8/17-8/22/10: New York to Idaho-Doug

With the sun falling, and having no luck in my shitty spot, I was contemplating nesting possibilities when a 4-door Toyota with Vermont plates recklessly pulled over on the narrow shoulder, and waved me on. When I said I was going toward Erie, he shockingly replied, “no problem”, told me to hurry up, and suddenly I knew I would make it on time to catch my brother and, barring any complications, his ride toward Idaho and Oregon.

Aim for Maine. Land in Oregon. I am the traveling sharpshooter.

Doug was tall, about my age, had long curly hair, familiar cheap monotone clothes, and judging by the large boxes of open food cans, laid out buffet-style, was traveling somewhere distant and gave an initial hippie impression. That generalization was woefully mistaken. Yet, he would prove to be a powerful reminder of our ingrained, unavoidable duality.

Doug had the rare combination of being supremely arrogant and at the same time pathetically awkward. Assessments aside, it quickly became obvious that Doug was brilliant and suffered from the stereotypical social deficiency that often comes along with it. He reminded me of someone genetically spliced from the DNA of a Slabber and Sheldon.

Doug was driving from Vermont across New York and on his way thru Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin, and ultimately Montana investigating various places along the way that he described as “unspoiled” parks and nature preserves. I loved the coincidence, of course, especially uopn learning that one of the places he targeted was, literally, five-miles from my sister’s house in Ohio: my destination!

Nature, botany, and geology are Doug’s primary passions. He had methodically targeted unspoiled spots in nearly every part of the country, and meticulously planned, to the point of obsession, every detail to immerse himself in them. He raved about, and offered an impressive home-schooled seminar on, the geologic history of New York’s Adirondack Mountains, while mocking that I had been at their doorstep and not bothered to investigate "God’s Country." I made a mental note. While I am sometimes inclined to engage in obnoxious hyperbole Doug did not seem prone to exaggeration!

A Happy Reflection 

In an earlier life, Doug had been quite successful in New England real estate and made a great deal of money in another business venture. And had been miserable. We often finished each other’s sentences while exchanging personal anecdotes about learning how an external pursuit of “stuff” left us hollow inside. He ultimately sold everything, took an extended through Europe, and now lives much as The Friar and I do: he works when he needs to, but not to buy clothes, cars, or LED TV’s. He works to travel, often doing menial labor, and, as he told it, with much greater satisfaction. For him, work is not a practice in perpetual servitude or careerism: the jobs end once they’ve served their purpose and he recommences living life again.

We spent a great deal of time sharing stories and exchanging social philosophies while bemoaning the willingness of most folks to subjugate their lives to the implanted idea of “career”; to become an unquestioning cog in a decaying machine. I haven’t written much about that in a long time. But it’s still there and it was quite clear that Doug and I had a great deal in common, at least in this area. We’d made similar decisions after drawing similar conclusions. As we weaved thru western New York, I also heard the familiar, “I never pick up hitchers, but something told me to stop” which triggered a twinge of warm, faint nostalgia.

An Uncomfortable Reflection 

Doug’s other, and more significant trait, at least in this narrative, was his blunt and overwhelming disgust for people that seemed to stem from arrogance and contempt as well as a poorly concealed, deep seated sense of rejection. When we stopped for gas he seemed to actually go out of his way to be rude to nearly everyone he interacted with. It was embarrassing. I found myself shrugging as if to say, "I don't know what the fuck's wrong with him either!" His comments made it clear that he was either showing off or that he considered these people his inferior minions and wouldn’t suffer the effort of disseminating an unnecessary common courtesy! This extended beyond words; he was a prick driver as well!

He provided some insight into this as we approached Erie. Doug told of how he was ostracized and made a spectacle of as a child because, as he told it, he was “so much smarter” than everyone. He smugly told how, even as a youth, he could think several steps ahead of everyone else, even teachers, and use his intellect as a stealth weapon. In his eye, the battlefield is the mind. And he's Napoleon. From the passenger’s seat, there was a veiled, enraged, hurt child striving to show off and impress me with mental muscle. The closer to Erie we came, the more pathetic he seemed. I was also disturbed a bit. These insights were entirely too clear, and frighteningly familiar. Using intellect, ideas, and venomous words as weapons to reap vengeance? Hmmm....

