8/21 N. Carolina- 3 Steves, Titus, and a Gun

The drive from Nashville to Knoxville was smooth, although the decision was not! They did not seem to care where they dropped me off, so for some reason I initially decided on Chattanooga. Five minutes after we left I second thought that, thinking the Appalachian Trail may be an option once I got close to Asheville. Therefore, Knoxville it was.

I slept a good part of the way, while Kim snapped pictures and Rich drove. We got to Knoxville in mid- afternoon, then found a decent truck stop where they could drop me off. We milled around a bit then began the process of saying goodbye.

I still had the Canadian Flag on the backpack, and a guy who was walking inside made a funny comment about it as he walked by. Not rude, just obnoxious. That was my first indication that the symbol of our northern neighbors may not attract the same affection as out west.

We took a couple of pictures, chatted a bit more, and when Kim & Rich finally got in the car to leave, the guy who had made the comment about the flag, now back in his truck in the next parking place, asked me what I was up to. He had overheard the exchange and become interested in what I was doing. About the time that Kim and Rich had backed their car up, Steve had offered to take me about 60 miles up the road, to Newport. I hadn't even left the sidewalk and had a ride.

Oh, Happy Day!

I glanced at Kim’s face and saw something akin to amazement… or fear. I’m not sure which, but I got a kick out of that. She had been expressing misgivings about just ‘dropping me in the middle of nowhere’, and I was glad to have her see that I would not be stuck. I loaded the pack into the bed of the pickup, and waved once more to Kim as they drove off.

Steve was a middle- aged guy who was in the passenger seat of the truck, and judging by the equipment in the back, I used my Superpowers of Deduction to reason that they were heading home from work. His son was driving, also named Steve (Stephen). He was not in the truck when his dad had offered the ride, but seeing a stranger in the backseat did not seem to faze him one bit. We were quickly back on I-40 & heading east toward Newport, and ultimately for me, North Carolina.

This was the weekend of the NASCAR race in Bristol, TN and I believe that Stephen was having visions of battling Darrel Waltrip for the checkered flag, which in his mind seemed to be waving at the Newport exit since he drove 85- 90 the entire way. He was not reckless, just in a hurry, and I was happy to be making good time toward Asheville.

Steve Sr. sat in the passenger seat drinking Bud Lights the entire way, with me re- supplying from the cooler next to me in the back seat. He seemed to be quite interested in the travels thus far and I tried my best to describe them, but the time off the road, which by now was more than a month, had stilted the easy- conversationalism I had tapped into out west. It was immediately apparent to me, but I doubt that he noticed anything. He went on to tell me that they were from Michigan, from the Algonac area, and that they had relocated to Tennessee after the construction industry dried up, along with everything else in Michigan. They simply could not survive up there anymore and were doing only slightly better in Tennessee.

It was a pleasant, and thanks to Jr., a quick ride to the Newport exit. Steve Sr. told me that I was now in the Appalachians, and with the ‘hill folk’, which immediately conjured up images of "Deliverance."

*C’mon Squeeeeal!* eh, H. H.?

I didn’t figure I’d be taking any canoe trips through the mountains anytime soon, so I let that little glimpse of "Rebel Hell" fade away.

The Steves’ dropped me at a little gas station with a diner inside and was on their way, as was I. I went inside to refill the water bottle, not having any idea how long I’d be waiting. I had quickly learned another difference between east and west: getting water. The entire way- California, Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado… all of it... never do I recall being charged for water. Ice? Once. Water? Never. The truck stop in Knoxville had charged something like $0.35, and this gas station had only a sink- tap to use. The “pay or fill up in the bathroom” theme would continue throughout.

Asheville was my goal for the day and only another 40- 50 miles down I-40. I had been optimistic that I would get there since everyone I had talked to, and everything I had read, indicated that Tennessee was good for hitching. North Carolina? A bit shadier on the praise, while the inhabitants of Georgia and South Carolina were supposedly a folk not yet informed that the Civil War had ended, or that the slaves had been freed. Mississippi? I already knew that to be fact!

These were the thoughts as I left the gas station for the ¼-mile walk to the on- ramp. I was in another world; one more familiar than the west coast, and not all of that triggered positive recall! I was rather anxious to see how things would go as I sat down, lit a cigarette, and tried to re- focus my mind to ‘Road’.

