2010: The Beginning

With most of the rest of the world, 2010 began quietly for us in Boise. Benefiting from her nearly 12-hours of sleep, Lynette was up and off to the Dilliards sale by 7am while the rest us were still snug in our beds... with Rum Runners and Champagne preparing to beat on our heads. I say "our" clearly knowing that I was likely the sole sufferer not named Mike or Lynette. I need the illusion-of-companionship at times. That being said, Shalain too was unable to function due to a massive hangover. I can't even fathom how she drinks like she does. Perhaps a meeting is in order?

8/29: Canadian Express: Bozeman, Butte, & Boise

Considering its beginning and end, this would be one of those monumental days.

I was lazily unrushed after waking up, tinkering around taking pictures of everything from my nest, to an inchworm that had found refuge on my water bottle. I've seemed to learn to tune in to my senses, and when I suddenly felt an urgency to pack up, get coffee, and out to the ramp, that's exactly what I did although, after five hours of nothingness the night before, I had no logical reason to be in a rush.

Saturday, however, was NOT Friday.

I was at the exit ramp no more than five minutes when Don stopped in front of me. This was the first time I can recall a car doing this. The second thing I noticed was that this fancy van had Ontario plates. These were both good signs. He had obviously picked up hitchers before, had a smile painted on his face, and I have had phenomenal success with foreign rides dating back to Florian (German) and Eric (French) in '08.

I instantly knew I was going to like Don. He was an original 60's hippie and on his way from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario to Nevada for Burning Man; a pilgrimage he made every year. There are two Sault Ste. Marie's. One in the upper peninsula of Michigan, and the other directly across the border. This gave us the immediate connection of familiarity, since I had visited Sault Ste. Marie, MI. When Don asked why I was going to Bozeman (my sign), I replied, "Because it's on the way to Boise." His reply changed the entire complexity of my immediate future. He too was going to Boise to meet friends, then continuing on to the Burn... and I was welcome to ride along the entire way if I liked. He had been driving a long time, and simply wanted some conversation to help pass the time. Billings to Boise? In one ride? Holy Shit.

The offer was incredible, but I still wanted to try to connect with Michele in Butte first, if I could. I was in no hurry to get to Boise because no one knew I was coming, and I had no idea when I would ever be back to Montana. I sent an immediate text and email to Michele, hoping she happened to get to the Continental Divide to get cell service by the time we were to Butte- a couple hundred miles away. If I heard nothing from Michele by then, I'd be contacting my sister, Lynette, to tell her that if she was around we could finally meet each other face- to- face for the first time! I had not set a time for my arrival, not knowing myself when I would get there, and hadn't talked to her in a couple months. She just had no idea where I was.

The ride thru Bozeman to Butte was one of the best to date. Don and I chatted about everything from history, to politics and sociology, to spirituality and conspiracy theory. He was an extremely intelligent, insightful, and aware individual, and it seemed that we always had something to add to the other. I was particularly interested in his political views, since he was Canadian, and was intrigued that he had extensively studied Roman history and viewed the US as running the same road. He found the entire health care "reform" debate laughable, and the opposition to socialized medicine as a simple case of special interest trying to keep control of the coffers. Being Canadian, however, he seemed convinced that government was the answer to most problems, which of course, with me in the car, led to healthy debate! The more I have discussed these topics, the more convinced I am that the best solution for this country, right now (in lieu of a clean swep of all politicos) is the neutering of government, and limiting its influence to as great a degree as possible.

Don was also a musician, and claimed to have been in a rather successful local band, The Pavement Artists, in Sault Ste. Marie. We also shared an acquaintance there: City Commissioner Ray Bauer, who was once in radio and the man who hired me at WRKR in Kalamazoo. We had a very nice discussion on music, and I don't believe there was a lull of more than a minute.

Around Bozeman, Montana becomes Montana. The Rocky Mountains come into view, the climbs become steep, and the views incredible as you approach Butte and the statue of Mary watching over the small city. Don stopped at a Flying J south of Butte as both a pit stop, and a favor to me to give Michele a few more minutes to get my messages. We got snacks and coffee, and stretched for about 45-minutes before accepting fate and moving south toward Idaho, and VERY familiar grounds along our new road: I-15.

