4/15: E. Oklahoma & Arkansas

After staying up late, it was slow going. Devin, Leif, and Chris made trips back to the house for coffee, to use the bathroom, etc. while I remained at the bus savoring some alone time and taking advantage of the chance to update, and think a bit.

At some point, Devin made his way back to the bus and we finally had a conversation about Chris and I possibly bypassing Nashville all together and continuing on to perhaps DC, Virginia Beach, or even the Delmarva Peninsula. Devin quite honestly doesn't care and seems to enjoy the extra help in securing and loading the veggie oil. Nashville has lost its charm since Kim's roommate backed out on her and neither of us have an urge to navigate its sprawl needlessly and see nothing else drawing us to Tennessee. Why not keep going? Devin still has to decide which route he's taking to Delaware, where he has friends to see, and that will determine much so stay tuned. No matter what, we should be within spitting distance of the Atlantic by Chris's birthday on Monday. Here's to hoping I can finally stick my foot in it, get the damn picture, and tell that residual obsession to go to Hell!

The rest of the day was uneventful outside of the search for veggie oil. We didn't really start looking until 4:00, found none in Oklahoma City, then stopped in Shawnee where we finally had some luck at a Garfield's. Afterwords, Devin stopped at Walmart for supplies while I drug Chris thru a carnival being held in the adjacent parking lot. I was feeling nostalgic for my carnie days of 2008, but thankfully the brisk little stroll thru the midway may have cured that little affliction!

While sitting in the parking lot and munching on freshly purchased Cheerios, Chris and I were approached by a pair of women in an SUV who asked if we were on our way to "Swagstock" in Missouri. My clever reply was "What the hell's Swagstock?" Apparently it's a biker- type gathering held in Salem, MO in the spirit of Sturgis. These two were on their way, and said we looked like the type who'd be going, especially with the bus as a backdrop. "Must be the goatee.", I told myself; never been confused for a biker! Maybe it's my P90X abs and goofy hat? Either way, Chris was on top of things and passed them a website card, and they were off. That triggered a flurry of thought in my head, because that's exactly the type of adventure I'd happily embark upon once I get my sea- legs, so to speak!

Other than conversations on where we may possibly disembark from the bus, and pondering the mental makeup of Chris McCandless, that was about it. We crossed into Arkansas at about 11:30 or so, putting Oklahoma behind us. There is something about that place, and it gets a bad rap. Give it a chance sometime!

Devin got us down the Little Rock bypass before stopping down for the night. I'm contemplating trying to contact a carnie friend while we're here. Tricia was part of that Easter Sunday circle- event in New Orleans last year; the one with my Chickasha buddy that led to my Indian name... have I told you that one yet?

4/14: Oklahoma City

First, allow me to apologize for the annoying formatting errors lately; posting with Pocketmail to this temperamental template takes some getting used to. I was happy just to have paragraphs last time.We came into Oklahoma City sometime around 10pm while getting directions to our new destination: a place Devin described as both a "punk house" and a "collective" populated by "raving feminists". "How interesting THIS should be!", I thought to myself as the "plan" (ha!) changed from hanging out on campus in Norman, to this supposed anarchist enclave.

Mel and her friend, Salty, were waiting outside for us when we finally found the house on OKC's northwest side. It quickly became evident that this house was in a very eclectic neighborhood, a bit like Denver's Capitol Hill. This surprised me a bit. In fact, as Chris later pointed out, the city in general has a feel similar to Denver, just no mountains. By now I was expecting to be pleasantly surprised by this state everyone seems to ignore until tornadoes strike!

Mel and Salty are in their mid 20's, and wearing the uniform of non- conformity: old jeans, thrift store clothes, lots of black. That would be a theme that held thru the night: non- conformist conformity. Mel is quite attractive (despite her best efforts), affable, authentic, with a warm, hypnotic smile. The kind that energizes a room. All while still somehow keeping you at arm's length! Salty, on the other hand, has a librarian look because of the typical pointed glasses, but she emanates an odd vibe; call it Creepy Spinster Librarian. Rather than arm's, she was at city block's length.

