4/30: Corbin City, NJ- Wendy

Chris and I got a relatively early jump on the day. The idea was to make our way as far north as we could, with a minimalist goal of May's Landing by Saturday. This would give us two days to go the nearly 20- miles or, hopefully, much further with a ride. Chris's mom was planning to pick us up Saturday, and had an offer from Ken to get a ride if we could get anywhere on I-95. Thus we had set simple "goals" of getting as far as possible to shorten her drive or, if we were very lucky, hooking up with Ken somewhere around Philadelphia or Trenton. Unfortunately, we were also coming to accept that rides were unlikely, at best, in New Jersey.

This was the first day of consistent walking since we had shut it down because of my heel, and we kept up a surprisingly good pace. Since the shoes had broken in quite a bit now, the heel was repairing itself nicely, and I had lightened up, we were moving more quickly than the week before.

We stopped for some supplies, then quickly found the ever- present Wawa... which, with its coffee and cheap(er) smokes, was becoming my favorite stop. Stop we did.

While reclined against the wall outside, we were approached by a bearded, tattooed character who slid along side, crossed his arms, and asked "What are you two up to?", as if he recognized something.

Tom was a biker who also ran a moving company. He looked to be in his 50's, and had a beard that would impress both the saltiest biker and biggest ZZ Top fan. He & his wife, Rita, were driving to Cape May with their teenage son for Rita's birthday, and running into us had delayed things a bit!

The conversation went on for quite a while considering the venue, with Rita both reminding Tom that they had things to do AND taking part at the same time! It was comical, and obvious that the four of us got along famously! Too bad that they were going the other way, we could have talked until Anchorage. I loved these two!

We lingered at the Wawa for nearly two hours not feeling the urge to accomplish much, despite our "goals", and had a nice pace for the day. Tuckahoe was next after a rest or two and a hike thru a nature preserve. On the way thru this little village, we pondered buying a converted short- bus that had been converted to an RV, much like the veggie bus. Something fitting about the fact that it was a... short- bus.

Corbin City begins across a drawbridge from Tuckahoe, and is barely a town. I had stopped on the other side (if it has "sides") to get rain gear handy, when out of the antique store we had parked in front of walked a pair of elderly ladies who were curious about the creatures mingling outside. After a nice chat, they pointed out the Corbin Cafe just up the road, which they suggested as a place to refill water before the "nothingness" further up 50.

We were greeted with what I sensed as suspicious curiosity as we lumbered in asking the bartender if we could please fill up the water bag. The suspicion quickly melted away as the 3 or 4 patrons learned that we had found their little town after traveling from New Mexico and Colorado. Corbin Cafe is the typical small- town dive I love, and I liked that it had "Corbin" in the title, as I could easily see my late- friend, Michael Corbin, loving the place!

We stayed for what I thought was a surprisingly long time chatting, and when we finally pulled ourselves away to find our ground for the night, Keith came after us carrying the Coke bottle I was using for spare water. I had left it sitting at the bar, and along with the forgotten water came an offer for beers if we chose to come back inside. That sounded damn good.

Two beers turned into us buying dinner... which of course turned into more beer. After an hour, we had an invitation to camp in the bartender's backyard, and the bar had begun to fill up for the Thursday night pool league. The bartender's name was Wendy, and thru the course of the night we met her boyfriend, Avery, as well as her daughter, Tiffanni, who were playing in the pool league. After two or three hours, the accommodations had been upgraded to Wendy's camper trailer: A bed!

Chris and I both had a grand time with the notion that all this had come about by simply stopping in to a place most would ignore to ask for water. We had also intentionally suspended frugality for the night concluding that it was worth the money to have a little genuine interaction with people. We were right. We had a great time. Everyone at the bar was unbelievably nice. They all knew each others names. And each others business. Keith had even went and put together a sort of care package, which was snack foods, along with packets of tuna and Spam. It was quite the gesture. I received a call from Ken early in the evening, saying that he was in Richmond, VA but would be driving through the night to try to make Boston by 7am. It was obvious that we were going to miss him, but I'm not sure we ever held out anything other than a faint glimmer of hope from the beginning. The topic had only rarely come up during the day.

After several beers, many conversations, several attempted playings of the Soggy Bottom Boys on the jukebox, and another full meal for Chris, Wendy and Avery were ready to head home at about 11:30. That was perfect, since both of us were fading fast. Wendy lives in Tuckahoe, about a mile down the road we'd just walked, and once there we were quickly shown to the camper accompanied by a not so- subtle hint to "leave it as we found it!" I love direct people! Once my head hit a real pillow, it was no time at all until I was out.

4/29: Seaville, NJ

I got a good night's sleep, and awoke refreshed & in much better spirits. The weather, however, had gone toward Hell. We knew the happy days of sweaty sun were behind us for a bit, and had actually expected it to rain overnight, but it had held off, being windy and cool as we broke camp in the reeds.

The first order of business was breakfast at Dock Mike's cafe, which is right on Cape May harbor. I had a spinach omelet, and chuckled to myself when I realized that, judging by one of the barnacles, it appeared Popeye himself had dropped anchor outside.

The omelet and multiple cups of coffee were fantastic, and so was our waitress Dottie. She kept the coffee coming as Chris and I discussed things, including my mental menstruation of the day before. It seemed after some reflection that we were entering a new phase, and not just New Jersey. The methodology had been handled... now, perhaps, it would be money and, most importantly, how to generate it.

Just before 11, we left Dock Mike's fully fed and with the literal and figurative batteries charged.
The weather had become decidedly wetter during our visit with Dottie, with 40- 50 mph gusts off the Atlantic. The temps were now in the low- 50s, which felt like 20 after getting used to low- 90's. I began to seriously question the wisdom of mailing the seemingly extra coat home the day before, as I would have now used it beneath my rain jacket.

We elected not to walk the mile into town for the library, instead walking back over the bridge to try for a ride toward Atlantic City & New York... again. We were there perhaps an hour, having a grand time in all our inept glory, when a state cop pulled over and politely asked what we were doing. With my cynicism toward police still festering, I just assumed he was either a) a smartass or b) a nimrod; neither being good breeding traits in lawdogs. He was polite, and never asked for ID, even after he told me, half- smiling, that we couldn't hitchhike... anywhere in New Jersey. It was illegal in the entire state.

Well... shit.

He did happen to have a NJ Transit schedule in his seat- sack of piggie treats, so we took one, quickly agreed that Cape May held no further treasures, and that taking a $4.75 bus to Atlantic City would be a good idea. We walked BACK over the damn bridge for the last time and made our rain- soaked way downtown to the bus station, getting there ten minutes before it left.

I spent the ride north just writing. Just as I had finished, we discovered that the next stop was a Parkway Service Center/ commuter park 'n ride. Since I had kept my head buried in Pocketmail, I assumed we were close to A.C., and before we knew it, we had made an almost unconscious decision to get off right there and skip the Adventures of Atlantic City. This seemed to amuse the driver, who pointed out that we had paid all the way to AC. Only later would I realize we were barely half- way there. Behold! fiscal genius at work.

The service center was at least pathetic, and perhaps even toxic. The restroom/ Roy Rogers area closed at six, and there was next to no traffic. But, there was an Information Center where we decided, finally, to get a map. But only because it was free. I find it slightly amusing and mildly troubling that I will spend money on cigarettes, but not a fucking map. Something is askew...

After an hour or two, and using our trusty (sort of) new map, Magellan realized that US- 9 was just west of us, running next to the Parkway an open field away. By now, it was getting late and cold. The plan: get on route 9, find a spot, have a hot meal, get a good start on Thursday. For once a plan went... as planned.

After eating and setting up camp, I did get a surprise call from Ken saying that he was headed from Miami, thru New York City, and all the way to Boston, via I-95. We could ride the rest of the way with him if we got to the interstate. That would save Chris's mom a trip, and be neat to get the three of us together. It didn't seem completely out of the realm of possibility that we may possibly get there the next day, and gave us something to strive for on Thursday...

4/28: Cape May, NJ

Quite an odd day considering the euphoria of the night before. A day that started poorly, for no apparent reason, then improved gradually as the day went on, but I never quite got on track.
I initially awoke at about 8:30, again, but ornery as hell. I remember thinking that I "should" be in a better mood, so just blamed it on the fact we were up so late, or maybe that I was by now out of cigarettes, and hated the fact that it would nag at me non- stop until I got them... forcing a premature trip to Wawa. Slave says what? Rolling over and sleeping for a another hour or two didn't seem to help.

