7/10: Iowa 80- Beginning Transitions

Friday began early, but not due to any heroic effort on our part. It had been hot and muggy the night before and as 7:30 came, I awoke to the sound of wind and nearly shivering. A peek from the bivy showed what looked to be a huge thunderstorm moving in. We had nearly enough time to begin packing up and get to the shelter of the Iowa 80. We almost made it, but not quite. Shortly after having the gear secured and the rain gear on, the skies opened with one of those Midwest rains that make you want to sit on the porch just to watch. We had a porch, by God, at the truck stop. There is something about storms that make us friendlier, it’s an icebreaker we sometimes need allowing us to start random conversations with perfect strangers. It as though the common “struggle” of rain or snow helps us forget the little walls we have built.

There were few walls found at our now- familiar bench at the south side of the Iowa 80. I had conversations with several of the customers and staff, one pair of young travelers was particularly interesting. They were from Illinois, and on their way to Northern New Mexico to volunteer at the large Boy Scout Ranch near Taos. I lingered briefly in my own prejudice as one began to talk with me, wearing a tie- die shirt that said, I’m Bringing Hippie Back. Not the message that draws immediate favor from me, but he was persistent, and turned out to be a good kid. He and his friend were taking something beyond a scenic route to New Mexico; they planned to visit Yellowstone, Idaho, Utah, Nevada, and Colorado. The more the four of us chatted, the more I realized we had much in common and with that came, again, the uncomfortable reminder that I am not far removed from their ideological camp. They were far from dogmatic and obviously more interested in living life than preaching doctrine. I respected that, and felt excited for the other young man. He had never been west, and was about to be in the midst of some of the most incredible terrain in the hemisphere. I remembered how that had affected me, and wished I could be there to witness his reaction. Had their car not been full, I would have. All of us had made a nice connection by the time they left telling us several times, “If the car was bigger…!” Afterwards, I commented that this was looking like a promising day.

Walcott’s storm sirens had already gone off and once we switched perches, the weather became quite threatening. Wall clouds were approaching from the direction of Iowa City, and as they collided with the ones overhead, the sky actually began to swirl. It was quite a surreal sight, and then the floodgates opened, literally. It rained like hell for what felt like hours. I remember thinking that I had not seen a deluge like this one sustain itself, for that length of time, in years. It was remarkable, even by Iowa’s high storm- standards. Chris and I found refuge inside chatting amongst ourselves or with the constant stream of travelers waiting it out. I slightly noticed one couple walking inside arguing, but thought nothing of it. One of these people would play a role soon, but at the time, I had no clue. Once the storm ended, it was almost as though there were a resetting of a Broadway stage. Within 40-minutes, the skies were blue and we were suddenly basking in an Iowa summer sun, and almost immediately the whirlwind that defined the day began.

The “plan” all week had been to get to any point between Walcott and Omaha. There was still Eli as a possibility at this point. He was driving from near Des Moines to Colorado Springs and had indicated there may be a possibility of riding with him, but he had poignantly vanished in the last couple of days. Without Eli, the assumption was that Chris would probably get an Amtrak from Omaha to Denver, while I would most likely take Greyhound to New Mexico. In theory, we already had a ride to Omaha with Photoguy, who was driving there from Toledo. He was supposed to be leaving sometime Friday, so the idea was to see how far we could get on our own while we waited on him as a backup. If nothing resulted from hitching, we would still cross the Missouri River into Nebraska with him on Saturday. A solid “plan” (by our low standards) to be sure, except that by Friday, we had chatted with him a few times, and he began to strike me as a well meaning, yet disorganized tool. In other words, typical Craigslist.

In light of my leeriness of Photoguy, I had periodically begun to suggest contingency plans… just in case. Chris had initially expressed that he wanted to be in Denver by July 17, Angela’s birthday. Considering the facts that this was still a week away and we had been house, car, train, and bus- bound for so long, I thought it might be a good idea to get back into traveler mode and try hitching all the way to Denver down I-80 to I-76. Or perhaps even traversing the smaller state and US highways across Iowa and Nebraska using the method used in Maryland, Delaware, and New Jersey. This way, I thought, we may be able to re-tune a bit by meeting people and having some new experiences in different places for both of us. However, Chris by now had tunnel- vision, and wanted to get to Denver ASAP. These ideas would be a last resort for him, only if Photoguy failed.