I didn’t even get to finish the cigarette.

As I was sitting there in the muggy 90- degree sun looking for aspirin, a red pickup hauling a trailer loaded with welding equipment pulled over and asked where I was headed. I told them Asheville, using the ‘underselling’ technique, and they told me to hop in. THIS would be an interesting ride!

Titus, 22, and Stephen (yes, another one), 30, were from central Kentucky, and on their way to Winston- Salem, NC for work. They assemble water towers all over Kentucky, Tennessee, and NC, and were due in Winston that night.

Titus was a quiet guy, but you could tell that when he had something to say, he’d say it and mean it. He was seemingly content to observe me and go from there, striking up occasional conversation, but I was in the same 'look & see' mode he was. These two made me a bit edgy, especially after I let it slip that I was a “Yankee”, and saw Titus glance over to Stephen with what seemed to be an inside- thing.

*C’mon Squeeeeal!*

Stephen: a southern caricature. Picture a well- dressed, well- groomed, racist, xenophobic Larry the Cable Guy. The perfect redneck (his description) stereotype, with such a thick drawl I could understand only half of what he said before I adjusted to it, and man! he loved to talk. Maybe that was why Titus was so quiet? Couldn't get a word in anyhow! As we passed into North Carolina, I began to discover why Stephen was so chipper. Care to guess?

Yep.

Bud Light.

At this point, he was pounding ‘em at a rate of two every five- minutes. And yes, I WAS keeping track; again I was the server! Perhaps this is the key to hitchhiking down south.

As we approached Asheville, I began to feel much more comfortable. Just some good ol’ boys… never meanin’ no harm. Rather they had been in trouble with the law since the day they was born I’ll never know, but they reminded me of my youth and the people from around Hillsdale, MI. They threw around ‘nigger and fag’ like I throw around the word “I”.

“I “sat in the back, and enjoyed the display before me. Stephen would shout out the window, “Take that nigger to jail!” one minute, and talk about Jesus and his Christianity the next. And no Hippie, I didn’t say anything to them about it. And no, I didn’t get out of the truck. This was priceless!

Just before we passed through Asheville, Titus asked me if I was riding with them all the way to Winston- Salem. The beauty of “underselling”: It gives YOU a way out if the rides are unbearable, AND it does not obligate the driver to take you far if they are nervous about picking you up. It then gives you the chance to sell yourself; show them that you are not going to be asking for money, cigarettes, food… whatever.

And to let them see you don’t smell like pee. Hear that Hippie? Try NOT to smell like peeee! (Upward inflection on pee)

Now, the hippies amongst you may ask, “Todd, why didn’t you speak up, or get out of the truck when you heard the racist comments?” (Up- inflections on “up”, “truck”, and “comments”… fun, eh?) There was another reason, beyond the entertainment value. They had been laying down heavy and not so subtle hints that if I were to try anything, like pulling a knife, that they could “take care of business”. I had no interest in pissing off two Kentucky Rednecks while riding in their truck through the Appalachians, dig? Besides, I was enjoying the role of observer up until this point, and we were getting along just fine. Why rock the boat?

I'll tell you why you DON'T rock it: Just past Asheville, Titus pulled what looked like a .44 pistol from between his seat and the console.

Awwwwww… Todd’s first gun- pulling!

He did not pull it out for any other purpose than to let me know it was there, and I never saw it again after he put it back, which was immediately. Strangely enough, this did not bother me. Then again, why would it? Just reminded me of Hillsdale. I knew that these two had no problem with me, and were not going to rob me. HA! Rob me of what? What I found comical was that these two tough- guys, as it turned out, were more afraid of ME than I had been of them! The only thing that, apparently, gave them the courage to stop in the first place was the two redneck staples: beer and guns.

After at least 10 beers, Stephen took over at the wheel for Titus and from there the ride was great. Everyone relaxed, discarded the fronts, and somehow I was able to coax them out of their redneck, bravado dress- up. Well, almost. We began talking about things like trust, fear, and how people should treat other people; the golden rule. Amazingly, they are BOTH passionate about these things, and the Bible began to come up over and over again.

God n’ Guns.

It struck me how odd these ‘values’ sounded coming from a guy who had been yelling “Take that nigger to jail!” shortly before.

