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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The highlight of the ride same in San Diego and was a nice elixir for the mental upset I had experienced about ending this early. I finally got to meet my friend Amber. I had called after leaving LA, told her my bus was stopping for a short time, and that if she was free it would be great if she stopped in to the bus station so we could finally meet face-to-face. Amber happened to be downtown having dinner, and walked in shortly after the bus arrived. It was nice to see an actual face, and we quickly discussed possible, theoretical travel ideas down the road. I was curious to see if the vibe was the same in person as it had been via Couchsurfing and email. Indeed it was, and the possibilities of someday traveling with her seemed encouraging. San Diego and I seemed to agree with each other. It was one of the last cities that I had never seen, and wanted to. Although I didn't get a chance to explore, I liked what I saw and want to return... soon!

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

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

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

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

8/26 & 8/27 Nashville to Santa Fe

Kim and I were at the bus terminal early… very early… to assure that I would not be shut out due to Greyhound’s notorious policy of overselling, leaving those at the end of the line to wait for the next bus. I threw the pack onto the floor behind the two people who had gotten there before me, chatted with a couple of young women going to Clarksville, and finally boarded the bus when it arrived… an hour and a half late.

The bus went through northern Tennessee, into eastern Kentucky, the extreme southern end of Indiana (Evansville), then thru southern Illinois into St. Louis. I had some graphic memories of the St. Louis terminal from a trip to Asheville a few years ago, and was initially pleased to learn that they had, just the week before, opened a new station. It was nice. Clean. Sterile. Creepy. It resembled something directly out of a futuristic totalitarian- state film! There was a definite presence of over- the- top security, and as I went through only the SECOND security checkpoint I have ever seen (Albuquerque being the other), I remember thinking that this is what I imagine Fascism smells like. Feels like. We were required, once inside, to remain in line and if we whose to smoke we were ordered to completely leave the property, cross the street, and go back through security. I have never understood searching people who have just gotten off another bus, and the attitudes of the Brown Shirts reminded me of something I had seen on “Lockup”. I was seething as I compared today to 10, 15, and 20 years ago. The experience was topped off by a rather poor, dirty, young woman sitting on the floor wailing because the Brown Shirts had told her she was not going allowed on her bus because of something she had “said” to the security thugs. Her kid was crawling all over her wondering what was wrong. By the time I got on the bus I was fuming… barely beneath the surface. In the end the woman did board the bus, but the whole thing reminded me of a totalitarian “run through”. I hope I never set foot in that shithole again.

Of course, the St. Louis- Los Angeles bus was overcrowded. Very overcrowded. I have figured out that one of the benefits of working for the Dirty Dog is access to free rides. I have seen as many as four employees just riding along, in full costume, and this was no exception. There was an employee sitting in the front seat, with the seat next to his empty, while the rest of the bus was filled past capacity, meaning some had to stand. This route passed through Ft. Leonard Wood, MO thus there were GIs on board, and one of these had to either stand or sit on the floor… in uniform. I was still steaming from my Nazi- experience beneath the Gateway Arch, and not in a mood to keep my mouth shut. I began pointing out—loudly—to the people sitting around me that there was a serviceman sitting on the floor, while this employee who was either riding “space available” or working-- getting paid-- was sitting in the front row isolated in a little bubble. The other passengers expressed their displeasure as well, but the employee did not budge. I decided that it was best in this situation to shut up and go to sleep. I was tap-dancing around the edge of trouble… and being bounced off this cattle- car myself.

I slept on and off, and had a very interesting political conversation with a guy from Arkansas. He was returning from his summer job in Pennsylvania to his winter job in Arkansas. He and I agreed on many things and he had noticed the “Big Brother” feel back in St. Louis as well. He had even worked for a carnival for a few weeks, and had some of the same experiences as I. When he got off the bus in Joplin, I was shocked to realize that he was MAYBE 4’9”. He conversed much bigger. Later on I chatted briefly with a South African woman about the non- existent customer service with Greyhound. She pointed out, accurately, that it was due to the monopoly the have on bus- travel. If there were ANY competition, or if Amtrak was closer cost- wise, I would never touch another Greyhound and neither would any of the people I have talked with. It’s pretty pathetic when the occasional driver expresses embarrassment about it, as the driver from Nashville to St. Louis had.

The rest of the ride was as any other. Boring. We got to Oklahoma City shortly before dawn, and then it was on to Amarillo. From Amarillo to Albuquerque I had the privilege of listening to the young man behind tell how insane he is; how he suffers from paranoia, and schizophrenia, and that he had been in jail a “shitload.” And… he liked guns. I chatted with Chris a bit, and finally heard from Ken too. He said that he had lost the charger to his phone, and since my number was in there, had no way to let me know that things had changed. In no way did I believe him but honestly, it did not matter! He had done enough already, and I knew that there was a slight risk in going to Atlanta to meet him. It was a risk/ reward decision, and I lost. I did not like what had happened, but it seemed ludicrous to be mad at him.

As we got closer to Albuquerque, the realization that the trip was essentially over began to set in, and I rather enjoyed the solitary time to reflect on everything that has happened since May. It has been quite a summer, and now the prospects for the winter began to take center stage. Mexico. South America. Getting there.

The bus was close to on- schedule for once and I arrived in Albuquerque shortly after 4:30. Shalain picked me up, and that was that.

We made a b- line for the Albuquerque REI so I could return the shoes, backpack, unused rain fly, and the shoe- inserts they had sold me in San Francisco. As expected, I had attached myself to the shoes and the backpack! We had been through a lot and I hated to see them go, but had long since realized that I did not need a pack that large, and that the shoes were probably overkill.

The lead up to the trip had been maddening in the sense that I could NOT decide on a backpack for the life of me. I had gotten the Gregory at the last minute when I found it at the Denver REI for at about half- price. I began to realize that the old Coleman external- frame pack I already owned would have worked fine. From here on it may serve me better in the sense that it is older, and less flashy; less of a target. The shoes were entirely too expensive, and I already had a pair of German Army surplus boots that were not as fancy (or as comfortable), but had only cost me $15. I decided to see if I could make them work. I was also thrilled to learn that the Santa Fe REI was opening in about 2- weeks meaning NO more driving to Albuquerque for stuff!

Once I got home, I mentally exhaled. I needed some time to process everything, and deal with nagging feelings of disappointment and failure. Todd being Todd. The time in Randleman with the church- folk had been nagging me a bit, and I wanted some time to compartmentalize it.

I remember wondering while in Oregon how this trip would end, and how I would look back on it. Now I know. The next few weeks would be a mixed- bag, and although I hoped that through reflection I would feel that metaphorical “lightning bolt of enlightenment”, I knew better. I was curious to get back to familiar, comfortable surroundings, not only to relax, but to see how I had changed. I enjoy playing the part of the guinea pig.