Once up and moving around, as Chris put it, I was just generally agitated at nothing in particular; everything in general. So, I tried to find answers to non- existent "problems." "Problems" like how we were getting out of Cape May, and how things would go once we got to New York. Thinking that was completely foreign to the revelations of previous days, and worse, I knew that thinking was horseshit. Yet, there was apparently nothing I could do about it. I kept repeating, "I have no idea where I am today."

As the day's activities began, things got better. My heel was performing heroically sans liner, so walking was a breeze. Plus, I lightened up a bit by sending my extra jacket home. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

After an hour at Wawa indulging in my vices, coffee and cigarettes, we decided to make our way toward the Route 9/ Garden State Parkway confluence to try for a ride toward Atlantic City and New York. We had fun sitting by the side of the road, but got nowhere.

From there, we began chasing visions of reliving the night before, only on the Atlantic side of Cape May, but grossly underestimated how far it was. We made it as far as the Parkway, then walked over a bridge onto a little island that may have been called Striper Island, but I'm not sure. We wandered toward the harbor, docks, and charter yachts where we began contemplating money- making schemes involving boats... concepts that have been with us from the beginning. We also noticed a little diner that was closed, but would be open in the morning. Chris suggested that we get up early and return to it for breakfast and to catch the fishermen. I thought that was a fine plan, since that meant camping nearby.

We hiked the short distance to a boat launch, then ducked down toward and along a sandy embankment/ river beach as the sun began to set. We found a place to camp behind a business and some houses where we decided to throw down in some reeds. We had a quick bite, chatted about the day, wrote, then dozed off to sleep. I was ready for this confusing, disconnected day to end.

4/27: New Jersey

We lingered in the sun for just over an hour while waiting for the 4:15 ferry across Delaware Bay to Cape May, NJ. This felt like a significant step to me after being focused on the act of just getting there for nearly a week.

The ferry itself is a commuter that mostly transports drivers between NJ and Delaware, so we may have been the only actual foot- passengers aboard.
The crossing itself takes 80- minutes, and with the perfect weather, gave us an opportunity to wander about, take pictures and just relax, basking in our badassitude. I also discovered that my heel had healed to where I could wear my boots once again, and was able to determine that much of my misery was likely caused by my sock liners... that were supposed to prevent blisters!

Once off the ferry, I filled up on water to the sounds of Glenn Beck preaching Gloom 'n Doom over the Apocalypse of the Month: Swine Flu. We both recited in unison the line from "V for Vendetta": "I want everyone to remember WHY THEY NEED US!" I wondered what new "legislation" would be sure to follow on the heels of this, and in advance of the implementation of Codex Alimentarius in December. Not that anyone will care, of course.

From the ferry terminal, it was off to find beach, and hopefully bikini. We never found the Tropicana models, but boy, did we ever find the beach. Not even a mile away, on the Bay side of the Jersey peninsula. This meant that we could cook Chris's concoction of rice and mac & cheese (there ya are, Steve!), and watch an intense sunset while alternating between camera and spork.

The beach was nearly deserted, save dog walkers, a couple of families, and the typical sunset watchers. There were also rolling mini- dunes directly behind us which, with a little sly action, would provide the ultimate camp site for the night. We are not short on sly.

We waited until the beach was deserted, which was a matter of minutes after sunset, then walked a couple hundred yards away from the access until we found the perfect spot. In the bivies we'd be hidden from morning beach traffic, but still have a grand view of the ocean, moon, and sky full of stars. Not to mention the sounds of surf all night. I could not have painted a more perfect place.

Once nestled in, there was a funny, familiar scene replayed in duplicate. We were ecstatic, and began to call people in a vain attempt to share the joy. Just as I had called Chris, Eric, & Shalain from the beach in Santa Barbara, and while riding the freight train thru Oregon. We felt like we were absolutely tuned in and, in an odd way, like we were being "rewarded" for our patience, calm, and serenity of method over the past couple of days. We were fully immersed in that same joy and rush of pure energy that we had tapped into in Albuquerque, and tried to articulate between ourselves where it was coming from. It again, as always it seems, came back to the side- car analogy. Taking the role of the ultimate observer in the drama that is your own life... and not getting caught up in the mundane, bullshit- details that consume us most of the time. It was a striking conversation that perfectly complimented the night before, at the state park in Denton.

We were up chatting on adrenaline until nearly 2am, and just before fading away, I had one of my "wake 'n sleep" moments. This happens when the comparison of the place I awoke with the place I went to sleep is dramatic. From the woods in Maryland, to the ocean in New Jersey. Nice!

Fittingly, one of the observations that were made surrounded how struggle helps to highlight these moments of mini- enlightenment. If everyday were like this, they would be meaningless. Tuesday would be a stark reminder of this for me.

4/27: Delaware

This day will go down into my personal Hall of Fame, right up there with the train ride, Florian, Pat, Ciel, and Ken.

After the events of the night before, I awoke at the familiar time of 8:30 in a fittingly calm state of mind with the impressions, conversations, and realizations still resonating loudly in my head.

I was in no rush to do anything. In fact, one could infer that I was just dragging my feet. That was far from the case, I simply felt... synchronized. Doing things in their own time, and it was good! Chris was in the same state, and it took us nearly 4- hours to eat, shower, shave, and re- pack. The weather was again nearly perfect, for me anyhow, with a blazing sun and approaching 90 by the time we left the campground- at around noon.

We set up again on 404, but further out of town than before. We were now completely away from the Food Lion and Shell station, by a stop light. We figured that if we had no luck here, we'd try to swoon some unsuspecting Lewes- bound traveler at Food Lion but, after finally getting our thumbs in the air to go along with our sign, the idea quickly became moot.

We had only been there for 30- 45 minutes when a Prius pulled over and offered to take us as far as Laurel, Delaware. He assured us that Laurel's route 13 would take us straight to Lewes, and that Laurel was about half way there. That was good enough for us, and we were finally leaving the hospitality of Denton, and Maryland, behind us.

Brian looked to be in his mid- 20's, and was the perfect person to be our first ride. He is a biology grad who had recently returned from Osaka, Japan where he had taught English. Portland and Nicaragua were also on his list of possibilities. We got a kick out of that, especially considering our Latin America aspirations. He was very, very interesting to chat with, and we both felt that we would have enjoyed getting to know him more, if only we had longer than 30 or 40 minutes. He got our cards, and he's one I genuinely hope makes it to the website.

Brian dropped us at a busy intersection in Laurel, right at route 9, and hurried off to his dental appointment. Chris and I crossed the highway, bypassing the gas station, finding a sign that said "No Stopping or Standing". We found this appropriate... since we'd be sitting.

We never got to even sit down; Ben and John are now officially the quickest ride I have ever gotten. They had seen us walking, and turned around to catch us offering to take us to Georgetown, about half of the remaining 28 miles to Lewes. These two seemed to be a couple of guys that I would love to guzzle beer with. Ben was a direct, borderline abrasive, guy that told you precisely what he thought whether you liked it or not. I liked his authenticity immediately, and felt right at home. John was a big guy who reminded me of my nephew. He struck me as a person who liked the notion that he has a rough exterior, but once you got to know him, you would realize that there was much more to him. I enjoyed this ride immensely, and when Ben said he would have taken us all the way to the Lewes Ferry if he had more gas, I was more than happy to offer him $5 to finish this leg of the trip. He accepted, and before long we were all the way thru Delaware and sitting in front of the Lewes- Cape May Ferry terminal. I snapped their picture, and we were off to get our $10 tickets.

We had gotten thru Delaware in less than 2- hours, and I had not gotten to get to know it nearly as well as eastern Maryland. I did see enough to realize that it is a pretty, albeit flat, state with a very "Oregon" vibe. I had not seen much, but liked what I did!

4/26: A Day in Denton

This is the day that we may, quite possibly, look back upon as the day we hit our stride.
After our conversation Saturday, we awoke in the field with a decidedly different mentality: relaxed & unhurried; side- car passengers. We had been working into a pattern of rising earlier, and were up and out of bivy on our way to the Shell station by 9:30. The dayplan: hitching a ride. My heel needed a break, and Chris was enthusiastically taking to the Relax- Enjoy- Slow Down method. This day had a much different feel to it than the rest.

