2/26: Mexico Road Trip: Palenque

Saturday would prove to be the zenith of the road-trip. These are days that are conceived at a bizarre cosmic confluence where Life and Experience converge and create a torrent that can neither be dammed, crossed, nor navigated. Only ridden. These are the seldom-found days I live for. Days that toy with innate fear and contrived expectations while literally clawing at your senses and, upon reflection, leave in its wake deep traces on the soul. The sights, sounds, even the smells, remain---just mind’s eye glance away. Among the last few year's follies and escapades, this particular Saturday ranks near the top--along side my first night camping on the Pacific, the Oregon train-hop, and MasterCrafting the Willamette River on my weekend pass into Portland Aristocracy with Andre.

2/25: Mexico Road Trip: Agua Azul & Palenque

A faint shadow hovered over Dylancita (named for Bob Dylan) whenever we stopped: her peculiar habit of occasionally refusing to start! Particularly at military checkpoints, there was always silence and a holding of the collective breath when James prepared to turn the key. When it started, the Combi Gods were pleased. When it didn't? Well, five other people were available to push--much to the amusement of bystanders. It was a minor nuisance that somehow added an odd texture to the trip and was never a serious problem...except for two instances later in the trip.  One could have been literally catastrophic. 

James went about trying to find the cause on Friday morning. As handy as he was mechanically, he had a cavalier attitude toward tires, of all things! When I poked my head beneath, I saw that the left rear tire was less a tire than a ragged piece of worn rubber featuring a full, silver halo of exposed, busted bands! Horrifying! We had just spent a day snaking over mountains and bounding over topes! He was visibly annoyed when I told him he NEEDED to replace it but, moving his ego aside (so mine may take center stage), I take full credit for saving the Dylancita Party from certain peril somewhere beyond Ocosingo! I expect a medal and public recognition at some point...

In case you think I exaggerate

2/24: Mexico Road Trip: Toniná

Aside from Canada and perhaps Iceland*, all cultures have redeeming qualities. While Brits excel at misplaced snobbery and snotty sarcasm, I’ve rarely heard them described as "skilled" drivers. Combine that with the directional lobotomy of learning to drive on the left side of the road, and it's clear: James had overcome staggering odds. He was displaying authentic skill when snaking his power steeringless Combi through Chumula’s tight, steep streets! 

Any stereotypical NASCAR fan would envy James’s reading ability--while publically embracing ignorance and pronouncing James's wealth of literacy (readin’, ritin’, and...rithma...addin') as "faggy".** Now, imagine their horror (and repeated flurry of the word “fag”) when they see that he also boasts a superior mastery of the temperamental clutch and idiosyncratic gears! He displayed both skills flawlessly, in reverse, while liberating us from the extortionist's inclined parking lot on Sunday.

James knew his Combi. James understood Mexico’s roadways. James was our captain. No one even suggested another helmsman until days later, when midnight fatigue corrupted judgment and our new navigator's assignment ended with a close encounter with a semi!

2/19-23: San Cristobal-Flux Capacitor...Fluxing

With entirely too much beef and chicken that would go missing in the hostel's kitchen, we had an excuse for a Saturday barbecue with James and Maarja. Several of us spent the afternoon gorging and discovered that Maarja’s Aunt and Uncle, Eevi and Jan, would arrive in San Cristobal in a few days. James and Maarja wanted to do something special with them, so we discussed a six-man Combi-roadtrip to Palenque. Suddenly, abandoning San Cristobal on Monday seemed rash, and as the day ended we had made plans to take the Combi on a more immediate mini-trip: to a nearby indigenous village, San Juan de Chumula, on Sunday.

2/15-18: San Cristobal-Revolution and Domestication

Pardon me while I indulge myself by highlighting a distinction...and brag for a moment. 

The following few paragraphs are an example of where millions of Moonbeam "travel writers" simply pander and choose to babble about things like an “a-maaaaa-zing cultural diversity” found and bound together by a “common fundamental belief in human dignity, individual freedom, and national sovereignty” neatly encompassed, “both in name and atmosphere, inside San Cristobal’s most famous night spot and social beacon": Revolution.

Horseshit.

