-minutes behind to begin with. I was exhausted and fell asleep before the bus had even left the city sprawl.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up a few minutes later to see the bus back at the Albuquerque terminal! Just sitting there. No explanation. Nothing. Just baggage handlers acting like mechanics and checking something on the bus. After 30-45 minutes, the driver finally shared with us that the bus was getting no heat and that we may need to switch buses if it couldn't be fixed. Story: meet theme.

An hour later, we were still on that same bus. Still not moving. Still with no idea of what was going on. The bus was scheduled to arrive in Glendale, AZ at 7:45am, and El Jefe didn't work until 1:30 which gave a 5:45 window on an 8-hour ride, so I felt safe. Others, however, were not so lucky and quite pissed off that they were going to miss their connectors...and were not being told details.

At 2am we were finally herded like cattle aboard another bus and again on I-40 toward Flagstaff. I chose to remain awake this time to observe the ruckus if we were delayed again! Now over two-hours behind, and likely arriving at 9:45 rather than 7:45, I figured Jefe could sleep in a bit so (selfishly) this wasn't a complete clusterfuck.

I awoke periodically through the night to the sight of slick roads due to a moderate snowstorm in Arizona. At 6:45, I discovered to my utter dismay that we were still an hour EAST of Flagstaff! I called Jefe to let him know, and resigned myself to fate. A couple hours late isn't so bad as long as nothing else happened.

As long as "nothing else happened?" Ha! This is El Perrito Sucio!

The driver emphatically told everyone that we would be in Flagstaff NO LONGER than 5-minutes. Forty-five minutes later the driver had vanished and the passengers were something a bit south of restless. To complicate matters, Flagstaff had received the same 5-FEET of snow as Big Bear thus the terminal was closed out of fears the roof may collapse from the snow's weight!

An hour after arriving, a woman intending to board in Flagstaff instantly became the target of wrath when some especially abrasive passengers assumed we were being held up by HER for some reason. Despite her gladly joining the chorus of frustration, and even laying on the bus's horn to hurry things up, she was understandably upset by how other passengers treated her and decided to find other means by which to travel.

Shortly after she left, the bus driver returned to admonish the mob insisting she had nothing to do with the delay. When he didn't respond to my query, "Then, what the fuck IS the delay?", I politely offered that perhaps the loss of her patronage was then HIS fault, not the fault of passengers who had been abandoned then ignored for FOUR hours on this supposed 8-hour ride.

Did he think we'd go Hymn Time Country Style? Reenact episodes of Gilligan's Island? It was closer to Mutiny on the Bounty.

Near 9:00 (two hours after this "5-minute" stop began), I became concerned. If this went on much longer, I was in real danger of missing my ride. Thankfully, the driver came out to confirm another rumor: that he was awaiting a fax from Greyhound; one clearing him to continue on to Phoenix, presumably due to driver time-limitations. A few minutes later, the fax had come and we were mercifully on our way south mocking the bus driver, and organizing to be sure that no one on that bus paid for the ride.

Somewhere near Sedona

Despite my concerns, things worked out fine. The bus arrived in Glendale with enough time for Jefe to pick me up AND get to work, leaving me at his house to contemplate what came next...

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

A Christmas Eve Mea Culpa

How's that for dramatic? To a degree, it's accurate but honestly I just wanted to use the cool title. In honor of the birth of Our Redeemer, I've decided to eliminate the full display of the f-word. For today and tomorrow, f*** will be presented as f***. Happy birthday, Jesus!

This was supposed to be a venom-filled rant tearing into some of the most basic of human weaknesses. I would like to say, "Christmas Eve is not the time for such things; I've been filled with the Holy Spirit!" That would be a disingenuous crock, although I concede that today is hardly the day to crucify anyone! Verbally or otherwise. I shant be doing much of that, but will offer a bit of some personal, clarifying insight into what's been happening with me over the last few months. It may or may not surprise you. What will surprise you is what made me realize it!

It would appear that these concepts of self-delusions and "faking beliefs" to fit a purpose have been much more powerful than I realized. It's inadvertently forced me to take another near-complete personal inventory, to "borrow" again from A.A. I've mentioned often that I've pummeled myself as much as Andre, Wendie, Chris, or anyone. It would appear, however, that I've been hammering away not only at me and my ego, but at the very foundation of my core-beliefs and looking for weaknesses. I was trying to actually CREATE then FIND fractures-of-inconsistency not only by provoking others, but myself. I must fascinate the mental health community! But, it's necessary. It bears fruit. What you've seen over the last 100 days is a public evolution!

The amusing part of this is how the simplest of things provided the proper perspective to see all of this from the inside. I was wrangling and trying to reconcile my agreement with Alison's violent rejection of "everything happening for a reason." A few scant months ago, this was a primary fundamental; synchronicity etc. Meanwhile, via the creepy-wonderment that is Facebook, I was reunited with a HS classmate, Jennifer, who commented on that post; on this very topic. In a flurry of thought, I realized that based on what she had read, she probably had NO idea that we were likely in near agreement on this. It was then thrown into momentarily crystal-clear focus exactly where I had ventured since returning to Santa Fe in September. I was continuing on a grand scale (and publicly) something I've done a hundred times in my journals over the last 5-years: subjecting my ideas and beliefs to brutal beatings to see if they'd survive. Or if I was just full of shit. As Chris so eloquently put it, I was "beating the f**k out of myself." Guilty. Not surprisingly, Chris is also of the opinion that I should be easier on myself. And by extension others.

Not surprisingly, I told him to go f**k himself. (Kidding. Or am I?)

So here's mea maxima culpa quod explicatus: If you've yet to notice, I tend to be a bit unforgiving & impatient of those searching for, or walking along the path I have perhaps already stumbled! My frustration (and anger) is born out of legitimate concern and love for people, believe it or not. I wasted too much time assuming "someone or something would show me the way" before realizing I was the one I was waiting for. So, realizing that, I have what I consider a gift I desperately want to give to myself 15-years ago! But, after digging thru my journals I was reminded of some things I learned a long time ago, and had apparently neglected to remember:

“Wisdom is not communicable. The wisdom which a wise man tries to communicate always sounds foolish... Knowledge can be communicated, but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, be fortified by it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it.”