The weather was sweltering, with a blistering sun, and temps hovering in the low 90's all day. We set up on the Shell's sidewalk, a ways away from the entrance, and spent the first part of the day writing, chatting, and just enjoying the, for lack of a better phrase, liberation of surrender to fate. I knew we'd get out eventually but I was smitten with Denton, so even if it took a day or three, my heel would be healing the entire time and I'd come out the other end better off.

We began by essentially replaying my first days in Ft. Morgan last May. Just hanging out, making use of the handy water- spicket to keep cool, while minding our own business hoping to strike up a conversation that would lead to Lewes. With a similar result as Ft. Morgan: Sunburn. We eventually made up a sign that said "Lewes", to no avail, and around 3 decided to change locales, to the roadway.

We leaned Chris's pack, with sign attached, against a sign post then reclined against the guardrail for the rest of the afternoon. Not once did we raise a thumb... again repeating the ineffective tactics from early in last year's trip. Inexplicable.

There were a few humorous moments, mostly borne from boredom and borderline heatstroke. We created our hitchhiker boy- band characters. I was going to be the brooding, quiet, sensitive one (getting all the chick's moms) who would ride in the pickup bed. Chris would be the pretty, affable one who had all the 13- year olds swooning. He would also be the one who entertained the driver. I'm not sure he was happy with the casting.

Another was the Saga of Nibblitz. For Bill, and all the other South Park fans, Nibblitz would be the Kenny of squirrels. I was entertaining myself by trying to toss peanuts into Chris's hiking boots, when one or two went into the highway. The narrative then developed about how the friendly, cuddly, creature- Nibblitz- would bound happily into the highway chasing his bounty of nuts, then would promptly be flattened by an environmentalist in a Prius. Like Kenny however, Nibblitz would be resurrected to die another day. It would later be from cardiac arrest after spilling some instant coffee on the ground. Ahh, hitching.

Ultimately, Chris decided we should wander back to Food Lion, where we would be curiosities rather than hitchers. I reluctantly agreed, acknowledging that we had not exactly blazed a trail east using the current technique. If Food Lion failed, we'd then wander toward Martinak State Park, which was perhaps a mile away, since there was also a compound the librarian had referred to as The Brotherhood adjacent to it. We did manage to meet some kids in their late teens or twenties who thought we were completely awesome, and as I overheard them say on the way to their car, "two of the coolest fuckers ever." They obviously had heard our boyband.

Other than adolescent idolatry, nothing came of the Food Lion trip. We bought the night's "dinner" at the Dollar General, and began to make our way toward the "Brotherhood" and the state park as the sun fell. I discovered through the day that I could walk quite well in my sandals, so I strapped my boots to Elmo and steadily hobbled along.

The Brotherhood and the state park lie down a sleepy side road, about a half mile off 404. As the road got darker, I began to wonder what other meanings there could be to "Brotherhood". We weren't in Mississippi, so I thought it unlikely that this wholesome librarian was sending us to the doorstep of the Grand Dragon of the Maryland Chapter of Hooded Klansmen. As we arrived however, I confess I saw the scene from O Brother, Where Art Thou, where they stumble onto the meeting. The sign signified that this was a camp of some sort, rather than a shelter, run by the Church of the Brethren: Brotherhood. The driveway leading to it was ungodly, and rather cultish, so we decided to skip the sure spiritual enlightenment in favor of Martinak State Park.

As we arrived, we saw that there was a Day Use sign posted, which brought back memories of Muir Beach. We had also been scoping for stealth camping sights along the road, but I was quite ill- equipped to be trekking around the woods with ticks and Widows... since I was sock- less and in sandles. We were unsure about how to proceed at this point, so we flagged down an RVer who happened to be leaving to ask about camping. I believe the sight of two dirty vagabonds appearing out of the dark frightened him, as he refused to roll his window down any further than a crack. As soon as he left, fate intervened. A man had apparently noticed us lingering and was walking down to check on us.

Bob used to be a Park Ranger, and still lived on the property. He seemed a bit suspicious at first, but when we told him what we were doing and we were seeking accommodations, he turned into one of the friendliest people we've met. He told us that there was indeed camping, then personally led us to the spots. We quickly determined that we would probably be paying for the site, so just decided to go with it. The campground was nearly deserted, so we had our choice of sites. We had just set our packs down, when Paul drove in.

Paul was the Park Ranger on duty for the night, and again, beyond friendly and helpful. Must be something in the Denton water. We told him about the website, a few of our experiences, and pretty soon, we were all laughing like we were old schoolmates! When I told him about my heel, he took me to the truck and provided first- aid supplies from the most bountiful kit ever assembled. He then pointed out the SHOWERS (!), then offered use of the washer & dryer! It gets better. When I asked him the about registration and payment, he said we'd already done it. We had a slab of ground nestled in a piece of Maryland Heaven... for free. Again, it seemed like things had laid out perfectly... all we had to do was follow. That would most certainly continue.

When Paul left, we were aglow. This mindset was paying dividends, and I was thrilled to see Chris notice, then embrace it thru the day. We spent the rest of the night next to a fire and watching spider- eyes glow in the grass.

I Love Denton.. pay a visit sometime!

4/25: Denton, MD

I initially thought I would be writing a virtual novel for this post, but instead I'm going to refer you to Chris's posts. He spent all morning writing about the mental gymnastics of Friday and Saturday, and articulated it perfectly. There's no use writing virtually the same thing here, other than to add that it's funny how often these little psyche- disturbances turn out to be valuable indicators that you're off course.

I point to that when trying to explain to people why I was so miserable doing radio; miserable to the point of hurling stacks of CDs across the studio, becoming (even more of) a total prick to work with ... and not being able to explain why. I firmly believe many people suffer from this peculiar affliction, but are ill- equipped (or afraid) to investigate it. Instead they accept the notion that they're simply "depressed", and run to the pharmacy, or do nothing until the pain becomes to great to bear. I can empathize with that, and it deserves more pity than criticism; it's how we're engineered. In that sense too, those whose barometer is active are blessed.

Saturday was a bit more difficult for me than the previous 12- days, and it was due "solely" to my feet, my left heel in particular, which had been getting progressively worse since Tuesday. It's a chronic problem, unless I have shoes that fit perfectly, and are broken in before I engage in marathon walking sessions. I'm using the same boots that I used last year, with great success, but I purchased them a scant two days before we left, so the leather had not had time to mold to my feet. After our chat Saturday morning (Chris's post), I had some miles left in me, yet was running short on blister- dressing. I was reusing the same bandage, simply adding more duct tape to secure it. That made it bearable but, after the few miles into Denton, I realized the tape was preventing air- circulation causing a problem of its own. Loose skin now spread the entire span of my heel. The actual blister was healing very well, but where the loose skin was meeting the intact skin was cracking, causing even more pain.

After Saturday morning's hurried, narrow escape from Hillsboro's abundance of Black Widows and ticks, I'm nearly in love with Denton. It reminds me of Pleasantville, without the creepy- factor. Our first stop was the library where we found some of the friendliest & helpful librarian folks you'll ever see. After two hours of Internet, and cell/ camera charging, they pointed us in the direction of the pharmacy, where I could buy some Moleskins. We walked about half way there when we got our first ride from a special- kind- of- crazy local and his wife, who were on their way to the store too.

Rite Aid happens to be literally next door to Food Lion, so we could conveniently replenish our dwindling food. Only after purchasing everything did we realize that there was a Dollar General two- doors the other way. I had learned the usefulness of the Dollar Stores from my carnie friends. Carnies are not the most savory of creatures, but one of their redeeming qualities is a special kind of fiscal savvy. You need that spend- thriftiness when your first priority is beer (or heroin) AND you plan to eat!

After the shopping, re- packing, and re- re- bandaging chores were completed, my heel began to dry, making it extremely painful to walk. We had come to the conclusion that we were going to set up Camp Denton, and begin the attempt of hitching to Lewes. This reminds me a bit of my central- Idaho experience last year, except there are no trucks to hope for, and no Mormons to fear me. Hitcher says, "Boo!" Hitcher also thought this may take awhile.

By sundown, the Food Lion shopping center had taken on the "small- town Saturday- prom night" vibe. I was feeling rather traumatized after dealing with pain all day, so we crossed paths with a pack of feral cats feasting on Food Lion waste, and found a place to camp hoping to get an early jump on Sunday.