It is really a cultural thing, isn’t it? I have said it 1000 times, and seen it first- hand: they breed it into them. Therefore, Hippie… if I may return to this for a moment... all ‘taking a stand’ may have gotten me is thrown out of the truck at best, and pistol-whipped at worst. By keeping my mouth shut, I got some insight into their world, their outlooks (right or wrong), their disconnect, and it set a nice foundation for the major theme of North Carolina. Religion and its hypocrisy.

Do you suppose I have ANY hippies left by now?

The ride ended nicely, and they were treating me like an old (white) friend by the time they dropped me at a Holiday Inn Express in Winston- Salem at about 9:15. I came away thinking that these men were indeed good people. Despite the drunk- driving, the gun, innumerable racial slurs....

It was late; I was out of practice. Late at least to be hunting a sleeping- spot in an unfamiliar, urban area. I called Shalain, then eventually found my way to the old stand- by: between the exit ramp and highway. It wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty isolated and it felt good to be back on the ground again. Strange.

I had realized early on that I was not feeling entirely connected to what I was doing. I missed the excitement of the new experience. I laughed quietly in the first Stephen’s truck when I realized how things had changed. I was getting through this day solely on experience, whereas in California the first days were on excitement. I’d rather have the excitement! I attributed this to being off the road for so long, and hoped it would return soon.

And.. where the Hell was I going? How far I had unexpectedly come affected that. I had hitched a new personal record 270 miles on Thursday: I had neither expected nor planned for that. I had planned to use the time around the NC border, near Asheville, to get my bearings and plot a route. I had done very little homework on Winston- Salem, or I-40 past Asheville. I did not realize, to my utter shame, that there was a little metro- plex beginning with Winston- Salem, then Greensboro and Raleigh- Durham.

That damn ‘P’ word rearing its head again. No hippie, not “Progressive”! We need a ‘Hippie Poll’, don’t we?

I updated the written journal, and then passed out electing not to use the bivy. It was a beautiful, WARM, muggy night as I was dozing off so I did not even bother with the sleeping bag.

I should have bothered. I froze, and awoke realizing I had slept almost on top of a spider den!

LESSON: Find the campsite BEFORE dark!

Lesson my ass… I never do that.

8/19 Nashville- Health Care Meeting

I was awake rather late Monday night watching half of ‘Into the Wild’, so did not get up until about 11:30, and Rich left shortly thereafter to go run errands. McCarty and I hung out at his apartment until Kim returned home from work, then we all went to the Tennessee Health Care Campaign meeting at 6pm.

After the conversation with Kim, I was very interested to see what was happening with these people, and this issue.

I do not generally get involved with organizations, or even take an interest in them. In early 2006, I decided to take a closer look at the Colorado Libertarian Party, and went to a few of their state- level meetings in Denver. It was pathetic. The meetings were full of high- minded talk, and not much else. They liked to complain about the fact that the media ignores them, and sing the “Woe- is- Me Song,” yet are not willing to do anything to garner coverage. They seemed to think that cameras and newspaper stories should magically flock to them just because of their ‘ideas’. It was maddening.

I asked them why, if they believe in what they are doing, they were not on every street corner shouting their message, or trying to plan an event or demonstration that would demand media coverage. They said that they were afraid to ‘piss people off’ or, to ‘project a negative image’. A fringe, third POLITICAL party! Astounding.

It seems that the worst ‘image’ you could project, in their case, is that of irrelevance. If they believe in what they were doing, beyond sitting in a conference room and practicing group- mental masturbation, it seems that they would be spreading their message by any means. It seems they would be confident it would catch on.

“The Party of Principle” was more concerned with accommodating the very people that keep them compartmentalized and locked up, out on the fringes. They remain there today, with very few exceptions. As long as they remain inside the accepted framework of discussion and action, within the system, the system leaves them alone to die of apathy and obsolescence. Political starvation. What they do not realize, or choose to ignore, is that the two factions of The Political Party have already monopolized and booby-trapped the accepted ‘left- right’ spectrum. Trying to interject REAL change, within that structure, is political suicide.

Ultimately, “The Party of Principle” was more concerned about what people said about them than what they believed. Principle, eh? I did not last with them long due to that, and the realization that they are the Predatory Capitalist’s wet dream. No Ronald Reagans’; just Milton Freidman minus the IMF/ World Bank.