I soon received a call from Lynette thru our sister, Shelly, and let her know that we planned to be in her backyard in just a few hours. I hated that I was giving such short notice, but she and her husband seemed happy to (finally) have me. I quickly thanked God, and as we crossed into Idaho, Don and I had resumed our chatathon.

Idaho Falls came and went, and soon I saw familiar sights. My 2008 route had taken me across southern Idaho, and as we passed through Pocatello I began to point to significant spots that I had enjoyed so much... although at the time, I sometimes didn't realize it! "There was the spot where Z had picked me up... I crossed the Snake River here... I slept there." Pretty soon, as dusk approached, we happened to gassed up at the Flying J that made them my favorite truck stop: Jerome/ Twin Falls. The spot where Jack dropped me off. This was, obviously, quite cool for me and I came to realize how much I had enjoyed Idaho, and the unexpected nostalgia last year's trip had generated! I was very glad we did this in the daylight.

Around 10pm, with Don fading, we were entering Boise as witnesses to an intense, and dry, lightning storm. Don and I found the spot Lynette had asked us to meet her, and after grabbing a shitty, expensive espresso all that was left to do was wait for the moment when I would finally meet the last of the still "unknown" sisters...

7/12: Pocatello- McCammon

I woke up rather late beneath the bushes huddled under my raincoat for protections from the sprinkler and the chilly night. I packed up quicker than normal because I was unusually close to the exit ramp, and rather than being in a depression in the terrain, I was on a small hill, which put me in plain view to Pocatello’s Saturday morning traffic.

Then it was off to the Flying J gas station. I got my 65 cent coffee refill and sat down outside hoping the backpack would help to strike up a conversation leading to a ride to at least the truck stop in McCammon. I got half of it; the conversation. There was a couple of trucks filled with Boy Scouts returning from camping in the Tetons’, but headed west; toward Rupert. I would not be going back there!

I had become fixated on the REAL Flying J in McCammon, and hoped getting there would help me decide: Montana or Denver. (Still undecided!)It had become clear, and did not escape me, how fearful I still was. Montana, or anywhere but Denver carried with it risk. Denver was safe and within reach. My fear was overpowering my sense of adventure and clouding my judgment; preventing me from leaning on experience. I KNEW I’d gone through all of this before in San Francisco and that there was very little difference between then and now, but just couldn’t get the clarity needed to allow that experience, and meeting Eric & Marine, guide me. I would not REALLY be able to see that until much later.

After an hour, I made my planned trip to the Wal Mart Supercenter, conveniently located directly behind the gas station, to get food and cigarettes and at the upswing on the indecisive cycle, thinking Montana. I went directly to the canned food section grabbing some salmon, off- brand Beefaroni, and the staple: Pork & Beans. I also picked up Ibuprofen, razors, and a couple of Clif bars.

The Clif bars had all but been eliminated by now due to cost. Some place charge as much as $1.85 for each one, and while they are great for energy and convenient, I was spending in the neighborhood of $20 a week on them; something I could easily eliminate, or at least drastically cut back on. Wal Mart had them for $.75 making it a difficult decision not to get a whole box!

I was a great curiosity at Wal Mart. I guess people are not used to seeing a fully loaded backpacker come through doing his shopping. The looks! It was curiosity mixed with utter amazement at the size of the pack and my appearance. I took no small pleasure in this. Kids were the best! I overheard one kid saying to his dad, “He looks like Survivorman!” I got a real kick out of that because Survivorman (Les Stroud) is my favorite TV show, but I also felt a bit ashamed! I doubt Les would have been plagued by the asinine, fabricated, mental drama I had created over the last 24 hours!

On the way out, I realized that I had forgotten my tobacco (horrors!), so had to go back in to the ‘tobacco line’. At the register, I slowly began to recognize the young man working it! It was the kid driving the overheated- minivan in Jerome! I could not believe it, but after a moment of reflection… I could. He remembered me and said, “This is all the farther you’ve gotten?” I just shook my head not repeating what I was thinking. “Why the HELL didn’t I hit YOU up for a ride when I had the chance?” That was one of the odder events of the trip so far. Eerie. It was as though the universe is mocking me saying, “See! I tried to help you, DUMBASS!” I walked out of there shaking my head dumbfounded.