"When someone is seeking...it happens quite easily that he only sees the thing that he is seeking; that he is unable to find anything, unable to absorb anything...because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal."

And my favorite: "The deity is within you, not in ideas and books. Truth is lived, not taught." -Hermann Hesse

In short: Sit the f**k down, and shut the f**k up! Sound familiar?


Before accusing me of backtracking, bite your tongue! Nothing would be further from the truth. Self-delusions are a peculiar human epidemic, but alas: perhaps they must be for the vast majority of people. We're born, bred, and die immersed in illusion. If you don't believe that, imagine a year long power failure. In this presentation, comfort & illusion are what keeps most of us sane; from contemplating the reality of mental/societal slavery. Huxley's SOMA, or Cypher's Matrix. Take your pick, but people...

"given the choice, will select entertainment...over information; citizens will prefer to have someone else handle the responsibility for their lives rather than face the burdens...; we will willingly choose slavery over freedom. Political and intellectual slavery are noting more than accepting the security provided by a benevolent authority."-Donald N. Wood Post-intellectualism and the Decline of Democracy p. 211

This is a quote that, when I first read and contemplated it, rattled me out of my progressive stupor. That being said, it's vital to understand one simple thing: I've not been intentionally attacking man-en-mass. My method is to attack ideas. The manipulation of truth/self-delusion is an idea that is, unfortunately, attached directly to the individual; identifiable on an individual level. Identifiable in all of us if we look hard enough. (Notice I didn't say "long enough"; it's there right now!) I used my previously futile attempts to quit smoking, and how the identification of them helped me to quit last month in order to illustrate it in myself. I could use many more over the last few years. In fact, I already have. Those on the email list already know, after 14-emails, what I'm talking about! I'll elaborate for the rest at the end, but if you look to the right side under archives, you'll see "2006" has appeared. So shall 2004, 2005, and 2007 very soon. Wendie (for me) and Andre in particular were powerful examples but, unfortunately, so am I. In fact, I'm living in a town I despise because of these self-delusions! Allow me over time to illustrate.

All of this probably wont mean much to my pathetic blob o' blogosphere. It's an egotistical waste of time to "try" to educate people. It's arrogance to believe you can intentionally instigate a Magical March to "Enlightenment." Why am I doing this then? Good fu****g question! It's alot of work! But, I've found my "voice"; it's just something...I...must...do. Like departing in the first place: it just must be done. That's the one thing I've written that will make artsy douchebags smile! Don't get cocky hippie; that ain't an opening.

Once I add a bit more to "2007," you'll get more of a clear understanding of what I mean by "voice." I'm not referring to the Moody Blues song The Voice or the internal compass I've repeatedly referred to. This time, I mean the message that some people feel compelled to convey. Comedians struggle to find theirs, as do radio folk. I never quite got there consistently while behind a microphone. I had access to the ideas, passion and fire, but never had the proper, comfortable venue. It's hard to talk seriously about the illusions of life between live reads for Bob's Used Car Palace and Connie's Fecal Art Emporium. Capiche? That voice is something I've been struggling to harness for a long time but as Herr Hesse just pointed out, my voice needed me to just let go. Again, one of those things that are likely to sound like jibberish unless you have a frame of reference.

That's been my week. How's yours been?

Tomorrow's Christmas, and I have a gift for all of you! This 100-days has ended. No more Don Quixote. No more self-delusion. The topic may come up again later of course, but now it's time to turn my head to what lies ahead, and there are some grand things! Laina & I are going to Boise for New Year's to meet my "new" sisters, Lynette & Shelly, and my nieces and nephews. (Not sure if Dave's kids consider me an uncle but to hell with it. I'm lumping them in!) Shelly's flying in from Ohio for the holidays, so we figured this was a ready-made opportunity to introduce everyone. Just as important to me: it's symbolically fitting! Considering what 2009 was, ending it and kicking off a new decade with Lynette & Shelly is perfect and needs to be done if at all possible. I'll write more on this after Christmas.

Is it me, or does he look like Val Kilmer c. The Doors?

After Boise, I'm literally days or weeks away from setting off again, this time for the ENTIRE YEAR 2010! Thanks to Katie, several Craigslist bargain hunters, and eliminating cigarettes, I've figured out how to budget from January thru December. Details are slow in coming, but I'm steadily zeroing in on a departure date, likely the middle of January but possibly sooner depending on how things go in Idaho.

Let me know if any unaltered f-bombs snuck through.

9/22-10/9/09: Santa Fe- "Unpacking"

After a quiet day at home on Tuesday, the house-sitting gig started Wednesday amid wild anticipation of spending the entire week on the computer or buried in my notebooks writing for hours on end. I knew that I had much to process and, as always upon returning home, felt highly motivated to get it done immediately in supposed marathon sessions. But, as usual, it didn't happen that way. Rather than a narrative, the writing promptly displayed a tendency to create more questions; deeper layers than I originally assumed were there. That's always a good sign for me personally, but not always pleasant. Especially when many of the hardest new questions revolve around...me.

As I started to get near the heart of Andre's story, I noticed an intense feeling of personal wariness, especially about that Sunday, 9/13. The apprehension's intensity was quite rare, but I understood that his was no ordinary story and I was forced by its content to take a microscopic look at both my own insights and, more painfully, who I have become over the last year and where I was going. I had expected the simple moral question about how much detail to share, but the demand for self-analysis was something that was surprisingly bitch-slapping me at the same time! If I was going to offer acute criticism of others, I was going to be providing it to myself. Like it or not. A handy, oft-inconvenient & unpredictable tool I've acquired somewhere.

As I started to verbally spew into the computer, making connections to both past events and those in Port Townsend, an interesting contrast developed; something that would ultimately lay the very foundation for the immediate future. Despite the persistent questions, the words flowed; again a good sign. Nothing was forced or contrived and, after questioning, challenging, and examining my insights, it was obvious that they were solid-if not pleasant. They themselves then began spawning other multilayer ideas. Yet, the potentially toxic, uncomfortable nature of these observations set off warning signals throughout my psyche. Was this just my ego going nuts?