All of this was almost for naught. As we were sitting in the sun, Chris ventured off to see the truck museum, leaving his pack with me. After about a half- hour, I heard, “Aww man… Denver? Fuck it. I’ll do it, man.” I had no idea what this 20- something guy was talking about, until I remembered that I had my “Denver” sign attached to my pack. This person was on his way to Boulder in a rented van, and offering a ride ALL THE WAY THERE! It quickly disintegrated however, when I told him Chris had gone off to look at the old trucks and I could not go grab him, since I was babysitting both packs. He was obviously in a hurry, and I was NOT going to suggest he drive to the museum to track Chris down when he had just offered a nearly 1,000- mile ride. He went inside for at least another 20- minutes and when he came out, he looked over seeing I was still alone, wished me luck, and drove off. I was a bit perturbed. This set the tone for the rest of the afternoon. This was #1.

We moved inside to try to re- capture lightning in a bottle but to our utter disappointment not only was Christi off, but we had seated ourselves back in "Mustang Sally’s" section! As we were chatting, between the again nearly non- existent fill-ups, Chris mentioned a crop circle website he had found, saying it was interesting and made a lot of sense. He had mentioned it before, but to be quite honest, I thought he was kidding. Crop circles? Really? When I scoffed at the idea, he became quite offended, shooting off a surprisingly snide comment regarding the premonitions that had actually manifested themselves in Michigan. Again, Really? “You’re going to mock an actual, tangible experience, something that had actually happened to ONE OF US, and compare it to conspiracy theory?” I thought. I was livid on several levels. Right or wrong, this hit one of my exposed nerves. I said nothing and tried to let it go because I don’t believe he meant to offend me, as I hadn’t him, but it was an indication of things to come. This was #2.

Leaving the restaurant, the mood of the day had abruptly changed from the happy times of that wet morning. I was building a head of steam, and genuinely getting sick of navigating what smelled, in my frustration, like egoistic neuroses. I was beginning to see Chris as a bit of a caricature that was chasing his ego’s tail, often short- circuiting and mentally- roaming like a cell phone without a tower, looking for “signs,” even if he had to create them. I know this reads outright mean, but it is what I was thinking this Friday afternoon in Iowa. I was getting quite annoyed with the perceived inability to stay focused on the present, and to take things as they come. To quote Yoda (this IS a fun exercise!), “Never his mind on where he was! What he was doing!” To me, I thought it had become abundantly clear over the last few weeks that he was probably homesick, wanting to see friends and familiar scenes. No big deal, but it seemed that he was twisting it, even to himself, to make it feel as if Denver was “calling.” Had he lost the ability to decipher between actual “signs” and obsession? Harsh? Perhaps, but I need to ask.

As we were preparing to leave the exit ramp after trying our hands at hitching again, I finally inquired about this Denver obsession and with “talking to Angela and Lorelei.” What had happened to the 17th? Were they all leaving in the next few days? Had they shut off their phones? Were they relocating Denver to the South Pacific? Or, had he manufactured it? If so, was that going to happen with Seattle? England? Perhaps even Tupelo, Mississippi if he decided he needed a goal? I also pointed out that since we had left, roles had reversed, and reminded him of the Albuquerque “side car” analogy that, not so long ago, seemed infinitely important. It was he, I reminded him, who in the weeks before we had left was excelling at staying in the moment and not looking too far ahead; able to stay grounded. I was the one that was unbearably impatient to “get going!” What had changed? "Why was it that he was now so tortured by impatience?", I wondered. The last, as it turned out, would be the important question, but we had no way of knowing the answer.