The plan was to sit down outside, pack my new loot, and then head to the I-86 on- ramp to try to score a ride to McCammon. There was, thankfully, a different feel to the day and I felt optimistic that I’d have success at getting there and perhaps beyond.

I was walking past some lawn furniture that Wal Mart was hocking, and sitting there was a large, tough- looking young man who, despite looking like he belonged on the cage- fighting circuit, was quite friendly and asked what I was up to. I thought he had the right idea and I would become another person demonstrating the comfort and versatility of this quality Wal Mart lawn ornamentation. I began packing and chatting with Trevor about the California and Oregon coasts and he got particularly interested when I got to the part about the train. Funny thing about that train… it seems to be the one story I have that garners the most attention, even though to me, after the initial euphoria, at the time it was no big deal; even something of a disappointment.

He asked where I was going next, and when I said I was trying to get to the Flying J truck stop in McCammon he lit up and said he and his friends were going right by there on their way to Lava Hot Springs. They were going out there to drink beer and ‘play on the river’, and said he would call his friend to see if I could hitch a ride with them. After some creative ways of generating gas- money: no problem. I felt bad that I could not really offer them anything, but that was the reality of it.

Trevor seemed like a decent dude, but he off- handedly would talk about how he would be going to jail on Monday because of a failure to pay his probation officer. This left me mildly concerned, and I spent a few moments creating my now- famous imaginary scenarios that conclude with me in a bloody heap out in the desert, minus my wallet and backpack. I can be a creatively disturbing cuss. I caught myself slipping into Paranoid Bitch role again, I quietly, but severely chastised myself, and felt quite at ease when his friend Dustin and his girlfriend emerged from Wal Mart. It helped to remember how much of a tool I had felt like after the Boise ride.

I again declined to load my pack into the trunk, which is just a good policy if you can help it, instead keeping it on my lap in the front seat as we set off toward the Real Flying J, 25 miles south of the I-86/ 15 interchange. These were just some kids off to have some good, mildly clean fun. They reminded me of people I would have hung out with if I was a bit younger, and for a while, I missed those days! Drinking beer, basking out in the sun, and hoping you didn’t get hurt... at least not too bad! I even thought about tagging along with them for the day to experience a REAL Idaho Saturday night, but decided against it, in favor of trying to get my head put back on straight and getting my indecision under control. In retrospect, going with them and NOT thinking about it may have been exactly the tonic I needed, but I will never know for sure.

Trevor (the bald guy), Dustin, and the mystery girl dropped me at the truck stop after quite the enjoyable and informative ride. I learned quite a bit about the area and found it to be not unlike Hillsdale, where I grew up. Just less trees! I got a picture of them, and they went on their way while I began to survey the Flying J I had been so hell-bent on getting to.

It was definitely a ‘real’ truck stop. About the same size as the one in Jerome, and seemed to have good traffic coming through. It was also located literally ON US-30, so I could indeed go either way: Montana or Denver. Even to Utah if I could find a ride through it, or at least to a truck stop that may serve as a haven shielding me from fascists and Mormons!

I sat outside for a bit and then went into the trucker’s lounge to write and charge the cell. I was disengaging, and if you would have asked me why I could not have answered. I just felt like that was the right thing to do. I had reached the point where I HAD to begin that process of reflection, self- examination, and the processing of events that I needed back in Fruitland. There were no intermittent destinations to help me to procrastinate the inevitable. THIS was it. So, there I sat writing, thinking, drinking coffee.

The weight of the money- issue became THE significant problem. So much so that at times it factored into EVERY detail of my thought process. Like the fog on the coast, I could not see through it.

There were times that I was SURE the trip was over; even for good and that, I was destined to be back in Santa Fe, even if it were via Denver for a short time. The thought of going back to find work seemed to lead only to my contrived inevitable: quitting.

Yet, through all of this negativity, there were examples of clear recollection fighting to escape.

