8/6- 8/8: Santa Fe- Ithaca, NY

After spending June and most of July sequestered away in Michigan, and then another two weeks back in New Mexico, August's arrival sent me spiraling into "do something... anything" mode. Purely motivated by a lack of divine inspiration, I took aim for the last three of the lower-48 I'd yet to visit: Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont and after a few days of mental wrangling I chose to forgo the 60-hour Greyhound Marathon to the Maine/ Canada border in favor of Craigslist's Rideshare.

Departure day was Friday the 6th with Elissa, a pleasant 60-something Latina from Santa Fe on her way to see family in Denver. She was almost the perfect Rideshare: no haggling over money, flexible on the departure, and drove fast with very few stops! It was quite uneventful, and entertaining in that I was treated to watching her drive AND smoke a bowl through Colorado Springs; skills I can only imagine!

8/17- 18: Denver to Gillette

Following a couple of false starts and a Craigslist Misfire, Greyhound finally dumped me in Denver Monday evening. I had gotten an email from another Craiglister, but by the time Eric had picked Chris and I up, there was no more contact with him.

Stepping off, it seemed that this stay in Denver would last either 8- hours, or a full day until the next bus heading my way left. Chris had made arrangements for me to stay with him at Loreli's if the ride flaked out, so we went to hang out with Eric at the Candle Light Lounge for a few beers and 7- months of catch up. Eric had read about Dennis in the Denver Post prior to my write-ups, so much of our time was spent discussing each of our particular insights and what living his particular life must have been like. As always, we later began discussing society, politics, and governmental uselessness as the beer settled in.

I learned that Eric had nearly drowned while rafting the Colorado River over the summer, and the experience had quite an affect on him. It seemed to put the notion of fear into perspective; he pointed out that he's no longer "afraid of much." The most basic of human conditions is survival, and once you experience something like that, it can't help but snap priorities into focus. Funny how fear has bubbled to the surface as a recurring theme.

Eric had to work Tuesday morning, so Chris and I walked to the Alameda Denny's to chat over coffee and see where we were after 5-weeks. It turned out to be one of our more remarkable conversations. This supposed month of "doing nothing" had instead been an intense period of reflection and realignment for him as well. Much of the conversation centered on each of us boiling our evolving ideas down into something easier to convey. We also noted how we had been able to incorporate tangible experience to both alter and expand them. I wish I could easily explain that process, but I can only invite you to re- read about Randleman, Ciel, Pat, Kim, Mike, and others. Suffice it say that analog eyes work much better than the digital ones and, for insight, this beats the hell out of anything on CNN.

This condensed stopover in Denver was quite nice on many levels, and served a nice purpose as a place to reset and launch forward. I obviously never heard from Rideshare #2, thus Tuesday was spent chatting, being entertained by Loreli's daughter, Izzy, and waiting for the bus to leave at 6pm.

Before I knew it, Eric had dropped me off, and I was back on the bus riding thru Ft. Collins and then into Wyoming. Cheyenne and Casper came and went, and I was quickly learning that my hopes of a good night's rest were futile. That would play a significant role Wednesday.

The bus dropped me in a cold, wet Gillette, Wyoming a bit after 5am and I was thrilled to learn that the stop was actually a functioning station. I organized my now- disorganized pack and caught some precious sleep before stepping off into unfamiliar territory again at 8am, and for the first time since late May in upstate NY.

7/12: Nebraska to New Mexico- Inga

Back at the bus station, it was a familiar waiting game. I sat there in relative silence, smoking occasionally and trying to tolerate the kids running unattended through out the place. The young woman from earlier was still there with her pile of luggage after returning from a trip to the same coffee shop Chris and I had visited. We didn’t speak until the bus was almost ready to board and when it was obvious she was clueless as to which bus she was to board. To her credit, the customer service in Omaha was typical Greyhound: shitty, and having no less than six full bags did not help her, so I offered some help finding out along the way that she was taking the same bus I was, toward Denver, or her way to Oregon.

Once on the 9pm bus, we sat across from each other and began chatting. Inga was 24, and counter my assumption that she was either moving or homeless, I learned that she had actually been hitching… with all that shit! I was amazed. She had begun in Oregon, and hitched a series of rides, primarily with truckers all the way to New Hampshire where she had apparently been beaten up by one of her rides when she refused to have sex with him. Inga told me that the trucker had left her some place she could not remember (sounded like Philadelphia) only remembering that the police had let her sleep at the police station, saying that if she stayed there, she would end up dead. She went on to tell that her next ride had promised to take her all the way home, where she hoped to see her kids, but dropped her at the bus station after buying her a ticket after another coital- refusal had led to arguments across Iowa. When I told her that we had been at the Iowa 80 that week, she laughed and said she remembered seeing us sitting there when they themselves had stopped there. I instantly remembered the arguing couple I had vaguely noticed, realized it had been her, and had to laugh myself.

Inga’s story was rather pathetic. She had been married and had children, but after her separation had apparently gotten involved in dealing. Through some now- lost chain of events, she had lost custody of her kids and there had been a raid at her home leading to the arrest of two Mexican- connected suppliers. She told me that the police had told her that if she cooperated there would be no charges, but instead she chose to hit the road. Her ex- husband had no interest in letting her see her kids, and she had no idea if there were warrants waiting for her when she got home, saying only that the all- familiar ID checks had turned up nothing while she was gone.