I mention all of this because this is what I expected of this organization here in Nashville. Kim was more optimistic than I was, and she had been in contact with them, so I gave the benefit of the doubt. It is also something that is critically important to her, so I wanted to at least try to put my disdain for those trying to change things ‘within the system’ on the shelf.

The people at the meeting were good people. Most of the items on the agenda, and the discussions that followed, surrounded what they are doing, on a state level. The Tennessee Health Care Campaign has no party- affiliation, and remarkably, I heard no indications of political bias. I expected them to be performing verbal- fellatio on Obama, but heard none of that. Nor did I hear any unkind words directed toward McCain. That was a good sign. Not a democratic front- group posing as advocates, like the “Work for Change!” ads you sees in newspapers and on Craigslist.

Their ideas and goals are admirable, and they are working with what they have to provide some coverage to many of those that have none, or not enough. However, it struck me that they are operating on a state- level when the situation demands federal money. Most of the discussion revolved around funding. For example, one of the programs recently started in Tennessee is ALREADY broke. I could not help remembering the rant I published in Denver about Iraq and Corporate Socialism. Funding for every state IS there… it is feeding the War Pig and providing corporate bailouts to banks and airlines.

There is also a Presidential debate, one of three, scheduled for Nashville in October. They are planning a ‘rally’ to try to gain attention the night before, are hoping for 1,000 people, and have arranged speakers and ‘entertainment’. One of the members was very quick to point out that this was NOT a protest or demonstration. That immediately sent up the red flags, mainly due to my experience with the Libertarians. Afraid to step on toes?

Why not invite everyone in the region; Tennessee, Kentucky, Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, North and South Carolina, Virginia, and West Virginia; who are WITHOUT insurance or accumulating medical debt to come to Nashville to be seen and heard? Why not encourage the people who normally have NO voice to show up, participate, and DEMAND it? Why be content to sit passively and politely ask for something that OUR FEDERAL TAXES should rightfully provide? Why sit idly by and hope that a Tea & Cookie party attracts the cameras? Why not force the issue? Ah, yes, “within the system.” Let the backroom deals and special- interest influence continue out of fear that you may ‘piss them off’’. I get it.

From that moment on, I was biting my tongue out of respect for Kim.

We left the meeting after an hour and went off for pizza near Vanderbilt University. The discussions mostly revolved around what more the organization could be doing, the philosophy of Civil Disobedience, the term Predatory Capitalism, and how to exist without lending it support.

I tried to explain my views that PEOPLE hold the ultimate power, not the economic or political elite. All they have to do is REALIZE it. We hold the gold. All of us. Imagine what would happen if we all decided not to shop for a week. Imagine if we all just called in sick to work. What would happen if the ‘cogs in the machine’ suddenly stopped spinning? Do you think that we would get universal health care then? Would that get their attention? Of course, it would. Why do you suppose that corporate America and the media have worked so hard, for decades, to neuter the unions (literally and figuratively), and perpetuate fear of one another? Because an organized people, united against a common, and LEGITIMATE threat (economic power, corruption & exploitation) is dangerous to the elite power structure. In fact, it is ultimately lethal.

I told Kim & Rich the same thing I had suggested to Ken. If we could ever figure out a way to create some sense of unity, across racial lines, among the poor and underprivileged, in this and every other country, the injustice could almost certainly cease. THAT is where ultimate power lies. In your hands. (Not yours Skippy… head back to the Hill, and I will get to you in a few minutes!)

Can you imagine a coalition of “Poor X”? Poor Blacks, Whites, Hispanics, Asians, Native Americans… Eskimos… Venusians, Martians & Atlanteans! Where the “X” would not matter? What would happen then? The elite, by killing the middle- class, are sealing their fate when that happens. When that 1% controls 99% of the wealth, that 1% is doomed. They had BETTER hope that the 99% continue to fight amongst ourselves for as long as possible. If we ever stop, gaze upon the Palatine, and realize that it is not “Whitey” (or any other euphemism) “keeping us down”, that the 99% consists a vast collage of races, religions, and beliefs who are standing right there next to us, scrambling for the same scraps thrown from the ‘hill’ we are? If that realization ever comes? Well, the Palatine is easy to find, and I like 99:1 odds.

I have become convinced that the answer lies in that Pollyanna Unity.