Chris’ response was an annoyed look and deafening silence, and this was enraging. Standing before me seemed to be the same impatient character that, only days before, had claimed that he “needed to get on the road” to quell his restless mind. But little had changed except for the scenery, and the fact that he couldn’t blame Michigan for it. I asked why he didn’t just take the bus or Amtrak from Michigan all the way to Denver if he was in such a rush. Nothing. Why not return to Denver, find creative housing & employment, and take “ordinary” trips to Seattle, England, Springfield… wherever? Wouldn’t this be less frustrating? Good questions, I thought, but nothing.

Once we returned to the Iowa 80, things were quiet for quite awhile. Chris was obviously lost in thought, and I was consumed in a bubbling anger that had come from now- weekly reruns of the same episode. I began to seethe on the thought that, despite the fact I had given him a free pass to stay in Massachusetts as long as he needed to, putting my own plans on hold in the mean time, Chris had been not- so- cleverly nudging me to leave Michigan after two- weeks. This despite the high- octane personal drama that, I believe it is safe to say, far exceeded his.
The fact that I did not suggest he be on his merry way after that first two- weeks in Michigan began to anger me.

And, the fact that I knew this was coming began to anger me.

The further I regressed into the previous 6- weeks, the angrier I became. I began to think I had acted like a doting housewife, complete with apron, hoping that if I stay patient, he will “change”, or if I compromise, it will make him “happy.” Fuck that. On this warm, sunny, Friday afternoon that ended with another flurry of realization brought on while pacing the sidewalk trying to control myself. I finally clearly recognized that this part of the trip had to end, NOW, when the image of the dream I’d had of hitting him again flashed before through my mind. While Chris had earlier that day rather mocked these dreams, I saw this one as a warning. I thought this was a good time to share this little detail; one I had chosen to keep silent until now!

With that disclosure Chris said rather amused, “Well, we should DEFINITELY split!” and the familiar process of clearing the air began, with an added wrinkle: We could take the coming extended down- time in Denver and Santa Fe to re- evaluate and decide if we really wanted to continue together. Again, despite everything that written here, I was not as mad at HIM as I was frustrated with myself. I was both frustrated and sympathetic to his plight, but at the same time MORE frustrated with myself for not taking control of my own situation… again. The facts that these frustrations were intensifying and becoming much more frequent were obvious indications that we each needed to focus on our independent paths, and now. It did not even occur to me at the time that perhaps we had each lost sight of what those were. Perhaps his impatience and my frustrations were symptoms of something. An exercise in hindsight with a hint of foreshadowing? Well, perhaps!

This conversation was quick & to the point, and soon enough things were back to normal; even light. We spent the evening back in the Iowa 80 Kitchen with a new waitress- friend: Sanja. She was quite cute, and had led a fascinating life. She was born in Bosnia, had fled the war when she was young, and was now living in Davenport. I learned a long time ago a very important lesson: Do not fuck with Bosnian women! I will share my stalker- story one rainy day, but for now, we had a great time laughing and joking with her until her shift ended at 11.

Considering all the rain earlier in the day, we assumed our nest was flooded, so after contacting Photoguy and learning that he was not arriving until early Saturday morning, we set the alarm and bedded down behind some reeds next to the ramp. I didn’t even bother with the sleeping bag, reverting to last year’s mindset… although the bug spray came in handy!

It is important to clarify something at this point. I have tried to tiptoe along a very fine line while recounting this particular day. I have hoped to convey the day’s vibe, while at the same time being fair. That is not easy to do because many of my reactions were unfair. Chris and I had been remarkably successful as travel partners, including on this particular day. There was no lingering animosity. Since April we have, of course, had disagreements but no real arguments and it is significant that even on this day, when both of our frustrations reached their limits, we were able to get through it productively and learn something. After reflection, I believe Friday's events stemmed from not accepting and acting on the fact that we had reached a distinct, obvious fork in the road. The first three months of this trip were self- consuming times for both of us. We each had our own agendas in our own respective places and once these ended, we were BOTH feeling like a “cell phone without a tower.” Ultimately, Chris was right to be drawn to Denver. What should have happened sooner is admitting this, in Michigan, leaving each of us to deal with our own demons. Traveling with another person can be tumultuous; considering that this is as bad as it’s been, I give us high marks!

