8/6- 8/8: Santa Fe- Ithaca, NY

After spending June and most of July sequestered away in Michigan, and then another two weeks back in New Mexico, August's arrival sent me spiraling into "do something... anything" mode. Purely motivated by a lack of divine inspiration, I took aim for the last three of the lower-48 I'd yet to visit: Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont and after a few days of mental wrangling I chose to forgo the 60-hour Greyhound Marathon to the Maine/ Canada border in favor of Craigslist's Rideshare.

Departure day was Friday the 6th with Elissa, a pleasant 60-something Latina from Santa Fe on her way to see family in Denver. She was almost the perfect Rideshare: no haggling over money, flexible on the departure, and drove fast with very few stops! It was quite uneventful, and entertaining in that I was treated to watching her drive AND smoke a bowl through Colorado Springs; skills I can only imagine!

7/12: Nebraska to New Mexico- Inga

Back at the bus station, it was a familiar waiting game. I sat there in relative silence, smoking occasionally and trying to tolerate the kids running unattended through out the place. The young woman from earlier was still there with her pile of luggage after returning from a trip to the same coffee shop Chris and I had visited. We didn’t speak until the bus was almost ready to board and when it was obvious she was clueless as to which bus she was to board. To her credit, the customer service in Omaha was typical Greyhound: shitty, and having no less than six full bags did not help her, so I offered some help finding out along the way that she was taking the same bus I was, toward Denver, or her way to Oregon.

Once on the 9pm bus, we sat across from each other and began chatting. Inga was 24, and counter my assumption that she was either moving or homeless, I learned that she had actually been hitching… with all that shit! I was amazed. She had begun in Oregon, and hitched a series of rides, primarily with truckers all the way to New Hampshire where she had apparently been beaten up by one of her rides when she refused to have sex with him. Inga told me that the trucker had left her some place she could not remember (sounded like Philadelphia) only remembering that the police had let her sleep at the police station, saying that if she stayed there, she would end up dead. She went on to tell that her next ride had promised to take her all the way home, where she hoped to see her kids, but dropped her at the bus station after buying her a ticket after another coital- refusal had led to arguments across Iowa. When I told her that we had been at the Iowa 80 that week, she laughed and said she remembered seeing us sitting there when they themselves had stopped there. I instantly remembered the arguing couple I had vaguely noticed, realized it had been her, and had to laugh myself.

Inga’s story was rather pathetic. She had been married and had children, but after her separation had apparently gotten involved in dealing. Through some now- lost chain of events, she had lost custody of her kids and there had been a raid at her home leading to the arrest of two Mexican- connected suppliers. She told me that the police had told her that if she cooperated there would be no charges, but instead she chose to hit the road. Her ex- husband had no interest in letting her see her kids, and she had no idea if there were warrants waiting for her when she got home, saying only that the all- familiar ID checks had turned up nothing while she was gone.

It was an interesting ride to Denver. We sat in the back of the bus looking at pictures, chatting, and half- watching Wild Hogs on the Trailways DVD player. She had quite a different demeanor on the bus than she had given off while sitting silently at the terminal. She became quite talkative, seeming grateful for the fact that our new companionship was shielding her from the other men on the bus. That became more apparent when we stopped around 1am for dinner, and she became visibly irritated at the amusing (to me!), lewd comments!

She told me she was planning to head off again, to wherever, after she had gotten a clear indication of her situation in Oregon. I wondered to myself about how this would all play out, if it were all true, and of course about her kids. The people I have met, rather they are traveling or not, usually have a narrative that needs its final chapters written. We all have a story; I figured this was hers and it was not my place to judge. We began to chat superficially about re- connecting when I got to the Pacific Northwest, and sharing the trail for a bit. It would obviously be easier for me to get rides with a cute, young blonde in tow, but the notion of being a truck stop bodyguard did not exactly appeal to me!

We eventually dozed off waking at about 7am Sunday to the familiar sights of the I-70/ I-25 interchange in downtown Denver, then my old friend: Coors Field. My layover was two- hours while Inga’s was nearly five, so we spent the next 90- minutes drinking coffee, smoking, and chatting. Chris’ train had been an hour behind schedule, but he did indeed show up just as I was getting ready to board the Americanos line to Santa Fe. We chatted briefly as I introduced them, and left those two to chat as I headed south. I was interested to hear Chris’ take on Inga knowing that I was probably much able to relate with her background than Chris may be.

Settling into the Spanish- speaking Americanos bus, it occurred to me that I had missed these sorts of characters you meet on the bus. One of the coolest rides ever was to Asheville, NC in 2005 when I met a bonafide philosopher AND a couple who were practicing dumpster diving/ road kill eating anarchists, all within 10- minutes!