I began seeking out other opinions and through conversations with Laina, Chris and The Sage, my impressive, redneck vocabulary again went on display as I described these intense, nagging emotions as "feeling like a dick," even though I felt like I was dead-on, even after psychologically beating the hell out of myself and beginning the process of asking "who the hell I thought I was" in writing these things. It was then that I came to realize that I'd had the sense that "I" wasn't writing these things. It was Stream of Consciousness-despite of myself! More than once, I (again) thought back to Randleman, and Pastor Snake...which REALLY set off ego-alarms! Seeing this was encouraging of course, but created more turmoil than it relieved.

The Sage suggested something that I had considered a few times: keeping two journals. One: the run-of-the-mill, fluffy "travel journal" variety. Something easier to comprehend, accept, and escape within (my description). The Second: one presumably written with my actual thoughts... therefore not causing any immediate discomfort to the protagonists. I seriously considered it, but not for long, as I slowly came to realize that the self-doubt wasn't internally based. It was the "critic's" voice; the self- censor voicing the imagined criticism of others. Furthermore, as Laina astutely and repeatedly pointed out, "editing for comfort" would be selling out; doing the very thing that I swore not to do. Reading these passages is voluntary after all, and the notion of producing shallow "bathroom fodder," as Chris puts it, is repugnant. No, this is by its nature occasionally unpleasant and very difficult. It's the "hard" that makes it worthwhile, even though it's sometimes unflattering, even to myself.

I knew coming in that it would periodically be difficult, but I HAVE made myself accountable by having the courage to present it for consumption. It seems cowardly (and suspicious) to consider yourself a man-of-purpose then hide in your journal; the foundation of critical thought is to test ideas by allowing them to stand up to scrutiny! To cower, or worse: put on an "act", would be something I wouldn't be able to stomach, and that I even considered it made me question my own motives and presented the entrance to yet another powerful investigation: the difference between being "clever" and being right, which can lead to the egoistic practice of selfishly protecting a possible flawed point-of-view through linguistic voodoo & rationalization. Later in October, this directly led to my humble, uncomfortable Don Quixote revelation (stay tuned...if you dare!). Good, organic stuff!

With the end of the house-sitting gig came the end of September. As October began and I returned home, my "internal motives" question persisted, but I decided to push forward and allow people to react however they chose. Thinking back over the summer, I reflected on how I had likely severed the pathetic "relationship" with my own father and two of my sisters through simple uncomforatable honesty. Considering that The Hens had chosen to "de-friend" me on Facebook, choosing their traditional method of conflict resolution, avoidance, it suddenly seemed absurd to offer this blatantly self-interest-driven courtesy to Andre; something I had denied much more significant people!

There was much more to come as I contemplated my time with Andre in Portland. As I finally wrote up The Vanity Plate, Now What?, and Navigating the Rubicon, more agitation and an accompanying flood of ideas that was the byproduct. Surprisingly, much if centered around, of all things, The Bible...

9/19-9/21/09: Greyhound-Portland, San Diego, Santa Fe

The ferry ride to Seattle was surreal. When I called Shalain and gave the all-clear to purchase the ticket, it finally hit me that this intense phase had ended, and it a couple days I'd be back in familiar surroundings, being mauled by my cats. Nagging regrets lingered, but I was OK with it. I was mentally spent, needed a break, and would see some interesting (and new) parts of the country on the way.

Wendie's predictions were in fact accurate. I got to see some of the city, albeit from the backseat of a cab, and was surprised at how much I actually liked it, reminding me a little of both San Francisco and Denver. The $8 cab got me to Seattle's shithole Greyhound terminal with 45-minutes to spare, and before I knew it I was nestling into a window seat on a nearly abandoned 1:15 bus and riding right back down I-5 toward Portland. I had honestly hoped that I would meet some interesting people, but all that was offered was another backpacker... with a demeanor that made me want to beat him. Rather than petty violence, I settled for my Mp3 player. Following stops in Tacoma and Olympia, I found myself back in Portland for a 90-minute service layover.

Portland felt much different from this vantage point! As I crossed the Willamette into the western section of downtown, I gazed at the river and laughed out loud at the realization that only a week ago, I was boating beneath this same bridge with Andre. Now, I was re-entering the city less a conquering vagabond- via the least glamorous mode of travel I could think of other than the back of a patrol car! It was quite odd! Despite my time there, this was the first I'd seen of the bus station, and was rather impressed: it was the Taj Mahal compared to Seattle! Clean. Modern. Didn't smell like pee. I considered calling some of my new friends while I was there, but it felt like overkill. What was we going to do with an hour? I settled for a short walk, a pack of cigarettes, and putting a charge on my phone. Leaving Portland on I-5 south took me within sight of the Oregon Yacht Club, and Andre's house. I hopped across the aisle to take one last look at the floating home, the Master Craft, and the spot that had held so much intensity the previous week. Believe it or not, it was more nostalgic than August when I retraced the route I had traveled in Idaho more than a year ago.

The sun sinks early out west, and soon enough I was sleeping the rest of the birthday away. Aside from a quick stop in Eugene, the rest of the night... and most of the trip to LA... was the standard Greyhound experience. We passed into California and I remember hearing an announcement for Redding but didn't bother to open my eyes, let alone get off the bus. Sacramento was my first transfer, early Sunday morning, and being spoiled by the empty vessel ended abruptly with this over packed Los Angeles express!

Central California is nothing to fawn over, however once you get near LA and begin crossing the mountains, it becomes quite gorgeous. The western side of the California mountains (the areas that will be swallowed by the Pacific) have always exceeded my curiously low expectations... with the exception of the Los Angeles cesspool. As we passed through Hollywood, I began to see familiar, iconic sights and signs... like the Capitol Records building and Melrose Place. Now, that's some culture!

The 3-hour Los Angeles layover was the part of this bus trip I was dreading! The last time I bused through LA, I was 14, and we had our luggage stolen from the downtown terminal. I naturally assumed (since it was Greyhound) that little had changed and we were headed back to the same spot. I was pleased when we bypassed downtown altogether and pulled into what can only be described as a "compound" on the south side of the city. The terminal is the most secure I have EVER seen, complete with cameras, fencing, razor wire, automated bus gates, and a security checkpoint that is closer to airports than Greyhound... which generally has NO security whatsoever. The LA station was quite nice after all!

