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

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

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

Saturday, however, was NOT Friday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7/13/08: 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let me be very clear: I hate Utah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, not today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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