8/17: Elmira and Corning, NY

When Tuesday dawned, I was far from certain about getting to Ohio for the week’s-end rendezvous with my brother. Casey & Julia had dropped me in a great spot as far as shade, camping, and a truck stop. The problem was no traffic! It reminded me of '08's Mormon Black Hole near Pocatello!

By 9am, I had broken camp, repacked, returned with water & coffee, and hoped to quickly pass Elmira, which Julia had aptly described a bit “shady”; a vibe I’d noticed both with Alex and in ‘09 with Chris & Stacey. It seems the best of Elmira's attributes is that it is a gateway to either New York or Pennsylvania!

8/16: Tioga Center, NY- The Good, Bad, and Bizarre

Monday’s 6am alarm never had a chance to ring, deferring instead to the ominous chimes of thunder at 5:45. The skies had offered a temporary reprieve, so I hustled to re-pack and sprint out of the woods to the truck stop to ride out what seemed to be impending dramatic weather. The morning’s weather would prove to be an accurate thumbnail for the day!

Two hours, three pots of coffee, and a steak-and-eggs breakfast later, the storms had skirted Central Square, the camera, cell phone and I all had a full bellies, and a all seemed prepared and ready for a day-long push toward Binghamton then east toward Erie & Cleveland. My hope was to find a cannonball all the way thru Syracuse right away. When Liz pulled over (another single woman!) 10-minutes later in what appeared to be her combination commuter/ farm vehicle, it seemed to be a modest uneventful 10-mile start to the day.

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.

7/7: The Dalles- La Grande, OR

I was right not to remove the sleeping bag. I awoke at about 4:45 to the sight of another train passing by very slowly, with me in full sight only saved by the fact that it wasn't fully light yet. A quick scan of the area quickly showed that we were pulling into a train yard. This bothered me immensely! Like everyone, I've heard the horror stories about the 'bulls'; Railroad Security people who will beat you to a pulp and maybe, the urban legend goes, shoot you.

We quickly began to try to make ourselves as hidden as possible, but being on the outside of a car, that wasn't very effective. It basically boiled down to hopping onto the side of the car on the opposite side of human eyes. The train NEVER broke 35 mph, and the rail on which we stood was pretty wide, with had- hold to use so it wasn't scary. Kind of fun at first, but that would be something we'd be doing quite frequently through the day.

After we were dodging the yard workers for a short time, the train started to move a short distance out of the yard, and we were thinking we were back on our way. But just after we got out of the main section, our little "Stop n Go Special" stopped and STAYED stopped. This was at around 5am, and by 5:30 we'd decided to get off the train and hide in some of the sagebrush, OFF the train, in case someone came along.

Then we waited....

and waited...

By 7:30 or 8:00 I felt comfortable enough in my little hiding place, and had seen very little activity near us so I rolled some cigs, arranged all me stuff for a quick re- boarding then crawled under a bush into some shade and must have slept for at least an hour and 15 minutes uninterrupted by anything.

Around 10 or 10:15 I heard Rich saying in a loud whisper "Dude, get up... it's leaving!"

After 5+ hours--- it was finally moving again. Just like some of my Amtrak trips!

The joy of moving again was short- lived. It would seem that this train was meant to stop at least every 15 minutes, and would RARELY get over 20- 25 mph. ALL DAY LONG!

Stop...

Wait...

Go slow for 15 minutes...

Stop...

Repeat...

We eventually figured out where we were, and how little progress we were making! By 3pm, we had been on the train for 18 hours, and had gone barley over 200 miles! It was easy, for me anyhow, to remember that I had paid nothing so couldn't really complain, but Rich was having difficulty with that concept. He had been a pretty good travel partner to this point, but about now began the incessant bitching! And whining... Yeah, the progress sucked and it was frustrating, but you TRAIN HOPPED FOOL! Do you expect a sleeper car on a non- stop? It was about here that I figured I'd get to La Grande, and resume my trip... MY way!

La Grande eventually came. To our great relief. We hopped off the train from No- Progress Hell, and proceeded to find a gas station to get some, water and COFFEE! I'd been plagued by headaches all day. I initially attributed them to a lack of caffeine, but in retrospect it may have been Rich vocally menstruating. Not sure to this day.

It was here that the day provided me with one of the coolest moments of the trip, and essentially slapped me back into line mentally.

I was filling my coffee cup at the gas station, and just getting ready to go pay for it when a guy walks in and tells me that he had been waiting for us outside, and asked if we were travelers. I thought it a silly question, since I was carrying a 50# pack, but let that go. I said yes, and he asked "Are you okay on money? Do you have enough to get food?" Of course money has been a nagging problem for a couple weeks, so I told him I wasn't really sure; not an outright lie! I wasn't!