It was an interesting ride to Denver. We sat in the back of the bus looking at pictures, chatting, and half- watching Wild Hogs on the Trailways DVD player. She had quite a different demeanor on the bus than she had given off while sitting silently at the terminal. She became quite talkative, seeming grateful for the fact that our new companionship was shielding her from the other men on the bus. That became more apparent when we stopped around 1am for dinner, and she became visibly irritated at the amusing (to me!), lewd comments!

She told me she was planning to head off again, to wherever, after she had gotten a clear indication of her situation in Oregon. I wondered to myself about how this would all play out, if it were all true, and of course about her kids. The people I have met, rather they are traveling or not, usually have a narrative that needs its final chapters written. We all have a story; I figured this was hers and it was not my place to judge. We began to chat superficially about re- connecting when I got to the Pacific Northwest, and sharing the trail for a bit. It would obviously be easier for me to get rides with a cute, young blonde in tow, but the notion of being a truck stop bodyguard did not exactly appeal to me!

We eventually dozed off waking at about 7am Sunday to the familiar sights of the I-70/ I-25 interchange in downtown Denver, then my old friend: Coors Field. My layover was two- hours while Inga’s was nearly five, so we spent the next 90- minutes drinking coffee, smoking, and chatting. Chris’ train had been an hour behind schedule, but he did indeed show up just as I was getting ready to board the Americanos line to Santa Fe. We chatted briefly as I introduced them, and left those two to chat as I headed south. I was interested to hear Chris’ take on Inga knowing that I was probably much able to relate with her background than Chris may be.

Settling into the Spanish- speaking Americanos bus, it occurred to me that I had missed these sorts of characters you meet on the bus. One of the coolest rides ever was to Asheville, NC in 2005 when I met a bonafide philosopher AND a couple who were practicing dumpster diving/ road kill eating anarchists, all within 10- minutes!

I managed to stay awake thru Pueblo until the lack of sleep over the last few days hit me with a hammer. I slept all the way to Santa Fe, and in fact almost missed my stop. Americanos drivers speak little English, so I barely deciphered “Santa Fe” as I awoke shocked that I had slept all the way through. Shalain picked me up a few minutes later, and I was finally able to exhale a bit and begin to enjoy a much- needed, extended interlude.

The next few weeks, while not inspiring for aspiring travel writers, would hold narratives of their own. The remainder of July into the beginning of August would be a smooth, quiet, roller coaster of introspection, plans, ideas, and one particularly shocking, disturbing development that would unexpectedly shake me to my core, and demand a fundamental re- evaluation of priorities, place, and purpose.

6/6- 6/10: Home Again

"Avoiding Hillsdale like Herpes" was an understatement. I had tried several times with limited success to "escape" in the years after high school, only to inevitably find myself right back where I started with just a few new anecdotes. I knew I would have to get out eventually, naturally assuming that it was Hillsdale that made me miserable. Typical victimist thinking, but it served the purpose of motivating me to get a bit creative in my "escape" methods and helped me to stumble on a vocation: radio. In 1994 I went off to broadcasting school in Detroit, and after yet another return, found myself 'freed' for good in early 1997 after my radio career finally got going. Since then, the visits have been rare with the exception of 2000, when among other things I decided to try playing softball with old friends- until getting my night show ended that.

Returning has always been like watching the videotape of a night of heavy drinking: cringing repeatedly! Everywhere I turned, it seemed that there were reminders of the levels of douchebaggery I had reached while there. I still had a few friends around, but as we steadily lost contact, I tried to resign myself to the notion that I would ultimately be one of those who just vanished, except for the few people who knew the station I was on and the stage name I used. My mother had never left so I would make a few trips every year, but it was more like a tactical strike with a specific target. I was always mindful not to stray "off course" and of getting out as quickly as I could! This has been the case for the past nine- years, and the visits had dwindled to maybe once a year since I moved out of Michigan in 2004.

Another particularly interesting side- note, and one that I'm reluctant to mention, is that I have had recurring dreams about Hillsdale, involving friends, forgotten acquaintances, my house, softball, and odd, seemingly random places for years. Places that had made no sense, like an unfamiliar bar on a lake somewhere down US-12 toward US-127. And, these dreams were so common, like 4-6 times a week at times, that they became downright annoying. "Why the hell am I always dreaming about that place!!" I mentioned it to my girlfriend a couple years ago, but none of it made any sense. I had never considered returning to the area for any real period of time until I connected with Shelly in February of this year. That too had some odd, weird circumstances. More on that at another time, but as Chris and I entered Michigan for the first time, the first of these little premonitions, or deja vu, began making themselves apparent.

Following the week with Brian, I tried to keep low expectations for this visit. I had been in touch with my friend Bob for about a week, and while he seemed just as I remembered, I was wondering how we'd interact these days. And, I was curious to get Chris' take on all of this. He had very little background on where I had come from, and it wasn't lost on me that there may be a vast, unexplained gap between the person he knows, and the guy that my old friends remember. I too was quite interested in gaining an outsider perspective and especially to see my own reaction to the new, familiar atmosphere. My emotional reactions are always a fucking case- study in the unexpected!

