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

7/14/08: The Great Idaho Escape-Ken

I woke up at about the same time as always, and went through the familiar coffee/hygiene routine while feeling quite energized after the intensity of Sunday. This day had a different feel then the last few; the optimism of the night before had hung on.

I ran into my nameless trucker friend from Kentucky almost immediately. He was still hanging out, waiting to hear when he could drop his load and move on. We did not discuss a ride, or much of anything beyond the usual pleasantries.

I also ran into Richard the Racist again. We chatted for a bit, and he offered me another pack of smokes and handed me $5 unexpectedly. My spending habits had changed drastically since the US-30 ‘Come to Jesus’. I had spent money on nothing but coffee since Saturday. Richard’s $5 had more than replaced that, and again I was struck by the generosity. He was getting ready to head to Soda Springs, and then Rexburg and I revived my efforts to convince him that a ride would be a wise career move. No luck there! With a handshake, he was off.

I lingered at the table for a couple of hours updating the journal, drinking coffee, and in the end finally decided to replace the atlas that had been lost in Cambria, CA. They had the 2008 Atlas on clearance for $4, and with the money Richard had just given me, it seemed like a wise investment considering I’d paid $5 for only an Idaho map a few days before.

Shortly after noon, I’d had enough of the table. I’d not gotten anywhere with the potential ride with "Kentucky", and thought it was time to try the road. I had by now come to terms with returning to Denver. There was motivation in the fact that I may be able to work and put some money away for a week or two while sitting on the cash I still had, thereby preparing for August in a way that would leave no chance of reliving recent monetary dramas! Plus, it was becoming apparent that I needed time to process everything, not to mention (as I mention) the memory card in the camera getting full and the online journal needed a massive update. An opportunity to "pull things together." The self- expectations had waned with the shift in perspective back to that of a "passenger".

I found some cardboard and made a couple of signs, one saying “Cokeville, I-80, Cheyenne” then hunkered down in the sun at the Flying J entrance not sure what to expect. People drove by, came then went, and I sat there with a serene calm that had been missing for a few days. I had missed that!

At about 2:00, I heard a voice behind me trying to get my attention asking where I was trying to get. The voice belonged to an apparently gregarious, outgoing driver--who, because of my headphones, seemingly came out of nowhere. I told him I was trying to get toward Denver and asked where he was going. He said toward I-80, then all the way to West Virginia and that I could ride with him if I liked.

I think I giggled like a little girl. Then I laughed. Loudly.

Ken looked at me as though he was taken aback by my joy as I said the first of a few hundred thank yous. I stowed my pack, and made a quick trip inside to use the restroom, say goodbye to my new cashier friend and to let her know I’d finally found a way out of there.

Ciel had never made it back and I realized, to my lasting disappointment, that I had not gotten a picture of her or thanked her properly for her conversation. Sometimes the seemingly most insignificant things can have an incredible effect other people, and we will have no clue. I am sure she had no idea what that little talk meant to me.

Then Ken and I were on the road: east on US-30 toward Wyoming. I was finally seeing the places I had noticed on the map. Lava Hot Springs, Soda Springs, and eventually the Wyoming state line, and Cokeville: the next Flying J I had set as an intermittent goal if I ever got a lift out of McCammon. I also finally got a chance to see the terrain changing as we moved east. I had considered walking out of McCammon eventually and could now see that it would not have been that bad… yet.

Ken and I got along very well. We didn’t struggle to keep conversation going at all. He was one of the surprisingly small numbers of black truckers that I had seen come through and he made the same observation I had: Idaho is quite white bread. He said he was from Tampa, Florida and had a 20-year-old son back home, which surprised me because he looked closer to my age than he really was. We’re both blessed with looking a lot younger than we really are!

This ride began to remind me of my ride out of Wyoming with Cesar back in May. As we crossed from Idaho into Wyoming, I breathed a sigh of relief and felt a sense of accomplishment. I had gotten out of Idaho and was now back in Wyoming. I cannot say that there was any previous longing to return, and since we had not discussed how far I was going with him, I had visions of hitching through Rawlins again soon! Looking at the terrain of western Wyoming however made me thank Ken again. Nothing but the kind of desert that reminded me of Nevada and Utah. No settlements. No water. No anything! Not the kind of place you want to find yourself stranded.

After a few hours, there was I-80 again. From here it was a straight shot east to Cheyenne. Somewhere along the way, Ken asked me how far I wanted to go. I had left that open to him, and figured I would go as far as he was comfortable. I answered something to that effect, and said I would probably go all the way to Indianapolis if he’d let me! To my utter shock, he indicated that he would.