I remembered the conflict I had with myself in San Francisco- again. Deciding to enter the Headlands was obviously a bigger decision than I even realized at the time. It also reminded me of one of my favorite questions to ask yourself, “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?” I had asked myself in San Francisco, “Would you have traded meeting Florian and his family for anything?” Of course not. Then why eliminate the adventure up the road to Oregon? That is what had reset my brain in California and led to Eric and Marine 3 days later, but STILL…it was not working here.

During the day Shalain surprisingly pointed out, or rather reiterated, something that had been obvious to me until this point. Things ALWAYS work out. Things come along at the right times. I had seen this, and now believed it. Friar had seen and experienced it on his cross- country walk. Shalain now even believed it! Nevertheless, for me then, it was impossible to lean on. It seemed that my faith in not only that, but myself, was beginning to fail. I was fully aware of the attitude changes of the past couple of days and wondered if I could rely on myself to keep a clear head, make good decisions, and follow through.

A nasty rabbit hole I had descended in to!

Fear and Impatience won Saturday’s battle, even though I KNEW for sure that, for whatever reason I was SUPPOSED to be here. Even though I could see the forest through the trees, I didn’t want to just accept that it was there. I had taken 10 steps back: trying to intellectually, and institutionally manhandle the situation; something I knew better than to try to do. I was painfully re- learning a most valuable lesson. An important lesson was being bonded into my brain.

Things got progressively worse as the day went on, into the night. I had found a table outside where I could sit, relax, smoke, write… whatever… and hope for a ride. I sat there thinking, lost in my own head until I came to the realization of the obvious: the source of my frustration was… myself.

It was not ‘moneys’ fault. It was MINE for losing sight of the original vision and getting giddy about how much fun I was having. It was my OWN damn fault if I had to quit. It was my OWN damn fault if I could not make the decisions I wanted to make NOW because of foolish spending all along. I was not frustrated or mad with anyone but my own damn self!

Not even the Mormons! Well, maybe a little...

That realization came slowly, and as my mood began to lighten with both acceptance of this AND a developing stubborn, ornery, resolve to “fucking fix it!” things began to slowly return to normal. My thinking went away from self- pity, “woe is me!” to lessons and solutions.

Shortly after all this began, I found a potential ride with a trucker. He was going to Salt Lake City in the (Sunday) morning, and while SLC did not thrill me, I had begun to alter my thinking back to taking things as they came. The driver said he was leaving at 5am, so I said I would be there at 4:30.

With that, a very trying, troubling day came to a merciful end. I walked over to the other side of the truck- parking, set up the nest, set the alarm, and tried to get a few hours sleep before my ride to Salt Lake. I had trouble sleeping as I thought about the course of the day. Lying there, I began to reclaim a bit more responsibility for myself, and the fact that I control the future of this trip. I concluded that this day, as unflattering (and embarrassing to write about) as it was, was going to be one of the most important of ANY I will have, as long as this lasts.

7/11: Pocatello- "Z" and a Reckoning

This day I was prepared for. In fact as I went to bed I resigned myself to the fact that I may be sitting right there, at the Albion exit, for perhaps MORE than just a day. I was NOT going to repeat the mistake of Jerome. I would be getting to Pocatello, or grow roots right there!

I awoke earlier than I probably should have, 7:45, considering how tired I was. On some level, I was subconsciously prepared for the day and wanted to get going ASAP. I went over to the now- open Shell station to begin the day with some coffee as planned, study a map, and do some writing. There was a rather attractive, very friendly, almost creepy, cashier working that morning with whom I become acquainted through the day.

I sat there for a couple of hours writing and charging the cell phone, not really in a big hurry to get on the on- ramp to nothing. I did however get out there, at about 10:30, and began receiving the same blank, fearful stares as the day before. This went on until 1:45 when I trekked back to the Shell for more coffee and the hope that I would be able to MAYBE converse my way into a ride. No such luck, but I did wind up chatting a bit more with Heather. The fact that she was nice (not so creepy now) gave me SOME hope that there were nice people around there.