The highlight of the ride same in San Diego and was a nice elixir for the mental upset I had experienced about ending this early. I finally got to meet my friend Amber. I had called after leaving LA, told her my bus was stopping for a short time, and that if she was free it would be great if she stopped in to the bus station so we could finally meet face-to-face. Amber happened to be downtown having dinner, and walked in shortly after the bus arrived. It was nice to see an actual face, and we quickly discussed possible, theoretical travel ideas down the road. I was curious to see if the vibe was the same in person as it had been via Couchsurfing and email. Indeed it was, and the possibilities of someday traveling with her seemed encouraging. San Diego and I seemed to agree with each other. It was one of the last cities that I hadn't seen, and wanted to. Although I didn't get a chance to explore, I liked what I saw and want to return. Soon!

Sunday ended on an interesting note in Calexico, California which, as you can no doubt guess by the name, is ON the Mexican border. I assumed we would get within a mile or two, but the stop was literally within sight and a stone's throw of the checkpoint. Looking for ways to entertain myself, I took a small amount of joy in that I had essentially gone ocean-to-ocean and border-to-border since April. This little side trip was also practical & useful because it was quite close to the Salton Sea, Niland, CA: Slab City. Chris and I have discussed The Slabs numerous times as a possible joint-destination over the winter and this gave me a chance to see the landscape first hand for the first time. I was also privy to numerous Border Patrol ID checks. Along I-8 and I-10 close to the border, Border Patrol would stop the bus, come aboard, and demand immigration papers/ID. They also pull random luggage from beneath the bus and let their dogs go to work. In addition, the highway was blanketed with Border Patrol SUVs shining spotlights into the desert hunting illegals. It was a bizarre experience, but in retrospect should have been expected.

Soon after Tucson finally came New Mexico, and Las Cruces for my final transfer and the last 200-miles up I-25 to Albuquerque. I slept the entire way, but only after learning my father was nearby in Alamagordo on vacation with his RV. I found it putridly ironic that someone I had never met before would meet up with me (Amber), but my own father wasn't approachable. It was a quick, bitter realization, but an important one. I believe that book finally closed for good when I came up with a new moniker for him: Ward. As in Cleaver. Daddy of the Year!

From Albuquerque, I caught the New Mexico Rail Runner commuter train for the last 60+ miles to Santa Fe. This was the first time I had ridden it and highly recommend it to anyone traveling from Albuquerque to Santa Fe. Greyhound had appeared to eliminate their stop in Santa Fe, but I was happy to wait the extra hour to take the train! We later discovered that the bus still stops here, but there are no schedules listed on their website. That's fine, maybe having to take the train to Albuquerque will keep me off Greyhound and out of Denver?

I finally arrived home at around 6:30pm on Monday, 52-hours and a world away from Seattle. What happens next was anyone's guess but along with quiet, yet frantic decompression, the preparation began almost immediately.

8/16/09: That Uppity Ego

Dennis has become a major catalyst for a sobering perspective shift and a stunning transition. This has been a vicious personal process, considering I knew him for five short hours 15-months ago. I often talk high-minded about “lessons,” and if there is a small positive that I may be able to take from this sad story of Dennis, maybe it’s the long- overdue, deep seeded acceptance of “give & take” and a significant reinforcement of the Big Two of 2009: “The Side Car” and “The Center of the Universe.” The last two weeks has also made me view the next few months much differently.

I have been forced to re-evaluate how I view myself and the connections I’ve made while traveling. I long ago stopped believing in random “coincidence,” and while I will not invoke the Celestine Prophecy and claim that every interaction is of some importance, oftentimes people arrive in your life, or you arrive in theirs, at just that right time. What is hard for the ego to grasp is that it is not always for you. But, it is the height of arrogance to assume that every person is a bit player in each of our own personal dramas; that “fate” has only our particular interests in mind: Center of the Universe. Yet, each of us periodically falls into this bear trap, and it is difficult to observe while in its jaws.

People much more articulate than I have written it, but it seems that sometimes we need to resign ourselves to servitude; the Brush rather than the Artisan. I have concluded that was my role with Dennis, but while I wrote at the time that I knew I was of some potential use to him, my primary focus was on the egoistic thought that, “Hey! Maybe I’m fucking right about all of this!” Pathetic, yet understandable. On the other hand, I could have done nothing to “save” him. The ultimate responsibility to reclaim his life and identity WAS his. Conveyed words and ideas are useless to he who is blind and deaf. Staying with him that night was pointless, and considering the vibe and his ultimate fate, out of the question. My instincts were solid; what else could I have done? Nothing. You can extend a hand to the man lying in the gutter but what if he refuses to pull himself up? We are always given the black and white metaphorical choice: Fate v. Freewill. Maybe Forest Gump had it right and it’s both. I am also rapidly coming to believe Rush’s notion that blaming venomous fate is victimist thinking. Fate can influence and provide us opportunity, but our decisions define us. Or, perhaps fate is influenced by our decisions? I’ll let someone else crawl into that paradox. My regret resides not in my actions, but in my ignorance as to its significance.

Days of thinking about all of this and a couple other events have caused me to step back, relax and, to borrow A.A.’s term, take a bit of an inventory. I have asked questions that have resulted in frightening and intimidating answers. Ones that require relinquishing a degree of control. I am not entirely sure at this point that I want, or even know how to accept that entirely. Then again, it’s too late to have any choice in the matter, isn’t it? That time has long past. Fighting it only prolongs and complicates the inevitable.

I have fought individual and collective battles with Uppity Egos over the months, and I believe I have begun to see where mine has been dragging me. It is also becoming clear where the good half of that duality has been not so gently nudging me with that oft-mentioned “irritation.” My purpose has little to do with developing technical schematics for the secrets of the universe. They are secret for a reason and it is laughable to think that I (or anyone) is that clever. Even if I were to come to conclusions and decided to share it, how would I then be any different from Mormon Missionaries? How would I be different from the Christians who trade charity only in exchange for the chance to impose their doctrine? I believe mine is a process of learning how to remain “awake,” or tuned- in while returning to 2008’s mindset of riding the wave; seeing what characters take the stage, but also with a keen focus on when I am playing the role of the bit player. Staying tapped into what Brian called Flow; the unseen but tangible energy of life that we can touch, feel, and use to guide us; the source of Joy. Those of you familiar with Joseph Campbell will probably recognize it as “Bliss.” For the record, I have yet to read or watch any of his material except for a few excerpts but here is one:

“But if a person has had the sense of the Call -- the feeling that there's an adventure for him -- and if he doesn't follow that, but remains in the society because it's safe and secure, then life dries up. And then he comes to that condition in late middle age: he's gotten to the top of the ladder, and found that it's against the wrong wall.