5/26- 28: The Big Left Turn

Bash Bish Falls State Park, MA


Following the morning Internet, we were in Stacey's Subaru on our way to the Verizon store then presumably to the park which borders the Massachusetts- New York border. The "plan" was to hang out there for a day or two... or ten... then hit the state highways thru New York hitchhiking, train hopping, or whatever, for a meeting with Shelly in Delta, Ohio on or around June 13th.

Shelly had arranged her schedule as such to maximize her time off while I was in the area so we could spend as much time as possible together, take a few day trips to meet family members, and possibly even have a get- together with Daddy Dearest. I figured nearly three- weeks was plenty of time but if needed we could catch a Greyhound to Erie or Cleveland, where Shelly had said she could pick us up.

From the beginning of the trip, Chris and I had both commented that, like the trip east from Santa Fe, we both felt the distance from Massachusetts to Michigan would be covered quickly, but this Tuesday morning we were resigned to the idea we would be back on the road & in the bivies. Our "plans" were once again made a mockery, this time by Stacey.

While Chris was haggling with Verizon, Stacey and I were chatting in her car when literally out of the blue she commented that she had already arranged her schedule to have four consecutive days off beginning the following Sunday and that she had done so to give her an opportunity to "go somewhere." Why not go to Michigan? I initially thought she was kidding, but I was quickly learning that Stacey wasn't the type to "kid"; she was dead serious.

Once Chris finished his business, this new "plan" quickly took shape, and it suited every one of us. On the drive thru western Massachusetts towards Bash Bish Falls, we tentatively decided to reunite Saturday and take a leisurely drive toward the Great Lakes. Meanwhile, Chris and I could vanish into The Berkshires for a few days and just detox from society. Chris needed that after the intensity of his past month, and I was mentally gearing up for everything that was in- store for myself. Based on what I had seen happen with Chris, disappearing into the "mountains" to prepare for a few days greatly appealed to me!

After a nice hike to the base of Bash Bish Falls, that's exactly what we did. Disappear. We crossed a river and wandered into the undeveloped, and undisturbed wilderness to find a place devoid of clues of recent human activity. We quickly found the perfect spot, built a fire, and just tried to "be" for a few days. It was fantastic. Our little camp kept us completely isolated from Tuesday afternoon until we broke camp on Friday, seeing absolutely no one. No one that is except for a killer frog that gave both of a us a "Vern Moment." I mean, the fucker was vicious!

While the setting was perfect, the weather wasn't. It began raining Tuesday night and continued on and off thru Thursday... mostly on. With the natural canopy over head, we had some shelter from the brunt of it, but enough rain came thru Tuesday night for me to realize that I had made a grave mistake in the "Minimalist Bivy" from REI. Despite their claims that it was "waterproof", my sleeping bag got soaked. While quite resistant to water, is was nothing approaching "proof." I had meekly suggested building some sort of shelter before the rain had begun but laziness, again, punished me. With few breaks in the rain on Wednesday, I was going to have to deal with a damp bag. Shelter was obviously Priority 1 Wednesday morning and, with two huge green tarps, it was easy to tie them off to two trees and stay dry and snug.

We had a reprieve from the rain for most of Thursday and by Friday we were ready to leave our little Walden to connect with Stacey & confirm our planned Saturday pickup. I thoroughly enjoyed my time out in the woods, and the rain managed to accentuated it. I used the opportunity to practice building fires in the rain, which we had every night, and to refine the shelter making. We also began to process everything and discuss how events were fitting in the overall scheme. With the "Big Left Turn", Chris' phase was ending, and I could feel myself becoming a bit more assertive. Growing weary of being the passenger and impatient to get to my own stuff. Bash Bish was the perfect spot for this transitional period, and exactly what I needed. I was also happy to be heading west again, and even cautiously optimistic about the prospects for Michigan- the latter being no small thing.

5/25: Memorial Day

I love that I spent last Memorial Day in Glenwood Springs, Colorado with Leah and her family. Memorial Day 2009 was also spent immersed in someone elses family; this time, Chris'. This year in Springfield, Massachusetts. Makes me wonder where I'll be in 2010! Guatemala, anyone?