4/24: Hillsboro, MD

Once I finally got to sleep, I slept well. The night was chilly, and the bivy created lots of condensation, but other than that, it was great.

One of the challenges to the bivy, as well as the new terrain is getting used to strange noises. You learn, I hope, to ignore most of them after awhile. One rather comical moment occurred when I awoke to the feeling of a small animal's feet crawling across my head. In my grogginess, I assumed it was Chris poking around outside, but was startled fully- awake when I realized otherwise. I quickly lifted the flap to see I was staring face- to- face with a fierce, ferocious, ravenous,... pussycat. A pretty one at that. We just sat there for a moment, glaring at each other . I half expected her to say something, but she sauntered off without even saying hello. Wench.

We were up and actually moving around shortly after 10:00. The camp- system is coming together quickly, with each of us falling into our routines both at night, and in the morning. I can find pretty much everything with ease now, and know where everything goes when I'm done. What's past is prologue.

We were packed, fed, out of the woods, and on the road by about 12:30 enjoying another gorgeous day. The plan was to meet up with SR 309, then turn to the south for a meet up with 404.

I had taken my blister- pads off the night before to assess the damage to my left heel, and to let it breathe properly. It is likely the largest blister I've ever had at about the size of a half- dollar. Running short of these pads, however, I re- bandaged it using the old ones and duct tape. A godsend, that duct tape!

I would now like to confirm the rumor: yes, duct tape DOES work as blister tape. However, I would NEVER recommend placing it directly ON the blister itself! Some would say that's common sense... for the record... I did NOT do that!

Considering the condition of my foot, I was feeling quite good, and I could tell that Chris was in his element. His comfort zone. The aire was light, and we were both enjoying being in the middle of nowhere as people mowed their lawns, and just went about their lives in this part of the country I'd normally never see. I do like this about walking and, outside of Hwy. 1, I wish I had done more of it instead of experiencing so much "interstate culture" last year. I was glad now that the cop had turned us around... yet still pissed about the ID check!

It was a few miles to 309, then maybe another four until we finally got to 404. The weather had been in the low 70's, with a nice breeze that picked up as the day progressed. We got some much needed sun, and enjoyed the walk to 404.
At the intersection of 309 and 404 in, what appears to be at least, Hillsboro, we found a little gas station. 404 is the main road from this part of Maryland to the Delaware beaches and, since it's Friday and the weekend forecast is for temps in the mid 80's, ungodly busy. I had to run across the intersection, and that sent my RIGHT heel into the blister- zone. Damn these soft feet! We stopped into the gas station where I got a Coke and pack of cigs (hush!), then we plopped down outside and did our own things for a bit.

At this point, I decided to address these competing philosophies that we have, and knew would become an issue. We had both more or less hoped it would work itself out, but after his experience with Ingrid, and mine with Bruno, I know better than to rely solely on hope. (don't tell Barack) Especially now, after Thursday. I know he's making a great effort to integrate having a travel partner into what he calls "his space", but I was, at that point, having concerns at how successful he was so far. I decided to directly address it, rather than let frustrations fester. The conversation went well, although I believe he tried to gloss over the significance. My struggle is to try to remind him that we're not distance or time- driven, while not allowing myself to go too far in the other direction. I'm not sure this will ever really be resolved; having three major destinations straight ahead makes the avoidance of goal setting, comparisons, and daily expectations nearly impossible. We've both said this will be much easier after we get past Ohio & Michigan. Until then, patience is key... where have I heard that?

We loaded up on water then agreed to get a mile or two out of town, at least across the Tuckahoe River, then scope out places to bivy down. Thinking the Tuckahoe was a mile or two away, we were pleased to cross it after about a quarter mile. Bridge crossing: something we normally don't think about, but this had factored in to much!

We got nearly two miles further down 404 when we found a nice spot, and took advantage of a rare lull on 404 to dart into the woods. After the typical scouting, we found what appeared to be the spot. We began our routines when Chris noticed an abundance of ticks. This quickly brought out the bug spray. Then... I saw a bona fide Black Widow crawling onto my pack, which was leaning against a dead log.

There was quickly one less Black Widow in the world.

I didn't think too much of it, other than lamenting missing getting a pre- execution picture, but while Chris was boiling dinner, I watched another Widow scamper onto my bivy! She too was about to feel Zeus's Hammer when she just stopped, sitting there, eyeballing me. Plotting how to "inflict extreme nausea" on me, I was certain! If I were quick and Eric- smooth, I could get my picture. Then if she sat still, drop the Hammer (shoe) after. She was accommodating on both.

There were now two less Black Widows in the world...

Then another of a large, different variety shortly thereafter...

I hate spiders. Snakes? Fine. Spiders creep me out. Just don't like 'em. I let these three get to me tonight, much to Chris's chagrin I believe! I keep thinking back to that spider den in North Carolina last year, and am imagining sleeping atop a Widow's den.

I let Chris's macho- ass wash dishes, alone, and zipped myself inside to write... and listen to weird noises, surely the sounds of mutant, killer spiders coming from the dead leaves beneath me.

4/23: Blisters & Piggies & Keith

Oh, my.

Thursday was beautiful. Much warmer than expected, and as Chris pointed out, neither of us were moving very fast before noon. I had come to really enjoy our little spot, and was in no rush to leave it for the smell of US-50.

Finally, around three, we guzzled the 5- Hour Energy drinks and started down the road toward SR 404. We knew it was only a few miles down, and not much else. Sometime, we had decided to go mapless and station- to- station, if you will, deciding our next destination after our current one was reached, with Lewes being the end. After cooking the night before and preparing Oatmeal Surprise in the morning, we were quite low on water. The oatmeal consisted of regular oatmeal, with both apple and peach flavored instant added for flavor. We also added honey, and I even threw in a packet of raisins. I had cooked nothing on last year's trip, so the idea of preparing meals is a bit odd for me. I'll "force" myself to live with hot meals, I suppose. The extra water usage was not factored in the day before, so we filtered water from a little stream that ran thru our spot and were on our way.

After a few miles, we spotted a gas station, and decided that fresh water and coffee (despite still buzzing on the 5- hour stuff) was a good idea. What a source of entertainment we turned out to be. I felt a bit like a rockstar. One guy in particular, Keith, was quite eager to be helpful, and kept reminding us that he saw us as badasses. I had to chuckle, as I gave him a cigarette, and Chris gave him $1 for beer. We knew he was working us a bit, but he was fun to talk to. He suggested we camp right there for the night, and I may have when I was traveling last year. The patrons were friendly, as was the staff, and it seemed likely that we'd snatch a ride- with some patience. Chris, however, was antsy. He feels the need to be "getting somewhere" constantly, and honestly, I wanted to try to break from the "happy hitcher" habit. We left Keith and our other new friends behind, and continued down 50. We didn't get far.

After maybe a couple hundred yards, a Maryland state trooper pulled in front to let us know it's not permitted to walk US-50. There was nothing posted... anywhere... at all... indicating this, and since it's a designated bike route, I suppose it's an easy mistake. Had he just turned us around, all would have been happily going about their afternoon. But, no.

Then came the questions. "What you doin'?", "Walkin'? Why ya walkin'?" Then, of course: the search without probable cause: the ID check. I let Chris do the talking, my blood again boiling, as I answered Inspector Gadget's questions in my head: "It's none of your fucking business what I am doing, and I'm walking because I FEEL like walking."

I cannot for the life of me understand the passive nature in which people accept this arbitrary "demand of papers" to prove you're not a criminal. Simply because you choose to travel in a manner different from the "mainstream"? Innocent until proven otherwise, remember? My ass.

I suspect that, despite my grudging cooperation of these arbitrary ID checks, something may come of this. I'm one who preaches "force water thru the pipe, find the crack." One of these weeks, after being on the road for awhile, a cot and free food will sound good. Perhaps I'll lose my ID, forget my "social security" (ID) number, then tell the guy what I think of the fact that he believes "technicalities" merit ignoring probable cause. Then I thought I'd perhaps publicize it in that "liberal media", until I remembered Liberals suddenly don't give a damn about civil liberties. They're now caught up in the Political Chickenhead Dance to the chant of Hope... Change.. Hope... Change.

Wrong rant... sorry... where was I?

Oh, yeah... piggies.

What's more likely to happen is that I'll write their names down, ask which precinct they're from, then give them a blog- card while I mail another to their supervisor. In the meantime, I'll write, rant, and rave whenever it happens. Then hope they fuck with me after reading it. I'll bet the ACLU would eat this plate of piggie- slop right up. That pesky first amendment, and all.