The powerful and the wealthy are NEVER going to redistribute what they have already stolen. I have no interest in the “nuance of law.” When the government taxes me, without my consent, to fund a war I vehemently disagree with, war waged based on a corrupt foundation of blatant LIES, and I have no recourse to recover that money, money I generated with MY OWN labor? That is theft. I see no distinction between this fraud and Enron. When my government takes my money, without my consent, and while refusing to provide basic medical care to its own citizens, then freely provided CORPORATE Socialism to mortgage companies and airlines to keep THEM afloat? Theft. I don’t give a frog’s fat- ass about "legalese and terminological ambiguity." I am not blind; I can see the thief in my kitchen with my own eyes. The one who repeatedly pillages my cupboards claiming it’s “for my own good.”

“Unjust laws exist.” It IS theft.

Just my kind of chit- chat! I was quite surprised at how interested Rich suddenly seemed to be, and amused at the fact that the yuppies at the next table quickly went silent when they heard our conversation.

The chatting continued on the way to Blockbuster to rent ‘Motorcycle Diaries’, then it was back to Rich’s to watch the movie and kid around the rest of the night.

I had decided to leave the next day, and they offered to take me somewhere. I had told them that I might as well just let THEM decide, not tell me where it was, and just drop me off there! Indecisiveness blows! Rich offered, to my astonishment, to take me to Knoxville, near the N. Carolina border if I wanted. That is 160 miles east, and it would put me close to either Asheville, NC or Virginia. I began to look at the map and realized that if I chose to, I could actually go northeast thru W. Virginia and Maryland into Delaware. A bridge connects the southern tip of Delaware with Virginia Beach. It crosses Chesapeake Bay and I could then walk or hitch all the way to the Outer Banks.

Decisions! Decisions!! Where are the fucking dice?

8/15- 8/16 Nashville

Two nearly identical days. Not much that I can really talk about on Friday, but NOT uneventful. The day consisted of discussions of various kinds with both Kim and Shalain concerning action v. rhetoric, and dealing with conflict and personal hypocrisy.

I updated RWTW (the blog) for most of the afternoon while trying to process the conversations from the night before. That took some doing, and the additional drama that, again, I cannot mention just happened to fit in perfectly, boiling my blood all the more! Sorry for not elaborating, but trust me, this post could be VERY long. Some day...

I also began to contemplate different possible directions for when I leave, leaning toward North Carolina or Virginia because I love it there! I really enjoyed the Outer Banks when we saw the area in '03, and the Atlantic Coast through South Carolina and Georgia is gorgeous, not to mention that unlike California I'd actually be able to SWIM in it without freezing! I also heard for the first time about Tropical Storm Fay...

Saturday was identical but sans drama. I spent a few hours writing in the journal and updating RWTW , and the rest of the time either watching TV or chatting with Kim.

I had been half- planning to leave on Sunday, but decided to wait another day or two to see what happened with TS/ Hurricane Fay. The Weather Channel's storm- track seemed to be predicting a direct collision with Tampa, and Ken.

Most people would feel lucky that they weren't taken into a hurricane's path, but I was a bit annoyed! I have never seen a hurricane, or even a tornado for that matter, The idea of riding one out GREATLY appeals to me especially since Hurricane Ivan drove us out of Ft. Walton Beach, and ultimately to New Mexico & Denver (with a little help from my friends), in 2004.

I figured I'd keep an eye on how strong it became and where it was going from there. Not quite clinically insane... but almost.

I got to meet Kim's boyfriend, Rich, late Saturday upon his return from Dallas where he had celebrated his birthday. Ken had found it odd that Rich would have no problem with his girlfriend having a guy, whom he's never met, stay at Kim's house while he was out of town. It had actually never dawned on me until he mentioned it, but after meeting Rich, it made perfect sense. He's laid- back and seems to be Drama Gene Deficient. We got along very well and had quite an enjoyable time sitting around telling the jokes that are funny at 3am! He offered to leave his laptop for me to use Sunday which, as it turned out, would be huge.

7/8: Idaho

Rich and I got up and around at about 8:45, packed up, and walked across the on- ramp to get some coffee while he continued to remind me of the dog; he would metaphorically howl at each train whistle. Rich also resumed yesterday’s indecisiveness as we headed toward the library, again getting on my nerves but I was getting a little help from the coffee and the ideas/ possibilities floating around in my head.

