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!
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.
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.
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.
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!
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!
Gary, Indiana where I noticed that the flags were at half-staff. I quickly realized that this was the day of Michael Jackson’s memorial. Looking around Gary, I wasn’t sure why they were honoring him with the flags; he obviously had not “given back” much of his fortune to THIS community! Chicago’s attraction to so many is still an enigma to me, and I was happy that we were there for a quick 90- minutes. Chris and I spent $10 too much for a couple of nasty sandwiches, and were quickly on the bus that would take us over the Mississippi again.
We had been hoping this was the case, and were quite happy to think that we would be dropped off at 1:30 am in rural Iowa, at what’s billed as the “World’s Largest Truck Stop.” Chris and I had each immediately thought of this place when we discussed Iowa. 
He had been there, and I always made a point to stop on my numerous trips home while doing radio in Des Moines & Waterloo during the late 90’s. Shalain and I had also stopped here in 2005 where I had taken a picture of me with the sign. One I was SURE to duplicate! I got a kick out of the thought that this journey was bringing me back here.
We were quite the sight to the other Dirty Doggers. This was their meal stop and, judging by the looks, they must have been wondering why two backpackers were getting off… here. I confess I had missed the feeling of being a spectacle! I got a picture, and then quickly arranged the pack before we crossed the road to the Iowa 80.
It was by now nearly 2am, the place was nearly deserted, and we were laughing, interesting characters, so she naturally took an interest in us. She asked what we were up to, listened to our stories, looked at our pictures, and asked us if we had come for the “Trucker Jamboree” that happened to be Thursday and Friday. We had no idea what THAT was but, after looking at some of the pamphlets, it seemed interesting. If the weather was good, perhaps there would at least be bikini tops? Chris and I were both exhausted and borderline ecstatic. All the drama of the previous weekend had seemingly dissipated long before Indiana had arrived, and it seemed that we were back in our element. The vibe at the Iowa 80 was welcoming and, if Jess was any indication, we were going to enjoy this place!
We ate like sloths, enjoyed the endless stream of coffee from Jess, and began to toy with the notion that we may just hang around and investigate this well- timed Jamboree. Country singer Aaron Tippin was performing a free concert Thursday evening, so that was sure to draw a crowd, and this was the perfect spot to hitch a ride west making it less urgent to try. If we failed, we had Photo Guy presumably coming through Friday. In short, we did not HAVE to do a damn thing. The irony of this new attitude, particularly after the previous weekend, was not lost on me.
It's Iowa! After a few minutes, I reverted to last year: interstate exit ramps. Inside a small grove of trees between the ramp and I-80 itself, we found a perfect spot. As the sun began to rise, I finally fell asleep quite happy with my new digs, and free from the mental spider web I had been tangled in only 24- hours earlier.
As I was sitting outside smoking, a Kalamazoo bicycle cop rode up and let me know that “Smoking is prohibited at the Kalamazoo Transportation Center. Do... you… have… ID?” he asked rather sheepishly.
As I was pulling my I.D., I asked sarcastically if it had occurred to anyone to make the smoking policy, you know, clear?
As Goering- on- a- Bike peddled off reminding me of Reno 911's Lt. Dangle, I was of course steaming. I cannot believe what this country is becoming; how even the most basic right to privacy is being butchered in the name of an illusion: “Fatherland Security”. While Chris had typically been less offended than I, even he was dumbfounded at this brazen display of Fascism, asking repeatedly "Did he REALLY just say that?" For a state that's hemorrhaging it's population like a hemophiliac, I found this stunning on multiple levels. This was the perfect sendoff, and I was thrilled to finally be re- crossing the Mississippi that night.
The idea was to meet up with Mike at the familiar Big Boy around two or three o'clock. This would provide us with a few hours to eat, drink coffee, and plot. We said our goodbyes to Bob in the parking lot, and as Chris put it, let him get back to his normal life. I had spent alot of time with him over the past month, and I remember thinking that it was nice to still have a friend or two like that! Thanks for everything, Bobby.
He reminded me of myself when I was living in Denver... and eating. I had seen pictures and at various times had felt like I was looking at my younger self, when I wasn't shaving my head. He seemed to be a low key, honest, up- front person. I sensed no bullshit about him and, as we all know by now, I respect that. Standing in this parking lot were two brothers who, up until less than 48- hours ago, had been just abstract ideas to each other. We were now real. This was VERY cool! There was a good vibe and I was glad for it.
brought his 9- year old daughter, Ally, and her mother Bobbie with him too. Ally is a beautiful, blonde, bundle of energy! I knew to expect that she'd be quite shy at first, but that didn't last at all. Pretty soon she was resuming her task: relentlessly tormenting her mother. It was obvious from the start that Mike adores his little girl, and has no trouble showing it.
The story telling and questions continued as we learned more about each other and our pasts. Mike has a creative streak in him, just as Shelly does. He loves restoring cars and works at a body shop. I also was horrified to learn that he had nearly been killed not too long ago, barely getting out of the way yet having his right ankle essentially shattered by falling steel . I thought to myself, "What if that had happened? Why the hell are we in this situation again?"