This triggered a flood of scenario building in my head. I’d not even considered it a remote possibility that I’d be getting that far east that quickly. I began to think about where exactly I’d go if I got to Indiana. Laina's trip home was still 2 ½ weeks away. As I considered the developments, the irony was not lost on me that I had gone from vagabond pauper to hitting the Hitchhiker Lotto in a day.

Soon, things started looking familiar. We passed the exit where Doug and I had joined I-80 back in May, and Ken was planning to stop in Rawlins to get us showers. That made me laugh! No matter what, it was going to be Rawlins! Unfortunately, there were no showers in Rawlins so he continued toward Laramie passing the T/A I’d visited before. In retrospect, I was feeling nostalgic. Isn’t it funny how things that seem to be obstacles today trigger the most emotion and the best stories later? File that one away.

Laramie didn’t have a Flying J, so Ken continued toward Cheyenne as we had some killer conversations about the state of things and yet another example of Mutual Disgust in society and government! It seems that wherever I go, it is coming through the cracks. Rest assured friends, I am only a singular example of what appears to be blanket disgust for the ‘system’ and how it treats common people. Ken gave me a crash course on how the government nickels and dimes truck drivers beyond income and gas taxes, permits, etc. It’s nothing short of extortion.

He was at the end of his allotted drive time for the day, so had to stop for the night. He knew where the Flying J was located in Cheyenne, just south of I-80 on I-25; the road to Denver. There were no showers here, so Ken decided that we’d stop in Nebraska the next morning to clean up; crashing in Cheyenne for the night.

As cool as it would be, I’d begun to seriously question the wisdom of continuing on to Indiana. I had no idea where I would stay for 2 weeks, or if I even wanted to. It would make getting from west to east infinitely easier, but maybe too easy.

I decided to call Laina and Friar Chris to discuss it. Chris divulged that he and Angela were going to New York City the third week of August and suddenly I had a possible destination if I were to continue east. I could just meet up with them, then continue to Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine, then reverse course and go down the Atlantic Coast from there.

From Cheyenne it’s a quick 90-mile stretch to Denver through Ft. Collins. From Denver, I could go back to Santa Fe, see Laina and thereby eliminate Michigan all together if I chose to. And…I could find a way to stash some money. This plan came together with almost no effort, which is usually an indication that it is a good plan!

I felt kind of bad turning down Ken’s offer, but I simply was not prepared for it. What I was prepared for, however, was hiking up to the I-25 ramp to find a ride that night, figuring Ken had done enough and I should let him have his space. To my shock, he grabbed the atlas and concluded that it would be just as easy for him to get to West Virginia via I-70—from Denver—as it would be via I-80. He said he would be happy to drop me in Denver in the morning and that I could have the other bunk in his cab. Really? Really.

McCammon to Denver: ONE ride.

Another driver that I’d become good friends with.

Idaho suddenly made a lot more metaphysical sense.

We got to bed rather quickly and, after sleeping on the ground and on trains for the past week, the bunk felt like a fluffy little cloud! I passed out, and slept like a stone. Obviously, my early optimism for the day was well founded, and this leg of the trip was about to end. I knew I needed time to process it all, and my reaction to re-entering ‘society’ would surprise even me.

5/29/08: Definitely NOT west- Rawlins to Denver

Day #10
Denver, CO

I left the library and started walking toward the T/A truck stop and I-80. On the way I ran in to Jeanette again, She gave me a hug and said she was praying for me. She seemed a bit down about something, but I couldn't really tell for sure. I retraced our steps from the day before and, like clockwork, the Wyoming Wind began to howl, pushing me and the pack around a bit. My right foot was beginning to blister-just the right one for whatever reason-and I started to notice some tightness in my right shin, calf, and thigh. Only the right side though! What the hell?

I had noticed some weather starting to push in consisting of heavy, dark clouds with a little thunder. The storm looked more like a winter storm than anything, but it didn’t surprise me. The weather forecast the day before had said it was supposed to be sunny and 70, but it was far from either! While I was crossing over I-80 on the overpass, the winds REALLY kicked up. I even had to hold onto the guardrail to keep from being pushed into traffic, and then the temperature must have dropped 15 degrees almost immediately. I was glad I was walking in when I was, although for all menacing tones, the weather ultimately did next to nothing.