Devin & Leif had known a friend of Mel's from the collective in Taos, so they took to each other immediately, chatting about common acquaintances and experiences. Leif was in his own world as usual, while Chris and I were excited to be there, yet also realizing quickly that we were out of our element. We took a quick tour of the house, which had its charm, but would drive most people batshit. It reminded me a great deal of the house I grew up in, so I took to it immediately. Then it was off the the liquor store for beer, lessons in 3:2 beer, and the night got underway. Some things transcend and never go out of style.

Upon returning to the collective, it immediately became obvious that we weren't simply imagining out separateness. We sat outside chatting and drinking Bud Dry for probably 45 minutes before anyone else came out. People were coming and going however, most looking pretty much the same: black clothes, thrift- store clothes with goofy do- it- yourself haircuts to apparently express individuality. Or perhaps tell each other apart. Either way, I found it amusing that they all seemed to be silently saying "fuck conformity!" while wearing the anarchist/ punk version of a suit and tie! A few were complaining how they had just worked fifteen hours unloading trucks, and other various menial jobs. How very cutting edge it is to work 15 for The Man, paying taxes, while still living in squalor. Anyone else find that odd? Rather than cutting edge it seemed to me to be a bit... foolish. How can you stick it to The Man while paying taxes on the overtime you just worked?

Among some of the people that came and went were a few I really enjoyed. Max was a traveler from somewhere in California, Brooke was a stunning blond who in my opinion had little interesting to say, but was quite interesting to look at! Then there was Nicole. A true gem in my experience: an attractive, lighthearted, free- spirited young lady who makes me LAUGH! Alot. She and her three- legged dog were a burst of needed positive energy! I believe she ventured off to another house, much too quickly in my then "sick- of- pretension" opinion, where they were having an outdoor showing of Twister. I thought that was a funny movie to be showing in Oklahoma. I wish I would have joined them!

The rest of the night was spent accidentally setting Salty's hair on fire, chugging beers trying (and failing) to get to some comfort level in this odd place, while trying not to be too judgmental of these folks. They opened their space to us after all, and I did appreciate that. I guess it's that I hate seeing idealistic, well- intentioned people caught up a dogma because they're trying to avoid another. At least they HAVE ideals, however, and also to their credit, I heard NO mention of Obama nor any foray into the standard two- party dialectic. In fact, no politics at ALL! Perhaps I'm not giving them enough credit...

The night ended at about 2 with the two of us STILL wondering why the hell we felt drawn to Oklahoma, since it apparently wasn't this. We ran into an uber- friendly cat on the way back to the bus; I miss mine! Chris has D & D; I have cats...

4/14: Amarillo- OKC

Chris and I stayed awake quite awhile chatting about his post Monday night, and I was struck by the sense of familiarity I felt about his need to feel like he should entertain his rides. I had dealt with similar notions last summer, particularly with Cesar and Ken... long rides with single individuals... where I felt that I had to earn my keep with witty banter. It's funny how that has just been assimilated into the experience, and that I hadn't really considered it again. The early stages of this trip is going to be an exercise in escaping comfort zones, and redefining acceptable parameters of travel. I had been a bit self absorbed in the sense that while this is familiar to me, it is a new mindset for Chris. Don't worry... the tables will turn; my time to adjust is coming!
I was surprised at how comfortable the bunk was considering it is essentially plywood covered with a down sleeping pad. I awoke a few times due to the unfamiliar sounds and odd dreams that seem to be the norm now, but other than that, slept like a brick.

Devin and Leif were up early Tuesday maintaining the bus while Chris and I slept until noon. The main task for the day was scouring Amarillo for fuel. Collecting veggie oil is a rather tedious, dirty, and apparently sometimes dangerous task. We zeroed in on a strip of restaurants on what I believe was old Route 66. Devin gave us the talking points and soon we were off in teams of two asking about used fryer grease. Ahh, the looks! Everyone we chatted with was receptive however, and after 20 minutes or so, we had a target.

Initially, the manager had told us that we were welcome to the oil, but that the company that picks it up had already done so that very morning. As we were leaving the lot empty handed however, Devin decided to look inside the barrel anyhow and behold! 30- 40 gallons of rather pristine used oil. Leif suggested that we set up shop on a section of dirt behind the parking lot, but Devin decided against that. In the parking lot it was.