Sean dropped us off, snapped some pictures, and as soon as Bob & I said hi it was clear that little had changed with him. Bob's like an old pair of comfortable boots, for lack of a more flattering description! He's a bighearted, generous, friendly, loyal guy. Perhaps one of the two most loyal friends I have. I was quite grateful to be there after having to navigate the odd- dynamics of the previous week. There was no analysis going on. No judgment. No diagnosis. I was Todd. He was Bob. That was Chris. We were friends. End of story. I laughed as we instantly resumed the long- dormant roles of tormenting each other. After ten minutes, it was like I had never left. I remember thinking, "Friends like this goofy fucker are a rarity." This was a good omen to what was about to become an almost unbearably intense few weeks.

These omens stuck around for all of Saturday night as Bob, Chris and I decided to try to find a bar where I could freak some people out. The problem was, that while there were several when I had lived here, there were now next to NONE anywhere within a safe driving distance, let alone walking. We decided on the near- empty bowling alley in Hillsdale to watch the Red Wings, then Bob suggested a bar in Somerset; a 30- minute drive away. This turned out to be the bar by the lake that I had repeatedly dreamed of! I about shit as he turned in, as you can imagine. At least there were people here, although none that I recognized. As we sat there drinking beer, it slowly began to sink in that I was indeed seeing my old hometown from the position of the familiar outsider.

I had also been quickly discovering how things have changed over the last 12+ years. This "crisis" they like to talk about now has been gutting rural Michigan's manufacturing base for years. It's this base that supports most of the people I knew, and I was shocked to discover that Bob was one of the rare people that still HAD a job, and wasn't either laid off or let go. They can quote unemployment figures all day long, but my unofficial unemployment "research" would come back with numbers a hell of a lot higher than "12 -15%" or whatever the latest "figures" are. To me it seems closer to 50%, and higher if you consider "underemployed." I suspect that many have said to hell with filing unemployment, and taken work under the table. One of the first things I noticed about Hillsdale itself is how quiet, and empty it is. Especially the main road thru town. I remember it being a whole lot busier than that.

People here are tough, blue collar types who won't whine, and don't want you to whine for them. They generally work hard, they play hard, and they live their lives raising their kids the best they can. The only thing they generally want is a fair opportunity to do just that, and to offer their kids a better future. Like people anywhere I suppose, except that this "opportunity" has been pulled from their still warm hands. I wont bother with the politics, because the politics just don't fucking matter. It was no better under Bush than it is now. If you think this "crisis" is something new, come pay a visit. It's only "new" and publicized because it's hit the economic elites, and the suburbs a bit. I only offer this brief commentary out of a realization (get used to that term now!) that I respect these people. I seek authenticity. This is raw and authentic. I was astounded to find myself thinking that! It occurred after some thought that in order to appreciate fully the blunt reality, perhaps you need to run in the circles of mentally masturbating "intellectuals" who fail to leave the circles of their safe, cushy, modern- day Salons.

The reminder of the week was crystallizing, and far from a new one. The idea of true wisdom as opposed to its illusion. Education without practical and visceral experience is as useless as being a trivia expert, unless of course your goal is making money and collecting shit. Hell, poker players do that! There needs to be personal context in which to frame and apply that million- dollar degree, or we're nothing more than tools, or worse yet parrots squawking someone else's dictation. The ability to recite isolated facts does not make one wise. The ability to apply someone else's formula doesn't make one wise. Wisdom is turning data to knowledge then applying unique experience to that knowledge. No wonder so few people are truly wise. They seem to think they've gotten there early through hubris and buying the illusion that disconnected facts and formulae mean something significant. I'll save the rest of that rant for later, but this was the essence of my first four days in Hillsdale. Making friends with my roots, and perhaps the roads I've needed to travel to come to that realization.

Sunday was spent having a quick visit with an old classmate, Steve, who had driven down from Detroit to see Bob, Chris and I. He had sent me the brass alcohol- stove and turned me on to Eckart Tolle last fall. We had spent hours philosophizing online over the winter, and I was looking forward to the sure mental- fireworks if Steve, Chris, and I got together. Unfortunately, he had little time to stay, but he had crafted an idea for us to ride with him to Minneapolis when he went on business later in the month. We figured 12- hours in a rental car would get us down the road AND provide lots of time to chat. It was a great idea, but the suits didn't like the math, insisting he fly instead. The following weekend I received another two packages from him, INCLUDING a collapsible fishing pole! I wish we would have been better friends earlier.

Another interesting revelation was that Hillsdale of all places was the friendliest town we had encountered to date. As we were often sitting outside the gas station with our backpacks drinking coffee, or waiting for a ride, people would oftentimes stop by to say hello. One young man even handed us $10 when he left. Michigan people are NOT known for their outgoing, friendly nature, but Hillsdale is doing its part to counteract that. Go figure!