I probably should clarify something, since I have been assailing eastern Idaho quite heavily! The people there ARE nice. They are not the pricks that perhaps I have led you to believe. They are in- fact very friendly, and will chat with you at the drop of a dime. They seem quite down to earth and personable, just as they did in the western part of the state... until you get on the highways and put out the thumb! It was rather difficult to remember the kindness at times though; perspective. Foreshadowing. I also had stopped even bothering trying to thumb cars with Utah plates. If they were out here, they were going to Utah most likely anyhow!

After chatting with Heather, and learning that she got off work at 3:00, I walked slowly back to my spot. Same results. At about 2:50 I was just about to enact my long shot plan: ask Heather for a ride to the I-84/ 86 split. That would have been foolish, but I was beginning to wonder if I was REALLY stuck there. It seemed like an eternity after my luck 2 days before, but in retrospect, I was mentally- bundling everything that had happened since then and projecting it onto Friday! Dangerous waters to navigate.

Just as I was about to venture back to the Shell station, the skies opened, the seas parted, lightning rained down from the Heavens... use any biblical reference you like, I had a ride! AND... it had UTAH plates! What the hell?

He wanted to be called ‘Z”; would not tell me his real name. He appeared to be a younger guy of about 25 or 26, had a rather thick accent, had a dark complexion, so I assumed he was Mexican. He said he was heading home... to Ogden, Utah. I really wanted off that on- ramp, so I asked him if he’d take me as far as the 84/ 86 split; again rolling the same dice that came up craps the day before. The split was only 5 miles up the road, but I was happy. I had even considered walking there the next day and was beginning to see how the Hippie had walked 25 miles a few days ago.

I got the “something told me to stop” story again. He was different. Different- good. I learned that he was on the verge of losing everything due to his inability to find work in Utah, and that he had just ‘gone for a ride’. Somehow, at this point, I was leaning toward Denver (indecisiveness!), and he told me that he’d been considering moving there, but knew nothing about it. I told him I had lived there for 2 ½ years and he became quite interested in what I knew. He offered to take me to the next exit past the 84/ 86 split, and thank God. There was NOTHING there at that interchange but highway. I would have had no access to water had I been stuck there. I also had done my homework. I knew that the next exit was something like 25 miles up the road. I nestled in and began chatting with this VERY interesting person.

Z was not Mexican or anything close. His family had moved to the US from Afghanistan in 1986 after a Russian missile hit their neighbor’s house. On top of that, he wasn’t so young. He was in his mid 30's, and he was eager to talk about the philosophy of life, its purpose, all of that. He was in the process of losing everything he had worked toward chasing the “American Dream”. House, car, everything. And it is the third time it has happened. He’s Muslim, so he defined it as God’s will, but I interjected my own thoughts on the matter. He was not the dogmatic Muslim we are indoctrinated to believe make up the entire faith. He was VERY open to other ideas, opinions, and possibilities. He simply used the Muslim teachings as his foundation.

We talked about freedom, freewill v. fate, even Thoreau’s thoughts on freedom equating to the things we can do without; as opposed to the things we’re tethered to... physically OR mentally. I had THAT discussion knowing I was failing miserably in that respect; at least failing to make progress. Z by- passed the next exit... and the next... and the next...

Near the end of the ride, he quoted Mohammad as saying something to the effect of “Live your life as a traveler”. He said it was that that had made him stop; I reminded him of it. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but was honored.

I came away from that conversation feeling much better about things, and I had a new appreciation for the idea that people are people. Governments and religions fuel divisiveness, not individuals.

NO! That does NOT mean you can call yourself a “World Citizen” . . . hippie.

Soon we were on the southern fringes of Pocatello when he finally HAD to stop for gas. I had told him I would have ridden all the way to Denver with him if either of us had the money, and I meant it. I got a picture; he bought me a liter- bottle of Cherry Coke, and then was headed back toward Ogden. I laughed quite loudly when I realized yet ANOTHER foreigner had come along to treat me better than my own people... and this guy was a MUSLIM! From AFGHANISTAN! The irony of it all... I thought we were the Evil Satan or some silly shit like that.