Shortly before leaving New York, I offered Doug gas money to ease his airtight budget if he’d let me ride along to Sandusky or Toledo. My new plan (ha!) was to meet Michelle, who had offered to pick me up as far away as Erie or Cleveland, then coordinate with my brother from her place near Toledo. The closer I was to Toledo the better, Doug agreed, but said he was stopping for the night just past Erie, on I-90 at the Ohio Welcome Center, and I'd need to find a place to sleep.

Ohio 

No problem! I found a secluded spot for my bivy snuggled beneath some evergreens and we were back on I-90 toward Cleveland by 6:30 Wednesday morning. I was looking forward to both ending this little Massena-Ohio sprint, and a leisurely day touring northern Ohio’s natural wonders with Doug. Natural wonders in Ohio? Really? Little more than the Cuyahoga River's chemical blaze came to mind!

Yes, it really happened! 

The first stop was impressive, and something I would never expected to find in any city, let alone Cleveland. Rocky River Metropark is a beautiful, nearly undisturbed preserve IN Cleveland. Yes, CLEVELAND! Doug seemed impressed with Cuyahoga County, and gave Cleveland his thumbs up. I had to grudgingly agree, besides...it’s not like I was complimenting Columbus! Ick...

Rocky River Metropark, Cleveland

Cleveland

Through the morning and afternoon, I found myself hiking a wetland preserve near Sandusky, reading while Doug explored another preserve in the middle of nowhere, then exploring Marblehead Lighthouse and its adjacent state park. At each stop, he’d euphorically bound down the trails for extended, giddy hikes and return with tales of his intrepid Adventures in Botany! He had a love for and a bond with nature that I admired a great deal. This was his element, and he was quite likeable while he was in it...and as long as there were no people interfering!

Cedar Point

Lake Erie Near Sandusky, OH

Near Port Clinton, OH

A Troubling Reflection 

Throughout the day, we had inevitably talked politics and sociology. Doug’s worldview was an interesting ideological hybrid. Being from Vermont, he had traditional libertarian tendencies, but he also was quite progressive when it came to issues like energy and the environment. Economically he was Milton Friedman’s persistent wet dream. “To the right of Attila the Hun”, to steal a line. Socially, like many of us willfully loitering out on the fringes, he believed society to be on a downslide and saw sustainability, both individually and on-scale, as essential to survival.

However, what will stick with me forever was Doug's chilling, unwavering, and disturbingly reptilian lack of compassion. When it came to unemployment, social security, food stamps, health care, or anything to do with assisting the poor, he was convinced that caring for these “freeloaders” equated to growing an inoperable economic tumor that would consume us all. Doug’s platform: “Austerity Now! Austerity Tomorrow! Austerity Forever! Fuck Them!”

I tried to appeal to Doug’s sense of humanity and found none. He was ready to go to war to protect the endangered Flatulent Pink Flamingo, but when it came to his own species? Social Darwinism. No mercy. Natural Law. Economically, everyone was to be left to and at the mercy of “The Market.” Ultimately, I asked him if he thought we should just throw the poor, sick, and starving into the streets as they did in medieval London. “Absolutely!” Can’t keep up? Out of the gene pool!

Doug’s lack of basic compassion was reminiscent of my earlier conversations with various economic and social “anarchists” I’ve met over the last few of years, particularly in the Dakotas and Slab City. Admittedly, they also mirrored some views I entertained and tinkered with since ’08. Through conversations with some of my Teabagging friends, as well as reading some of their in-depth ideas, and watching the BP Gulf of Mexico oil spill this summer, I’ve concluded that this brand of socioeconomics is, at best, inhumane and beneath civilized culture. At worst: an deluded rationalization for greed & cruelty; financial cannibalization and exploitation of the most vulnerable.