MARKETING REVOLUTION

True: Revolution is San Cristobal’s best known bar. Also true: It’s small, it’s dark, and it’s too expensive. It’s marketed, like mass-produced Zapatista trinketry, to the abundant young, naive tourists prancing into town with their plumage erect; their "worldliness" on display to the world; their brazen idealism proudly unrelated to and unconcerned with whether their abstract ideas and textbook philosophies can coexist with tangible pragmatism and action.

2/8-14: San Cristobal-Jose Luis's Galactic Station

Jose Luis

I loved Jose Luis’s place immediately! His was a large guest house in a farm-like setting that  reminded me of Asheville, North Carolina. The house consisted a large main room which worked non-stop as the kitchen, dining, and living area and maintained a rural Montana or New Mexico vibe. The wood floors creaked constantly enhancing the rustic, frontierish ambiance.

I found Jose Luis to be one of the youngest 57-year olds I’d met. He spoke good English thanks in part to having lived, married and had children in the US, and acted as though we’d known each other for years. I thought it was because he had met Chris in January, but this was just how he was with everyone! 

Jose Luis's Place

2/8: San Cristobal-Inadequate Introductions

Chiapas

Chiapas is an incredibly beautiful, fascinating place whose history, including the Mayan ruins in Palenque, draws visitors from around the world. Its very pheromones seem to exude the essence of authentic and unapologetic revolution, revolt, and independence. While Tuxtla Gutierrez is now its capitol, San Cristobal is the political and spiritual center of the local Mayan/Mestizo population, and an epicenter of the Zapatista movement that became a sensation for successfully revolting against the Mexican government in 1994. Images of Emiliano Zapata, Pancho Villa, Che Guevara, and Subcomandante Marcos are never far away and have even become an important part of the areas primary industry: tourism.

This is by no meant as a comprehensive historical account, but briefly the Zapatistas (EZLN) brand and market themselves as an indigenous movement demanding to simply be left alone to live their traditional way of life unmolested by the Mexican government. During the '94 uprising, the Zapatistas occupied four cities in the mountains surrounding, and including, San Cristobal. After a bloody battle in Ocosingo, in the mountains a few hours northeast of San Cristobal, they eventually reached an edgy compromise with the federal government ending outward hostilities, but tensions continue today due in large part to what international watchdog groups described as a brutal government repression of the uprising. Examples included aerial bombardment of indigenous villages surrounding San Cristobal, torture, summary executions, and mass graves with much of the violence perpetrated against the unarmed, indigenous population of the area. Being there 17-years later, it was eerily common to see fully armed troops stationed at various points around the city, particularly El Centro.

2/7-8: Cancun to San Cristobal-Mexico Real

Regrettably, there are areas where we as Americans have utterly failed. Public transportation is one of them. When Americans think of Mexican buses, they think of sweaty, overcrowded, chicken-filled, mechanically questionable jalopies lumbering down underdeveloped, bandit-filled roads. While I’ve heard they do actually exist, the general stereotype is horseshit. Settling in aboard the Cristobal-Colon coach bound for San Cristobal, I thought of the South African woman I shared an overpacked Greyhound with in ‘08. She found American buses disgusting, the customer service appalling, and put the blame squarely on Greyhound’s virtual monopoly. Although Cristobal-Colon is a Mexican second-class line, it’s one of several to choose from and in direct comparison, Greyhound is clearly the cattle car company in the conversation!

2/3-7: Tulum, Mexico

Checking out of the hostel and running around took most of the morning, and by the time we settled into our early afternoon bus south, I was ready to be rid of Cancun. In retrospect it was probably a combination of things: hearing Chris rave about how "expensive" it was in Cancun although, compared to the US, it seemed dirt cheap to me, plus an extreme curiosity to see what "real" Mexico was like as opposed to the place where all the signs were also in English.

2/1-3: Cancun, Mexico

My flight's path was over the Gulf of Mexico directly to the Yucatan Peninsula, and seeing the shoreline I was struck that, other than Juarez across the Rio Grande from I-10 in El Paso, I was finally glimpsing something other than Terra Americana/Canadia for the first time since briefly living in Germany when I was 15. As the plane descended, it was clear from the air that this was indeed another world; one I was eager to see with my own eyes as opposed to the controlled electronic agenda-driven snapshots we are inundated with in the States.

