7/7: Iowa

Once nestled in on the bus riding west along I-94, I finally began to decompress. Chris was right in the sense that it was time to move on, and the reality that we were leaving Michigan began to provide the perspective I had been craving. Reflecting back on the previous month seemed a bit easier; the common "forest through the trees" effect became quite clear. Sometimes it’s hard to appreciate the events of the day until the day has ended. Someday, I will learn that lesson and more importantly, be able to apply it.

The ride to Chicago was typical, except for a quick stop in 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.

By now, I was really looking forward to getting back to what I consider the west. The Kalamazoo cop had again reinforced just how much better things “feel" out here. People leave you alone. They treat you with much more respect. It’s hard to explain, but I don’t feel as though I am in competition with everyone else, or considered a cash- cow. The pace of life is slower, and folks don’t seem to have the same, hamster- on- a- wheel priorities. Their lives and families somehow take precedent over their jobs and bills. It is refreshing, and they seem genuinely happier with lower blood pressure as those in places like Detroit and Chicago! Articulating this is hard, but I have heard it a million times. People from places like Montana, Idaho, Oregon, Colorado, the Dakota’s, and New Mexico have asked me a hundred times, “How could you stand to live out east?!?” After living in the Mountain West for nearly five years now, I have no answer for that. I just didn’t know any better.

I slept across the Mississippi and during our quick stop in Davenport, we learned that the bus not only got us close to the Iowa 80, it actually stopped there. 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.

It was a great feeling disembarking the bus, stepping into the late Iowa night, and looking around at our new stage. This was Iowa! Walcott to be precise. The bus had stopped at the smaller Pilot station across the little road that takes you to Prairie View and Walcott. 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.

The Iowa 80 looked smaller to me than I remembered, probably because it was nighttime and I could not see how expansive it really was. That would change with daylight but right now the priority was food. We were starving, and they had a 24- hour diner. We went inside, sat down for coffee, and before we had a chance to breathe, we saw a glimpse of what our stay in Walcott would hold. Enter Jess.

Jess is a rather attractive 20- year old who works as a server in the diner. 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!

The Iowa 80 Kitchen was the perfect spot to begin. 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.

5am approached before we decided that sleep might be a good idea. We had yet to scope things out, so we strapped on the packs and hunted trees in which to hide. No such luck. Nothing but fields, fields, oh, and a few more fields. 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.

Forest through the trees, dumbass…

5/11- 13: Newark to Santa Fe

Not alot to write here, but there was a comical debate between Chris, Mary, and I over of all things, this hat of mine.

I had been pondering returning it to REI when I arrived back in New Mexico as a quick way to recoup money. A little hobby of mine, no? I had gone into financial lock- down after Manhattan, and was now scheming ways to re- acquire it prior to getting the pictures ready to sell. The hat was an obvious, easy target. Chris, however, was a bit smitten and offered to buy it instead. Terrific! Easy! Just one problem...

I had become attached to the thing.

It had seen the Veggie Bus, DC, Trent's, The Chesapeake, black widows, ticks, and the euphoria on the beach in NJ. I had spilled beer on it in both Corbin City and in New York City! It was in half of our pictures! How could I just abandon it? Chris pointed out that I was like Indiana Jones, "Don't... touch... my... HAT!" Ultimately, and even after Mary offered to pay for it, I elected to keep it. Plus, Kwami had said that I look like a badass in it. He's a man of obvious taste, and that's good enough for me.

The bus left Newark, and took me to exotic locales such as Allentown, Pittsburgh, Columbus, Indianapolis, Des Moines, Omaha, and finally Denver before my connection to Santa Fe two days later.

Des Moines was a bit odd. I had lived there from 1998- 99, and the bus happened to drive quite close to one of our old apartments then directly past the other. It's odd how things become nostalgic as time passes. Ten years ago, I would have never guessed that, at least as pertaining to Des Moines.

One note on Greyhound: They are making obvious improvements. The buses are still shitty, but the stations are resembling Bangladesh ghettos slightly less. I actually watched part of the Nuggets game at the swanky little station in Pittsburgh! Plus, I was quite shocked to learn that I would watch movies on TWO of the smaller lines: Trailways and Americanos. One featured Toby Keith, and another starred a pre- pubescent Lindsay Lohan, but they WERE movies! So, props to The Dirty Dog for being a bit less... filthy.