Amerika, I love ya!

After this, I was obviously perturbed. We quickly found ourselves back at the gas station, looking at another road, which we had considered taking before; a nice quiet country road. I wanted to hang at the gas station for a bit, but this was obviously bothering Chris. The need to get another two miles up the road, NOW, was seemingly paramount. Never mind that it was getting late, and we still may be able to get to Delaware tonight with a bit of luck. He appeared to be most displeased with the body of work which his day had produced. Three miles so far. I won't lie, this bothered me for a few minutes but probably had more to do with the cop than Chris. I had known this particular challenge was coming, too.

In the end, I tried to relied on my ability to remember my pre- pig mindset. I took a deep breath, and conceded that he was right: we had both been intrigued by the country setting before, and ultimately had that decision made for us.

It all worked out for the best. I hated walking 50 anyhow, and this Grange Hall Rd. was sparsely traveled, and quite pretty as it took us through Maryland farm country. After a few more miles, we found a decent place to jump into the woods, and found a spot next to a creek about 100 yards off the road just as the sun was setting.

I'm quickly discovering both how spoiled I was last year, being out west, and how LITTLE I like the east. Since I've moved west, I constantly fail to see any reason, other than family, why a person should EVER re- cross the Mississippi! The people are friendlier, leave you the fuck alone, and there is SPACE, combined with the mentality that not every square inch should be "owned". I was spoiled in that sense last year, and am having a bit of a difficult time adjusting to the property lines/ constant proximity to houses. I was on edge knowing that we were likely on someone's property, and that I could actually see their lights. Again, I knew this was coming, and didn't think it would bother me so much.

4/22: Queenstown, MD

The starry night didn't last long. I awoke to the sound of raindrops on the tarp, and the end of the bivy, which was left uncovered. It's waterproof, thank God, but inexperience led me to believe that I'd be adequately protected up top with the tarp overhead, in a lean- to fashion. I had closed the bug netting, but left the gortex unzipped... letting the water, which was accumulating on the tarp & spare bivy beneath me, seep inside. Genius!

One could wonder why Our Hero was carrying two bivies, as that would appear redundant at best, and just special- ed at worst. Heroboy quickly realized this utter foolishness; scrapping his absurd vision of dueling bivies, and pledging to He- Who- Climbs- Trees that his first mission of the day was to find a post office, and dispatch the bivy, Fidel, back to the Land of Enchantment.

The rain was falling nearly all morning, so we took advantage of the excuse to stay in bivy 'til noon. The rain stopped briefly, just long enough to complete the long process of gathering our regurgitated backpack contents, then began falling again on the way to 7/11. I was by then quickly discovering my theme for the first part of the day: annoyance with my short- sighted disorganization. I had gone thru this, briefly, last summer in Santa Barbara and knew that it's temporary, but I still felt like I was competing in the Backpacker Special Olympics. It's always great knowing the source of your greatest frustration is... you.

I had a rather funny rest area moment while at 7/11. A peculiar black guy went out of his way to say hello to me... three times. The last being when he called me over to his SUV. He asked what I was doing, and when I began to tell him, he just began looking me up and down. I was quite offended... I mean, my eyes are UP HERE! I was quite proud of one thing: I was hit on before Chris on this trip... even if it was a guy, and one that sounded like the pedophile senior in Family Guy! "How y'all doin'?"

Once coffeed up, we quickly found the post office, and I commenced executing Fidel's extradition order. It was a bit of a process, because he was still wet, so I took the opportunity to hang him at the post office, on the railing, and organize other things. This of course made us the unexpected spectacle for those counting on just a typical post office "experience". I paid the shipping with coins from my change pouch (it's NOT a fucking purse!), then sold another $5 to the post office. My mail weighed just over four pounds, including some other stuff that suddenly seemed unnecessary. and after the change purge, and factoring in the parcel I mailed Monday, I've shed 10-ish pounds this week. Ten pounds in a backpack= a lot, and the difference is huge.

Marylanders continues to impress with the cordiality; only one obese adolescent has yelled obscenities... and that was of course from a car. People have much more bravado when they're driving by. Then right after, we had an older gentleman talk our ear off outside the post office. My guess is that the Eastern Shore doesn't get a lot of packers.

After the post office, we were off. It was already 3:00, and we were still in Grasonville. We were following route 18, which runs adjacent to US-50, with moderate- light traffic. The weather was hit and miss... threatening rain one minute, sunny the next. Do you suppose that people in Maryland use the "don't like the weather, wait 10- minutes" line, like everyone else?

Queenstown was next, a few miles up. We kept a decent pace, but the expected blister on my left heel was getting progressively worse. By Queenstown, 3 or 4 scant miles away, it was time to apply more adhesive strips, which I was now quickly running out of, to try to stay ahead of the problem.

We were then on US-50 itself, which is a busy divided highway, and by 6:30 we were scouting out places to camp, with my heel barking rather loudly. We'd gone a whopping 6, maybe 7- miles in the three- plus hours we'd walked. Chris didn't complain, but I suspect beneath the surface he was going batshit. He likes to do his 25- per day, and I have been anxious to see how he adjusts to a slower pace over the long term. It drove Bruno to the brink of madness on the abbreviated bike tour! That's always an issue when you travel with someone.

We found a decent place to stealth camp quickly, on a piece of land that appeared to have had a home at some point, but there was no foundation or remains... except for the scattered skeletons of a dog or two, next to which we set up camp.

This setup went much better. Not having rain obviously helped, but we prepared for the possibility anyhow. Chris cooked up a concoction of rice, and Hamburger Helper (sans hamburger, of course), and, since we hadn't really eaten in two days, we devoured it. I had a hard time getting to sleep after that; the surge of energy was impressive!

The night was beautiful, but once I got to sleep, I had a hard time getting, then keeping, comfortable. I even woke up about dawn on the verge of a claustrophobia attack... and I'm not claustrophobic. I may need a wider sleeping bag using a bivy.

4/21: Maryland- On Foot

Bill and Laura's Realtor was to arrive at one, so we decided that, after some Innernets research, we would retire to our friendly DuPont Circle coffee shop for caffeine & calm reflection. After some innovative searching, Chris discovered a bus that would take us all the way from central DC, thru Annapolis, over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge to Kent Island, MD. From there: improvise.

Laura came home from work shortly after much needed showers, so we had a chance to say goodbye with promises to get together if their move to Boston was complete by the time we got there. I never did get to chat with Bill about Africa, unfortunately. Damn South Park; why must they be so funny?

Since it was a pleasant, partially sunny afternoon, we deemed it appropriate to vacate the familiar stools, and venture to the actual DuPont Circle where we could sit on the grass, snap photos, and I could begin writing my posts. It never ceases to amaze how quickly one can get behind on these. I lost myself in Pocketmail, and before I knew it, it was time to get to 20th and K and our MTA bus out of Swamp Politic. There was some slight confusion about which stop we needed, but figured it out just as the eastbound 950 arrived.

The fare was $5 each, which is more than reasonable considering how far we were going, and the bus is far more comfortable than the typical city bus... or Greyhound for that matter. It smelled much better than the Dirty Dog too! The commuter began to fill up as we left DC, so I strapped on my headphones and wrote for almost the entire hour- ride to Kent Island, pausing to take pics of the Chesapeake Bay and the bridge that crosses it.

The bus deposited us at a Park n' Ride situated beneath another, smaller bridge that is pedestrian- friendly. Chris and I came to the giddy realization that we were finally "in it". No planned rides, no beds, no more occupying someone's space. Nothing but the loads we were carrying. I have to tell you, that felt good! It was very nice to start near the water after coming from the high desert, and we immediately met a nice, outgoing, Korean War veteran who was admiring the bay from his bicycle. A fine introduction to Maryland on Foot. Several other people waved and honked as we made our initial steps toward Delaware. Quite friendly, these Marylanders.

I was amused at how quickly my mind re- adapted to nomad- mode. My body on the other hand: nosso much. I had adjusted the hip belt improperly, and for the first mile it pinched the nerve above my left ass- cheek. I'm not sure what's more pathetic: that my ass was the first thing to hurt, or that it took a mile for me to do something about it.