It was a sunny, warm, windy north Texas day as we went thru the process of pumping, filtering, and loading the oil into the bus. Most of the work is manual, especially the process of filtering. After it's gathered, they pour the oil into 5- gallon buckets with ordinary cotton tee shirts bungeed across the top to filter the large impurities. The wind made this process particularly messy, with veggie oil collecting on the pavement. Several times I had wondered about that, but figured Devin knew what he was doing and let it go.

The process took a couple hours, and just as we were wrapping up, two stocky cowboy hat wearing men came out of the steak house to ask "just what the fuck we thought we were doing!" He didn't care about Devin using the oil, he was pissed that we were making a mess of his parking lot. And I mean pissed! He threatened to call the sheriff and have the bus "towed the hell right outta here 'cuz this is bullshit! Ya don't do a man's property that way!" I had to admit, he had a point. I tried with some success to reassure him that we would tidy up, while the others quickly gathered our things for what was now the Great Amarillo Escape... in a slow, huge, white 1970's bus...

We took a secondary road thru the rest of Amarillo to stay off the interstate, slowly concluding that the cops had better things to do than chase us down! Once out of Amarillo, we had a good laugh and proceeded to Oklahoma, with Chris and I wondering, still, what the draw was. There was talk of stopping in Norman for the night, but as we approached Oklahoma City we learned that we were instead stopping for the night at a "punk/ collective" house on the north end of the city...

8/26 & 8/27 Nashville to Santa Fe

Kim and I were at the bus terminal early… very early… to assure that I would not be shut out due to Greyhound’s notorious policy of overselling, leaving those at the end of the line to wait for the next bus. I threw the pack onto the floor behind the two people who had gotten there before me, chatted with a couple of young women going to Clarksville, and finally boarded the bus when it arrived… an hour and a half late.

The bus went through northern Tennessee, into eastern Kentucky, the extreme southern end of Indiana (Evansville), then thru southern Illinois into St. Louis. I had some graphic memories of the St. Louis terminal from a trip to Asheville a few years ago, and was initially pleased to learn that they had, just the week before, opened a new station. It was nice. Clean. Sterile. Creepy. It resembled something directly out of a futuristic totalitarian- state film! There was a definite presence of over- the- top security, and as I went through only the SECOND security checkpoint I have ever seen (Albuquerque being the other), I remember thinking that this is what I imagine Fascism smells like. Feels like. We were required, once inside, to remain in line and if we whose to smoke we were ordered to completely leave the property, cross the street, and go back through security. I have never understood searching people who have just gotten off another bus, and the attitudes of the Brown Shirts reminded me of something I had seen on “Lockup”. I was seething as I compared today to 10, 15, and 20 years ago. The experience was topped off by a rather poor, dirty, young woman sitting on the floor wailing because the Brown Shirts had told her she was not going allowed on her bus because of something she had “said” to the security thugs. Her kid was crawling all over her wondering what was wrong. By the time I got on the bus I was fuming… barely beneath the surface. In the end the woman did board the bus, but the whole thing reminded me of a totalitarian “run through”. I hope I never set foot in that shithole again.

Of course, the St. Louis- Los Angeles bus was overcrowded. Very overcrowded. I have figured out that one of the benefits of working for the Dirty Dog is access to free rides. I have seen as many as four employees just riding along, in full costume, and this was no exception. There was an employee sitting in the front seat, with the seat next to his empty, while the rest of the bus was filled past capacity, meaning some had to stand. This route passed through Ft. Leonard Wood, MO thus there were GIs on board, and one of these had to either stand or sit on the floor… in uniform. I was still steaming from my Nazi- experience beneath the Gateway Arch, and not in a mood to keep my mouth shut. I began pointing out—loudly—to the people sitting around me that there was a serviceman sitting on the floor, while this employee who was either riding “space available” or working-- getting paid-- was sitting in the front row isolated in a little bubble. The other passengers expressed their displeasure as well, but the employee did not budge. I decided that it was best in this situation to shut up and go to sleep. I was tap-dancing around the edge of trouble… and being bounced off this cattle- car myself.