Mexico: A Prologue

Despite simmering on a hidden backburner for a year or two, the notion of traveling to Mexico and the rest of Latin America is something that never went away. A trek to Peru was one of my original ideas well before 2008 when Chris and I spent countless hours bouncing adventureman ideas around his Denver apartment imagining such an adventure. As you can imagine there were the endless questions about things such as safety, corruption, the culture, and language barriers. Then in February '09, when I reconnected with my "long lost" family, the travels made it clear that they had their own ideas about where I would be going and why.

10/29 Santa Fe: September- October

It's ALIIIIIVE!!!!

Over the rest of September and most of October, I’ve grown a full head of hair, and gained about 10 pounds. I feel fat and un-sexy. Maybe I’ll go on a shoe- shopping spree and watch the Sex & the City marathon on Lifetime…

The financial sector’s “meltdown” hit, and, like the rest of you, I was watching the developments expecting the “Great Depression 2k8”. Amidst the talk of the “bailout”, stock market crashes, and the social/ political drama, I had a birthday on 9/19. Birthdays are not fun for Todd. They have not been for a long time, but this one was particularly shitty. The domestic idleness had already begun to drive me nuts. The thoughts of simply hibernating, accomplishing nothing, weighed heavily on my mind. A cycle repeatedly perpetuating itself. Thank God, I only turned 29 again!

The following week things improved however, when I finally found some temporary work helping a Craigslister, Jack, move. It was good to get out of the house and Jack made things quite interesting. He is about 60, and an Original Hippie. He was beyond “involved” in the 60’s, and never lost his ideals. However, he HAD come to the realization that his idealism was not going to feed him. Sometime, he has gotten to the point where he’s now the guy who is “running and running to catch up with the sun”; trying to make up for what he perceives as lost time… making money. He has gotten involved in antique dealing, and is some sort of a writer. What he writes? I have no idea. He is also involved in a few lawsuits. Oh, and he hung out with Jimi Hendrix back in the day...

Jack is one of the most secretive, borderline paranoid people you will ever met. He is pure Santa Fe. I literally spent 5- hours straight emptying his hoarded water. Hoarded because he was afraid “they” were going to “shut off the water”, or that the southwest’s concern about water was going to lead to “Water Wars”. Over the next couple of weeks, we got along quite well, but there were moments where there was palpable tension. Jack is very particular about how he wants things done, and my patience is not what it used to be. Actually, it is the same. I have simply lost my filter somewhere!

While eccentric, Jack is a genius. It was uncanny the way he would predict the next day’s events in the early days of the meltdown. His advice was, and continues to be: buy gold, hoard cash, and prepare. I came to enjoy the job, and made enough to replace the shoes I returned to REI upon my return in August, AND put a substantial amount back for the next phase.

The regular work with Jack ended in the first week of October, and the next few weeks have become progressively more and more frustrating. I continued to become more disillusioned with the government’s response to this manufactured financial “crisis”, but it helped me to solidify my socio- political stance. I will not burden you now, but I probably will sometime this week. Suffice it to say for now that it was repugnant to see both of these “leaders” supporting a taxpayer- funded bailout of these “institutions”. It went to further cement my belief that the two major “parties” are indeed factions of the same.

I had hoped to find something to quickly replace Jack’s income, but Santa Fe is not exactly a thriving, diverse, economy! I finally found a data entry gig this week that I can do from home… as often and as much as I choose to. My kinda job!

That’s the cliff notes version of the last five- weeks or so. Most of the drama was in my own little mind; I am quite a nuisance to myself when I have too much time to kill!

Chris and I have had a few conversations, although they have tapered off a bit over the last three weeks. When the meltdown hit, we concluded that traveling to Latin America might be anticlimactic; that the excitement may indeed lie right here in the US! The more I thought about it however, the less appealing that became. Latin America has been bubbling quietly beneath my surface for a long time, and the original perspective would be invaluable. Using this summer’s experience as a template, the opportunity to talk with people who have actually lived with the effects of US foreign and economic policy would be priceless. I would like to see the “real” (Ha! Hear that Frau Palin?) Latin America rather than just hearing agenda- fed bullshit. I began learning Spanish in early September, and the progress has been good, although I have not put as much into it as I would like. Chris and I have had a couple of discussions about how we would do this, and it is shaping up to possibly be quite the dramatic western- hemispherical jaunt! On the list of possibilities: New York, Massachusetts, Michigan, Seattle, Portland, Utah, Arizona, California… then Mexico. Also, this end of the trip could include more characters. My old roommate, Joe, has expressed an interest in joining, as has Ambar, from San Diego. Ambar’s a trip! She spent the summer WWOOFING in Italy, and holds dual- residency in the US & Mexico. I have heard from an Italian, living in NYC right now, who defines himself as a “gypsy” and would perhaps like to tag along.