We followed the route adjacent to US-50 into the first town, Grasonville, where I noticed a 7/11 and figured it would have a payphone to upload updates. Since it was now nearly 6, we figured we'd just find a spot nearby to stealth camp for the night, eat some food, and get to it in full- force tomorrow. I began to feel the first indications of heel blisters by then too, so that would also give me a chance to try to get ahead of that painful situation.

I filled up on water, bought a Coke with money from my over- inflated change pouch (it's NOT a purse, goddammit!), and we then crossed over US-50 to a wooded area we'd seen from the store. Once on the other side, Chris mumbled something, in what sounded like a made- up D & D language, and inexplicably bounded over the guardrail. I thought at first he was on an imaginary quest for the Mystical Talisman, or perhaps the Fair Maiden of the Wood... then I thought of Don Quixote attacking the windmill... before getting slightly pissed when realizing that I'd now have to go seek him out. I was thinking of him at that point less as Quixote, and more as Rocinante's hind quarters. All was well however. After plowing thru thorn bushes, I found our Nuevo Quixote climbing a tree... literally. He was climbing a tree and was quite tickled about it.

He had happened upon a clearing, which appeared to be the perfect place to camp. We decided to go with single- tarp formation, hanging the 8 x 10 tarp over the bivys, packs, and our heads in case of rain. I was looking forward to some hot oats, when we heard it...

Severe weather sirens.

The tarp was blocking our view of the western sky, and while Chris dug out the radio, I saw approaching doom. I believe my eloquent response to this revelation was: "Holy fucking Christ, dude!" Yes, I am even more of a wordsmith in real life.
Our flimsy tarp shelter now held new significance as we quickly scrambled to get things tightened down and protected. The weather band radio said there was a severe thunderstorm warning with the possibility of 60 mph gusts. I surveyed the already- fallen trees that had been rooted in water- saturated ground, and had visions of one of them paying an unwelcome visit from above.

The winds rose, skies opened, lightning flashed... for about 30- minutes. Then it gradually dissipated, and as I type this, we now have a beautiful, cloudless, yet damp, first night out. I feel a bit like Vern again, yet instead of wild- rednecks, this time it was a puny thunderstorm.

The annoying thing about tonight is NOT the rain, but the fact that I cannot seem to organize myself. I know that comes after a couple of days... but Christ! I'm on my third fucking lighter already!

Both of us are feeling an intense, excited calm, if that makes any sense at all. It's hard to explain, but despite the rain and US-50's racket, all is well in the world.

4/20: A D.C. Birthday

I slept much later than I would have liked, considering it was our last day with Trent, and that he had made arrangements to have lunch with his parents, sister, and nephew before driving us into DC. Trent's dad had worked with he and Chris on a film some years back, and wanted to be sure to see him before we left.


For whatever reason, we just couldn't get going and finally left at around 1. We made a stop at the post office, where I mailed now- "extra" shirts home, and arrived at Trent's folk's house much later than intended. I felt shitty about that. They had already eaten by then, plus our foot- dragging had thrown Trent's schedule off; he'd now have to rush to get back from DC to pick his daughter, Cassidy, up from school.

His parents live in a gorgeous house in the country that he, of course, had built himself. We had a quick lunch, then they listened as Chris recounted his stories of his cross- country walk. I added a few things from last year where I could. Trent's mom and dad seemed like wonderful, enjoyable people and it reminded me a bit of what I'd missed growing up without a full family. I wish we could have spent some more time there.



We left for DC close to 2:30, and were soon jumping out of the Audi near DuPont circle, just a few streets away from P Street, where Karessa had lived during my time in DC. It struck me how neat it was to be back here, in a backpack, 14- years later. I also imagined the degree to which I would have been pissing myself if someone had placed me in this very situation in 1995! "I'm hip about time man, but I just got to go." Name the movie, win a prize....

Bill & Laura's place was close by, so we strapped on the packs in the drizzle, then into our haven: a coffee shop. We loaded up on the bottomless cup, and I updated again while enjoying the mental exercise of recounting the events of the last few days. Not a lot had "happened", but the couple days at Trent's were incredibly cool.



I held no expectations for this next stop, as I knew next to nothing about Bill & Laura, other than he was a "conservative" who had been elected as Neighborhood Commissioner. I also knew that he was heavily involved in African- aid, traveling there many times. This last fact appealed to me; I have a growing urge to go to Africa. This was rekindled a bit while at the coffee shop, as I chatted up a canvasser for Care.org. I refuse to get involved with the Red Cross, due to my first- hand experience after Katrina, and wont take part in any of these $10,000 "adventure trips" sold to college kids under the guise of "charity". In a nutshell, I find it best to avoid ANY organization who ONLY wants your money. I'm sure I'll elaborate sometime, but my hope was to pick Bill's brain a bit about getting involved, on a grassroots level, IN Africa while avoiding the money- whores on this end. Good luck with that, Todd.

We arrived at their house and, despite Chris's description, I was stunned to discover that they owned the entire building, which is more like a museum. There are three levels, all theirs, and decorated beautifully. This may have been the swankiest house I have ever been inside as a guest!

Bill & Laura were a surprise in and of themselves; much younger than I had pictured! I had always imagined them in their 50's, but they seemed close to my age, if not younger. It never occurred to me to ask. Both of them were very welcoming, and again, none of the third- wheel stuff.

We discovered a common love: South Park and commenced to watching the John Edward episode after Chris tried, in futility, to explain the metaphysical quest. To his defense, this isn't a conversation you can just "have" with anyone. Most will either just "get it" or won't. Trying to logically explain it to those without common experiences is extremely difficult, because you're central character doesn't die on a cross.

Speaking of Messiah Complex, Chris turned 33 today which, as he felt compelled to remind all who listened, was the age Jesus supposedly died. After South Park, Bill & Laura took us out for burgers to celebrate Chris's crucifixion age and we had another really neat conversation. Not nearly as intense as the one at Trent's, but taken from another angle. Bill has an obviously brilliant, analytical, scientific mind. Just the sort that is a challenge to religious, spiritual, or mystical people. He asks great questions and challenges you to answer them, without being condescending. He's genuinely curious about where you're coming from... even though you're not going to convince him! This was just the exercise I needed, after having conversations almost exclusively with those who agree for so long. Masturbation's great... but now and then it's fun to have to work for it! In the end, it seemed that we were much more aligned socially and politically than I would would have thought, while eventually agreeing that the search for "answers" is just as important as finding them, because you learn much about yourself and others in the process. I also got a hearty laugh when I realized that I had stayed both at an anarchist commune in Oklahoma City, and in the home of a D.C.elected official... in the span of a week. Another very interesting evening, to say the least.

After another couple of religion- mocking episodes of South Park, we tried unsuccessfully to upload pictures again and got to bed at a decent hour. The original "plan" (ha!) was to stay in DC thru Wednesday, but that spontaneously changed, as we would be in the way of their open- house on Tuesday. We decided it would be best to find a route over the Chesapeake Bay and finally get into the backpacks...

4/19: Annapolis, MD

Waking up between noon and 1, Sunday started on the verge of Hell. I honestly wondered for the first hour if I'd be able to function at all because of the grape- induced hangover! Thankfully, after some water, coffee, and a few bites to eat, I felt a whole lot better.

Trent needed to go to a fundraiser in Annapolis for Meagan's ballet company, so Chris and I were off to wander the tourist- trap for a few hours. He had described it as a town with "nothing practical", unless you're a tourist. That was proven to be the case, but since Chris and I WERE pseudo- tourists, it served its purpose. Being the home of the Naval Academy, there were lots of soon- to- be- sailors walking about, looking proud in their officer- candidate dress whites. I had to chuckle at the memories of my Navy days; I know that look of brainwashed pride quite well!

The weather we had been ahead of all the way across country finally caught up, so it was a chilly, damp day, and I obviously didn't feel like walking much, so after a quick trip to the bay and a hello to Trent's friend we stopped off for lunch at a neat little 50's style diner, then found a coffee shop where Chris wrote, I updated, and the co- ed across from us was busy reading, and looking good.

Trent picked us up at around 9, and it was back to Chesapeake Beach where we watched a bit of Century of the Self after a viewing of the documentary Trent had made of the southern- state road trip with his daughter, Cassidy, last year. It was damn good; something I would definitely watch if I happened across it on the Travel Channel.

Chris and I struggled to learn the process of copying and uploading pics on a Mac, until we'd had enough and got to bed about 3am... much later than I would have guessed when I woke up!