To make matters worse, I saw it coming. The backlash I predicted in December of '08 now has a name: Teabaggery. While he admirable despised the Alaskan Road Whore, Doug’s clever arguments and verbal gymnastics seemed to echo all the other austerity-driven propaganda and did little more than provide Teabaggery with clever nuance.

“Not My Problem” should be the emblazoned upon every Teabagger’s calling card; avoiding taxation in the name of “The Market” is all that matters. The Market is literally God. Is there nothing held higher? I asked, is there’s no higher ideal in this world than the ability to accumulate and hoard wealth, even at the expense of others? At that, he gave me his patented arrogant, amused look saying he hoped I understand that at this point in my life. Proudly, I firmly reject it.

Drawing on recent experiences, and particularly conversations with Brian over the summer about things like projection and cognitive dissonance, my bullshit detector was blaring, especially considering his story the night before. It seemed clear that Doug’s prime concern was less about social philosophy and politics and more about avenging himself as “the victim ostracized from the pack” only because he was “gifted.” There was entirely too much anger tainted with superiority and disdain to be just simple ideology.

Rant Alert 

Beyond him specifically, Doug provided yet another glimpse into the mindset of an alarming number of people. As I’ve said, I’ve seen them all over and have mentioned them periodically over the last two years. I’m no Rasmussen, but the anger is manifesting itself into something ugly. You need only to be aware of their pervasive dogma while listening to The Asshat King Glenn Beck, Rush, The Alaskan Road Whore, or any of the whackjob Teabaggery candidates like Sharon Angle or Christine O’Donnell. The fact the latter are legitimate candidates speaks volumes.



Doug’s clearly no anomaly; there are millions of Americans who are more than happy to throw whomever they define as a “freeloader” into the streets to starve in exchange for lower taxes. Never mind that the lower tax rates their avatars constantly bleat about won't apply to THEM!

Despite often clinging to their Bibles, they are perfectly comfortable in their “freeloader” judgment, along with any number of other designations with which they choose to label the “undesirables.” Meanwhile, rest assured they're not to be bothered being their brother's keeper, let alone anyone else!

They typically perpetrate all of this while clutching their crosses and wrapping themselves in the flag while arrogantly assuming the title of "patriot" and ridiculously belching out recycled, PBR-stenched phrases which include words like “tyranny” and “liberty”; all terms they couldn’t use in a sentence before they received their Teabag marching orders shortly following the election of The Socialist Antichrist.

Somehow, they equate freedom with gluttony and greed. Somehow they’re convinced that they know ANYTHING, about “tyranny!” Bloated, gun-crazed, redneck Americans moaning about “tyranny” is like Christians crying “oppression!” Fuck off. Listening to these arguments has convinced me that Teabaggery is the repositioned philosophy and legacy of Timothy McVeigh. He too championed Second Amendment remedies.

End Rant 


From this point forward, Doug was a resource. I kept the rest of our conversation away from political and social issues figuring that was the best way to keep the peace. I lied right there. It was a way to keep me in the car!

Late in the afternoon, I guided Michelle to a McDonald's in Port Clinton ending this little cannonball trip west. It had taken me 72-hours to get from Massena to Michelle.

As we sat waiting in the parking lot, I realized I had never given Doug the gas money I promised him. I concluded that the Karma Market and Natural Law conspired against him and chose not to provide. More to the point and to quote Deacon from Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure: “He was a dick.” 

Doug

As we parted ways, we made the obligatory promises to stay in touch, but that was clearly not happening.

Ohio to Idaho 

There’s not much to tell about the next few days. I made an REI run and began processing the past couple of weeks before meeting up with Mike and helping him drive their version of the Oregon Trail.

The cross-country was uneventful, except for another rendezvous with the Iowa 80, and taking  joy watching Mike and Ally’s amazement thru the Rockies. Mike had never been beyond Iowa. I could literally see their faces light up with seeing places for the first time; places I now take for granted. It reminded me of my first trip west and how I was hypnotized. Its a different world out here; one where pictures and words just don’t suffice. They took a special liking to Wyoming and Utah, and I must confess: despite everything I have said about Utah, if I were leading my cult west I’d likely settle near the Wasatch, too! It’s disgustingly beautiful!