I went to see my mother of course, and went to Bob's softball game on Tuesday the 9th, where I had arranged to meet two more of my best friends from back in the day, Dave and Eddie. I hadn't seen Dave since 2000, Ed since 2004. These are two friendships that go way back, and have many cementing experiences binding them. Some involving bail, bloody frying pans, and damaged public parks. Ed has ultimately proven to be another friend, like Bob, who is always there, as- is, regardless of where you've been or what you've done. He's gone through a lot of changes over the years, and Chris and I both noted that he and I may have more in common now than before. It was also a smack in the face to see his kids! I hadn't seen them since the mid- 90's, and they're all grown now. My friends and I, including Dave, used to throw his oldest boy Denton around on his bed when he was a baby. I bought him a beer. I almost cried about the fact that I could. Dave and his wife Bonnie offered us their floor Tuesday night, and it was nice chatting with them after so many years and marveling at how their kids have grown. Their kids aren't much younger than Bonnie was when we first met her. There were other familiar faces around, and I thoroughly enjoyed the reunion atmosphere!

Bob picked us up again Wednesday morning, this time to try our hand at fishing. We caught nothing. We didn't even see a fish in the St. Joe. The afternoon was spent lounging beneath a tree at the bowling alley before meeting up with Ed for a nice chat then engaging one of the owners I had known for decades in an unexpected political/ social conversation.

We had decided to camp on my mother's property right up the road Wednesday night, and on the way, Chris and I began discussing the changing ideas on our method and mindset. We had essentially been stationary for a month and a half- since arriving at his mother's in New York City May 1, and it had become clear that there was nothing wrong with that. Ideas began to develop about possibly returning to Denver or Santa Fe to begin exploring other venues for our photographs then heading toward Idaho to meet my other sister, Lynn.

When Bob picked us up after dropping his son off at school Thursday morning, it was time to switch gears and prepare to meet Lynette's kids, Ben and Brad, at their grandmother's house. I was really looking forward to this, and wondered how many people had met their nephews-- before meeting their sister! Good stuff!

5/11- 13: Newark to Santa Fe

Not alot to write here, but there was a comical debate between Chris, Mary, and I over of all things, this hat of mine.

I had been pondering returning it to REI when I arrived back in New Mexico as a quick way to recoup money. A little hobby of mine, no? I had gone into financial lock- down after Manhattan, and was now scheming ways to re- acquire it prior to getting the pictures ready to sell. The hat was an obvious, easy target. Chris, however, was a bit smitten and offered to buy it instead. Terrific! Easy! Just one problem...

I had become attached to the thing.

It had seen the Veggie Bus, DC, Trent's, The Chesapeake, black widows, ticks, and the euphoria on the beach in NJ. I had spilled beer on it in both Corbin City and in New York City! It was in half of our pictures! How could I just abandon it? Chris pointed out that I was like Indiana Jones, "Don't... touch... my... HAT!" Ultimately, and even after Mary offered to pay for it, I elected to keep it. Plus, Kwami had said that I look like a badass in it. He's a man of obvious taste, and that's good enough for me.

The bus left Newark, and took me to exotic locales such as Allentown, Pittsburgh, Columbus, Indianapolis, Des Moines, Omaha, and finally Denver before my connection to Santa Fe two days later.

Des Moines was a bit odd. I had lived there from 1998- 99, and the bus happened to drive quite close to one of our old apartments then directly past the other. It's odd how things become nostalgic as time passes. Ten years ago, I would have never guessed that, at least as pertaining to Des Moines.

One note on Greyhound: They are making obvious improvements. The buses are still shitty, but the stations are resembling Bangladesh ghettos slightly less. I actually watched part of the Nuggets game at the swanky little station in Pittsburgh! Plus, I was quite shocked to learn that I would watch movies on TWO of the smaller lines: Trailways and Americanos. One featured Toby Keith, and another starred a pre- pubescent Lindsay Lohan, but they WERE movies! So, props to The Dirty Dog for being a bit less... filthy.

Shit, I AM a travel writer!

Americanos got me to Santa Fe 30- minutes early on Wednesday. That's unheard of in my experience, but true nonetheless. Shalain picked me up, and we spent the night simply hanging out.

It felt like I had just left, and been gone a year at the same time. I got a kick out of driving past the exit Devin had taken off I-25 in the Veggie Bus, exactly a month earlier. One hell of a loop I had just made!

3/9: Booger, Blue and a couple of Bivys

Like a boat, one of the most important things when backpacking is naming your pack. Chris had named his “Rommelton” and “Patches” during his cross- country, but I had neglected naming the Gregory I used last summer… seemingly content with “Heavy Fucker”. Ironically, my old Coleman external- frame even has a name: “Molly.” I bought her in Denver, just a few blocks from “Unsinkable” Molly Brown’s house, and she seems to stick around when everything else goes, just like Molly on the Titanic.

Before Chris had decided to use the Kelty, he was tinkering with an army surplus pack he dubbed “Che.” I liked that! While not willing to go with the obvious “Fidel”, at least for the pack, I had tentatively decided on “Raul.” With Chris now using “Ol’ Blue” (the Kelty), I needed a new name.