4/18: Chesapeake Beach, MD

There were encouraging indications as to how Trent & I would click soon after we got into the car and headed east from DC into E. Maryland. It was apparent that he felt strongly about things, and one of the things I admire most is authentic, thought- out passion. I knew all was good once he made an almost sheepish comment about getting on his "soap box", and sharing his thoughts on the death of the American city, how people have isolated themselves in their boxes... inside their gated communities. I had to laugh to myself remembering Kim commenting on my tendency to rant, and it seemed I was going to greatly enjoy our quick stay at Trent's.

He called his girlfriend, Meagan, and arranged for her to meet us at his place in Chesapeake Beach. Meagan is fascinating in her right; an exquisite ballet dancer who wasn't intimidated by the conversation... although I doubt she agreed with much of it!

His house was built by he and his father, and is very, very, cool! It's a tri-level, east coast style (tall, skinny... is that a style?) that's maybe a half- mile from Chesapeake Bay. There was no television, which I found remarkable (and admirable) considering he has a 14-yr. old daughter, that he and Chris had met in film school... and was still active in shooting and video editing. I quickly wondered if he too had ever called himself a whore, as I had during my radio days. I never listened to the radio after that realization, even while grunting thru it...poorly.

Trent and Meagan set about making cheeseburgers and pouring wine as we all gathered around the coffee table and began chatting. I was struck by how inquisitive he was, asking good questions, with multiple follow- ups about the trip and the reasons/ methods behind it. He was sincerely interested, not simply in the typical anecdotal "this one time at band camp" stuff which is fine for most, but also the philosophy behind it. It was the kind of conversation that once it got going, was like a steam roller. The kind that I live for! Since he's involved in film, he had a digital video camera handy, so he and Meagan proceeded to interview us. The creative vibe was nearly as intoxicating as the wine. (not quite- as I would brutally realize in the morning) A very cool night indeed; I surely wasn't feeling like the third wheel as I had assumed I would.

In that sense, everything had so far exceeded expectations for me. I still believe it comes from the realization Chris and I came to in Albuquerque the night my car died; that things seemed to lie out perfectly once we took the attitude that we are simple side- car passengers both taking part in AND, more importantly, observing this "dramedy" of our own lives. That sense of surrender and acceptance can be a powerfully liberating thing.

Four bottles of wine, and seven hours later, we were out of wine and long since had stopped having structure to our little debateathon. And I was hammered. I don't recall the last time I had actually lost coordination; I am usually more agile than when I'm sober, but when I bounced my head off the door frame, I knew it was long past time for bed! Meagan had probably sensed where the night was headed, going to bed early, leaving we boys to play in our sandbox. I had a great time, but I'd pay for it Sunday!

4/18: Virginia & DC

Saturday started early, at least for Devin and Leif. We had gotten a good piece of Virginia behind us before stopping for the night at a rest stop 90- miles or so south of Roanoke.

After a quick refill with the remaining veggie oil stored from Memphis & Nashville, it was off for the final push thru the rest of Virginia, into Maryland, and finally Washington, D.C.

Virginia was one of the pleasant surprises of the trip so far. The western part of the state is disturbingly beautiful, at least the sliver I saw from the bus on I-81. The slight regret returned in that we hadn't gone thru this part of the country afoot. Maybe later...

The drive toward Winchester and I-66 went quickly; almost too quickly to suit me. It seemed like 300 miles were gone in a blink of the eye, and coming into Washington brought back a flood of memories. Devin was driving thru the same area I'd lived in, for a few months, back in 1995. I wondered what had become of the people I had known, and lost touch with, during my time there. And, I again wondered: how was I living there alone if I was only 15? These are the questions that linger...

Chris coordinated with his friend, Trent, as we began to gather our things and arrange our packs for the drop off in DC. Devin had a friend to see downtown, so we asked him to drop us off at the Mall so we could goof around, playing the part of Japanese tourists, while we waited for Trent to get into the city from his home in Chesapeake Beach, which is on the bay about a half- hour's drive south of Annapolis.

The weather was perfect... sunny and in the mid 70's again... as we stepped off Zeitgeist Apparatus (Devin's pet name) for the last time. I had come to enjoy being on the bus and the routines that we had fallen into. I also felt that I was leaving old friends behind, ones that I had known forever, because of the experiences we had shared over the 5+ days we had traveled together. We had a good laugh at Tennessee Law Enforcement's expense, signed their guestbook, took a few pics, did the man- hug thing, then stepped off toward The Mall- with the huge falic- tribute to capitalism looming overhead. This felt remarkable. We'd boarded the bus in Santa Fe and disembarked nearly 2000 miles away, in the heart of the most powerful city on earth. At the risk of sounding like Chris, we are a couple of badasses.

We hiked a roundabout route from Constitution Ave., around the Reflecting Pool (Forrest!), to the Lincoln Memorial, snapping pictures and relishing our role as spectacles. People were sneaking pictures of US... at the Lincoln Memorial. Ha!
Trent called after about an hour, so we trekked back down the Mall to meet him at Thor's Penis. We then walked to his car, near the Capitol Building, and drove off to Maryland.

4/17: E. Tennessee

We all got up pretty late, and pretty hungover; mine more from being allowed to smoke inside a bar again. Devin had moved the bus to a theater parking lot at some point, and immediately went into cleaning mode for quite awhile. It reminded me of trying, still, to remove all remaining evidence of last night's March of the Pigs.

My skepticism surrounding Chad's veggie oil was proven ludicrous. The barrel was completely full of the cleanest oil I have seen to date, and in such a place behind the strip mall where we could simply pull along side, using the electric gas- pumpy- thingy to take it straight into the tank. Chad was working, so we gave he and his co- workers a tour of the bus and then were off, completely full, with an extra 15- gallons loaded in extra buckets they had given us. Even the weather was perfect. 75... sunny. I honestly got the impression that Tennessee was trying to make good on the night before!

While we were there, Chris received a call from his friend, Trent, who lives outside of Washington, DC confirming that we had a place to stay when we arrived. We now had our next destination solidly in place.

Devin made a quick stop to pick up filters, then we were off for a quiet day of reflection, riding, and watching the beauty of E. Tennessee pass us by. There were lots of thoughts considering that we were doing this part MUCH too quickly. This part of the country would be killer on foot! I didn't dwell on it much however; something else is driving us, and to continue the metaphor, I am making a conscious effort to play the role of that side- car passenger.

Chris and I also discussed our different perspectives regarding Oklahoma City, and some budding ideas regarding the perception of "moral superiority" as it applies to imposed dogma. I need to step the fuck back occasionally and try to remember that I often don't have nearly enough information to presume to judge. Oklahoma City was one of these times. I wasn't "one of them" because I had been brought there, randomly, as a passenger with people who DID belong! Duh, douchebag.

We finally left I-40 after nearly five full days, getting on I-81, then crossing in to Virginia sometime around midnight. Devin decided to skip Virginia Beach, choosing instead to take the route thru Washington to Delaware. We've set a tentative off- load point: Annapolis, MD. Another fucking "plan" (ha!)...

4/16: Nashville II

We finally arrived in Nashville shortly before midnight, after the 45- minute detainment. Kim's boyfriend, Chad, had suggested a place next to the catering business he works for. It was easy to find, and there was a handy place to park the bus, right across the street, with built- in security: a bank. It was good to see Kim again. I enjoy her energy, and the week I spent here last summer. I feel fortunate that we got the chance to at least hang out for a few hours after the "plan" (ha!) to stay with her fell thru. Chad's a neat guy, too. He's a big boy... probably 6'3" and 250 or so. He grew up in Alabama, and has that good ol' boy attitude which makes him accessible. He has an authenticity about him that was missing from Rich last year. Not a lot of bullshit with Chad. I LOVE that!

The six of us got quickly acquainted in the parking lot, then it was off to Players Inn. We had envisioned it as some sort of dirty- south meat market, but quickly realized it wasn't THAT kind of players they were catering to specifically. It was a sports bar. I'm sure that appealed to Devin & Leif!

As it turned out, it didn't matter at all. We got a large table next to an outlet to charge my phone, and proceeded to drink away the East Memphis Molestation. The bad karma from the cops was about to be replaced with an abundance of the good stuff. Thankfully, Tennessee bars are open until 3 so Kim and I had time to get caught up nicely. Chad decided to buy Chris an early birthday shot, which he returned in kind, while I was happy chugging my share of the Bud Light pitchers. I felt like I REALLY needed that outlet, and was glad to have it!