I went in and bought some cigarettes, a coke, and 2 half-priced candy bars and sat down in the same place I had been with Doug on Tuesday night. I was still thinking the weather was going to do something, so I scoped out the truck stop and had thoughts of sitting down in the trucker’s lounge and taking a nap. I REALLY had gotten next to no sleep the night before and was really feeling it by now. The adrenaline from earlier in the day was fading fast, and I was really fighting to stay lucid. I concluded that I needed to stay inside for awhile, before I went out to the I-80 west on-ramp to try to get west, and thought that maybe some real food would help me to feel better. If that didn’t, a bunch of coffee surely would.

I went over to the restaurant, sat down and ordered the buffet and proceeded to gorge myself. I’m not sure I was supposed to raid the salad bar too, but I did. The service was pretty pathetic, so I wasn’t getting quite as much coffee as I had hoped and after I ate, the fatigue began to take hold. I could have, and thought about, just lying back and dozing and started to eyeball the big field behind the truck stop as a place to just throw down the tent and rest. I figured it was too early to do that just yet, only 1:30-ish, so since the weather had calmed itself I went to pay the bill, figuring I’d head out to the on-ramp to see what would happen.

While I was paying my bill, a trucker who was sitting a few seats away from me was in line chatting with someone and since he seemed pretty laid back and friendly I off-handedly asked him which way he was going. He said Laredo, Texas. Before I knew what I was saying I asked if he was going thru Denver, he said yes, and I said, “Think I could get a ride?” He checked me out for a split second and just nodded and said “Yeah” in a matter-of- fact sort of way.

I was getting out of Wyoming! AND in a truck!

I had wanted to get at least ONE ride in a truck on this trip to see how it went, and this guy, Cesar, was it. I was really surprised at how easy it was to hook up with him, and as we walked out to the truck my energy level began to soar. Maybe it was the food, but more than likely it was the adrenaline of being on the move again. I hadn’t even considered heading east, let alone southeast, but sort of chuckled when I saw the parallel between Rawlins and Ft. Morgan. Plans? HA! The Vagabond Gods shit on my ‘plans’!

Cesar’s truck was a brand new Volvo; beautiful. Cushy. Plush. As I was climbing in and getting the backpack situated the excitement was almost comical. I was doing one of the prime things I wanted to do on this trip, and was happy with the way I was able to improvise. We got on I-80 and began heading toward Laramie and Cheyenne.

What a fun ride. Cesar is in his late 40's I believe, and came to the US from Mexico 20+ years ago. He looks almost exactly like Al Pacino in “Scarface”. I would chuckle every time he said “Montana”, hearing lines from the movie. He was good natured about it; obviously hearing that comparison a million times. His impression was dead-on: “You cocaroach!”

He told me stories about how he used to pick up hitchers all the time, and since he’s Mexican would try to help out the illegals from time to time, giving them rides, food, and even money; then finding out some of his stuff had disappeared with them. That reminded me of a few of the people I had crossed paths with. The ones who brand everyone on the road as a thief, bum, or criminal. Really pissed me off, but I understand it. Hopefully I thought I could change a bit of that stereotype.

The rest of the ride to Denver was great. We chatted, checked out all the antelope that were hanging out along the way and enjoyed the scenery. He took 287 from Laramie to Ft. Collins, then I-25 to the city.

I called Chris and Eric, and made arrangements for Chris to drop his keys off at Barracuda’s, and to meet Eric at his baseball game in Wheat Ridge, just off of I-70. Cesar took me all the way there, we exchanged phone numbers and conceptualized a plan to keep track of each other in case we end up in the same area. Then I could hitch a ride with him…wherever. What a good guy he was. Yet another example, eh?

I got to Anderson Park at about 8:30 or so, and came bounding in looking like something out of a Kerouac novel, and smelling like campfire. Quite the sight. There was something odd in the air Thursday night; everyone seemed riled up over something. Chris, Me, Eric…the two teams that were playing the game were at each others throat the whole time! Normally I’d blow that off, but I’ve seen brawls in these rec. league games! Too many baseball heroes with shattered dreams of glory I guess, but I wasn’t exactly helping calm things!

I was struck at the contrast that the day had held. Waking up in on a Wyoming prairie with the elk, then the truck stop, then walking up to the baseball field in familiar territory with friends. That still boggles my mind.

The game ended and Eric and I went straight to Barracuda’s in Capital Hill, a place becoming familiar again. We had a pitcher of PBR, and Chris and his friend showed up almost immediately. I was curious to see how Chris and Eric got along because while their VERY different in a lot of ways, including age, they’re VERY similar too. The synergy was great, and the conversations were cool, except for all the grief I got for being in Denver again so soon!