If you have the guts to follow the risk, however, life opens, opens, opens up all along the line. I'm not superstitious, but I do believe in spiritual magic, you might say. I feel that if one follows what I call one's "bliss" -- the thing that really gets you deep in your gut and that you feel is your life -- doors will open up. They do! They have in my life and they have in many lives that I know of.

…When you are at a certain age…and look back over your life, it seems to be almost as orderly as a composed novel. And just as in Dickens' novels, little accidental meetings and so forth turn out to be main features in the plot, so in your life. And what seem to have been mistakes at the time, turn out to be directive crises…

Life seems as though it were planned; and there is something in us that's causing what you hear of as being accident-prone: it's something in ourselves. There is a mystery here… Can anything happen to you for which you're not ready? I look back now on certain things that at the time seemed to be real disasters, but the results turned out to be the structuring of a really great aspect of my life and career. So what can you say?

And the other point is, if you follow your bliss, you'll have your bliss, whether you have money or not. If you follow money, you may lose money, and then you don't have even that. The secure way is really the insecure way and the way in which the richness of the quest accumulates is the right way.” –Joseph Campbell “An Open Life”

You will either sense a familiarity with that, or have no clue what the hell we’re talking about! It’s useless to attempt explaining it; you get it or you don’t, but it is the foundation of everything. It’s your “Voice.” The one that so many artists have tried to capture. Unfortunately, I don’t believe everyone is capable of acquiring that frequency or maybe they’re so lost in ego and corrupted identity that they simply can’t hear it. Many more can hear it, but have no idea what it is and are incapable of articulating it beyond a feeling. A “Splinter in the Mind.”

I am a Spiritual Anarchist. Each person’s beliefs are his or her own; to find on his or her own. That thing I term the Voice, Campbell calls Bliss, and some refer to as Consciousness, is not be dictated by, confused with, or confounded by any doctrine. I believe that was what I was trying to convey with the “Dragon Parable.” That basic, ancient concept of self-discovery IS the essence of spirituality and the Voice’s vocal cords. The “spirit” in spirituality refers to yours, and only you speak its language. It is tuning in to your sixth sense. The Voice, Frequency, Bliss, call it Broccoli if you want; terminology is meaningless. Snake and other Christians refer to it as a “calling.” Eastern religion describes it as God Within, using meditation (Sit Down & Shut Up?) to engage it and become that Sidecar. Of course, none of this philosophy is anything new. What are new is where it is taking me, and how the course has been altered.

It’s easy, when discovering something you think will help others, to become excited and want to give it away. Brian’s insight has resonated well: mirroring is the way to inspire people, by offering them the opportunity to quietly and privately inspire themselves thru introspection. In my opinion, “Peace Pilgrim” is a hypocritical nut job, and I do not buy her self-righteous claims about “finding total peace.” No one finds total peace, unless they’re named Buddha or Jesus, but there is one wonderful quote in her little pamphlet: “You cannot change anyone but yourself. After you have become an example, you can inspire others to change themselves.” I have noticed that at work several times from surprising sources when I have not spoken or written a word. It usually begins through a series of serious, heartfelt questions usually in an attempt to understand and fight fear. It’s remarkable and humbling, but I personally do not aspire to be The Great Sage of the West, nor some self- appointed Leader of Men. Beware of those assuming or preparing for that particular title. Our past is littered with these egomaniacs: Manson thought and convinced others that God put him on earth to lead following Helter Skelter. Hitler "knew the path" to domination for the Aryan Race. I am sure there are more than a couple “vacuum fillers” embedded in the various militias around the country waiting for the collapse. The best leaders do not have to campaign; they are just followed.

Looking Forward

Over the last week, I have decided to abandon the Seattle plan, and perhaps Oregon & California. Such is not my path. While Chris and I share many of the same beliefs, our focus now lie in significantly different directions. Over the past month, whenever I would discuss the plan to ride with Chris, Penney & Robert to Washington, I would notice that it was quickly followed by that same annoyance that’s been plaguing me in various degrees since New Jersey, and it had gotten more intense since Dennis. It became obvious that my path needs to be solo, and look more similar to 2008. The difference being that I have an acute awareness of the Ying & Yang of alternating roles, as well as taking the Big Two of 2009, and practicing them on a more consistent basis. It’s not hard to get back there. All I have to do is remember the people from the last 15-months: Snake, Will, Ciel, Pat, Nick, Ken, Cesar, Jo, Florian, Eric & Marine, Kim, Gus, Trent, Shelly, Steve, Brian, Dave, Inga, and more. These people and more have left significant traces.

Fear

Since Michigan, this is a topic I seem to be contemplating and discussing quite frequently. Fear is a never-ending fight and if we cower too often, it can cripple and make us a prisoner of our own mind.

I find it hilarious that people often tell me that they find me "courageous." Someone famous wrote, “None but a coward dares to boast that he has never known fear.” Well, I have known more than most! It has had a history of paralyzing me. I have made a mistake in not publishing the back-story from 2004- 2008, before Running with the Wind. I will correct that eventually, but it literally took me those 4- years to hit the road, primarily due to fear. The “what ifs” consumed me. I was never prepared enough, never had the right equipment, or the destination was not right because too much “might happen.” Much of that was due to a lack of confidence, a major source of fear. In the weeks leading up to my departure in May 2008 I repeatedly shredded myself in my journal about the fact that I KNEW I was an obvious coward with nothing but big talk and bigger ideas, and I was sick of feeling powerless to do anything about it. This is from April 20, 2008, exactly one month before I began this little adventure:

“Same old story. I thrive when it’s concept and planning but when it comes time to execute [and] put my ass on the line I hesitate, procrastinate, and try to avoid the hard fought experience I need to answer questions, identify weaknesses and conquer my pathetic fears. Fear doesn’t reside in the heart of the adversary or [in the] prospect of failure; it resides in the heart of the coward… In many ways, I am indeed a coward. How else can I identify or define it? That’s the hard truth, but I hold out hope that I’ll still be able to change that…. I’m obviously afraid to find and redefine these old boundaries and [create] new ones…. I can ‘pontificate’ to the end of the world, but it’s... simple. I’m a coward. I’m only dipping my little toe into the ocean of ideas I’ve created. It’s as though I’ve built a bridge and am afraid to cross it on my own., waiting for someone else to try it out because I’m not sure I trust my own craftsmanship… While it helps to explain the “whys” and the details of these fears, let’s not lose sight of what it really is. Call it by its real name: Cowardice… From here on, I won’t be delicate about that, and need to be conscious of attacking these things in whatever way I can... This phase is about attacking fears. Cowardice. I don’t like using that term: Coward. Yet I believe it’s an important admission… Admitting to fear, something common to all of us, is somehow gentle, and open to rationalization and easy acceptance of failings. Cowardice, however, is a character flaw. Unforgivable for a man who’s critical of the status quo and systemic life.”

Fear is a motherfucker because it is a terrifying, loud ghost. It’s usually not based on anything tangible in the moment; danger in the moment is confronted with action and instinct. Either fear is rooted in the future (what if) or on the past (what was). I decided to post this self-loathing little entry as an example because, with the benefit of hindsight and experience, I see how silly it was. I was in the business of creating my own worst- case scenarios. “What if” was the phrase most commonly running through my mind. Luckily, I was able to remember the effects of this toxic thinking after I left and this helped combat the nagging fears that remained present, but steadily and quickly faded as time went by. The “Vern Moment” in Wyoming was a watershed because, once through it, I was finally able to laugh at these previously terrifying fears.

“The ability to feel fear and keep moving forward distinguishes the living from the merely breathing.” is one of my favorite quotes. You will never completely eliminate fear, but you have a choice of how to handle it. Be crippled by irrational fears and be the equivalent of a brain in the vat, or confront them. In my experience, the more you confront them, the more confidence you gain from the realization that they usually are based on… nothing. A good starting point: Ask yourself, “What would I do if I were not afraid?”

An important distinction is the difference between irrational fear and hubris. If you put yourself in ridiculously dangerous situations, for which you are ill- prepared and do not know it, you deserve your fate. Find your boundaries and know your limitations. Chris McCandless of Into the Wild fame has attained cult status amongst many misguided hippie- youth because they believe he died “nobly” living his ideals. Horseshit. He starved to death, and stupidly. The kid thought that he could commune with nature, despite the fact that he had grossly inadequate skills to survive in Alaska.

There was a similar story just this past month in Colorado. He set off into the back-country, eventually mailed much of his gear home, and then quit receiving his supplies. They found his body near Lake City in July, after spending the winter buried beneath 20’ of snow. They found him next to a cabin that may have saved his life, but was unable to get inside because he was ill- equipped. Like McCandless, this person had noble ideals but was either arrogant, or "inadequately common sensed." This hiker was, by all accounts, highly intelligent, had well- developed ideas and kept a meticulous journal. However, he failed to protect it, so not only was HE lost… so was his essence. In the end, what did he die for? To become an anecdote?

Some fear is good; the kind that occasionally protects you from yourself and prevents you from stumbling into legitimately dangerous situations. A little courage coupled with a cup of common sense and a dash of realistic humility will take one a long way.

7/12-7-31/09: Santa Fe Interlude

In 2008, my “interludes” while traveling did not go perfectly. They generally degenerated, after a few calm days, into impatience and a mad searching for signs & answers as to what step is next. This year has been different. My visit home in May was quite nice, and the rest of July continued that theme.

Once off the bus and in the apartment, I literally exhaled and collapsed from mental exhaustion. I proceeded to sleep and do little else for the better part of the first week. Chris and I had left our futures open-ended, and didn’t communicate at all that first week as he settled into whatever Denver held for him, and I basked in the old routines and familiar surroundings hoping to do a bit of a study of what had changed from a familiar perch. Perspective is a constant battle.

The first thing I noticed was that I was in no way clear that I wanted to return to the road anytime soon, if at all. I had told Laina and Chris that, on some level I was afraid that confronting my age-old demons in Michigan would leave me motivationally impotent after being the frustration-fuel for so long. I had attacked this peculiar, inwardly directed anger and seemingly neutralized it, but was afraid complacency would now take its place. Someone asked me once what motivated me to “succeed.” I was surprised myself to learn that it was indeed this anger and my healthy ego needing to “show people” something. Externalization and adapting an identity-through-praise; pure, unadulterated ego and an attempt to fill a cavernous, festering sore with someone else's skin. No wonder it was infected.

The end of this cycle was when I hit a mental rock bottom in 2004, which led to meeting Chris via his website. These two events directly connect; it was the first time I seriously considered jumping into a backpack and setting off to eliminate life’s fat in an effort to see what was truly necessary; what was real. It was also around the same time I began to take Thoreau seriously, which then led me to Gandhi’s ideas on unfiltered truth. Authenticity. I wondered now what that pursuit meant, and whether it still involved backpacking around the country and beyond. I could not answer that, but I knew in my core that something had at least fundamentally changed as to the method and purpose.

Laina and I went camping, of all things, the first weekend I was here and once on the road had a great time driving toward Pecos Canyon and sitting around the little fire drinking beer. It was the most relaxed I could remember being in a very long time, and we chatted about all sorts of things past and future. It was the perfect escape even though it was only for one beautiful, calm night. I had also had an odd conversation with Chris that Saturday afternoon. He had seemed quite lost, not exactly sure what he was doing in Denver, and I was of little help. We had truly disconnected and were on our own little quests where neither could help the other. I was quite sure he would figure it out soon enough, and it took about two days until he was happily announcing a regained energy and focus.