We awoke about 11am, packed up and said our goodbyes to Gus just in time for our scheduled noon- pickup from Chris' cousin. What is quickly becoming The Great Barbecue Tour 2009 continued as Amy took us to her mother's house for an afternoon spent next to the pool with his family. It was quite a relaxing day, with Our Hero again off in his own little world. I was beginning the mental preparations for our venture west beginning the next day with Stacey dropping us off at Bash Bish State Park which is adjacent to the New York state line.

From there it was off to see Chris' father, Bill. I had always thought I would love this guy. He had taught history for decades, and from what I could gather, had a wonderful social & political awareness. Unfortunately, he has been devastated by two recent strokes. Now instead of having deep, historical & philosophical discussions, I was given a front row seat as he & Chris struggled to continue re- defining their relationship. It was not an easy thing to see and it was painfully obvious that there was much left unsaid due to an inability to put thoughts to words. I got a lump in my throat after dinner as his dad simply put his arm around Chris, silently speaking volumes. I really felt for both of them, and it again selfishly conjured up that lightning bolt of perspective relating to my own father and his family.

It struck with with a brutal, honest, stark clarity. Life is too short to handicap ourselves with fear, shame, and egoistic mind- games. So much time can be lost, and once it's gone... there's no reclaiming it. I was suddenly even more grateful that the doors between my "new" sisters and I had opened over the last few months; even if it is at this point in life. One can get consumed by an anger that may stem from "stolen time", but rather than that anger offering some measure of retribution, it simply robs us of our future. All this reflection from the simple sight of seeing an incapacitated father struggling to tell his son how much he loved him. Remarkable.

We spent Monday night at Amy's house, playing on the computer and enjoying one last night in a bed before the expedition to Bash Bish Falls. The "Big Left Turn" was upon us, and now when people asked where we were going, the answer was mine: Michigan. The only questions were "how & how long!"

5/24: Springfield, MA

It's amazing how better things go when you're not hauling a hangover around. Have I mentioned that?

We awoke in late- morning and kept Lucy the Dog company while we drank the coffee Stacey had made us before heading off to work. We took advantage of one of our last opportunities to shower before heading off to parts- unknown Tuesday then made our way to the nearby Friendly's for lunch, coffee, and time killing before eventually finding myself back at Gus' for yet another barbecue.

It was here that we conceptualized an idea that is sure to make us millions. It's either a street- theater performance, or a television show to be aired on Comedy Central or Adult Swim. Working title: The Christs. It stars Jesus as the youthful, loving, stoner- hippie who has a dysfunctional relationship with his absentee father, and has never gotten over the fact that he abandoned him to the Romans. Jesus has issues. Other characters include Judas, Noah, Moses, Joseph (who is convinced Mary is cheating on him) and others. I believe we even worked Nibblitz into the pilot. Yes, a classic in the making and to think: you knew me when I wrote beneath a tarp in the woods! I wont forget you... promise.

Chris had made arrangements to have dinner with Dave's family, and I thought it best to let them have their space. Plus, I wouldn't feel comfortable in that setting and passing it up would give me a chance to hang out with Gus a bit more. Once dropped off, I grabbed a couple beers, ate some killer barbecue, and was happily people watching when I was literally drug, kicking and screaming, into a conversation with Meagan.

Meagan is a 30- year old, mixed- race, new, idealistic attorney. An oxymoron to be sure. She initially appeared to me to be in her early 20's, and I thought probably just out of college based on her ironclad leftist, cliche'- filled rhetoric. She also seemed quite fascinated by our travels, and we spent a good 90- minutes discussing my sociopolitical philosophy with race- relations sprinkles thrown on for good measure. I always enjoy conversations with those who are "highly educated", especially when they have only institutional fare to offer. Makes me happy I saved the money.

It was good conversation for the most part, but inevitably Moral Superiority came up, again. She was of the opinion that anyone who is wealthy should be REQUIRED to offer assistance to the poor or be "thrown out of society." In other words, her social ideals are of such "rich, righteous quality" that they must be imposed on others, and refusal risks banishment to the wilds. This is the same sort of dangerous moral superiority and downright self- righteousness that the left decries in the Religious Right and the very same that leads, in its extremes, to atrocities such as genocide- when applied to race. She didn't like the comparison. I didn't much care.