“Oh yeah, big world traveler!”

I couldn’t quite get the concept across that there are NO RULES here! Improvisation. I was in Denver; make it work! Later on it occurred to me that this was actually going to work out quite well. I had decided on the way back to take the car back to Santa Fe so Laina wouldn’t have to worry about picking it up. It would save a lot of money, AND I could get rid of more gear and relax for a few days. It really did work out for the best. They just seemed convinced I was going to STAY there! No way.

The drinking commenced, and I made the mistake of letting Angela buy me a Jager shot, then had some of Chris’ Jim Beam when we got back to his house. Ugh!! I don’t drink much anymore, and when I finally got to sleep, after trying to convince Chris to come join me, I was flopping around on the couch like a fish!

Quite the day Thursday. Again, not what I expected when I awoke!

Wyoming

Denver

5/29/08: North, eh? "The Vern Moment"

Ha! More lessons learned. One I already knew but apparently needed some 'practical' experience to drive home. But, let's start from the beginning.

I left the library yesterday at about 3:00 and found my way out of Rawlins via US-287 north maneuvering around the ubiquitous road construction from a new sewer system. Getting out of town was relatively easy, but it became clear that I've become spoiled. I called Chris to find out how close I was to where he crossed 287 on his walk and through the discussion learned that he had the opinion that Wyomans (?) were much less likely to offer rides than other states.

Unfortunately I had planned on rides. The next town is 30-some miles north and Lander is 120. I hadn't filled my water supply completely, and was carrying just my 3-liter Camelback. It was soon obvious that I should have left Rawlins better prepared. I also have no idea about my stamina. Wednesday was a good day to find out!

I continued north on 287, and eventually got into the Prairieland of Nothingness; not even trees. Traffic on 287 was medium with a wide shoulder. I took my time, stopped when I needed to to rest and eat, heard my first yells of, "Git off the fuckin road!”, and thought pretty highly of myself when I had gone 7 or 8-miles by 5:30 pm. I had been eyeballing places to camp for quite a while because I hadn't expected it to be so damn flat; no hills or trees to hide behind. I had also noticed places called "Walk Ins" that consisted of barbed wire gates and signs saying not to litter and to clean up after yourself. Obviously public or state land. 

I found a spot behind one of these gates that at least had some hills to shield me from the wind, which was incredibly strong all day. I plopped down by the gate, and waited for a ride---which never came. It appeared that Chris was right, although I still wasn’t flying a thumb!

Around 7:30, I hiked thru the gate to prospect for a camp site only to discover it had many uses, none of which had much to do with hiking or camping. It was a dump and a dirt bike trail. Lots of activity and much of the junk left behind had bullet holes! Just like Hilltucky! Ugh...

But, I was pretty sure that, since the sun was setting, there would probably be no one coming back here to dump or ride. I found a decent spot and set up my tent. It was still relatively light out, so I had time to gather wood from the trash I'd seen lying around and I had visions of a glorious, campfired night. The clouds had even dissipated enough to give me a beautiful sunset.

I was out collecting wood when it happened. My lesson. I knew better than to camp near high human activity. See...'stealth camping' is supposed to be...stealthy. I wasn't so stealthy. A truck pulled thru the gate and rudely destroyed my little piece of Vagabond Nirvana. I began having dire thoughts: 

“Maybe I’m on private land?” (I knew better) 

“Maybe these guys had seen me walking and decided to relieve me of what little I had!” (They'd have plenty of Clif bars to enjoy, I guess.) 

The truck bounced around up and down the hills and I believe they parked for a minute to smoke a joint...“Or maybe make sure I hadn't disturbed their cocaine deposit worth millions more to them than my life!” 

When one of these guys climbed a hill at the other end of this place, and looked in my direction, I almost literally ripped the big yellow rainfly from my tent. I was sure he saw me and was about to bug out, but remembered what had happened on the S. Platte in Ft. Morgan last week: a big, fat nothing. So, I took a deep breath and decided to wait to see what they did. I mean, where the fuck was I going to “run” anyhow? 

They left. Of course. 

See how paranoia works?

I waited a while to see if they returned and, when they didn’t, I built my little fire by burning Canada. I mean really: why do I need Canada in my atlas? It was a nice fire; easy to light and I even used horse dung to get it going. Yes it does burn. And, surprisingly, doesn't even smell that bad. Thanks Les Stroud.