Wyoming

Near Laramie, WY

Utah

It was good getting to know Mike a bit more as we rode west along I-80 and, although Lynette and Dave were in the Antilles scuba diving, I was looking forward to stopping in Boise on the way back from Oregon for a reunion of sorts. My intention was to surprise them, and just have Mike and I show up. Unfortunately, I was unsure of their itinerary so shortly after we crossed from into Idaho I called to let her know we were around and that I hoped to see her at some point while we were in the Northwest.

To my shock, she almost immediately returned my call saying that she and Dave were in Salt Lake waiting for their connector to Boise! It seemed that we’d all be simultaneously converging on Boise in a couple of hours...

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

8/22/09: Spearfish, SD- Leslie & Bonnie

Things were odd as I awoke Saturday morning to a very different Lori than was on display the night before. She was quietly subdued as she and Chris made breakfast and coffee while I repacked. We had some small talk as I ate their delicious potato & egg concoction, and soon I was waving goodbye and heading for a shower. I told them I'd stop back that night if I was still there, and was prepared to accept their offer of a ride to Rapid City if I hadn't left by Sunday.

A member of KOA's Golf Kart Militia noticed my pack, and gave me a brief, sKornful inkwisition about where I had slept, thinking I had hijacked a tent sight. Nothing came of it, but it did set the tone for the remainder of my stay. It was time to leave, and I had a distinct feeling that things were about to change.

I spent a few hours relaxing outside the Trading Post before learning that there was a restaurant a half mile up the road; one I had failed noticing when Harry dropped me off. That was all that was needed to push me down the road. I had no idea what exactly I was doing, I just knew it was time.

A quick 15-minutes later, I found myself at the intersection of Route 24 looking at the restaurant. I had gotten water before leaving, so I planned to sit at the corner just to see what happened. As I was crossing the road, a small SUV passed me with a pretty young woman hanging half way out the window flashing me the thumbs-up. When I returned the gesture and smiled, they unexpectedly pulled over and my new friend-in-thumb asked me if I needed a ride. A simple "Yeah!" later she had hopped out, and I was finally on my way toward Sundance.

I had to laugh. I had sat at Devils Tower for 72- hours with nothing. After 15-minutes walking, on nothing more than intuition, I was off. The pattern was still intact, but at the time, had no idea as to the extent. As I settled in, all I could see ahead was a half-hour hop back to I-90.

The thumb-flashing passenger was a Leslie. She was a short 21- year old who, even at first sight, flowed with raw energy. And, she was absolutely stunning. She has the looks that steals your breath for a moment. Leslie is the last kind of ride you expect to get, but as it turns out, there is nothing ordinary about her.

Driving the car was Bonnie. She struck me at first as the typical Santa Fe/Boulder progressive. Bonnie would hate the idea, but her general ideology was written all over her in pretty simple language. What I've called "being different-just like everyone else." I would learn later that, while accurate on a base level, it was an unfair assessment to make in a split second. She had a lot going on beyond typical, dictated agenda.

Leslie and Bonnie are from Chicago and were on their way home from an abbreviated road trip. They had intended to go all the way to Montana, but things had come up and Bonnie needed to be back by Monday. One of the first things we talked about was how we all had common spiritual views. There was an excellent, instant rapport, and as I told them more about my travels they invited me along to Spearfish as they tried to find a microbrewery they were told about. I was none too sad to be leaving Wyoming, especially like this! This ride had all the early indications of something remarkable, and I again laughed. I had cautiously felt it coming.

The conversations continued uninterrupted into South Dakota, and the energy in the truck was addicting. Bonnie was familiar with Chris McCandless, and when I mentioned I was considering going to Carthage SD to have a beer at the bar featured in Into the Wild, my original hop to Sundance, then skip to Spearfish suddenly jumped into a pilgrimage across South Dakota.

When we pulled into the Crow Peak Brewery in Spearfish, I had permagrin. My mind's eye traveled back to Devils Tower, and I could see the perfect progression of events laid out as though they were planned. Some say that the elderly sometimes say they same things when looking back over their lives. All coincidence? Ha!