Yet, with all these ideas, there is still nothing concrete. I need to get some equipment in case things fall through with Chris. I cannot see carrying the full- tent again, so that means that I will need to get either a bivy, or even a Hennesy Hammock. I returned Chris’ water filter, so I need to get one and, of course, there is always the backpack. Mr. Coleman External Frame is right there… but he is looking small! I should have NEVER returned the one I had.

Despite the lack of activity on this blog, I’ve done quite a bit of “political writing.” The election is now less than a week away, and it has been interesting to see how the summer’s events have influenced my outlook. The reinforced idea being that there is nothing that replaces real experience and that getting your information on Sarah’s “real America” from pundits is absurd. I am quite convinced that the majority of Americans are disgusted with politics and politicians in general; that if “throw all their asses out” was on the ballot we would have a 95% turnout, and a landslide of a different variety than the one currently forecast! I have only had that instinct reinforced over the weeks, and I am coming to realize two distinctions that are more significant:

On the individual scale: Patriot v. Partisan.
On the collective scale: Country v. Its Government.

While you chew on that, be prepared for a flurry of election- induced posts. To spare most of you, I am going to clear the email list of most of the names. Think of it as Todd “purging the rolls” to get you in the mood for the election! If you want me to leave you on the list, let me know. You can also subscribe through Feedburner on the actual page, and I’ve added an election poll… go vote!

8/28 - 9/14 Santa Fe

What an odd few weeks it has been. I spent the first two doing absolutely nothing, other than reacquainting myself with the internet again, writing, reading, and playing the part of the recluse.

Initially, it was actually nice to be back here. I had grandiose ideas of getting back to work and preparing to pack money away for the Latin American Adventure that is on the way... soon. I had some nagging points of friction in my mind however about trying to save thousands of dollars to do this. Money as it turned out was my major source of irritation this summer, and my primary failure was in the fact that I never really got to the point where I was learning to do with significantly less and how to generate fresh cash while out there; and there WERE opportunities to do that! I just... didn’t.

Chris and I had several lengthy conversations, and after initially thinking that he may decide against it, he has now committed to whatever this turns out to be. It turns out that, not surprisingly, we have come to the same money- page, how it relates to Mexico, then Central & South America. Less is more. Rather than talking in terms with three zeroes, it is now in the hundreds, as a means to force ourselves to be more creative, thrifty, and concentrate on eliminating excess... bullshit. Most people are probably horrified by the thought, but we both have seen the possibilities first- hand, and for me it is a matter of discipline and focus... like everything else. This trip is shaping up to begin, at least when the two of us meet up anyhow, in December or January. Much more on that at another time.

9/11 came and went again and as always, it is a point of scorn for me as we all watch the melodrama presented to us through the media, and wallow in self- pity. No one bothers to stop and reflect on how that event itself is a weapon; an instrument of terror itself. Just remember Rudi Giuliani and his every other word. What has happened since 9/11, in this country AND Iraq, is worse than the event itself. Only American self- absorbed arrogance, a spoiled self- pity, and complacency prevents us from seeing the obvious. If you have not yet, check out the audio on the right- hand side of the page. 9/11, and the economic events of the past few weeks remind me of one of the best books I have read: Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein. Find a copy; read it. You're living it.

The best radio show I ever did was on 9/11 in 2007. That show was the beginning of the end for me. The cheap bastards didn't even have a simple tape recorder for me to archive it, so like Hitler's in "Contact", my voice is simply left floating off toward Vega. I even took my own tape recorder in to let them hook it up. It sat in the same spot for 2 ½ months until I was fired! Ahhh... radio....

Chris rented a car and drove down here on 9/11. We sat up into the wee hours of the morning chatting, and we traded stuff; him bringing the things I had left there, and me returning the bivy, water filter, boca bag, etc. That stuff was a huge help! I also learned that, inspired by my return- spree, he had returned his old shoes to REI and had a brand new- spiffy pair. I was immediately jealous!