The fire helped to regain my senses and since it was getting cold, kept me toasty while I talked to my girlfriend to let her know what was going on. I got off the phone, peed the fire out (that stunk), and hopped in the sleeping bag—first making sure that almost everything was packed—and not even bothering with the rain fly even though it was going to drop to near 40. All in case I had to make a quick exit--still having paranoid visions of doom.

Have you seen “Stand By Me”? Remember the part where they're in the woods camping and the fat kid, Vern, is standing guard? You know, every time he heard a noise, he'd spin around completely freaked out? 

I was Vern. All night. 

But, instead, I imagined phantom Wyoming rednecks. In fact, I now have a road name:

Vern.

I'll keep Vern until I earn another one. I'll be taking suggestions for last names and I'd appreciate any correspondence to be addressed “Dear Vern" until further notice.

After a fitful night with little sleep, I awoke early this morning to the sight of my kind of visitors: elk. A herd of them. One was particularly interested in me-just eyeballing me while I smoked, snapped a picture, and eyeballed him back. He didn't budge until I stood up, then darted back to his friends. That was a great way to start the day, even though this cold I got from Leah's kids is getting stickier!

Low on water and with no legitimate prospects for finding more, I packed the tent and slowly walked back toward Rawlins feeling as though I had grown a huge, gaping vagina for being freaked out so easily. But I was also glad that I’d at least ridden it out using the Platte experience. I also had time to think about the wisdom of going further north. I decided no, I'm far enough north; maybe too far. I like warm. Warm gooood. Plus, if I get to Lander and need to be 'stealthy' again, which is a certainty, I'll have to deal with bigger critters than friendly elk and the High Plains Redneck. I'm not yet wanting to play Mountain Man, so I've decided to get back to I-80 and point my thumb west toward California. Maybe Fresno to see what my sister's got going on. If not, I should land close enough to get toward Astoria.

There I go...making plans again. I think I just make this shit up to seem like I have a plan...

Way to go Vern-o!

Oh, about the lesson. If you're going to stealth camp. Don't camp anywhere there's a likelihood someone will show up! Laziness kills! Or at least scares the Bejeesus piss out of you...

5/28/08: Wyoming!

DAY #9
Rawlins, WY


Yesterday went better than expected, and contrary to how the day felt when it started. I slept later than I wanted to, and of course drug- ass getting packed up and out Leah's door. I think it was 10:30 or so when I finally found myself walking toward the West Glenwood on-ramp to I-70 west. I hung out a the little truckstop for a while watching people before I plopped down, leaned up against the pack and waited.

I'm not much of a hitchhiker at all. I don't bother putting my thumb out or anything. I figure if someone cant figure out that I'm looking for a ride-you know, lying on a backpack at an interstate on-ramp and all... It didn't bother me just sitting there. It was a beautiful day, sunny, NO WIND, and I felt like a snake sunning himself by the road. I understand why they do that now!

I did finally get a ride after an hour and a half or so, with a kid fresh out of college from Ogalalla, Nebraska. He was on his way to Rifle, where he lives now working on oil rigs or something similar. He was a pretty cool guy, and loved what I was doing! It seems when I say "I have no idea" when people ask where I'm going, I get the big "WHOA!" of amazement everytime. I forget the kids name, and didn't get a picture, but he was a pretty good guy, and his information on route 13 convinced me to go that way out of Rifle, and get off the interstate.

I walked through Rifle, about 3-4 miles or so, while stopping at a sporting goods store to see about maps. The one I needed was $8.99 so I decided I didn't need it. Getting out of town was a breeze, and when the sidewalk ended, I sat down to take a break. While I was sitting there looking for my gum, a pickup stopped and told me to "throw my shit in the back and get your ass in here!". I was amazed how quickly that happened.

Doug had just finished his 2-week straight work week, and was heading home for his week off. He asked where I was going, and initially I told him toward Meeker; aiming low as always! But then I found out he lived in northern WYOMING, about 50 miles from the Montana line, and 45 miles "east of Yellowstone", as I would heard REPEATEDLY over the next few hours! He told me he'd take me as far as I wanted to go, so after setting my eyes on US 40, I figured I'd see how it went and if it went well, shoot for Wyoming.

"Well" is a relative term, isn't it?