Our pit stop at Crow Peak quickly became a night out. Leslie challenged a couple to a chugging contest while, at the same time talking the bartender into offering a t-shirt to the winner. Quite persuasive, this Leslie! I figured my shady past would be of some benefit here, so I signed up as a ringer to ensure Leslie got her shirt. It was the least I could do, after all! It was no contest. I won easily. Leslie: happy. Life: good.

Dean was one of the non- participating bystanders and had taken the picture of the contest for me. He and his wife were from Wisconsin, and the three of us were soon chatting politics and sociology. It was an excellent conversation, and I was beginning to realize how much I was going to enjoy these Northerners. Relatively speaking, there seemed to be an abundance of common sense borne from living life, rather than just reading about it then later simply swapping spit in a self-labeled Salon. Theme alert!

Obviously, continuing on toward Carthage Saturday night was out of the question. To add a perfect exclamation point to the day, our bartender actually offered to let us camp AT the brewery! We didn't even need to re-park.

Bonnie and I sat up for quite a while chatting about philosophy and metaphysics before going to bed. It was then that I realized that she herself was on quite a quest. Bonnie has passion for real change, but seemed at first to think it's an institutional issue rather than individual; that the solutions are "out there." (See the Dragon Parable) She seemed to be slightly hindered by ideological dogma, but also had the Splinter in the Mind that leads, inevitably, to critical/original questioning. This way, your organic ideas are accessorized by philosophy. Most people, even those who call themselves highly educated, are vice versa. Thus, recyclers of others thoughts. Parrots. Authentic, self-awareness is not an easy process, but Bonnie has begun it. She would periodically tune-in as we chatted, and when she did, she would shine.

I was exhausted by the time I climbed into the bivy. Leslie set the alarm early; all of South Dakota and Carthage lie ahead for Sunday. A least in theory...

8/19- 21: Devils Tower, WY

Devils Tower turned out to be a calm, quiet period of adjustment. Not quite the makings of marketing myself as a modern day Marco Polo!

The two days after de-busing in Gillette were harder than I had expected; failing to consider that it was almost exactly a year to the day since I had last traveled solo. Then, it quickly became obvious that despite the high traffic volume, it was going to be a hard sell hitching the 30-miles back to I-90 in Sundance. The vast majority were vacationing families and retired RVers who often see my backpack as sure indication that I am a thief. Or worse. Despite all this, the people were friendly. Devils Tower loomed overhead offering a constant, peaceful reminder of why I was there and the silent but steady reassurance that I was on the right track.

Devils Tower is about 80-miles northwest of Sturgis, South Dakota. I had missed the rally, but gotten the bikes. I've always liked and respected these people. Bikers, and backpackers/hitchers often share an unspoken sense of familiarity that stems from a thirst for freedom and authenticity. Had my pack fit on a Harley, I would have been on my way almost immediately! But it wouldn't. And I certainly wasn't.

A few hours after arriving on Wednesday, the weather turned from cool but sunny to cold, windy, & wet. The hot topic everywhere was always the odd weather in the region; how wet it had been and wondering if summer had missed its left turn in Albuquerque. As the sun set behind the Tower, it felt more like November than August, and I had yet to scout out a suitable place to camp. In the end, I succumbed to fatigue and paid the KOA's ridiculous tent fee, figuring I could at least get a good night's sleep and a shower in the morning.

Thursday was bright, sunny, and warm. It was spent sitting and sunning. I had a nice perch propped against a log by the road, and proceeded to just be, making mental adjustments. There were several trips into the Devils Tower Trading Post for coffee and water, and I slowly became a familiar face to the staff. I finally started updating the blog, but when I went to upload it via Pocketmail, the number Chris and I had been using was out of service! Out of frustration, I concluded that Friday would be a better day to figure that out.