Shit, I AM a travel writer!

Americanos got me to Santa Fe 30- minutes early on Wednesday. That's unheard of in my experience, but true nonetheless. Shalain picked me up, and we spent the night simply hanging out.

It felt like I had just left, and been gone a year at the same time. I got a kick out of driving past the exit Devin had taken off I-25 in the Veggie Bus, exactly a month earlier. One hell of a loop I had just made!

4/16: Memphis- Lawdogs

When we last saw our hero, he assumed he was riding toward Little Rock and pondering contact possibilities. In reality, he would awake in the hamlet of Searcy, AR, nowhere near Bill Clinton's old whorin... er... stomping grounds. Devin had decided to bypass it via my old friend from last summer in Asheboro, NC: US-64.

I scoped out the unfamiliar Walmart parking lot area, then Chris and I stopped into IHOP to feed ourselves and our cells. From there, it was a pleasant couple of hours riding thru back country Arkansas toward West Memphis, then across my Rubicon into "The East". I always get an odd feeling crossing the Mississippi, it's a much different world on the Memphis side, at least to me. I then repeatedly mocked Chris's goofy notion that we were now on the "east coast".

We needed veggie so, once thru the city, Devin chose an area to scavenge where Chris and I paired up for the now- familiar routine of chatting up eateries. We are quite good at this, as you can imagine, and after perhaps an hour, we hit the used- grease motherlode at The Cajun Catfish Company, a swanky seafood place.
The manager was all about bio- diesel and, more importantly, they had a FULL dumpster full of nearly pristine oil. In addition, there was ample space out back to park the bus and do our thing. The weather was perfect, sunny and in the mid 70's, and once we got going, the whole process was fun. The people we chatted with through the course of the day were all friendly, and some quite amusing. Particularly Bob at "Bob's Place". He reminded me of the owner of "The Country Bunker" in the Blues Brothers. Was that character's name Bob, too? "Well, I sure would appreciate it..."

We filled the tank and all the spare receptacles at the Cajun Catfish Company, and got back on I-40 in good spirits, happy to be in Tennessee, and making arrangements to meet up with Kim and her boyfriend when we got to Nashville to stop for the night. It was a great day... and then...

Flashing lights.

Leif had passed an unmarked cop parked in the median. We noticed them, and commented on the fact that they were gawking madly at the bus as it passed. The pullover was half- expected... what happened next was a disgusting display of misplaced power, paranoia, and pathetic futility... all under the guise of your "safety and security."

The reason given for the pullover was that they "couldn't read the dirty license plate", which is Piggie for "we think you look suspicious." If you're over the age of 15 and believe differently at this point in your life, please go away. Then keep going...

Chris has already provided a rundown of the details, so I'll try to conserve space, but it entailed having all of our IDs pulled, being interrogated (complete with poorly- veiled threats), then pulled off the bus to sit on the side of I-40. All with the machismo that even Pancho Villa would find better suited to a frat house.
I've discussed my disgust for these arbitrary, Gestapoesqe "I don't like your look" searches, and at length with Chris, Shalain, and Kim before. I see them as the primary, singular example of un- Americanism; abuses of authority. The one thing that anyone living in this country should be immune from, based on (what used to be) our ideals.

It occurred to me to ask, forcefully, WHY they were running my ID. What cause did they have to search me? My blood was boiling rapidly, but quickly realized that these weren't ordinary highway cops. These were drug- hunters looking for traffickers. To my amazement, and perhaps everlasting shame, I managed to keep my mouth shut. I answered their questions, and sat on the ground watching in quiet rage as Devin signed a search consent, they brought in the dog, then proceed to literally ransack the bus. All for NO real reason.

Amerika, I love ya!

As bad as this was for the rest of us, what they did to Leif was unconscionable. He suffers from Social Anxiety Disorder so naturally stammers a bit, and gets visibly perturbed when he's nervous. These investigative "geniuses" thought they were REALLY onto something while all four loomed over him, in ATF/ tactical- ops looking outfits complete with sidearms on display, asking him why he was "so nervous." Mocking him. I still don't have the words to tell you how disgusted I was, and still am. I've never had a great admiration for cops, due to my own "adventures in justice", but this was something different; it had a sinister, authoritarian stench to it.