As with Dennis a few days before, Doug was drinking. And I believe he was rather baked. He was trying to show me how much of an outlaw he was at first, naturally assuming that's what I was. I let him go...it was kind of funny. Although he was a bit odd, and his driving was--interesting--I soon figured he was essentially harmless, and probably safe enough to at least get me to Craig.

Our first little adventure was in Meeker, where he decided he needed a beer. We stopped at a neat little bar where he went inside and proceeded to buy the bar a round. There were 5 people there; big spender! A guy was trying to sell a carved wooden dog for $250, and I believe Doug would have bought it if I hadn't asked him "What the fuck are you going to do with that?" "Talk to it!" he said. When I didn't fall over laughing at his humor, I think he realized that he was acting the fool in trying to impress everyone with his little stack of $20's! He quickly finished his beer, everyone thanked him for the drink, and we left to continue up 13.

Doug said he needed more beer when we got to Craig, and it was there that I looked at the map for the first time since Rifle. We were 40 miles or so from the Wyoming line, and he'd agreed to let me drive from there, so I decided to get greedy and stick with Doug to I-80. Plus, I'd actually begun to like the guy. He was a big talker with all sorts of bravado and fronts, but once you got thru all that he was great. I'd find out later HOW great.

The Wyoming line came and went. I got my picture of the sign. Doug peed. I asked him if he wanted me to drive--REALLY wanting him to let me--and he let me know that he was in-charge here: "I'll let you know" in a low, gruff voice. Great. So I kicked back, and watched the scenery, which by the way was magnificent, especially along CO- 13. Better than I even imagined, and ample place to throw the tent down.

By now I planned on getting out where 789 (new name for 13) met up w/ I-80, in hopes of getting a ride, or at least filling my water supply and walking on. Problem though. There WAS a gas staion there 25 years ago, but now nothing but a fireworks stand. And I mean NOTHING. I scoped it out. Doug peed. I decided I'd keep on with Doug east on I-80 toward the next truck stop, or at least semblance of civilization. That turned out to be 25 miles down, here in Rawlins. We took exit 214 to the T/A travel center, and I had my eyes on the KOA across the interstate. Doug insisted I let him buy me Subway. I had been refusing his offers of food the whole way, but by now I was hungry and the thought of a 12" Tuna that I could split for dinner and breakfast seemed smart.

By now Doug had calmed down a bit, and we were getting along very well. He said he was glad he picked me up, and for the last 3 hours had been pressuring me to ride all the way to his house "45 miles from Yellowstone!" I must say I considered it, but the thought of going that far north didn't really appeal to me, plus I still wanted to get to US 191.

While we were sitting there eating, a woman walked over to out table and asked how far Evanston was. Through the coarse of the conversation, we learned that she was going to PORTLAND and was on a limited budget. I offered her $20 and help driving if she'd let me ride, and Doug offered to throw in $50! I thought he was full of shit...but then realized he's do it. She would have taken me, but there was now way I was getting me and my pack into her car. NO WAY. It was stuffed. I would have had to ride like Grandma in "Vacation". Too bad. So Close!! But alas...Wyoming it is.

Doug and I said goodbye, and he handed me a folded piece of paper and quickly got into his truck. I went inside to finish Dinner, and chill out for awhile, opened it up, and inside: $25. I was amazed. This guy had driven me from Rifle, CO to Rawlins, WY...bought me dinner...offered to pay for gas in exchange for my transit...AND given me $25. All I had done was be honest with him and treat him with the resepct I thought he deserved. That's the only thing I can figure.

I hoofed it over to the KOA, got a tent site, talked to Laina and crashed. I woke up coughing in the middle of the night, and today have a sore throat, and a sore shoulder from sleeping wrong! I'm hoping Leah's kids didn't get me sick.

I got up this morning, did some laundry (YES!), took a shower (woohoo!), packed and walked off at about 11:15. I stopped at a little park on Washington St. while I made my way toward the library, and as I was sitting there an elderly lady asked me if I was hitchhiking, I said "sort of", and she came over and sat with me. We chatted while I ate, and she told me she used to hitch all over the place in her younger years. We talked about the town, her son she had just met for the first time, and eventually we walked off together toward the library. She walked me all the way here! She also gave me her address and asked me to call or send a post card. Nice lady this Jeanette.

The library doesn't have a timer on the computer, so I was able to upload pics, send Couchsurf requests for Lander, WY and update this.

I think I've decided to hoof it up 287 toward Lander, then take 28 southwest from there. I really want to avoid Rock Springs, which I keep hearing nasty stories about.

Over 200 miles yesterday. Not too bad!

Wyoming