He said repeatedly that he felt "weird" about just dropping us there. I did my best to reassure him, saying that this is "what we do", and not to worry, although I did appreciate the concern. What I envisioned as a quick drop off turned into yet another 30- 45 minute conversation, in yet another parking lot! I had to laugh at the mild, typical concerns that I'd had about not having anything to say to each other! This was great! After taking some pictures, shaking hands and hugging again, they were off. As I watched him drive away, the reality that we may not see each other for a while, or often enough, set in. We had obviously connected on some level, and I was actually sad to see him go. "Why the hell are we in this situation again?", I asked one last time.
Tuesday was even less eventful, except for yet another campfire. The conversations on these days, however, were quite enlightening. This was a time for us to both reflect back on the past 3- months, and begin to finally grasp exactly what we had experienced as a whole, AND to apply some lessons and ideas as we move forward. Ideas about the next phase became a bit more clear as we chatted about Denver, Santa Fe, Boise, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, England, and even Mexico. Most significantly, we decided to tell someone about this revelation on Sunday. We told Bob we were going to sit tight until Wednesday, thinking something significant was going to happen. If nothing happened Wednesday, Bob would drop us off in Indiana either Wednesday night or Thursday morning. All that was left was to see if it did...
We had another fire in Bob's yard, and drank a whole lotta beer. Ian and Travis hung out for a bit, as did Bob's neighbors. No phones were sacrificed, so it was a good night, yet it was obvious that I was ready to go. Somewhere around midnight I mentally checked out of Hillsdale. Unfortunately, I didn't check into bed until 4:30!
I shook his hand, told him it was nice to see him again as he smiled and returned the compliment. There was no obvious tension as the three of us went out to the back yard and began chatting. He did, however, seem a bit at a loss for things to say, as you can probably imagine. What do you say to a son you have spent less than an hour with, and that being 8- years ago? It was rather comical when he asked "What are you doing these days, Todd?" My typical response seemed a bit inadequate, so I quickly stumbled through the basic answer of "Threw my stuff in a backpack and am traveling around." He had NO idea what to do with that, and I'm glad! But, through that, I quickly discovered that we have a couple of significant common interests. The topics of traveling and New Mexico gave us the opportunity to get to a comfort zone.
Our shared affinity for New Mexico goes beyond that, and is on the edge of creepy. He told of a trip he had taken through it as a young man, and how he had just gotten "hooked by it." Something that has stayed with him for the rest of his life. I then chuckled as I recounted how in 1998 I had taken a drive from Des Moines to Phoenix, through Santa Fe, and been completely hooked. "I WOULD move there one day!" And I did, in 2004. Don't laugh too hard! There's a "frequency" about New Mexico; one that grabs ALOT of people and just wont let go. These are just two examples of a story that's repeated surprisingly often. He's also not all that impressed with Santa Fe beyond what he called "Old Town"; the area around the Plaza where the Santa Fe Trail ends. I didn't ask, but I doubt this old Marine has much to offer the pretentious, bourgeoisie hippies on Canyon Road either!
As I saw his pictures of the Santa Fe Plaza, church, and the Palace of the Governors on his TV, it struck me how insane this whole drama REALLY has been. Really, why are we here? That would be for Shelly and I to discuss on the drive home. We wrapped up our visit by watching the Tigers beat the Astros on a Brandon Inge 9th- inning home run. I thought that was fitting too, sitting on the couch chatting baseball. It happened that he was planning on being in Colorado in August, so I offered my connections at Coors Field to get tickets if they make it to Denver. Norv had said he was contemplating extending that trip up to Boise, also in August. I told him to keep an eye out for a big red and black backpack. I think he thought I was serious, that made me chuckle a bit!
except for my backpack. It was funny to see my old habits take over as I essentially let go and re- immersed in the enigma that is Hillsdale. It was out of the question to stay with my mother after the week before, so the time warp was completed by staying at Bobby's house, playing softball, and drinking beer. Alot of beer.
It felt good to be playing ball again, and I ran into ALOT of people I hadn't seen in years. Softball it seems has replaced the bars as the social mechanism of the area. The softball fields are now where you go to see people, and there are many to choose from. I finally got to spend a little time with my cousin, Dewey, who along with his father was the first person from my father's side of the family to actually embrace me as "family." They did this way back in 1996, and for that simple fact I will always respect the hell out of them. Several of my old teammates now have wives and children, and a few have aged drastically! It was at times a sad, sobering reminder of just how much time has passed.
Through Dave, I learned some of the methods that people are using to cope in the economic cataclysm that is Michigan. Many people are telling the system to go fuck itself. They're trading labor while working for straight cash for friends; friends that wont outsource their jobs to Mexico. I had also heard about a state "re- education" program for "displaced" manufacturing workers. The problem is that they only "re- educate" people in what they deem to be "approved vocations." These "approved vocations" are, to a great extent, service- industry fields and when I heard "approved vocations" I immediately thought of the old Soviet Union. That was a nice visit, and I'm glad I got to spend a decent amount of time with them. Again, too much time had passed.