The ideas from the day before were still with me, and I began to consider ways to earn some money while I was in La Grande. The possibilities seemed limited due to the small size of the town, but I thought I’d at least sniff around... a little.

I stopped into what I thought was a staffing place that turned out to be training for displaced workers; mostly loggers in this area I was told.

I then stopped at the ‘local’ radio station. This had been an idea that had been stuck in my brain since Ft. Morgan. I knew EXACTLY how it would go but I was curious to see if there were ANY stations left in America that actually had a person, inside, who could discuss something without first having to go through ‘corporate’; outside of “Santa Fe Skippy” of course.

I went inside and was greeted by the friendly receptionist, whom I’m sure was wondering what this dude in the backpack wanted. I explained to her what I was doing with the trip, that I was trying to figure out ways to make some money while on the road and that I was interested in doing some production and voice work while I was in town. I then asked her about their ownership situation, and she went into the typical diatribe about how they owned ‘several local stations in Eastern Oregon’. That phrase reeked of familiarity. I pressed on and asked if the owner actually lived in La Grande, since the sign outside said ‘local’. She conceded that the owner was actually based in Pendleton and was only in town a day or two a week. A- HA! I asked if there was even a Program Director: he too was mysteriously unavailable. I deduced from my experience, and her vagueness, that this station was likely programmed from Pendleton too.

Now I was really curious.

There was no other activity in the building, so I asked if the station was live or voice- tracked. Voice tracking means they record the ‘shows’ prior to their airing; sometimes days ahead of time and even occasionally from different cities. She answered that they have ‘live local news and sports every morning!”. HA! Now I knew. She was leery of disclosing the secret that the ‘live and local’ station definitely was NOT ‘live’ and probably wasn’t ‘local’! I pressed on and asked again if they were voice tracked, and she finally relented, admitting that all of their programming outside of the morning newscast is piped in by satellite. Probably Jones Networks out of Denver. Their ‘local’ station in La Grande probably consisted of nothing more than a sales staff and some equipment to feed the transmitter. The sales- piggies were probably out hocking commercials, which explained the lack of personnel. The receptionist was only there to answer phones, give the impression that there was actual ‘life’ to the station and, of course, in case anyone came in wanting to buy advertising. I just laughed. From there it was a game of cat and mouse, with me asking questions I knew she would not want to answer, but I decided to cut her some slack. It was not her fault. I gave her the link to my audio- webpage and left quite satisfied that everything I have ever said about my old business was correct. Radio is now truly obsolete.

*RANT ALERT!*

I feel bad for the good people who hang on hoping it gets better; like a man hoping his wife will recover from terminal cancer. The sales staff will soon enough be the only people working locally, still trying to convince businesses (that know better) that someone, ANYONE, is still listening to their canned, sterile, ‘product’, and that the listeners are stupid enough not to just ‘punch- out’ when the music stops, despite the fact that common sense and radio’s OWN studies say otherwise!

How do they expect you to listen to some generic, pre- packaged ‘product’ that has no REAL local angle, no immediacy, no interaction AND have to deal with the horrendous commercials screaming at you to buy another new car?!? Christ, you cannot even get traffic or weather information during a tornado warning anymore because there is NO ONE in the building! Google: Clear Channel’s Minot fiasco. I’ve asked radio ‘professionals’ that EXACT question, and have NEVER gotten a real answer! I was fed some pre- practiced pep- talk, or as is the case with my last gig, told I should ‘get on board’!

Seriously!

No. However, feel free to stay aboard the Titanic if you choose; I’ll take my chances with the sharks. No real solutions. No real innovations. Just recycled buzz phrases and sales pitches.
I’ve also asked “Why listen to this crap, when you can just get a satellite radio, or better yet plug in your Mp3 player and listen to what you want?” Christ, that’s what I did when I worked there!

I’ll tell you how they ‘expect’ that.

Ever see “American Beauty”? Annette Benning’s character, we’ll call her Vera, sells real estate and behind closed doors has to listen to motivational tapes and repeat Stuart Smiley mantras (I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, I WILL sell this house today!) in the mirror, brainwashing herself into believing that she’s doing something honorable and worthwhile, and that money will cure a dead soul.