Chad also divulged that he had a 50- gallon drum full of barely used veggie oil behind the caterers, which was literally two doors down from the bar, in the same strip mall. How convenient is that? He was eager to dispose of it, and we could top off again in the morning without having to deal with Nashville- at all. I confess, I was a bit skeptical because that seemed just too easy!

We got to bunk at around 4am. Chad had left a bit earlier, choosing to sleep at the shop, rather than drive home. Kim, being the eternal trooper, stayed until the end, and I was sorry to see her leave after such a quick visit. She had pointed out that both she and Chad will be back in Michigan at the end of June, so there's the possibility we may cross paths again before we return west. No "plans" (ha!) however!

4/16: Memphis- Lawdogs

When we last saw our hero, he assumed he was riding toward Little Rock and pondering contact possibilities. In reality, he would awake in the hamlet of Searcy, AR, nowhere near Bill Clinton's old whorin... er... stomping grounds. Devin had decided to bypass it via my old friend from last summer in Asheboro, NC: US-64.

I scoped out the unfamiliar Walmart parking lot area, then Chris and I stopped into IHOP to feed ourselves and our cells. From there, it was a pleasant couple of hours riding thru back country Arkansas toward West Memphis, then across my Rubicon into "The East". I always get an odd feeling crossing the Mississippi, it's a much different world on the Memphis side, at least to me. I then repeatedly mocked Chris's goofy notion that we were now on the "east coast".

We needed veggie so, once thru the city, Devin chose an area to scavenge where Chris and I paired up for the now- familiar routine of chatting up eateries. We are quite good at this, as you can imagine, and after perhaps an hour, we hit the used- grease motherlode at The Cajun Catfish Company, a swanky seafood place.
The manager was all about bio- diesel and, more importantly, they had a FULL dumpster full of nearly pristine oil. In addition, there was ample space out back to park the bus and do our thing. The weather was perfect, sunny and in the mid 70's, and once we got going, the whole process was fun. The people we chatted with through the course of the day were all friendly, and some quite amusing. Particularly Bob at "Bob's Place". He reminded me of the owner of "The Country Bunker" in the Blues Brothers. Was that character's name Bob, too? "Well, I sure would appreciate it..."

We filled the tank and all the spare receptacles at the Cajun Catfish Company, and got back on I-40 in good spirits, happy to be in Tennessee, and making arrangements to meet up with Kim and her boyfriend when we got to Nashville to stop for the night. It was a great day... and then...

Flashing lights.

Leif had passed an unmarked cop parked in the median. We noticed them, and commented on the fact that they were gawking madly at the bus as it passed. The pullover was half- expected... what happened next was a disgusting display of misplaced power, paranoia, and pathetic futility... all under the guise of your "safety and security."

The reason given for the pullover was that they "couldn't read the dirty license plate", which is Piggie for "we think you look suspicious." If you're over the age of 15 and believe differently at this point in your life, please go away. Then keep going...

Chris has already provided a rundown of the details, so I'll try to conserve space, but it entailed having all of our IDs pulled, being interrogated (complete with poorly- veiled threats), then pulled off the bus to sit on the side of I-40. All with the machismo that even Pancho Villa would find better suited to a frat house.
I've discussed my disgust for these arbitrary, Gestapoesqe "I don't like your look" searches, and at length with Chris, Shalain, and Kim before. I see them as the primary, singular example of un- Americanism; abuses of authority. The one thing that anyone living in this country should be immune from, based on (what used to be) our ideals.

It occurred to me to ask, forcefully, WHY they were running my ID. What cause did they have to search me? My blood was boiling rapidly, but quickly realized that these weren't ordinary highway cops. These were drug- hunters looking for traffickers. To my amazement, and perhaps everlasting shame, I managed to keep my mouth shut. I answered their questions, and sat on the ground watching in quiet rage as Devin signed a search consent, they brought in the dog, then proceed to literally ransack the bus. All for NO real reason.

Amerika, I love ya!

As bad as this was for the rest of us, what they did to Leif was unconscionable. He suffers from Social Anxiety Disorder so naturally stammers a bit, and gets visibly perturbed when he's nervous. These investigative "geniuses" thought they were REALLY onto something while all four loomed over him, in ATF/ tactical- ops looking outfits complete with sidearms on display, asking him why he was "so nervous." Mocking him. I still don't have the words to tell you how disgusted I was, and still am. I've never had a great admiration for cops, due to my own "adventures in justice", but this was something different; it had a sinister, authoritarian stench to it.

Of course they found nothing, much to their obvious chagrin. They seemed perplexed as Scooby Doo bounded off the bus to play with his handler next to the highway, while the rest of The Corp of Futility had finally had enough and told us we were "free to go". They were going out of their way to let all of us know that Snoopy had snooped out a baggie that had "once had held pot, he'll find anything!" Obviously Blondie's sniffing powers were something to behold. Yeah, that's amazing... except Wonderpup and his Band of Merry Fascists missed the jarful of weed, sitting in plain sight, next to the driver's seat. I had to laugh when a certain, distinct smell made it's way to the front as we approached Nashville.

So... consider all the shady ethical examples presented by Tennessee's Finest. THEN consider that they missed the very thing they were after? THAT'S the illusion of safety & $ecurity that erodes freedom and liberty. Maybe you Tea Party people should start there rather than with approved- party dialectics.

We all felt quite violated after this, and tried to console Leif who was feeling guilty and was obviously traumatized after the way they tried to humiliate him. I've grown quite fond of him. He's a gentle, good- hearted person who's just uncomfortable and nervous in his own skin at times. He most certainly did not deserve that.

The next few hours to Nashville were a bit edgy. I set up a place to meet Kim and Chad on the far NW side, keeping in mind that we ALL needed a drink or ten.. .

4/15: E. Oklahoma & Arkansas

After staying up late, it was slow going. Devin, Leif, and Chris made trips back to the house for coffee, to use the bathroom, etc. while I remained at the bus savoring some alone time and taking advantage of the chance to update, and think a bit.

At some point, Devin made his way back to the bus and we finally had a conversation about Chris and I possibly bypassing Nashville all together and continuing on to perhaps DC, Virginia Beach, or even the Delmarva Peninsula. Devin quite honestly doesn't care and seems to enjoy the extra help in securing and loading the veggie oil. Nashville has lost its charm since Kim's roommate backed out on her and neither of us have an urge to navigate its sprawl needlessly and see nothing else drawing us to Tennessee. Why not keep going? Devin still has to decide which route he's taking to Delaware, where he has friends to see, and that will determine much so stay tuned. No matter what, we should be within spitting distance of the Atlantic by Chris's birthday on Monday. Here's to hoping I can finally stick my foot in it, get the damn picture, and tell that residual obsession to go to Hell!

The rest of the day was uneventful outside of the search for veggie oil. We didn't really start looking until 4:00, found none in Oklahoma City, then stopped in Shawnee where we finally had some luck at a Garfield's. Afterwords, Devin stopped at Walmart for supplies while I drug Chris thru a carnival being held in the adjacent parking lot. I was feeling nostalgic for my carnie days of 2008, but thankfully the brisk little stroll thru the midway may have cured that little affliction!

While sitting in the parking lot and munching on freshly purchased Cheerios, Chris and I were approached by a pair of women in an SUV who asked if we were on our way to "Swagstock" in Missouri. My clever reply was "What the hell's Swagstock?" Apparently it's a biker- type gathering held in Salem, MO in the spirit of Sturgis. These two were on their way, and said we looked like the type who'd be going, especially with the bus as a backdrop. "Must be the goatee.", I told myself; never been confused for a biker! Maybe it's my P90X abs and goofy hat? Either way, Chris was on top of things and passed them a website card, and they were off. That triggered a flurry of thought in my head, because that's exactly the type of adventure I'd happily embark upon once I get my sea- legs, so to speak!

Other than conversations on where we may possibly disembark from the bus, and pondering the mental makeup of Chris McCandless, that was about it. We crossed into Arkansas at about 11:30 or so, putting Oklahoma behind us. There is something about that place, and it gets a bad rap. Give it a chance sometime!

Devin got us down the Little Rock bypass before stopping down for the night. I'm contemplating trying to contact a carnie friend while we're here. Tricia was part of that Easter Sunday circle- event in New Orleans last year; the one with my Chickasha buddy that led to my Indian name... have I told you that one yet?