I managed to stay awake thru Pueblo until the lack of sleep over the last few days hit me with a hammer. I slept all the way to Santa Fe, and in fact almost missed my stop. Americanos drivers speak little English, so I barely deciphered “Santa Fe” as I awoke shocked that I had slept all the way through. Shalain picked me up a few minutes later, and I was finally able to exhale a bit and begin to enjoy a much- needed, extended interlude.

The next few weeks, while not inspiring for aspiring travel writers, would hold narratives of their own. The remainder of July into the beginning of August would be a smooth, quiet, roller coaster of introspection, plans, ideas, and one particularly shocking, disturbing development that would unexpectedly shake me to my core, and demand a fundamental re- evaluation of priorities, place, and purpose.

7/11: Parting Ways in Omaha- Te Nosce!

Dirk’s appointment was at a wedding reception held at a hotel downtown, literally just a block from the bus station. He was running late after all the trouble of the day. Chris volunteered to help him unload the photo booth while I arranged to get my ticket to Santa Fe. Once done, the only things left to do were pick up my ticket, swap food and gear, and kill the nearly 4- hours until my Trailways departed toward Denver. There were just two other people inside the station, one of which being a pretty, blond 20- something woman carrying so much shit I assumed she was moving! Chris and I sat down, made the exchanges, then decided to go try to find a coffee shop where we could relax, chat, and probably reflect on things that had happened and were to come.

Chris had made some very telling comments since we had left Dirk behind, including that he was debating staying in Omaha for a day or two, or hoofing out into the Nebraska countryside for a few days. These were the same suggestions I had made in Iowa, so it was apparent that I was part of the problem for him. Chris needed to get away from me… and knew it. He was polite enough not to say it so many words, as is his way, but I completely understood the words between the words! The funny thing is that I had the same thoughts before purchasing the ticket. There was a sense of missing an opportunity in Nebraska, but deep inside I knew I just had no resources left. While the notion was toyed with, my subconscious took over and drug me DIRECTLY to the metaphorical (and real) ticket counter!

A security officer directed us a few blocks toward Omaha’s “Old Town”, which reminded me a bit of Denver’s LoDo. Omaha surprised me in the sense that this area was quite nice, and there were quite a few people walking around the re-developed area that consisted of mostly renovated warehouses. After some searching, we did find an acceptable place to drink shitty, sour- tasting, hippie coffee, and chat. We put out feet up on the table, settled into the comfortable seats and relaxed. The realization that this phase “trip” was ending had begun to become apparent and the correlating elephant in the room. We chatted about a few of these things, but it was not one of our typical brainstorming sessions. We reflected on the fact that, in addition to the many positive things we had ourselves experienced, we probably had a greater positive effects on others than we could see; affecting others silently through Brian’s “mirroring.” Yes, this coffee shop had a feel of reflecting back on something that had just ended rather than that of “taking a break.” It was perfect. As we left, we made our way to a corner convenience store where Chris would make his way toward the Amtrak station, and I would return to await my Trailways.

This was it.

By now, Chris had all but abandoned the idea of venturing off into Nebraska, so we made “plans” to meet at the Denver bus station, since the California Zephyr was due to arrive at almost the exact time as my bus. We shook hands, took a goofy picture, and walked off in separate directions. This was the moment Phase I, which began for me on April 13th, ended in my mind. I was now stepping into something different, and had NO idea what that was; there were no guarantees that Chris & I would be traveling together again.

The events of Friday were still weighing heavy on my mind. I had time to reflect while riding across Iowa, and it began to sink in that I not only wanted a break, it was imperative. As was a corresponding ego check of my own. It had become obvious that the mental wear of Michigan had simply been too great for me to recover by simply sitting at a truck stop, or even in the woods or on the side of the road. I chastised myself for being so judgmental of Chris the day before but at the same time, I could see where it had come from. I was mentally flooded and exhausted; had lost the ability to see things clearly and, more importantly, from another point of view. The self- absorption had become so all- consuming because I needed to direct most of my mental energy inward, STILL trying to come to terms with June. I had a lot of new information, and now needed to categorize and compartmentalize it, then look outward. Any distraction from this imperial priority was going to be a source of frustration, regardless of WHOM it involved. I needed the perspective that can only come from familiar surroundings viewed through these different “lenses” to see exactly how familiar sights had changed.

As I sit here and write these over 2- weeks later in Santa Fe, this is not exactly my proudest moment and I confess I considered glossing over Friday and its causes all together to keep it “clean.” However, the name of this blog itself means “Know Thyself” and attempting honesty and authenticity with yourself is hard. Honesty and authenticity are not always easy. They are not always flattering. They MOST definitely can be quite ugly and, if you are willing to share them, sometimes reflect poorly on you if you are true to how they happen. We are human! However, these unflattering and sometimes painful experiences are ultimately the pains of growth. Knowing that, I chose to hopefully set a small example of action as opposed to empty self- righteous blather and let you digest how you see fit.


Vitam… Impendere… Vero.

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!