8/10 Denver V: Coming to an End

Today was a day of preparing to move on. Not alot to mention other than a quick trip to REI and a decision to leave... for somewhere... Monday evening, rather than Tuesday. As things stand right now, I still have NO idea where that may be! There are 3 options as I see it: Santa Fe, toward the eastern seaboard, or perhaps Florida. The thought of another 8- hour Greyhound rides takes me to the brink of nausea, but I'm not so sure I want to head all the way out east at this point and Florida? Ugh...

The Mexico/ South America trip has been consuming me a bit more over the last week or so, and I'm seriously considering sucking it up for the next few months to gather everything that's needed for it. I've decided to lighten the gear for this trip and eliminate the full- tent in favor of a bivy- tent, which wont be cheap. Neither will the added water purification equipment that will obviously be needed down there, especially in Mexico. It's not lost on me that my Spanish... well, WHAT Spanish?! ? Need to work on that.

This is just a consideration however, and I detest the idea of returning to Santa Fe so soon. There's a very good likelihood that I'll just walk or ride out of Denver... wherever. Maybe I'll pay a visit to the rail yard. Maybe I'll just hitch it toward Ft. Morgan or Cheyenne again. Maybe Kansas. I CAN say this for certain: it will NOT be toward Utah! I'm going to try to contact Ken and Cesar tomorrow to see where they are; if they happen to be this side of the Mississippi, it could get quite interesting.

Where will I go? I guess I really don't care. That's the bitch about freedom: deciding. I've said that too many times. I could flip a coin, or maybe I'll dig the dice out of my backpack again. I'm open for suggestions. Leave a comment, or shoot me an email if you have one; I'd love to hear some ideas.

I feel compelled to put a bow on this trip to Denver, but I don't know that I can. It's been humbling, frustrating, eye- opening, educational, disturbing, encouraging, invigorating and tedious (and too often intoxicating) all at once. I'm sure that some of the insights I've gained here will be useful in time; I hope so. I never intended to stay in Denver two full weeks, and that's frustrating. However, the point was to alleviate the money issues, and I've exceeded my expectation in that regard. I said I stayed too long with Florian, then Eric & Marine, and then Dave too. Is anyone surprised?

I want to thank Friar Chris for his extended hospitality. He is a great friend and was a wonderful host. We had some great times while I was here. The conversations and insights we exchanged were remarkable, deep, intense, AND exhaustive! It's these sorts of exchanges that really work a mind. The kind that are two- sided and original, rather than dictated from quotation and interpreted.

Eric deserves a thank you also. Working with him isn't 'work'; the days filled with the same kinds of observation, debate, and insight from a unique perspective are priceless. The fact I get paid mildly astounds me when I think about it, although I shouldn't say that until he DOES pay me tomorrow! Eric's been a great, loyal friend to me over the past few years, and I'm sure he's calling me a 'homo' for saying so, but it's true. I appreciate it, and it needs to be said more often.

Redneck!

Also, for those of you who are getting the email updates and maybe haven't been to the homepage lately, I've added a few more things including links to Kinga and Chris's travel pages, as well as a few other little nicknack's, so stop by and poke around once in a while... and sign the damn guestbook!

I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again; MAYBE Monday if work ends early enough. I'll let you know what I decide then, if possible. If not... stay tuned!

7/15: Denver IV

Everything went according to plan. We were up at 6am and on I-25 heading into Colorado by 6:45. The ride from Cheyenne was a quick 90- mile sprint, and I felt better about this controversial little decision the closer we got to the city. A good sign!

Ken and I exchanged information just as I had with Cesar and we promised to stay in touch, which we have. He also indicated, as did Cesar, that if we were ever in the same area that I'd be welcome to ride wherever he was going.

He dropped me at the 23rd St. exit and I began the short trek from I-25 to Capital Hill via the free shuttle that runs up the 16th St. Mall downtown. When I got to the Friary at around 9, Chris was of course still sacked out, since he RARELY rises before dusk due to his chronic addiction to amphetamines and Catholic Porn.




















We got caught up and after a couple of hours, that was that. I collapsed for most of the rest of the afternoon, then began sorting through the 1300+ pictures I'd taken. Not alot of excitement. We went out for drinks after he got out of work, and I began what would turn out to be a lengthy process of processing.

I noticed almost immediately that there was indeed something different about how things... felt. Smaller. I felt like an observer who was completely disconnected from everything which was odd because whenever I had returned to Denver before the trip, I had felt that cozy familiarity of 'home'. Not this time. As this Interlude continued, I'd learn that this was FAR from isolated and it would soon be VERY apparent, disturbingly in some ways, how much I'd been affected by what I had experienced.

7/14: The Great Idaho Escape- Ken

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

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

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

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

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

I found some cardboard, made up a couple of signs, one saying “Cokeville, I-80, Cheyenne” then hunkered down in the sun at the Flying J entrance from US-30, not really sure what to expect. People drove by, came then went, and I sat there with a serene calm that had been missing for a few days. I had missed that!

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

I giggled like a little girl.

Then I laughed LOUDLY!

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

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

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

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

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

After a few hours and about 180 miles, there was I-80 again. From there it was a straight shot east to Cheyenne. Somewhere along the way, Ken asked me how far I wanted to go. I had left that open to him, and figured I would go as far as he was comfortable. I answered something to that effect, and said I would probably go all the way to Indianapolis if he’d let me! To my utter shock, he indicated that he WOULD.

This triggered a flood of scenario- building in my head. I’d not even considered it a remote possibility that I’d be getting that far east that quickly. I began to think about where exactly I’d go IF I got to Indiana. Shalain’s trip home was still 2 ½ weeks away. As I considered the developments, the irony was not lost on me that I had gone from nothing to the Hitcher’s Lotto in a day.

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

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

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

I’d begun to seriously wonder about the wisdom of continuing on to Indiana. I had NO idea where I was going to stay for 2 weeks, or if I even WANTED to. It would make getting from west to east infinitely easier, but maybe TOO easy.

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

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

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

McCammon to Denver: ONE ride.

Another driver that I’d become good friends with.

Idaho made a lot more sense now.

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