What I did care about, as you may have noticed, was lack of originality- of- thought and an inability (or unwillingness?) to see this glaring hypocrisy. She was cleverly (and passionately) parroting the approved talking points and ideals dictated by her cultural and ideological elites, all the while touting herself as an "individual." She was quite at home proudly quoting, almost hiding within, the slogans and "issues" of today's "Progressives." "Heath Care Now!" "Hope!" "Change!" "Tax the Rich!"

I chose to exit the conversation before it became contentious, and besides, another Chris had joined the conversation to interject sanity. This Chris is Gus' roommate and also an attorney. He was having fun picking her apart, and we even named her ideology: Meaganism. Half religion and part Ocatvianism- A moral code created by Barack, Hillary, & Meagan and punishable by death.

The next few hours saw Chris return from Dave's, and we both settled in to people watching while picking & choosing our conversations. One of which was with Lawyer Chris. I got some excellent information on how to deal with the occasional aggressive, stray swine. His advice? Never offer anything beyond the basic, general information, and if arrested NEVER speak until you've spoken to a lawyer. Also, if under suspicion of DUI, NEVER submit to tests of ANY kind including field sobriety, and SAY NOTHING! I can vouch for the last one, but Christ! where was he 15- years ago??

Neither Friar Chris or I were in a mood to get ripped, so we slowly withdrew and waited for the bash to end so we could claim the lawn and sleep. As fate would have it, I was not quite finished with Meagan. After cleaning up, we were inside sort of exhaling when the discussion again turned to politics. I believe Gus and I were discussing Obama, & when I mentioned my decision not to vote, a wave of stale cliches came sailing my way. My favorite: "Then you can't complain!" Since we were apparently dealing in pre- fabricated slogans, I used George Carlin: "I'll sure as fuck complain. You're the ones that put Fuckface in office, not me!"

I'm not sure whether it was that she takes our civic duty a bit too seriously, or if she secretly wishes to spawn with Mr. Obama, but before I could add that choosing not to vote because you support neither candidate IS a vote- of omission- she went into a (cliche- riddled) fury! Next it was the fact that I have nothing to say because "You don't pay taxes!" Taxes? Really, Nancy Reagan? Know anything about the dubious birth and history of income taxation or of the Federal Reserve? No? Then fuck you. Contrary to conventional thought, paying taxes is NOT something ordained by nature as a birthright!

You do realize that blacks were only recently given the "right" to vote, and without an "as long as they pay taxes" clause in the legislation. Should there have been? Or should everyone beneath a certain "contribution" level just shut the fuck up because they are "lesser quality citizens?"

That comment infuriated me, and at this point I was done being the "good- guest." I obviously have strong opinions on taxation, and none include the notion that they entitle anyone to citizenship. It was time to dismantle the pretentious bitch, but when I suddenly realized just how angry I had become, and how quickly, I shut down in order to keep some dignity. When you argue with a fool, others can't tell the difference.

Gus & I went outside leaving her to sit, still intact, on the couch talking her Mary Poppins-meets-Stalin nonsense. I am astounded and saddened to think that Meagan is the face of the only viable alternative ideology to Bush/ Cheney. If that's the choice I'm given, I'll never "vote" again.

Gus, Friar Chris, and I chatted for a bit and soon we were in the bivies asleep preparing mentally for Memorial Day and an afternoon with Chris's family, which was to include a final visit with his dad before we hit the road west.

5/23: Springfield, MA- Stacey

We awoke too early to suit me, but Gus had his daughter for the afternoon, and was in a rush to pick her up. To say I was hungover would be a stretch, but I surely wasn't feeling chipper.

Gus dropped us at a park near the Chicopee River, so we just reclined beneath a tree for a stretch until coffee called. As we were walking, we randomly ran into an acquaintance of Chris' from years back. He gave us a ride to an IHOP where we spent the next few hours eating and drinking coffee.

