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...

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.

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.

8/11 Denver V: "'Plans' of Mice & Men"

Monday morning and early afternoon was spent working and trying to figure out this next step. Eric offered to let me stay at his place for the night so I could catch the 10:30 am bus to Santa Fe on Tuesday, if need- be.

Some people may be a bit confused, and with good reason. I had a plan when I arrived in Denver from Idaho almost a month ago, but somewhere along the way, the inspiration and motivation to go to New York City and Maine had left me, if it was really ever there at all. I have never been a big fan of NYC, and have already spent a small amount of time there, in Brooklyn during the anti- war march in 3/03. I have no interest in enduring a “San Francisco on Steroids” experience. In retrospect the idea was probably a temporary sedative to allow me to focus on the real purpose of this interlude. I DO want to see New Hampshire and Vermont, and I will. I just don’t feel a compelling urge to do it now.

So, on went the day. I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I was returning to New Mexico for lack of a better plan, figuring that I could get to work on stashing money for this winter’s trip south.

The problem was that there was only ONE bus from Denver toward Albuquerque per day, when there used to be FOUR, and I‘d missed it. That meant I had to hang out at Eric’s, or in the woods, until morning. I tried to contact Greyhound to inquire about the AAU “Americanos Americana” line that they list on their website. It goes to Albuquerque, with a stop in Santa Fe, at 6:30 every evening. However, that route does NOT seem to offer the option of getting OFF the bus in Santa Fe! I got no answer during the entire 40 minutes I tried to contact them. This coupled with Greyhound’s blatant disdain for ANY other kind of customer service, AND the fact that they were raising their fares AND cutting their routes … I began to become irritable. (Shocking I know) I used to enjoy Greyhound, despite the fact that I seem to be the ONLY one! Now it just seems like cattle- car service.

I finally gave up and decided to try to call my trucker- friends, Ken and Cesar, to see if by chance they were near, or would be near, Denver. I got a hold of Ken and was amazed, shocked, and floored by the fact that he was back in Idaho, and on his way back to Tampa. Through Denver. THE NEXT DAY. He told me that he was headed through Nashville to drop off a load, and that I could either ride there, or all the way to Tampa if I liked. I had no clue what to tell him; he said to get in the truck and decide on the way.

I was NOT returning to Santa Fe. This phase of the trip would continue.

The term coincidence was mentioned, and then brutally mocked. This made this Denver ‘experience’ feel like a longer, drawn out rerun of McCammon, and not just because it would again be Ken that I was leaving with. Denver was a bit of a struggle this time, mostly of my own cause. I spent the day stressing about ‘what I’m going to do’, and again, the solution presented itself- in its own time. I didn’t talk a lot about this, but it occupied my mind for most of the night. A lesson I just can’t seem to learn.

Ken set into motion a strange, quick moving chain of events. I had already finished packing and arranging a ride with Eric to his house, then Chris and I devised a plan where I would serve as a Bivy Guinea Pig. For those that don’t know, a bivy is essentially a waterproof sleeping bag cover that also covers your head. They usually weigh about a third to a quarter that of a normal tent, and take MUCH less space. The downside is, of course, that you can’t sit up, nor can you place the pack INSIDE with you, meaning that a more elaborate rain- fly system is needed to keep it from getting water- logged in the inevitable downpour.

We walked down to REI and put an Outdoor Research ‘Alpine’ 4- season bivy on his credit card. REI’s got the best return policy possible. If you’re not satisfied for any reason at ANY time, bring it back for a full exchange or refund. (I pity the price- gauging ’local’ outdoor- store in Santa Fe when the REI finally gets built!) I could take it east, get rained on, and if my review was satisfactory we would get another before South America. If it blows, return it with no damage done. A fine plan indeed.

I had called & sent emails to two friends: Kim in Nashville and Nikki in Tampa. I had a pretty good indication of how this was going to go after I called Nikki and someone, who sounded an AWFUL lot like her, answered but said that they weren't Nikki and didn't know who she was! I had left Kim a voicemail, and she returned the call on the walk back from REI. She said I could stay with her for a day or two on Nashville, and to just let her know if I decided to. Nikki emailed me back later claiming that her number had NOT changed, yet no one had called and she didn't know what I was talking about! O...K then.

Removing the tent made a huge difference. Suddenly the backpack was not only lighter, but suddenly cavernous! I could now downgrade the pack, but thought it’s better to have too much room than not enough. Also, I could add another pair of pants and STILL be lighter. As I was about to leave for Eric’s, we weighed the pack in at 43#. Considering I left Denver on May 20th with the same pack weighing 55#, I’m quite thrilled. I also discovered that, for the first time since HIGH SCHOOL, I was below 160# myself! I have dropped 45 pounds in the last 15 months, and 30 in the last 4 alone. Yes… I AM proud, thank you.

Chris and I said our goodbyes and it was off to Eric’s place after a trip to McDonald’s and to the Skylark Lounge on Broadway for some PBR and a final rant- fest. This is in the neighborhood we lived in when we left Denver last summer, and it was nice to be back there hanging out. I love Capital Hill too, but it’s a bit ‘hip’ for me.

We got back to Eric’s place, and since Ken wasn’t going to be arriving until 4:30- ish the next day, I had one more day to work. I slept on his floor… and like a stone.

10/15/06: Bike Tour- Denver Update 4

Bruno finally got here last night, after spending nearly 60 hours on a bus! Crossing the border was uneventful, after that dealing with Greyhound's profound lack of customer service was the biggest challenge. The bus got to Denver on time after a six hour customer service related delay in Kansas City, and we were able to be there when he arrived.

Now it's a matter of waiting for the bike to arrive, so we'll have most of the week to get acquainted and come up with a rough idea for the 'plan'. Not much else to do until then, so we'll take him up into the mountains either tomorrow or Tuesday, and basically just hang out for a few days. We get along well, but the anticipation of getting on the road is getting difficult for me. I've tried not to bombard him with too much, although the thoughts of the trip pretty much dominate my mind these days!