Then he hands me $5.

He said that he had done alot of this, and wanted to return some of the help HE'D received along the way. I was dumbfounded, but not totally surprised.

Rich came out of the restroom, I paid for my coffee and Mt. Dew (love my caffeine) then told him about it when we began walking toward the McDonald's, and it's Dollar Menu, the guy had told me how to find.

I thought about splitting it with Rich, but I decided not to. He had been continuing his whining since we got off the train, and he obviously had a mild disdain for the town and the people here. Maybe life in general, but either way, if he wants to put out that energy let him; I'll get my 3 Double Cheeseburgers, fries, and another coffee and have even nicer things to say about the fine people in Oregon and La Grande in particular.

On the way to McDonald's I told Rich that I was done with the train hopping. I enjoyed it immensely at night, but having to hide from people all day was draining and I really hated that. The best part of my trip is that in addition to spectacular scenery and cheap travel, I've met some spectacular people, and the guy at the gas station came along at the perfect time to remind me of that, and place Rich in stark comparison with him. I was now hoping Rich would go away. I even thought about telling him so, but figured I'd see if his attitude improved first. I liked the guy when he wasn't imitating the He- Bitch.

We got to McDonald's and ate at about 6:00. From there I decided to head up to the I-84 on- ramp and see about catching a ride. i told Rich he could come along and see how it went with two people, or go catch his train. He was terribly conflicted and really couldn't decide what to do.

I could empathize with that! I even offered him the use of my dice.

He came along, and when we went to sit down, lo and behold, along comes the first State Trooper of the trip! He asked what we were up, we told him we were trying to catch a ride, and he said something to the effect that this was a great place to do it, and in fact HE had gotten from Portland to La Grande in about 8 hours once. He wasn't really harassing us as much as checking on us, although he did ask for our ID's. He wrote everything down, but didn't run anything. I thought that was odd, but whatever. Normally I have a real problem with searches without probable cause, and figured I may even go to jail because of my refusal to submit to an identity search because some ego- driven cop just wants to harass me. This guy wasn't coming off that way, and seemed genuinely interested in what we were doing.

We must have spent 20 minutes chatting with Trooper Madsen on the side of the road, and came away with clear understandings of the hitching and camping laws in Oregon. He even told me of a perfect place to lay out the bedroll that night, and informed me that walking up the interstate was just fine in Oregon. "This aint Washington" he said.

We sat there for probably an hour after the trooper left, and then Rich was heading off to explore his training possibilities. We shook hands, exchanged the obligatory promises to stay in touch, and he was on his way. I was a little sorry to see him go, but not entirely. I was rather enjoying the solitude now, and figured catching a ride with be much easier alone!

I called Shalain, and while I was chatting with her, I look over and guess what...

No, not a ride.

Rich.

He's back.

He said he ran into a possible ride with some people who were trying to decide rather or not they were going toward Idaho or Washington. Apparently they said if it turned out to be Idaho, they'd swing by the ramp.

So, Rich was back and seemingly ready to hitchhike. He threw his thumb in the air and was pretty animated about it. Borderline obnoxious, but he got some smiles and waves from people and made thumbing a bit more interesting for awhile.

But no rides.

I decided to bed down at about dusk, and told Rich he could hang out we could get to the library on Tuesday and try it again; whatever. He decided to stay, and even went and bought a could of 40 oz. beers for us to drink. We got to talking a bit, and I found out a bit more about him and possibly why he tends to come off as angry.

Again, I can empathize.

It felt great to lie down on something soft and the idea of a good night's sleep REALLY appealed to me after no sleep on the train. I had a long talk with Shalain about some things, and came up with an ambitious outline for a plan... I also chatted with Chris about some of the metaphysical aspects of this, which seem to get cut off in some sense when I'm too domesticated.

Just as I was about to doze off, I head a loud cracking of a branch, and shot up thinking someone was coming down to say hello... metaphorically of course.

To my shock, it was a DEER. We were camped out in a little tree grove between the on- ramp & the I- 84, and there were 2 or three deer just milling around in there. They didn't seem to mind us being there much. A few minutes later I say another one, this one a larger buck on the other side of the tree I was under... maybe 6-8 ft. away from my feet. I tried to dig out the camera, but the only pic I could get was from about 12- 15 ft.

A nice way to fall asleep: visited by deer and listening to music.