Over the next couple of weeks, things began to sort themselves out. After the events of June slowly but surely began to make their way to the appropriate places in the recesses of my mind, I began to notice a tangible difference in my thinking. With a gentle nudge from Shelly, I began using my father’s last name; changing it on Facebook and various email accounts as a way of getting other people (and myself) used to it. Essentially, that is the name I use now and will complete the legal paperwork soon. That was a rather bold step for me, considering that I have been quite the thorn in the saddle of some people over the past couple of months. I have no idea how Pam and Kim have reacted to it, still not hearing from either since April. Right or wrong, on some level I kind of hope it stings as a reminder every time they see it. I also began one final blog transfer, although to date it is still not ready for full activation. I have been delaying while trying to decide rather or not to begin an actual full-blown website. In all likelihood, this will happen, in URL at least. This will be the third and final one. I like the procession of the three, from Running with the Wind, to Te Nosce (Know Thyself), to this new one.

I also began to find myself keenly annoyed when I occasionally would find myself looking backwards, beyond May 20, 2008. My focus is now forward, and integrating what I had learned over the last 15-months into whatever is to come. This would turn out to be some massive, unknown foreshadowing, and was quite astounding for a man historically haunted by ghosts. Not even real ghosts as it turned out but of course, those fabricated by victimist-thinking, creating little make-believe scenarios, and then letting them become a framework for an outlook on life and identity. Pathetic? Yes. The annoyance stemmed from just REALIZING how fucking pathetic and misguided it really was. This is obviously an important conclusion, but it also opens up what could be Pandora’s Box. Inside the box: "What is next? Have the travels of the last year and the visions of future adventures sprouted from within this rusted, rotting framework?" Tough questions to ask, but they obviously needed to be. I was afraid that this was the source of the misgivings about setting out again.

Chris and I had a good conversation around the 25th where we candidly discussed the future and what it was each of us was hoping to do. I did not let on about my questions, and thankfully so because things were rapidly changing. He had begun making a ton of progress bouncing around Denver, having several discussions with Robert, the Post-Apocalypse class teacher I had met in March, about a pseudo plan that was developing. This “plan” entailed riding with them to San Francisco then Seattle on what sounded like a bit of a boat scavenger hunt. Yes. A boat. Penny (Robert’s girlfriend) and Robert had made plans to quit their jobs, hop in their veggie powered, self-contained blacksmithing van, and head toward the Northwest, presumably to seek out like-minded people and begin unplugging from what is viewed a steadily collapsing system. A system that at the same time is clearly closing in on all sides. The boat? A sailboat that would eventually be capable of sailing at least to Central and South America, and at most crosses oceans. The trip to San Francisco would be to network with friends-of-friends who would “be more than happy to teach us to sail it.” This conversation shot my energy level through the roof and we quickly found ourselves scheming ways to re-connect in August heading toward Wendie’s place on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State, perhaps via the Bay Area. It slowly became apparent that perhaps I’d had enough of wandering for wandering’s sake. Now maybe it was time to get busy building something. Building what? Well, THAT IS for another post. Sorry Steve-O!

After this conversation, things seemed back to normal and we tentatively set August 4th as a date that would see him depart Denver for his “week alone in the mountains.” In the interim, we could discuss ways to meet somewhere. Somewhere like Boise, and Lynn’s place? Penny and Robert’s ideas triggered further discussions about my friend Amber in San Diego. She has continuously suggested that she “may” be interested in joining us if /when we venture into Mexico, or further. She holds dual citizenship, speaks fluent Spanish, has WWOOF-ing experience in Italy, and would be a huge help to a vagabonding troupe of gringos speaking next to no Spanish! Amber’s trouble is her family, and the fact that she is 21. No problem for me, since she does not act like a ditz, but she has traditionally been torn between going to school and living her life. Her family is also Hispanic, so there is a pressure to remain close to family. A pressure that Whitey does not always comprehend. This sent us on wild conversations about possibly meeting Penny and Robert in places like Moab, Flagstaff, Taos, or anywhere else, that may put the four of us on course toward San Diego.

Toward the end of the month, these “plans” began to get a bit more complicated due to the simple and obvious fact that we are four people who hate making plans. The obvious question then is how do four people in three different places (Penny and Robert are bound for S. New Mexico 8/9) connect… without plans?

Are you seeing a lack of cohesiveness here?

Friends, this is the aforementioned “Limbo” and a good example of your author’s feeble attempts to manipulate the fates; forgetting…again…the all too familiar reminder to, all together now, SIT DOWN & SHUT UP!

On August 1, 2009, your humble scribe would be grabbed tightly by the metaphorical throat and slammed into his seat, complete with duct tape around the mouth and wrist to force further introspection that is more genuine and a long overdue--but now possible--evaluation of purpose and ego. What will follow is for me easily the saddest and most dramatic event to date, including 2008. You folks in Denver and Colorado will take a keen interest in this when it's finally posted.


I did it to you twice Steve. In radio, they call these teases! In Te Noscestan, we call it preventing an overload.

4/2-4/9/09: Santa Fe Staging

Chris had a grand time getting from what turned out to be Security, CO thru Pueblo and about half way to Walsenburg. Rather than rehash all the details, I figure you can check out The Friary and get his accounts first hand. I spent my time, as he put it, jealously geeking out on his progress.

As Saturday the 4th arrived, I received a message from a Couchsurfer who was in Santa Fe and looking for either a couch, or possibly a ride toward Denver. I agreed to meet Josiah at a Starbucks to see if he may be interested in riding toward Pueblo where I could drop him off, and also pick Chris up to ensure that he was here for his Tuesday appointment, and so that we could start laying the foundation for our joint departure. Impatience... ahhh.

Josiah is a short, skinny, early 20-ish looking hipster type from California, who is in fact nearing 30 and is paranoid about “chemtrails”. His plan was to get to Denver, then Salt Lake City, Portland, then a return to Cali. He was one of the cleanest vagabonds I have seen, which led me to believe that, despite the fact that he claimed the term "nomad", he was in fact a trust fund kid who slept more often in hotels than in fields--as he had the night before in Albuquerque. For whatever reason, he was also traveling with a bike, and a brand new Mac laptop, which he could not keep his attention from while I was there.

My primary concern was that Josiah would be the stereotypical hippie douche and fortunately, he was not, though he did talk with that annoying upward inflection at the end of every sentence! “The chemtrails are THERE to make the population docILE!” Between the bike and his concern about being dropped in an unfamiliar area, taking him with me was unrealistic.