When I bought my new pack I thought the

coloring would be quite a bit darker than it actually is; it is in fact blatantly snot- green. Snot- green marketed as “bamboo.”

Snot…

Booger!

Now, rarely do I crack myself up. However, I confess when I saw the

“Revenge of the Nerds”character in my head I nearly drove off Colfax. “Booger” it is. “Booger” & "Ol’ Blue.”

After being up late, we slept late. We had a vague idea of places to do the overnight test and decided just to drive somewhere rather than the original “plan” of loading up and walking. Time was now NOT on our side, and we both know we can walk.

Cherry Creek State Park is actually IN Denver, but you would never know it once you get there. I know from my “bike tour” that there are plenty of places to stealth inside, and that we would not be hassled… at all. The temperature was 30- degrees cooler than Sunday hovering around 40 and windy too. As I told Chris, I really have NOTHING to prove to myself by needlessly freezing by ass off. Considering there was snow in the forecast, at least with the car, I could take extra clothes if needed! If you are unfamiliar with how I feel about the cold… hang around for a while.

With that in mind, we finally got out of the house at around 1:00 or so, went to Chris’s bank, then to King Sooper’s to get some experimental food… including jars of baby food.

Yes. Baby food.

It is CHEAP and full of all the nutrients that these little monkeys need to sprout efficiently. Big monkeys can use it too… We also combined ideas, with Chris suggesting Hamburger Helper, of course without the hamburger. The plan was to return to The Friary to Ziploc some oatmeal, which is apparently going to be our staple. AND we were eager to try out a brass, alcohol- stove that my friend Steve had sent from Michigan. I had NO idea how to use it-- until we fired it up Sunday night. HOLY CRAP! It boiled a pot of water in something like two- minutes! AND alcohol is a HELL of a lot cheaper than fuel canisters for my MSR Whisperlite. Steve ol’ pal… you saved us a ton of money. Thanks!

You would realize our geekitude had you seen our reaction to that little piece of burning brass. Thank God, there is no physical evidence of it.

After King Sooper's, it was off to his coffee shop to caffeine up when my phone rang. It was the dentist.

I had asked them to put me on the cancellation list hoping to expedite the appointments I needed for fillings and root canals. Even getting ONE squeezed in would potentially get me on the road 2- 3 weeks quicker. I knew that there was a slight chance I would have to bug out of Denver early, but it was worth that risk and the hassle if it happened.

It happened.

If I wanted that appointment, I had to be in Santa Fe by 4:30 the next day (Tuesday). I snatched it up. That instantly changed things. Not only the Denver trip but also the overall timescale. As I contemplated the possibilities, it seemed more and more plausible that rather than late April, or May… I may indeed be on the road close to the beginning of next month. There is nothing to base that on, other than one canceled appointment, but I mentioned that I still had a rather strong feeling that I would be out there… soon.

Time for a revision of the immediate; overnight now was not feasible.... FIELD TRIP! I suggested that we head out of the city and go east… trying to avoid my nemesis: COLD! I hate the cold, remember? Chris was pretty set on getting into the mountains though, and honestly that sounded good to me too since I had not been up there in a couple years.

We quickly decided to head to one of my favorite spots, near Guanella Pass of US-285. Shalain and I had been camping there, and I love the seclusion. There is a campground to park the car… and nothing else but Three Mile Creek.

It was close to 3:00 when we got on the road toward Bailey, and it’s about 80- miles one way. With daylight savings however, we had an extra hour to play with, and plenty of time if it was just a dry- run.It felt great to get up that way again, and Chris enjoyed getting out of the urban sprawl into the mountains that have been calling him.

We found the campground, gathered our packs, and headed up the dirt road that connects 285 with I-70 and Georgetown 25- miles to the north. That was a remarkable feeling. Long overdue. It was as though all was right in the universe again; the pack was on and I was out in the woods looking for a place to sleep. There was that distinct and familiar sense of honest perspective. It was also the first steps Chris and I had taken together, despite the common interest and our own experiences. I still find it ironic that this was also a true test- drive for the new two- person dynamic!

It was probably in the low- mid 30’s at the higher elevation, and there was still snow where the shadows fall in late afternoon. Suddenly, the cold didn’t bother me… odd, eh?!? We began to revive our stealth camping senses again, and checked out places that we “would possibly use” if we were actually out there. One was a rocky overhang that was almost like a cave into the ridge… that would shield us from falling rock. Others had obviously had the same idea judging by the tin cans and smoke- stained rock.

After perhaps another hundred yards we found a little clearing next to the river that was also beneath road level, thanks to the river. No way would ANYONE see us there unless we built a bonfire. That was not on the agenda.

As we began to climb down, I failed to notice some ice from prior snowmelt, and fell on my ass and, more importantly, my wrist. A friendly reminder that "Yes, Todd, you need to pay attention to what the hell you’re doing! Remember?” The funny thing? My ass or wrist wasn’t my tumbling- concern; getting Booger dirty was! Pathetic.