Chris had made arrangements for another of his old friends, Dave, to pick us up and we had been invited to a Memorial Day barbecue that night. The plan was for another of Chris' ex- girlfriends, Stacey, to pick us up at the barbecue around 9 so we could camp in her back yard for the night.

Once Dave arrived around 5, we were off to the liquor store so he and his girlfriend could grab supplies, and soon we were eating burgers and mingling. Dave was a guy I knew little about, other than Chris had known him since they were 5, and they used to be close friends. Chris had not seen him in years, and had just learned Dave's younger brother had committed suicide a couple of months ago.

I wasn't exactly feeling like a social butterfly as the night went on, so pretty much kept to myself while sipping a few beers and people watching. Another of Dave's brothers, Addison, and his friend, Tool, showed up and I began getting to know them a bit as Stacey showed up for the next transfer. I really took to Addison. He was probably in his early 20's, and was hyper- intelligent. He was drinking Jim Beam, straight, and talking physics. I like anyone who can mix Jim Beam and physics. He and Tool are planning a cross- country trip, so the four of us had much to talk about.

Chris and I loaded Blue and Elmo into Stacey's Subaru station wagon, and took the short drive to her tiny house only a few miles away. Despite being small, her house had a great yard, and a better vibe. I felt right at home almost immediately.

Chris & Stacey had dated years ago, in the mid- 90's and had not seen each other since. It seemed, to me at least, they may have more in common now than they did then! She had recently lived in Silver City, New Mexico, which gave us a common interest, and had apparently been fond of vanishing into the woods for weeks or months at a time, which we could ALL appreciate!

Stacey also had a VERY cool New Mexico style wood stove on her front porch, complete with a pile of wood. We put it to good use as we sat for a few hours watching the fire, talking, playing with Lucy the Dog, and taking pictures.

The chatting was easy flowing and there was no need to explain verbatim what we were doing. On some level she just got it. It had become obvious that there was a nice collective energy between the three of us, so I offhandedly suggested that Stacey drive us out to Bash Bish Falls State Park on Tuesday. Bash Bish is Chris' old hangout on the New York state line, adjacent to Taconic State Park. I figured we could all spend Tuesday hanging out, then Chris and I could begin the trek toward Michigan, or make a little base- camp, on Wednesday. Stacey must have loved the idea. She declared that she'd "tell" work she was taking the day off, and make a day of it. I liked her even more, and this was an indication of things to come. She is most definitely a free spirit who does what she feels.

Chris and I made camp in the soft grass behind her house, and this was the first night in the new bivy. It worked very well, although it is of a bit thinner material than the other. I really liked having the open- top however, and enjoyed the breeze in my face thru the night. It reminded me of sleeping outside last summer...

5/22: Springfield, MA: Alex

Chris & I left the Amtrak station on- foot for the short walk to his friend Angus's house. Chris had been telling me for the better part of a year that he and I "needed to meet" because we have similar views and opinions on social & political ideas. This has always felt like something that was an important part of the trip, and missing it by omitting Mass. would have bothered me for a long time. He also began filling me in on some of the intense family/ friend based drama he had been dealing with, and in a somber manner that I was a bit unaccustomed to seeing from him. His week in Springfield had obviously been intense.

The walk was 2- 3 miles, but we would be delayed.

After perhaps a mile of walking through some of Springfield's most "interesting" & run down neighborhoods, we were approached by a young man who, for once, was more of a spectacle than we. He was wearing a red tank top, and red balloon pants... riding a unicycle.

Yes, a unicycle.

He spoke with a thick East London accent, and was asking all kinds of questions about what we were doing because, "you never see backpackers walking the streets of Springfield!" I didn't mention that I've NEVER seen a unicyclist riding the streets of... anywhere. He looked like he belonged in the circus, and it turned out that was exactly where he was from. He had traveled around the world his entire life performing with his family: The Sardine Family Circus. Alex began telling us all about the best countries in Europe. His pick: Spain, adding that it, "Beats the fuck outta the preppie little countries." All in the thick Cockney accent. I almost died laughing at the stares coming from cars passing by. Imagine seeing two backpackers accompanied by a unicyclist who was riding down the side walk of your town! I just missed the picture, to my everlasting shame. I was too busy laughing!