We spent Friday running around, highlighted by a trip to the grand opening of the Santa Fe REI. Of course the radio station was there trying to be all ‘live n’ local’, so for shits and giggles, I led Chris into a den of awkwardness… for one of them anyhow. I had not seen this particular sales- pig since they fired me, and though she would never admit it to my face, she despises me. I annoyed her by telling her to take her live endorsements for Qwest, McDonald’s, whoever, and shove them… even though they were paid. She is the type who reassures herself with “you gotta serve somebody.” Whenever I heard her say that, I thought, “That would be a good mantra in prison.” I don’t see much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. I would rather be shanked. I guess I was.

I bounded right over to the table and there she was, strapping on the plastic smiling face with a full serving of the generic platitudes I had heard 100- times with her clients. My old PD was there too. I had not seen him since shortly after the owner fired me either. He gave me a big ol’ hug, and while he was, I was asking myself “If we’re such good friends, why were you so quiet when they were axing me… buddy?”

I do not trust people who claim to have hundreds of friends because, well… they don’t. We all have acquaintances, co- workers, and people we use for networking and furthering our interests. That is inescapable. Yet, friends are loyal, and do not sit idly by out of convenience or self- preservation, while you are thrown under a bus. The rest of them will, and that’s fine. However, don’t embarrass yourself by professing your love for me later on! They say that if you want to find out who your friends are, ask them to help you move. I like the redneck method better: go to battle and see who lines up behind you. THESE are your friends. The rest are just memories waiting to happen. Keep your relativism, hippie. I've heard it all before.

God, I love anything authentic!

Friday night, we watched a few movies and he returned to Denver Saturday morning. A quick trip to be sure. We managed to keep busy enough that we did not dwell on the upcoming trip too much, but it was never far beneath the surface.

The longer I was here, the more I began to realize that I miss traveling. I am no longer domesticated. I never have been, but it is worse. I have next to no interest in participating in anything in Santa Fe, and it took me two- weeks to call anyone I knew.

My personal writing has always been a refuge for me, but now that is no haven. I tried, with some success, to gain some clarity and perspective after I returned, but it was a disappointment. I had most of the conclusions before I came back! The writing has since turned into a simple annoyance because I seem to be writing the same things repeatedly; shit I have written a thousand times before. In the end? It's feeling like a bunch of self- absorbed bullshit, because now I have some experience to add perspective. One of my favorite quotes from Thoreau says something to the effect that it is quite vain to sit down and write when you have yet to stand up and live. Alot of writing going on this month. Living? Not so much.

I know this is temporary; everyone knows that. I only wish I were making better use of the time. The answer is not to ‘get a job’. I am quite certain that I would be fired, or walk out within a couple of days, and that does not bother me at all. The answer is to find cash- work with someone that doesn’t annoy me with all the “ladder- climbing” career- bullshit.

After 9/15, I would be more certain of that than ever.

8/10 Denver V: Coming to an End

Today was a day of preparing to move on. Not alot to mention other than a quick trip to REI and a decision to leave... for somewhere... Monday evening, rather than Tuesday. As things stand right now, I still have NO idea where that may be! There are 3 options as I see it: Santa Fe, toward the eastern seaboard, or perhaps Florida. The thought of another 8- hour Greyhound rides takes me to the brink of nausea, but I'm not so sure I want to head all the way out east at this point and Florida? Ugh...

The Mexico/ South America trip has been consuming me a bit more over the last week or so, and I'm seriously considering sucking it up for the next few months to gather everything that's needed for it. I've decided to lighten the gear for this trip and eliminate the full- tent in favor of a bivy- tent, which wont be cheap. Neither will the added water purification equipment that will obviously be needed down there, especially in Mexico. It's not lost on me that my Spanish... well, WHAT Spanish?! ? Need to work on that.

This is just a consideration however, and I detest the idea of returning to Santa Fe so soon. There's a very good likelihood that I'll just walk or ride out of Denver... wherever. Maybe I'll pay a visit to the rail yard. Maybe I'll just hitch it toward Ft. Morgan or Cheyenne again. Maybe Kansas. I CAN say this for certain: it will NOT be toward Utah! I'm going to try to contact Ken and Cesar tomorrow to see where they are; if they happen to be this side of the Mississippi, it could get quite interesting.