With Friday and the weekend traffic came the feeling that I was back to myself. I settled in to my situation and made a conscious effort to stay present and remember patterns. Whenever I had been "stuck" somewhere for an extended period, the results were memorable and dramatic, such as meeting Ken after two days in McCammon, Idaho. This had much the same feel; a time to "Sit Down & Shut Up" so I wasn't trying very hard to leave. As I told various people, there are worse places to be "stuck" than Devils Tower!

Around noon, I found another Pocketmail number that worked so spent most of the afternoon writing. It seemed to me that this helped me to tap into Brian's "flow" and from then on, coincidentally, interesting things began to happen... and haven't stopped since.

At dusk, I snuck into KOA intending to follow a game trail along the Belle Fourche river into secluded grassland frequented only by deer and antelope. While filling my water bag, a middle aged woman hollered at me asking if I wanted a beer. Indeed I did. Before I had even sat down, Lori had offered a spot to camp at their site.

Lori and her big sister, Chris, were from a small town north of Rapid City, and spending the weekend celebrating Lori's 50th birthday. Lori had been "celebrating" quite hard; she was already drunk. And she was slightly upset. Her boyfriend was a truck driver and had been stranded in Denver, missing this potentially depressing birthday. It then became crystal clear as to the reason she had invited me over: I had been drafted into the Boyfriend Substitution Program. Within 10-minutes, she had begun rubbing my arm and trying to hold my hand, much to my polite, yet obvious, objections. It wasn't long before she was asking for a kiss and offering to let me sleep in her tent! "You can't sleep in THAT little thing!" While flattered, I obviously wanted no part of that and repeatedly told her I'd be sleeping, all alone, in my little bivy.

I needed to handle this delicately because, while amusing, I had also lost the chance to get to my field with the sunset! Chris thankfully came to my rescue by putting Lori (alone) to bed, but then things suddenly went Jerry Springer. Lori's affections turned to the wrath of a drunken redneck scorned! She began to resemble an incorrigible 10-year old, sneaking out of her tent and screaming at Chris every time she reeled her back in. Dozens of times, "Get the fuck away from me!" was heard by everyone at the family friendly KOA! The last I heard from Lori this Friday night was "I'm not staying out there with that guy here!" as she climbed into her truck to pass out. I was amused at how quickly I had gone from "adorable" to "that guy!" Jer-ry! Jer-ry!

Chris and I sat chatting for another half hour before I climbed into the bivy (alone) looking forward to Saturday. The feel of things had changed dramatically, and I thought to myself that it felt like things had finally gotten started.

Did they ever. Strap in.

8/19/09: Devils Tower & Jimmy

When people ask, "Todd, why do you do this?" I often answer that it's funny how the people you meet under odd circumstances can significantly affect you.

In March 2008, just a few months after my divorce from radio, I took a job as a carnie with an outfit in west Texas. That may be the furthest from the expected vocational path you would expect me to walk, unless you know me well! At that point, it made perfect sense. As I saw it, I had worked with legalized, dishonest criminal-minded scum for twelve years. Why not authentic criminals living on the fringe? I never intended to do it for long; a month or two as I tried to raise money for 2008.

Many of the assumptions about carnival life are accurate. My first destination was Odessa, TX. In my two days there, I believe I saw every drug man has produced to date, and listened to a knife fight outside my bunkhouse. (I was just pissed that they had woken me up at 5am!) And yes, the arrest warrant to employee ratio is quite high!

My final straw in Odessa was walking by a kiddie ride just prior to opening and finding a pouch of cocaine on the ground. Not so bad at 2am, but the carnival was about to open...and cocaine looks like sugar to a child. With that, I had had enough. I wasn't alone. One of those joining me on the bus to New Orleans for a change in assignment (and scenery) was Jimmy. He was Chickasha Indian, lived in Oklahoma when he had a home, and I had gotten to know him a bit over the short time we were both in Odessa.

I was primed for tangible, external ideas after spending the winter transitioning away from radio and buried in abstraction. As we rode across the expansiveness of the Texas Republic, we chatted about the similarity between my blossoming beliefs and that of the Chickasha Tribe. He was passionately proud of who he was, particularly his heritage. However, like Dennis, he was also tormented, although not to the same extreme. In Jimmy's case, he was cut off from who he felt he was: a Chickasha. It was as though he were transplanted to live with an African tribe; society had nothing for him. He was rotting from within so, like Dennis, he drank. Alot. This is something I can easily relate to and unfortunately Jimmy's story is not uncommon around the southwest.