I slept on and off, and had a very interesting political conversation with a guy from Arkansas. He was returning from his summer job in Pennsylvania to his winter job in Arkansas. He and I agreed on many things and he had noticed the “Big Brother” feel back in St. Louis as well. He had even worked for a carnival for a few weeks, and had some of the same experiences as I. When he got off the bus in Joplin, I was shocked to realize that he was MAYBE 4’9”. He conversed much bigger. Later on I chatted briefly with a South African woman about the non- existent customer service with Greyhound. She pointed out, accurately, that it was due to the monopoly the have on bus- travel. If there were ANY competition, or if Amtrak was closer cost- wise, I would never touch another Greyhound and neither would any of the people I have talked with. It’s pretty pathetic when the occasional driver expresses embarrassment about it, as the driver from Nashville to St. Louis had.

The rest of the ride was as any other. Boring. We got to Oklahoma City shortly before dawn, and then it was on to Amarillo. From Amarillo to Albuquerque I had the privilege of listening to the young man behind tell how insane he is; how he suffers from paranoia, and schizophrenia, and that he had been in jail a “shitload.” And… he liked guns. I chatted with Chris a bit, and finally heard from Ken too. He said that he had lost the charger to his phone, and since my number was in there, had no way to let me know that things had changed. In no way did I believe him but honestly, it did not matter! He had done enough already, and I knew that there was a slight risk in going to Atlanta to meet him. It was a risk/ reward decision, and I lost. I did not like what had happened, but it seemed ludicrous to be mad at him.

As we got closer to Albuquerque, the realization that the trip was essentially over began to set in, and I rather enjoyed the solitary time to reflect on everything that has happened since May. It has been quite a summer, and now the prospects for the winter began to take center stage. Mexico. South America. Getting there.

The bus was close to on- schedule for once and I arrived in Albuquerque shortly after 4:30. Shalain picked me up, and that was that.

We made a b- line for the Albuquerque REI so I could return the shoes, backpack, unused rain fly, and the shoe- inserts they had sold me in San Francisco. As expected, I had attached myself to the shoes and the backpack! We had been through a lot and I hated to see them go, but had long since realized that I did not need a pack that large, and that the shoes were probably overkill.

The lead up to the trip had been maddening in the sense that I could NOT decide on a backpack for the life of me. I had gotten the Gregory at the last minute when I found it at the Denver REI for at about half- price. I began to realize that the old Coleman external- frame pack I already owned would have worked fine. From here on it may serve me better in the sense that it is older, and less flashy; less of a target. The shoes were entirely too expensive, and I already had a pair of German Army surplus boots that were not as fancy (or as comfortable), but had only cost me $15. I decided to see if I could make them work. I was also thrilled to learn that the Santa Fe REI was opening in about 2- weeks meaning NO more driving to Albuquerque for stuff!

Once I got home, I mentally exhaled. I needed some time to process everything, and deal with nagging feelings of disappointment and failure. Todd being Todd. The time in Randleman with the church- folk had been nagging me a bit, and I wanted some time to compartmentalize it.

I remember wondering while in Oregon how this trip would end, and how I would look back on it. Now I know. The next few weeks would be a mixed- bag, and although I hoped that through reflection I would feel that metaphorical “lightning bolt of enlightenment”, I knew better. I was curious to get back to familiar, comfortable surroundings, not only to relax, but to see how I had changed. I enjoy playing the part of the guinea pig.

8/13 Ken II: Oklahoma

The alarms went off as planned, and we were coffeed- up & on the road by 5:30 am headed down US-287 (that damn road again!) toward Hugo, Kit Carson, the Sand Creek Massacre site, and Oklahoma. I had a twinge of missed- opportunity as we passed the turn- off to Sand Creek; it's a place I have wanted to visit since I first read about it. You REALLY should Google it, but I'll help you out: Sand Creek Massacre.

The first part of the day was a bit difficult. Our turn- off/ go- east point was Boise City, OK which, I quickly noticed, is VERY close to NE New Mexico. The second guessing began, and didn't cease. I saw that I could hop out of the truck and probably be to I-25 near Springer or Clayton within a few hours, or the next day. “Home free-- for free“ I thought. I attributed much of this mental ping- pong to the fact that I was exhausted. I may be a grizzled, salty, skanky- smelling road- dog, but getting up at 5am still sucks! I decided to sleep a bit more as we passed through the rest of Colorado, to see if it would pass with a bit more rest. I slept for about an hour, and awoke just before we passed from Colorado into the Oklahoma panhandle.