This gas station at was desolate and had no traffic whatsoever, so armed with my cold bottle of tasty Coke: to the on- ramp . . . briefly. It too had no traffic, so after about 5 minutes I was walking a new interstate: I- 86, which connects I-84 and I-15. I still have not figured out WHY exactly it is an interstate. It’s only in Idaho as far as I can tell. Anyhow...

I was of course hitching, but had fully learned by now the futility of hitchhiking the interstate itself. Traffic volume and speed. There is too much traffic for people to stop safely, and even if they wanted to, it would take almost 1/4 mile to do it and then they would have to wait for me to catch up. It just was not going to happen at around 5:00- 5:30, but it DID make me feel better!

After a few miles, I hopped a fence to the frontage road, which appeared to follow 86 all the way into Pocatello. Shortly after, I came to a little truck stop that had two wonderful things: cardboard and a shade tree. I re- packed a bit, ate a little something and made a new sign: “I-15: Montana”. Indecision: it blows!

I situated the sign on the pack where the few trucks that had gathered could see it, and dozed off for about an hour and a half. It was beautiful beneath that tree! The weather had not been quite as hot; upper 80's, but it was still nice to be out of the sun.

I awoke to the sound of the phone, and Shalain calling. I was groggy, needed coffee, and wanted to get back on the road hoping to get to that magical point: US-30.

US-30 had been with me since Portland, but Pocatello is where it breaks away and heads east into Wyoming and joins I-80 toward Cheyenne. If I were to avoid Utah AND go to Denver, this was going to be the place I would hang a right. At least I thought. I had not looked at the map closely enough... but that’s not important now. The important thing was to make a decision on which way I was going. Montana v. Denver. I even broke out the dice, or single die. I had done this once before when I was stuck between the northern and southern routes of the Discovery Trail in Colorado. It had come up ‘North’ on something like FIVE consecutive rolls. I went north. This time it was almost as clear. Odd: Montana Even: Denver. The first two rolls were three’s. Then a six. Then ANOTHER three. The dice say Montana. Let’s see what US-30 says.

I got back on I-86 and walked at a pretty good clip toward US-30, 3-5 miles up. I was feeling quite good and didn’t even realize I’d walked something like 7 or 8 miles since Z had dropped me off. Finally US- 30 came.

Here it was. I HAD to make a decision. Montana to Michigan? Denver? What would it be? I had no idea and needed some input other than my own; I was still suffering a bit from my own mental diarrhea and could not see the forest through the trees. Part of that may have been due to mental fatigue, or maybe the mental exhalation of leaving Oregon. I don’t know, but I do know that I DON’T function as well when I don’t have SOME sort of direction. I am telling you, INDECISIVENESS BLOWS! Well, this was going to be the time I would decide… at least that’s what I told myself.

Shalain and I talked for a good hour, trying to figure out money v. time- frame. How I was going to get through August if I kept going and IF I would even get thru July! It was here that my failure to remember past experiences began to haunt me, AND where I let fear reclaim control.

I had forgotten San Francisco. I had had the SAME conversation the night before I entered the Marin Headlands. The difference was that now I was closer to Denver, and I had opened it up as an option; a safety net. I didn’t realize this at the time of course. All I saw was possibly being stranded in Montana broke and being chased by Brokeback Bears. Forest through the trees Todd, forest through the trees.

The conversation ended with me calling Friar Chris to see if he could get online and price bus tickets. I had almost reverted to the person who would need a bus out of Pocatello. I had gone nearly 2,000 miles by now... and I was pricing bus tickets out of Pocatello! The pricing knocked me back into commonsensical, and even metaphysical reality. There was no way I would be bussing it to Denver, or ANYWHERE.

From the beginning the point of this has been, at its core, learning how to experience more while doing with less. I had lost sight of that almost completely, and the Happy Hitchhiker thought came to mind again. This trip was in danger of ending abruptly now only because of my failure to remember exactly WHY I was here in the first place. That pissed me off AND motivated me at the same time. It also helped me to realize how much I valued this and wanted it to continue. I was not ready to curl up and die in Santa Fe! Yet, where was the faith that the solution would present itself? I believed it would, but was I ready to REALLY put it out there and PROVE it? Not yet. A great opportunity to grow significantly was slipping through my fingers. I knew it and could see it happening before my eyes. I just was not ready for a leap of that magnitude. However, it planted seeds. Some would sprout over the next few days and some would take a bit more time.