Laina and I left Santa Fe for Colorado City, CO at about 6:45, figuring it would take about 4-hours to get there, grab Chris, and then another 4-hours back. I ran into a 66-year old bike tourist while gassing up who is “riding for our troops” and said that he was stopping to "avoid a coming snowstorm" that I had heard nothing about. It was a beautiful, albeit cold evening so I figured he was mistaken. By Raton, I discovered that he was far from it; it began to snow like crazy! Thankfully, Raton Pass was fine, but the next 70-miles to Colorado City was rather hairy with near whiteout conditions almost the rest of the way to Chris’s exit.

I found Chris at the Diamond station as planned, and saw him editing his hand- out cards as we walked in. He looked windblown and loaded down, with his snowshoes hanging off the now- his Kelty. He looked like quite the adventurer! We coffeed/gassed up, then drove off toward New Mexico. The weather thankfully had lightened and he and I chatted while Laina sacked out in the back. Over the next few days, we wrapped up our dental obligations, made several trips to REI, chatted, watched movies, had two gluttonous “last meals”, and welcomed Shalain’s parents in from Michigan for her birthday.

As the week progressed to Thursday, we had set a tentative (always tentative!) plan to leave on Saturday via train or bus toward Tucumcari, Amarillo, or possibly even La Junta or Lamar, CO. There was no clear vision of which way to go, but traveling old Route 66 seemed like a neat beginning, and Oklahoma has an odd draw for both of us. Thursday thru Sunday, however, would prove to be yet another lesson in the folly of planning!

12/22/08-Winter Quarters

I must have “intended” to update this thing a hundred times over the past couple of months, but for various reasons (read: rationalization) I have not. I have been both busy and quite hermetic at the same time. I’ve come to terms with being back in Santa Fe by completely isolating myself from it! It’s amusing that I have yet to build ANY kind of a social circle, preferring instead to sit at home and work, raising money for 2009. It has become obvious that whatever attraction I once had to this pretentious little town is dead. At first, I thought that perhaps it was just me wanting to separate myself completely from everything, but when we went back to Michigan, and then on my trip to Denver last week, I realized that I am just as social as ever-I just have no interest in socializing with anyone HERE. Or even meeting anyone! Not sure what to make of that, but I have inclinations!

Last I updated was shortly before the election of what appears from the media to be Abraham Delano Obama. I sat down at the computer the next day and, caught up in the hype, began to write how “proud” I was that we had elected a black man as President. However, something didn’t feel right about it, so I scrapped it. I then watched the news coverage over the next few days and realized how they’ve proclaimed this man Savior of the American Race. Pure demagoguery. I then realized that the liberals are now just as bad as the conservatives were; scurrying about with their proverbial chests thrown out acting as though they were solely responsible for an evolutionary shift in humanity! Yes, I’m experiencing a further Liberal Backlash, and am finding myself taking a ‘right turn’ in my thinking. The Socialists disguised as simple “Progressives” have sprung forth from the woodwork and I’m afraid that my liberal friends are going to have a rude awakening when the electoral center grows weary of what’s been unleashed: moral elitism with a dash of white liberal guilt and wielding an imaginary "mandate." 

I haven’t bothered with TV in over a month. It's disgusting that you as a nation are patting yourselves on the back and claiming “accomplishment” for simply electing a black man. It seems a bit like congratulating a redneck for not beating the wife or your teenager because he is no longer stealing car stereos! Congratulations America, you’ve almost achieved something resembling equality; forget that it should be EXPECTED! The best man obviously won, and I wish him well. But let’s consider the alternative for a moment, shall we? McCain/Palin? And, if we were such a diverse Nirvana, the fact that Obama is black would mean nothing, right? Get over your self-righteousness and let’s see how the man governs before we anoint him anything but President. He IS a politician after all. “Change?” PROVE IT. Then I’ll hop on this already full bandwagon.

On a lighter note, I have had sort of a “Peter Gibbons” experience for fans of “Office Space.” My little work-from-home data entry gig has turned into what appears to be a decent paying full-time job. I was brutally honest with them when they hired me, telling them that I wasn’t looking for anything long term because I was setting out again sooner than later. Apparently, they appreciated the honesty and the fact that I told them directly that I was not interested in anything that involved “ladder climbing”, because last week they essentially doubled my salary while still letting me work from home…as much or as little as I choose. It was perfectly timed because it appears that the next phase is taking shape, and I’ll be able to easily prepare for it.

Facebook's arrival has provided some rather creepy reunions. I’ve touched base with many people from my radio days in Kalamazoo, and even people from high school that I NEVER thought I’d chat with again. One has been quite interesting and intellectually rewarding. Steve was a guy I never really associated with, but we’ve had some similar experiences and have developed parallel views on things.

Another nice surprise was seeing my friend Himanshu, who’s from Mumbai, in BATTLE CREEK, of all fucking places. He was there on business while we were home, and I had a chance to have dinner with him. I hadn’t seen him since we met thru Couchsurfing in 2006 when he stayed the weekend with us in Denver. I picked his brain on India a bit…we’ll see! His blog is in my bloglist under ‘My Wanderings’. Check it out. Excellent writer and photographer.

Other than work, and the trip back to Michigan, the rest of the winter has been quiet. I’ve discovered the wonders of eBay (ha!) and have been slowly re-gearing when I can. I made a quick trip to Denver last week to bask in $1.50 gas, and to try to get things a bit more solidified with Chris. The original idea was to head toward Mexico this month, but we have decided to go bigger…MUCH bigger…and as a result are taking the rest of the winter to prepare. I’m being ambiguous on purpose. Our current construct deserves its own space.

Christmas is now just a few days away and 2009 will be here in just over a week. Of course, this is the time of year when you naturally reflect on the year that was. When I think of how the year began, and as it progressed the things I’ve done and seen; the people I’ve met, 2008 was very good to me. I’ve reconnected with old friends, met new ones, and had some experiences that to me are priceless. I managed to live a little, and set a foundation for 2009 and beyond. What's fun is thinking where I was a year ago!

Finally, I believe that this particular blog may be ending, although not 100% sure. Rather than the complete book, this is merely a chapter. I suppose that one or two more post would be appropriate, including what Chris and I are plotting. From there, I’ll let you know...