The sleep helped a bit; not much. I began looking more closely at the map plotting how long, and through what sort of terrain, I would have to hitch to get to I-25. Then, again, I thought back to California. The Marin County Epiphany where I sat on the hill overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and the San Francisco Bay/ skyline while fighting the impulse to return home, then coming to the realization that I would not have sacrificed ANY of the experiences to date, and if I stopped then I would be doing EXACTLY that. I was proven right, time and time again, through the rest of California, Oregon and Idaho. These thoughts, along with the realization that summer is quickly coming to an end and that I would have PLENTY of time to work come October, kept me in Ken’s truck. They kept me in the truck, but did NOT stop the second guessing.

The drive through the Okalahoma panhandle, on US-64, US-270 and ultimately I-40, toward Oklahoma City was quiet. I was consumed by my own self- absorption, and we were mostly kept company by Ken’s Sirius radio. I grew weary of hearing some retarded song that repeated over and over again “I kissed a girl and I liked it… hope my boyfriend don’t mind it…”

Shakespeare. Pure fucking Shakespeare.

The last real test for me on the way to Nashville was just west of Oklahoma City when we stopped at a gas station that doubled as a Greyhound station. I asked the older- guy behind the counter to fire up his dial- up and get me a price to Albuquerque. $89. Nope… not spending that when I could have spent $59 from Denver.

“Hey, dumbass! Remember San Francisco!” I got back in the truck, and forgot about returning to New Mexico.

I had sent an email off the night before to a guy I had worked with at a radio station in St. Joseph, MI in 2003. He now lives in Ft. Smith, Arkansas which is on the Okalahoma border. Ken was planning on stopping for the night there, so I thought I’d have a little fun. Corey has always been one of those types of ‘friends’ that irritate me. Especially the ‘radio friends’ Flighty. They remain just enough of a ‘friend’ to keep the ‘networking‘- channels open (never burn bridges, Todd!) in case they need work sometime and you would be in a position to help further their descent into Hell. Usually, when they find out I’m no longer in radio and how I despise seeing them whore themselves out, they disappear. With Corey, there was no real ‘disappearing’ to do. I hadn’t talked to him in at least 4- years, and I knew exactly how this was going to go. He had called me while we were in Boise City, and we did the generic ‘whatcya dooin now’ stuff while he complained about his latest radio- gig, and I told him I was ‘done’ with radio- while trying to avoid the ranting for which I seem to have become famous.

I told him we’d be in Ft. Smith, and to call if he wanted to get together to catch up. I knew full well I wouldn’t hear boo from Corey, joked with Ken about it, and we proceeded on. We both laughed quite hard later that night when Ken said “Hey… you never heard from your boy!”

Oklahoma City was as boring as ever, although we did pass Tinker Air Force Base which has an old Air Force One on display next to I-40. I was happy about the fact that I was actually traveling a stretch of Heartland Highway I had yet to see: I-40 between Oklahoma City and West Memphis, AR which includes Bill Clinton‘s personal harem: Little Rock. (woohoo!)
Little Rock would have to wait until Thursday however, as difficult as dealing with THAT anticipation was.

We finished off Oklahoma, and stopped at a T/A just before the state line, got showered, parked the truck, and set off to find something at least resembling food.

We found a little diner called the “4 Star Diner”, which wasn't, and featured a seemingly cracked- out redneck waitress. ENTIRELY too much freakishly- energetic southern hospitality oozing from this middle- age woman! Ken’s pork chop sucked, although I thoroughly enjoyed my greasy mushroom- swiss burger.

From the ‘Four Star’, it was off to the Cherokee Casino next door where we spent $3 to win $1.75. Funny how that works; glad I’m not a gambler.

I wrote in the journal trying to process the mental- turbulence from earlier in the day, and got to bed. Ken planned to leave a bit later on Thursday, so we would get to sleep in a bit. He’s a madman I tell you!