From there, it was fun and games. We dug out the bivys & sleeping bags to test what kind of clearing

and spacing we would need as compared to a tent. We also got back in the habit of getting pictures, and were ultimately, it seems to me, just ENJOYING OURSELVES. After I climbed inside the bivy (who needs a name, but I refuse to say, "I got inside Fidel.” just seems… wrong), a sense of joy came over me. I believe I may have had a goofy permagrin plastered to my face, and judging by the pictures, I was right. It was a sense of “home.” Hard to explain that. We contemplated experimenting with Chris’s 8x10 tarp, but in the end, we were sort of simply ( & usefully) playing around. We had taken our little red wagons to the park. When it began to get dark, we took our toys and went home.

Booger and Blue both performed well, and the bivys were just fine. After actually getting it dirty, I all but decided to keep it rather than spend the money on the Alpine. I have mosquito netting, and so does Chris. As long as there are no leaks, it will be fine. That is my thought process… today anyhow.

Then it was back to the car and back to Denver… quite happy about things, both of us. I chuckled at the rush of energy I got just by leaving the city. I also realized that this little excursion made this… REAL. We have been talking and planning … just talking and planning… for months, in all its incarnations. Now it was no longer abstract. It was happening, and goddammit, it was GOOD!

We watched the BBC documentary “Century of the Self” which is about the psychology of advertising and propaganda (and should be seen by everyone!) when we got back, and then it was off to couch. I set the alarm for 8:00 to get back to Santa Fe.

Quite an interesting, productive 48- hours.

3/8: Spring Training- Denver

I did indeed make the trip to Denver Saturday.

We decided that it would be worthwhile for me to arrive Saturday night so we could then go to a “Post- Petroleum” survivalist class Sunday morning. I had nothing going on until my next dental appointment 10- days out, so I planned on staying in Denver through the week so we could work on business cards, the blog, and also get with Eric. The thought began to set on the drive up I-25 that things are REALLY going to change VERY soon, and this would most- likely be my last off- handed trip to Denver. Chris is leaving The Friary on 4/1... and that as they say, is that. He's homeless, and we're underway. That little Capital Hill apartment has seen it's share... that's for sure.

As usual, Chris & I sat up until 2am or so chatting… THEN remembered that Daylight Savings was moving the clocks ahead an hour, making for a short night’s sleep.

We were up and to the class, which was held in a parking lot in an industrial/ Mad Max- ish part of town, by 10:00. The instructor, Robert, was showing how to make and use fire bows, which I believe is a Native American technique for building fires. You shape the wood pieces, tie string around the bow and use it to create friction, ultimately building a fire without any sort of combustible fuel. Useful! That’s also required learning for some Marine survival training. While I never got it actually burning, it was easier than I had imagined… we at least managed to get some smoke.

There were only three of us there, a 20- something girl named Layla in addition to Chris and me, so we had a good opportunity to bat ideas around. Robert mentioned possibly taking a “field- trip” into the mountains to focus on hunting & fishing, which obviously appealed to us. Anything to cut food expenses. These classes are held every Sunday, and it seemed like a great idea to stick around long enough, if possible, to get another one in before my March 17^th dental appointment in Santa Fe.

Robert is an interesting person who has a distinct “edge” about him. I sensed that we would get along quite well, to a point, but that we’d likely clash eventually. We are alike in many ways; the same ways that may make our differences clash, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. He is planning to hit the road himself in the spring, and I would be interested to see what happens to him.

The weather was incredible, near 70 and sunny by the time we were done with the class at 2:00. REI was nearby and I wanted to see if the Denver Flagship’s shoe- selection was any better than Santa Fe’s, and Chris wanted to wrap up a few loose ends of his own. I am considering buying the O.R. Alpine Bivy that Chris has, and had borrowed last summer.

My military surplus bivy is a bit… creepy. It has no bug- netting, and after the spider- den in North Carolina, and considering we are going east where there actually ARE mosquitoes, I think it might be wise to consider it. There are pros and cons to each, and after 20- minutes of making no decisional progress, I decided to stick with what I have until after Monday night’s overnight field- test.

Chris wound up with a magnesium/ flint combo and mosquito netting, and I discovered that REI was finally stocking the shoe- inserts I had bought last year in San Francisco. That pissed me off! Where the hell were they 2 months ago… before I spent $40 trying to replicate the fucking things? I bought them anyhow… of course complaining the whole time. The shoe selection was rather pathetic—at least compared to what I expected.

Chris had to work at 4:30, and I was exhausted despite the weather. We got back to The Friary, had some oatmeal and I crashed right after he left. I’d hoped to spend some time continuing the “getting to know you” process with my sister, Michelle, via IM and getting a hold of Eric. But I slept for four hours! When I finally woke up at 9:00, I was quite perturbed. I also figured I would now be up all night...

To save time, I unpacked everything I had brought from New Mexico, mostly clothes and

tools, so that we could do a brainstorm and decide what we needed and did not. This is a rather important process obviously, and we had been talking about doing this since early winter. Once he got home, it went very well, and Chris decided to take the Kelty backpack that I had bought on eBay. It actually is quite a good pack… and huge! Vern Troyer could hitch a ride!

After a few hours (and a huge mess), we had the

packs ready to go. It felt good to go thru that process

again… and for real! We got to bed around 2 or 3, with no

real plan for the next day… figuring we’d wing it.