He was obviously quite interesting, intelligent, full of life, and found what were were doing quite fascinating, so when he invited us to their place for a beer, we quickly accepted. This was too good to miss!

Alex's family was staying in older- model RVs parked at the home of his sister's husband, and commuted from Springfield to Boston 5- days a week performing their street circus & making a living as they apparently had done for decades. His mom and dad warmly invited us in and insisted we join them for some beef stew, easily overwhelming our meager resistance. As we ate, Alex was off to the store for Natural Light, and pretty soon we were swapping stories. Alex was eager to hear some of ours, saying he was usually the one doing the entertaining, so we went to our old stand- by: The Tennessee Drug Search. This was the beginning of one of the most profound experiences for either of us as we quickly realized that what WE had done was only "amazing" in a relative sense. After our quick blurb, he then told us his "cop" story.

They had been pulled over by the police in Spain at some point, and they had found hash on the bus. As the young cop was proudly exclaiming, "look what we found!", his brother, who along with Alex is a juggler, snatched it from his hand and played keep away. He then flipped it over his head to Alex who promptly heaved it into a field. No evidence now, eh? As the befuddled, inexperienced police officers demanded to know where the rest of it was, Alex proceeded to quickly strip naked on the side of the road then declared, "See! I ain't got nothin'!" He finished by telling us that when "backup" arrived, in the form of two older policemen, they simply laughed both at the scene before them, and at the ineptitude of their cohorts. Still laughing, they instructed the Sardines to get dressed and be on their way, assuring them not to worry about the other two officers; that they'd "have a talk with them."

Well, we had... sat... on the side ... of I-40? Yeah...

We immediately felt like amateur hour had begun, and we were the featured attraction. And it got worse. He then asked us "what we do." Were we hunting? Trapping? What did we do to earn money? Now the audience at amateur hour was obviously not impressed! When the novelty of traveling was taken away, and was the common point of reference, what we had "accomplished" was pathetic! And it got worse!

Alex began sharing how he was a pilot who had flown across country, built his own motorcycles from junkers, and had crafted a long bow out of discarded items such as a broken guitar. I was wondering about all of these stories until he showed us the bikes and the longbow, then began delving into his Africa Plan. He wants to wait a few more years until he knows his family is well off, then secure the funding, manpower and equipment to actually start a village somewhere in Africa, beginning with the sanitation system. Apparently, he has secured old Soviet trucks that were auctioned off at the end of the Cold War and are waiting for him in Germany. None of this seemed out of the ordinary to them, and was reacted to by the other members of his family, and his girlfriend, Amber, as typical Friday night conversation.

It became apparent after a couple hours that they were ready to bed down for the night, but before we left, he offered to take us to Boston before we went west and teach us the finer points of street theater, suggesting we dress up as opposing cowboys, to make "probably $100/ day." Why the hell not?

As we left, we both had the feeling that we had just had our penis size mocked at a brothel! Extreme reality check and a grand dose of perspective at the same time. All from a 24- year old unicyclist who had never spent a day in "school." Alex was a study in "doing", rather than talking about, or "preparing to do." When I again lamented at how idiotic I suddenly felt, Chris astutely pointed out that this kid hadn't wasted 20- years in school. He had spent all of his 24- years just LIVING, and as a result had skills that had made him self- sufficient, and beholden to no one. I admire that!

As we walked toward Angus's dumbfounded, we decided we'd take Gus up on his "30- pack" suggestion, and spent the early hours of Saturday chatting, drinking, and theorizing. Gus didn't disappoint. He is a professional DJ who does parties, weddings, etc., and one of the smartest people you'd ever hope to meet. We talked about everything from music, to politics, to race and as the night went on I was struck by how raw & honest it all seemed. Eventually beer took over and it was time for bed, but this intense few hours was exactly what I needed. Coming to Mass. was obviously a wise decision, and I was eager to see what the rest of the weekend held!