Where will I go? I guess I really don't care. That's the bitch about freedom: deciding. I've said that too many times. I could flip a coin, or maybe I'll dig the dice out of my backpack again. I'm open for suggestions. Leave a comment, or shoot me an email if you have one; I'd love to hear some ideas.

I feel compelled to put a bow on this trip to Denver, but I don't know that I can. It's been humbling, frustrating, eye- opening, educational, disturbing, encouraging, invigorating and tedious (and too often intoxicating) all at once. I'm sure that some of the insights I've gained here will be useful in time; I hope so. I never intended to stay in Denver two full weeks, and that's frustrating. However, the point was to alleviate the money issues, and I've exceeded my expectation in that regard. I said I stayed too long with Florian, then Eric & Marine, and then Dave too. Is anyone surprised?

I want to thank Friar Chris for his extended hospitality. He is a great friend and was a wonderful host. We had some great times while I was here. The conversations and insights we exchanged were remarkable, deep, intense, AND exhaustive! It's these sorts of exchanges that really work a mind. The kind that are two- sided and original, rather than dictated from quotation and interpreted.

Eric deserves a thank you also. Working with him isn't 'work'; the days filled with the same kinds of observation, debate, and insight from a unique perspective are priceless. The fact I get paid mildly astounds me when I think about it, although I shouldn't say that until he DOES pay me tomorrow! Eric's been a great, loyal friend to me over the past few years, and I'm sure he's calling me a 'homo' for saying so, but it's true. I appreciate it, and it needs to be said more often.

Redneck!

Also, for those of you who are getting the email updates and maybe haven't been to the homepage lately, I've added a few more things including links to Kinga and Chris's travel pages, as well as a few other little nicknack's, so stop by and poke around once in a while... and sign the damn guestbook!

I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again; MAYBE Monday if work ends early enough. I'll let you know what I decide then, if possible. If not... stay tuned!

8/2-4: Denver V- Ron

Saturday it felt nice to just chill out and do nothing. Chris and I finally managed to get to the grocery store for food in the afternoon, thankfully without incident! On the return, we crossed paths with a friendly homeless guy hanging out in an alley with his little dog. We both commented that he seemed like a decent guy and noted that he was one of the few who will chat with you without the conversation turning to what we could give him.

Chris worked, and I wrote, until 10:30 then it was off to Barracudas to relax and have a bit of fun. So much for not drinking. It was an enjoyable night highlighted by a conversation surrounding the definition of ‘art’, on which I won (!), but we agreed to disagree.

After the bar closed, we were outside chatting with some people we had met and gawking at what appeared to be a souped- up hearse, driven by some characters from a Gothic novel. Quite interesting. As we were about to leave, we saw the homeless guy from earlier. Chris began chatting with him, and before I knew it, he had offered him a place to stay for the night. The Friar has a way of doing that! He had offered Catfish a place the week before as well; it is his way of returning the generosity he’d found on his cross- country walk. I didn’t think anything of it. Sounded like a nice thing to do, and a good way to generate some good will in the universe. I also remembered the alley earlier in the day, when he was content to chat with us and not expect anything. I had a good feeling about the guy. Ron was 50, seemed to be pleasant, didn’t reek, and had an ornery little dog. A perfect combination for a house guest!

We headed back to the Friary with Ron and Bella (the dog) in tow, and broke out the remainder of the Jim Beam gallon Chris has had since May. We all drank up, chatting, while Chris and I were getting to know Ron. He was from Raton, NM so I felt a kinship to him in that regard and he seemed to have a Christian background; spoke of “Jesus” quite often. We asked him why he was living on the street, and he said it was because he was ‘tired of all the bullshit’. He did not seem to be an addict of any kind, but did like his Jim Beam.

I began to notice some things that seemed odd however when I began to press him on some of his opinions. He would not elaborate. Just rattle off the same answer again. I pictured Eric’s analogy of the punks selling speaker boxes with no guts inside! That was enough for me, and I essentially shut myself down, and let them chat until it was time to pass out. Then...