Winter Quarters: Recap

I must have “intended” to update this thing a hundred times over the past couple of months, but for various reasons (read: rationalization) I have not. I have been both busy and quite hermetic at the same time. I’ve come to terms with being back in Santa Fe by completely isolating myself from it! It’s amusing that I have yet to build ANY kind of a social circle, preferring instead to sit at home and work, raising money for 2009. It has become obvious that whatever attraction I once had to this pretentious little town is dead. At first, I thought that perhaps it was just me wanting to separate myself completely from everything, but when we went back to Michigan, and then on my trip to Denver last week, I realized that I am just as social as ever- I just have no interest in socializing with anyone HERE… or even meeting anyone! Not sure what to make of that, but I have inclinations!

Last I updated was shortly before the election of what appears from the media to be Abraham Delano Obama. I sat down at the computer the next day and, caught up in the hype, began to write how “proud” I was that we had elected a black man as President. However, something didn’t feel right about it, so I scrapped it. I then watched the news coverage over the next few days and realized how they’ve proclaimed this man Savior of the American Race. Pure demagoguery. I then realized that the liberals are now just as bad as the conservatives were; scurrying about with their proverbial chests thrown out acting as though they were solely responsible for an evolutionary shift in humanity! Yes, I’m experiencing a further Liberal Backlash, and am finding myself taking a ‘right turn’ in my thinking. The Socialists disguised as simple “Progressives” have sprung forth from the woodwork, and I’m afraid that my liberal friends are going to have a rude awakening when the electoral center grows weary of what’s been unleashed: moral elitism with a dash of white liberal guilt and wielding an imaginary "mandate." I haven’t bothered with TV in over a month. It's disgusting that you as a nation are patting yourselves on the back, and claiming “accomplishment” for simply electing a black man. It seems a bit like congratulating a redneck for not beating the wife or your teenager because he is no longer stealing car stereos! Congratulations America, you’ve almost achieved something resembling equality; forget that it should be EXPECTED! The best man obviously won, and I wish him well. But let’s consider the alternative for a moment, shall we? McCain/ Palin? And. if we were such a diverse Nirvana, the fact that Obama is black would mean nothing, right? Get over your self- righteousness and let’s see how the man governs before we anoint him anything but President… he IS a politician after all. “Change?” PROVE IT. Then I’ll hop on this already full bandwagon.

On a lighter note, I have had sort of a “Peter Gibbons” experience for fans of “Office Space.” My little work- from- home data entry gig has turned into what appears to be a decent paying full- time job. I was brutally honest with them when they hired me, telling them that I wasn’t looking for anything long term because I was setting out again sooner than later. Apparently, they appreciated the honesty and the fact that I told them directly that I was not interested in anything that involved “ladder climbing”, because last week they essentially doubled my salary while still letting me work from home… as much or as little as I choose. It was perfectly timed because it appears that the next phase is taking shape, and I’ll be able to easily prepare for it.

Facebook has provided some rather creepy reunions. I’ve touched base with many people from my WRKR radio days in Kalamazoo, and even people from high school that I NEVER thought I’d chat with again. One has been quite interesting and intellectually rewarding. Steve was a guy I never really associated with, but we’ve had some similar experiences and have developed parallel views on things.

Another nice surprise was seeing my friend Himanshu, who’s from Mumbai, in BATTLE CREEK of all fucking places. He was there on business while we were home, and had a chance to have dinner with him. I hadn’t seen him since we met thru Couchsurfing in 2006 when he stayed the weekend with us in Denver. I picked his brain on India a bit… we’ll see! His blog is in my bloglist under ‘My Wanderings’… check it out. Excellent writer and photographer.

Other than work, and the trip back to Michigan, the rest of the winter has been quiet. I’ve discovered the wonders of ebay (ha!), and have been slowly re- gearing when I can. I made a quick trip to Denver last week to bask in $1.50 gas, and to try to get things a bit more solidified with Chris. The original idea was to head toward Mexico this month, but we have decided to go bigger… MUCH bigger… and as a result are taking the rest of the winter to prepare. I’m being ambiguous on purpose. Our current construct deserves its own space.

Christmas is now just a few days away, and 2009 will be here in just over a week. Of course, this is the time of year when you naturally reflect on the year that was. When I think of how the year began, and as it progressed the things I’ve done and seen; the people I’ve met… 2008 was very good to me. I’ve reconnected with old friends, met new ones, and had some experiences that to me are priceless. I managed to live a little, and set a foundation for 2009 and beyond.What's fun is thinking where I was a year ago!

Finally, I believe that this particular blog may be ending, although not 100% sure. Rather than the complete book, this is merely a chapter. I suppose that one or two more post would be appropriate, including what Chris and I are plotting. From there, I’ll let you know ...

8/12 CHAPTER 3 Ken II, 2 Months

Eric and I were up at on our way at 9:30, running all over the Denver metro basically tying up loose ends. We stopped at a Sprint store so I could get a car charger for my cell phone so as not to repeat the events in northern California with Eric and Marine. The damn thing cost me $25 and I knew I would live to regret buying it.