Of course they found nothing, much to their obvious chagrin. They seemed perplexed as Scooby Doo bounded off the bus to play with his handler next to the highway, while the rest of The Corp of Futility had finally had enough and told us we were "free to go". They were going out of their way to let all of us know that Snoopy had snooped out a baggie that had "once had held pot, he'll find anything!" Obviously Blondie's sniffing powers were something to behold. Yeah, that's amazing... except Wonderpup and his Band of Merry Fascists missed the jarful of weed, sitting in plain sight, next to the driver's seat. I had to laugh when a certain, distinct smell made it's way to the front as we approached Nashville.

So... consider all the shady ethical examples presented by Tennessee's Finest. THEN consider that they missed the very thing they were after? THAT'S the illusion of safety & $ecurity that erodes freedom and liberty. Maybe you Tea Party people should start there rather than with approved- party dialectics.

We all felt quite violated after this, and tried to console Leif who was feeling guilty and was obviously traumatized after the way they tried to humiliate him. I've grown quite fond of him. He's a gentle, good- hearted person who's just uncomfortable and nervous in his own skin at times. He most certainly did not deserve that.

The next few hours to Nashville were a bit edgy. I set up a place to meet Kim and Chad on the far NW side, keeping in mind that we ALL needed a drink or ten.. .

8/14 Ken II: Ft. Smith to Nashville

We were back on the road at about 8:45 after our coffee & hygiene routine. The night before, we had missed that the Cherokee Truck Stop had a full Internet kiosk, complete with full- computers, and charged only $2 per hour. Had we noticed that, things would certainly have turned out differently!

We immediately crossed into Arkansas where of course I tried, and failed, to get my silly little picture. There was nothing of note worth talking about in Arkansas. It was Arkansas. I was again struck by how green every thing is out here. I have grown accustomed to New Mexico and Colorado’s lack of vegetation, and the brown texture to everything… even where it IS ‘green’! Also, the humidity. I am no longer conditioned to deal with higher humidity levels, and as soon as the truck’s windows went down or I stepped outside, it felt damp. This will take some adjusting.

Little Rock came and went. From there it was 150 miles or so to Memphis. I was stationed near Memphis, in Millington, during my brief fling with the Navy eons ago. Memphis triggers funny memories whenever I drive through, and it struck me how long it has actually been since I have lived there! Ugh!

"I’m still only 25... I’m still only 25... I’m STILL ONLY 25!!"

From Memphis it’s 200 miles up I-40 to Nashville. I had called Kim the night before to tell her that I was indeed coming, I was arriving Thursday, and I would call her when we were close enough to know when we would be in the city. I thought Memphis would be that point, but Ken had more time than he originally thought thus he was less stressed about arriving late. I put off the phone call until we were almost IN Nashville where we had stopped at a Petro truck stop which had a shitty little “Quick Skillet” restaurant. “Quick Skillet” is like “Iron Skillet” (my favorite restaurant), but… shitty. No buffet, just a … shitty… salad bar. We decided mid- meal to forego “Quick Skillet” in favor of whatever awaited us at the T/A in Nashville where we were meeting Kim. It was that bad. The two plates from the salad bar wound up costing us $13. We won’t be visiting your neighborhood Petro again, unless they rename "Quick Skillet" "Shitty Skillet".

The "Shitty Skillet"was a quick 20 minutes from the Nashville Sprawl, and after navigating rush hour traffic then hunting down the hidden T/A off I-65 next to the football stadium, we were finally here. The ride from Denver had taken 49- hours.

Ken parked the truck; I called Kim to give her directions, and bought Ken dinner as a token “thank you” for the ride. We chatted about other possible connections, and he again said that anytime we were in proximity, I was welcome to tag along. I told him, again, how appreciative I was for the rides then he actually thanked ME, saying something to the effect that it was nice to have someone intelligent to chat with on the road. The fact that HE was thanking ME for anything astounded me.

We had dinner, and Kim predictably called saying that she too was having trouble finding this poorly- placed T/A with no visible sign! I guided her in, by phone, and for the first time since 1995, I was hanging out with my broadcasting school- pal Kim. I introduced her to Ken, we retrieved my pack from the truck, I said goodbye to Ken, and we were off. Time to see exactly why I am in Nashville. That was a mystery to me; for about 45 minutes. And, oh! how that mystery was solved.