I had been giving Ron cigarettes since he had been there. No big deal, but then out of nowhere he decided to reach over, grab my pack of Pall Malls, and start to put them in his pocket. I asked him, “What the hell do you think you’re doing with my cigarettes?” He responded that these were HIS cigarettes, Goddammit! I took them out of his hands, forcibly, let him know that he was full of shit, and asked him what kind of idiot he took me for. Again… he couldn’t elaborate. Just to further explore what he was all about, I reached over and picked up the glass of Beam & Coke Chris had poured him. Christ on His Throne! “Hey, that’s Fuckin’ MINE!” I had my answer.

Chris didn’t see any of this going on. I was going to let it go, to try to practice a new policy of forbearance. However, after I laid down, I realized that if this guy were going to try to steal my cigarettes with me SITTING there, what the hell’s he going to take when we’re asleep? My backpack and everything else I had brought with me was at the foot of the couch! I pulled Chris aside, told him what had happened, and he agreed that Ron had to go.

Chris, being the Friar he is, gave Ron a shot at redemption. He asked him about the cigarettes and, of course, he said he did not try to take them. When I told him to look me in the eye and say that, of course he could not. It is about here that my blood began to boil. Ron had been lucid all night, standing and walking just fine, then suddenly he was too drunk to talk! As this little exchange continued, my voice steadily got louder and I was getting angrier by the second. The one thought I remember having is that THIS is the EXACT stereotype I was fighting on the road. I was assumed by many people to be THIS character! I heard echoes of Eric’s sentiments on the welfare state, how people will gain a sense of entitlement. Then I heard the hippies saying ‘Oh, they’re ALL just down on their luck and need a second (or thousandth) chance’ with the upward inflection on ‘luck’ and ‘chance’ of course. The longer he sat there, the angrier I was getting.

Chris finally told him he had to leave. It was HERE that Ron mysteriously lost all use of his legs. When he tried to stand, he crashed into the makeshift bookshelf and onto the hardwood floor with a loud thud. Then he couldn’t stand up from there! Chris gave him the benefit of the doubt, but to me this was all too convenient and I began to tell him so. I believe my response to this was “Oh, just get the fuck up, and get the fuck out of here.” Upward inflection on ‘fuck’.

After some effort, Chris finally got him out the door, down the steps, and outside where Ron, again, mysteriously lost all motor- functions. He crashed onto the sidewalk, and refused to move. His dog was not any too pleased about any of this, and I tried in vain to get her back on her leash so she wouldn’t run off in what was left of the night.

Ultimately, we decided that if we left him there at least we could keep an eye on him from the window. That solution lasted maybe 3 minutes before Chris decided to go back down and try to get him back to his couch. I declined to take part.

Chris was gone quite a while, and I began to get a bit concerned to the point of getting up to go looking for them. When I heard the door open, and just Chris walked in I was quite relieved. Apparently, Chris had gotten him to the couch when Ron’s motor- functions just as mysteriously RETURNED, and he decided that THIS couch was not quite the proper place to be. He set off for a few different places, and Chris in his concern stayed with him until even HE was fed up and had come home. Thus ended the Saga of Ron.

I had no idea how to digest this, but it occurred to me that many of the conservative- leaning friends were correct. At what point does a person have responsibility for themselves? When does ‘I need a little help’ turn into entitlement and a get- everything- I- can mentality? How many of the ‘homeless’ people we see are simply looking to exist solely on handouts in an effort to avoid personal responsibility? Charity has its place, but so do common sense and the ability to see through a swindle.

Chris and I discussed this for a short time before we passed out with the sun already in the sky. The only conclusions we came to were that we are probably a good counter- balance to each other, and that Chris was right when he asked Ron “How many people try to help you out after you try to steal from them?”

Sunday consisted of nothing but recovery. We talked a bit more about Ron and a few other things including more about South America. I touched base with Eric regarding work on Monday and that was it.

Monday was again mostly uneventful. We worked almost all day, then Chris and I walked to a video/ CD store where he bought, then we watched, “What the Bleep Do We Know”. One of my favorite movies, and one that inevitably triggers deep discussions! However we both, and Eric too, had been noticing a type of mental fatigue. Chris and I spend most of our time in discussions, and Eric and I do the same thing, all day. It seemed that it was starting to wear all of us out! A good thing I guess.