The work- day was uneventful, and I heard from Ken at about 2:00 letting me know that he was in Laramie, WY as we’d arranged the day before. Laramie is maybe 2 ½ hours from Denver, and now that I had a good idea of when he’d be in town, I could begin to plot a place to meet him.

I had hoped to be able to get to a convenient place on I-70, so he would only need to exit momentarily to pick me up, and then return immediately to his route. I was leery of that plan when, not knowing that part of Denver well, I couldn’t pinpoint locations that I was certain would be hassle- free. I decided on I-25 and 20th St., up the street from Coors Field, because it was maybe just ½ mile past the I-70 interchange, had a stop light, and he could just re- enter I-25.

Once that was set, I repacked again, foolishly eliminating food and rearranging the pack’s balance for the hike, via Light rail, to 20th St. Eric and I settled up on money, and much to my dismay I was forced to evaluate just how much money I had spent while in Denver. It isn’t a pretty picture. After the rain- fly, I was leaving with significantly less money than I should have been. The beer wasn’t THAT good.

Eric and I said the goodbyes; I loaded the pack on my back, and set off. For the first time in nearly a month, I was traveling again. Officially back on the road. There was no euphoria this time; no excitement for the unknown. I KNEW what to expect. In that sense, this phase, Phase #3, felt MUCH different. I was no longer the adolescent exploring the woods. I knew what was in the woods, how to handle it, AND I knew how what I would see from the woods would effect me. The lack of that excitement was a disappointment, and the fact that I was not experiencing the same energy- lift I had at the tracks after the Rockies game was surprising. It felt like I had just woken up in the bushes somewhere and was resuming the trip.

Go figure.

I decided to forgo paying the $1.50 fare for the ride to Union Station, remembering Thoreau’s “get what advantage of her” line in Civil Disobedience. I felt like quite the Anarchist as I rode the familiar route downtown. I was in a bit of a hurry, having spent more time chatting with Eric than I’d planned to and concerned about missing Ken in case he was early.

I got to I-25 & 20th without issue, and planted myself back in the old- familiar spot. The ramp. I arrived at about 4:00 and as I waited, a panhandler returned with his handy little sign pronouncing his abstinence from both drugs and alcohol, saying he just needed “a little help“. Todd was skeptical. The bum was NOT pleased with my presence. I wasn’t hitching, holding a sign, or ANYTHING; just sitting there. He must have thought that made him look bad, because after five minutes or so, he shouted across the exit ramp “Are you just sitting there for the Hell of it, or waiting for a ride?” I answered that I was waiting for a ride, but by now this guy’s demeanor and blatant stares were bugging me. He was acting as if his urine- soaked Jansport book bag had marked his “turf“. He apparently didn’t hear me, or was feeling belligerent, because he asked again. This time I replied “I LOVE the fucking views here… I might just have to stay here all night. Is that OK with you?” Again, I must have had a sinister look in my eyes because suddenly my presence seemed less important to him. Funny how that works.

At 4:34, four minutes after he predicted, Ken pulled off I-25 to 20th St. Our plan had worked perfectly. As I climbed in the cab, I saw my new ‘friend’s’ look of utter amazement. Here was a guy who had just been sitting there now climbing into a semi. Not so astounding, I know. But HE seemed to think it was. I just waved as we drove off.

Ken and I shook hands, I explained the situation with Dufus, and we quickly settled back into our roles from last month. We got re- acquainted as I settled in for the ride to Limon, where he was going to stop for the night since he’d been driving from Idaho since 5am.

Shortly after I got in the truck, the indecision concerning my destination was resolved. Ken has a friend in Chattanooga, TN who wanted a ride to Tampa. I could ride to Nashville and see Kim, and he could pick Jay up a couple hours down the road. Simple. Easy. Go with it Todd… go with it. I went with it.

We did stop at the Flying J on the far- east end of Aurora, and the cashier asked Ken to take a box of urgently- needed fuel tickets with him to Limon, since they were running out. She told him that we’d get free dinner in exchange for their box occupying his floor. Quite a deal.
The ride to Limon was typical eastern- Colorado. Not a lot to see save some dramatic storm clouds on the horizon that got more intense as we moved further southeast.

We arrived in Limon at about dusk, and feasted on Steak and Salmon. The manager in Limon had apparently only intended to give us the soup n’ salad bar, but had neglected to tell Ken this before hand. That led to some mini- drama when we went to leave, but the acting manager handled it diplomatically.

We settled into the double- bunked cab for the night and watched “10,000 BC” on DVD player while I also wrote in my journal. The dominant themes as I reflected on the past couple of days were the ‘coincidences’ and the fact that I was feeling very little emotion about being back on the road. I also was encountering Che’s 'split- moment' phenomenon; feeling slight melancholy about not returning home, and also fleeting, inconsistent excitement stemming from the recall of past experience, experiences that were precluded by similar circumstances and emotions. In short, I was having trouble unplugging from The Matrix, and re- establishing a solid connection with… you choose the term! It also dawned on me that today was the two- month anniversary of leaving Santa Fe for Santa Barbara, and I was heading even further away this time. Maybe the # 12 is lucky for me!

Ken and I set the alarms and got to bed ready for a day full of Oklahoma.