Once in New Orleans, we were assigned to carnival group that was in a holding pattern thru Easter weekend. While drugs weren't tolerated, they created their own special brand of drama. This organization was known as a "gay friendly" carnie group, and I learned later that what I took as standoffishness when I arrived actually stemmed from some of the boys laying dibs on the "fresh fish." Me!

They were quite disappointed, and one individual was particularly spiteful, when they learned that I like girls. A great deal. This, along with nothing better to do with their idle time created a thick, palpable negativity. The kind you can feel.

Enter Trisha. She was a rare breed indeed. An intelligent, attractive 22-year old from little Rock, traveling with the  carnival, and with all her teeth intact. She took to me in much the same way as Inga did on the bus last month. I was one of the few heteros who would actually leave her alone while at the same time act as a flaming torch to the pack of red rocket dogs eagerly sniffing at her hindquarters. Along with Jimmy, the three of us quickly bonded.

Easter Sunday 2008 is, in part, why I'm sitting in the shadow of Devils Tower today. Jimmy invited us to his morning Chickasha ritual; what he described as "communing with his dead ancestors". Seeing it as an opportunity to leave the "hens" behind, Trisha and I happily went along.

Winter Quarters was directly across a small road from the Mississippi River. There happened to be a circle imprinted into the grass, and Jimmy arranged us inside then began chanting while Trisha and I sat respectfully quietly wondering what he was doing! This went on for some time. When he stopped, Jimmy said he had communed with The Ancestors (apparently that's not always successful), and that they had given us Indian names. Mine was Runs with the Wind. Thus, the name of the first blog.

Now, I agree with you cynics. You can find a performance similar to this at any number of the touristy "Indian Trading Posts" littering the west. What struck me was the gradual, then all-encompassing feeling of peace overcoming me while sitting beside the river. It was incredible. Something I had neither felt before nor felt since. With it came a sense of clarity that, for my indecisive ass, is invaluable.

I had the sense that I was indeed on the right path and that this "voice" was indeed what I thought it was. The three of us sat by the Mississippi all day. Just being. Trisha felt it too and that we were able to find calm in the Sea of Negativity was lost on neither of us, particularly when we left.

As soon as we crossed the road returning to camp, Trisha and I both said, at the same time, "Did you feel that change?" It was something akin to strolling thru a garden then stumbling out into an open landfill. It was that stark. I suspect it was what Steve describes as going from "awake to asleep" in Eastern terminology. I don't know what happened that day. But in a quiet, subtle, yet powerful way, it changed me. I wish I could give that experience away.

As I was sitting in New Mexico a week ago pondering Dennis, I thought of Jimmy. The similarities would not leave me alone and, as I thought of that day by the river, I again began to think about Devils Tower. I had the notion in July, but dismissed it in my pre-Dennis fog. I did some quick research and while I already knew it was sacred to natives, I had no idea why. Devils Tower was seen as a place of rebirth and rejuvenation. Several tribal leaders are still buried nearby and where young men used to come on their vision quests, the US Government now charges $10 for a "prime view."

Considering all that's transpired over the last 2 1/2 months, and looking back to that Sunday on the Mississippi, this place of "rebirth" struck me as the place to start again. No, I'm not hoping aliens take me away. Nor, I should point out, am I on my own vision quest. I don't know specifically why I am here other than it "seems" right, to borrow Chris' phraseology! If the patterns hold, I suspect that will become clear enough soon enough.

To close Jimmy's story, I spent another week with them. The night I left the group, in Baton Rouge, he was drunk and making no sense other than I "shouldn't leave." In retrospect, now, this echoes with a haunting familiarity. But, as with Dennis, I knew better.

I found out a week after returning home that Jimmy had been beaten up, and had left too. I have no idea what became of him.