Despite the fatigue, we talked about the movie, the Latin America trip, and began to do some research on what to expect once we got to Mexico. I also had arranged tickets for the Rockies/ Nationals game at Coors Field for Eric and I. THAT would turn out to be quite eventful, and even more eye- opening than the weekend had been, and it would begin to show the door out of Denver!

Ron was obviously the Event of the Weekend, but over the past couple of weeks as you have probably noticed Chris and I have been having more in- depth conversations about this winter’s trip south. I have neglected to detail much about this intentionally; I wanted to see how the ideas developed and rather we would have second thoughts. It is a much bigger decision for Chris because it means abandoning some of his plans and expectations in favor of the nomadic lifestyle again. Over the last 2+ weeks, it would appear, and he has stated, that this open- ended adventure seems to have almost set itself in stone. It feels right; synchronized. The “Rest of the Americas” trip outline and philosophy deserves its own space—like hippies, only it will not be a special place in Hell!

7/16: Denver iv- Day 2

I spent all afternoon transferring old posts and setting up the new blog. It took the ENTIRE day to do it, but I was happy with the way things turned out. I continued to try to crop and edit more of the pictures too. I began to sniff around, a tiny bit, for some possible temp- work and come up with days to get back to Santa Fe. I figured that the sooner I got back there, the less money I'd spend and thus the more I'd have put back for August. I'd pretty much assumed I'd go back there until 7/31, and leave from Albuquerque on I-40, riding with Shalain on her way to the airport. That of course unless some dramatic development led to finding a solid way to make money.

I went down to Chris's coffee shop to hang out for a bit, and when I left stopped off at the grocery store for some cigarettes and Coke, since Angela had offered to cook us dinner after the got off of work. I was still trying to figure out the disconnected feeling, when something else began to manifest: intense frustration leading to anger.

I found myself getting VERY annoyed VERY quickly at having to deal with the inefficiency at the supermarket! Stupid, I know-- and knew THEN. But I couldn't help it. I was utterly pissed off at finding myself re- engaged into the system. I was going from my metaphorical jungle back into the zoo, and I was NOT adjusting well! I dumped the Coke off in the nearest aisle, and got out of there immediately, going instead across the street to the more expensive convenience store to get the Coke to mix with Friar's Jim Beam.

I was curious before I got back how exactly this trip would change me, and I now had my first indication and that example worried me a bit. Why the quick- building anger? What exactly WAS that from and why was it seeming so difficult to readjust? Was this just a temporary reaction to the change in environment, and if so why did it NOT happen when I left? And, to top it off, it bothered me that every other time I'd stopped in Denver, it had a positive effect on me. This was really strange!

We got to bed pretty late and pretty drunk, but before we did Chris and I hatched a spontaneous (sort of!) plan. Chris finally acknowledged that perhaps the idea of us traveling together, and soon, was in fact a good idea. I had been suggesting the idea since April or May, but for numerous reasons Chris had thought it better to concentrate on his plan to open a coffee shop in Denver. Something had changed, and we began to discuss methods, funding, possible destinations and the likely as well as possible outcomes. The first idea was Europe. But, thanks to our weak dollar, that would be beyond expensive and I really didn't like the thought of following in the footsteps of every smelly college- aged hippie who'd done the 'backpack Europe thing'.

Then, there was Mexico. Cheap goods. Lots of history. And... marketed FEAR. The thought of cutting through the stereotypical bullshit and fear-mongering to discover the reality of the country AND the people appealed to me a great deal, and Chris too. I was eager to continue what I'd started out West: discovering exactly how many people were as fed up with this system, government, and hamster- on- the- wheel existence as I am. I'd also like to get a first- hand look at conditions and attitudes in Latin America, and how the REAL people view us. I sick of hyped- up, loaded anecdotes.

With that we figured "Why stop there?" If we timed it right, we could continue on to South America and possibly get to Rio in time for Carnival. Then there's Peru and Machu Picchu, Argentina, Chile, and Guatemala and Costa Rica on the way. A true adventure, especially considering I speak next to NO Spanish, not to mention Portuguese!

Nothing was set in stone, but we had set the possible framework to do something VERY significant, and I could still venture off toward the Atlantic in the meantime. Chris's sister is getting married in November, so we set December 1 as the tentative launch date, of course contingent on Chris deciding that he is 100% sure that he wants to do it.