The practical reality: I knew that I wasn’t going to get through 8/15 if I didn’t generate cash, and I now had a solid idea of what that amount was. Unfortunately that figure was the same as it had been a week ago... 2 weeks ago... back in San Francisco! For all my pontificating and philosophizing, I am a Grade- A dumbass sometimes.

I had started down I-86 again toward US-95/ Yellowstone Ave. where Google Maps had told Friar I would find a Flying J. I was now coming into the very place I DO NOT want to be while I am looking for a place to sleep: the city. Thank God, Pocatello barely qualifies. I would later discover that I’d walked about 12 miles since Z had dropped me off at 5:00 and I was still holding up ok, although rest would be good!

After about another 4 miles of walking, and about 1 million miles of mental marathoning, I finally got to Yellowstone Ave. Sure enough, there WAS a Flying J there. A Flying J gas station. NOT a truck stop. I was not sleeping there unless it was in the restroom– and that was not happening.

I asked the guy inside about what was located at the I-86/ I-15 interchange; whether or not there was a truck stop or not. I figured that since it was only another mile, I could walk the rest of the way if I knew what was there. This may have been the stupidest person I have ever met. He just could NOT process “Is... there...a ... truck stop... at ... I-15.” It was as if his ability to interact went only as far as midgetporn.com could take him, which was not far at all.

I quickly grew tired of this place and him, so I took my coffee across the overpass to the Shell truck stop. I was quite the novelty again. Walking up and down a busy cruising lane on a Pocatello Friday Night, wearing my backpack and smelling like road. I am sure ALL the ladies were hot for me. I believe one of the Denny’s dishwashers actually WAS, as he eyeing me all the way across the bridge.

**Quick! Name that movie: “I suppose it doesn’t matter that I’m NOT a homosexual?” “Shit Andy, neither are they.” (Perhaps a slight paraphrase)**

This is the scene I remember seeing in my head as I walked past that creepy little Denny’s! That and “Deliverance”: ”SQUEEALLL!”

The woman at the Shell station was no less annoyed, but much more informed and coherent than her contemporary had been. It was here that I first learned of the HUGE Flying J. Unfortunately it was NOT at I-15 as I had hoped, but 25 miles out of town on I-15 in a place called McCammon.

I now had a destination... at least for now. From there I figured I could go east OR north and find a ride there. I was stoked to have the information, so I trotted back to the on- ramp and hoped to catch a ride to McCammon. One guy DID stop, but he was headed north and smelled like a stale bottle of Night Train.

At about 1am the traffic just suddenly died. Next to no cars... anywhere. It was as if I was seeing a B- horror movie and they were running to hide from the ‘Attack of the Man Eating Mormon’. This was enough for me to call it a night.

I crossed the interstate overpass again to follow a promising tree- line just off the highway, to no avail. There was so little traffic that I crossed all 4- lanes and the median of I-86, slowly, and wasn’t even seen by anyone.

I finally found a nice little hedge row whose bushes had enough space beneath the branches for me to clear out a small space for me and the pack to be both concealed, and provide a bit of insulation through the night. Problem was it butted up against a fence that separated the right- of- way from an apartment complex, and there were still a few people up drinking. I had to be uber- quiet because I had FOUND my spot, dammit!

I was exhausted, a bit cranky, and did not care about anything but sleeping and being left alone. Once I was settled, the people left me alone all right. However, the sprinklers did not. About an hour after I had dozed off, I heard the damn things go off. I hoped against hope that they would miss me all together, but I quickly felt water hit me in the face. I was a bit perturbed to say the least. I muttered something about irrigating ‘every f-ing thing’, dug out my rain pants & jacket, covered the pack with the rain fly, and went back to sleep. I didn’t care if Noah’s very own personalized & modified ‘Epic Flood 2000 Sprinkler’ went off; I was going back to sleep.