Radio folk are the same. I can just see the sales staff being led by the owner or GM in some cult- like chant beginning their day trying to brainwash themselves into believing that they’re not merely whores, and ‘motivate’ themselves into believing that everything’s going to be all right when they “hit that goal”.

Sounds like something Heaven’s Gate would have done.

In fact, I have seen these cultist rally- sessions in real- life and no, not in Nuremberg. They call them ‘staff meetings’. I’m quite certain that a lot of these uber, almost disturbingly positive people- while at work- go home and kick the dog, smack the kid, and guzzle the Popov to try to restore some sense of peace & balance.

*END RANT*

Rich went ahead to the library so he wouldn’t have to wait, but I also wanted to rediscover what it felt like not to hear his incessant bitching. It was gooood.

I got to the library, checked in with the librarian to get a computer and find out how long I’d have. She said 30 minutes, but sort of with a wink. That reminded me of what I had hated about other places. Santa Fe, Cambria: The ‘Internet Nazis’ who kick you off after your 30 or 60 minutes... even if the place is empty.

I started updating the journal, uploading pictures, and sent a couple Couchsurf requests to Boise. I kept going... and going... and was never asked to leave. I was unsure as to when I would have internet again; I wanted to get as much done as I could. Rich had been online too, but finished up shortly after I’d gotten there. He resumed the ‘dog in a cage’ routine again... running to and fro... occasionally stopping by to chat, ask silly questions, and look over my shoulder; obviously annoyed that his annoyance had no effect on me.

In time, he had had enough. He said he was heading off to try to catch another train, and if that didn’t work he would then get in touch with some girl he’d dated at one time... who just happened to live in La Grande. I found that to be an odd coincidence. Like the 13 y/o who “gets laid over the summer”: “She’s from Niagara Falls, you wouldn’t know her”.

I didn’t care... carry on Wayward Son...

Unceremoniously that was it. We did the obligatory ‘keep in touch’ stuff, each knowing that would not happen. I half expected a repeat of the day before when he’d suddenly reappeared, but I’ve neither seen or heard from him since. The Lesson of Rich? Choose your travel partners carefully, AND be prepared to go your own way when they get to be too much. He was a decent guy, and in all honesty I got pretty lucky with him. He wasn’t ripping me off, breaking into houses, trying to shoplift etc. I actually felt comfortable with him around. We just had different ideas of how to travel, different goals, and definitely different ways of going about things. Moreover, he howled at trains. I hope he got to Telluride ok.

After about three hours, I left the library, got some coffee, and aimed myself back toward I-84, still pondering whether to stop into the McDonalds next to last- night’s nest to see about work, or just start hitching. I walked right past McDonalds, got MORE coffee, and planted myself at the on- ramp. I guess I was ready to leave the hospitality of La Grande behind me. I had no luck for about an hour, so I started walking toward the next exit and a truck stop I had learned was there. Just as I got to the top of the ramp, a pickup pulled over and I had my first ride.

Earl was going as far as North Powder, 20-40 miles up I-84. I thoroughly enjoyed this ride! He was a VERY pleasant guy, probably 65 or 70, who had spent his life driving Caterpillars until he tipped one over and had broken his hip & back. He was now involved in logging and drove perhaps the dustiest pickup I had ever seen.

Earl dropped me off at a tiny café/ general store in North Powder so I went inside to try Rich’s idea of canned food; buying it in small quantities to last a day or two and take advantage of carrying less water- weight while hitchhiking. Canned food is definitely cheaper. I grabbed a few cans of Pork & Beans, and Beef By- Product Stew and began chatting up a guy who was standing in line and was interested in my backpack. As I went out the door, another guy who had overheard the conversation asked where I was going, and then offered me a ride to Ontario, 80 miles up the road and on the Idaho border. I was thrilled and thought how much easier this was without Rich!

Jordan Dimick was a bee farmer; the first I’d ever met. It was a kind of family business, and he had a wonderful pride in that family and its place in Oregon history. I-84 roughly follows the Oregon Trail, which I hadn’t realized until very recently. That greatly appealed to my sense of history, and so did his numerous tidbits of trivia about the old trail. He also told me an interesting story about how his great- grandfather was a sheriff and had thwarted the last attempted train robbery in the West. Another entirely enjoyable ride that I thought ended too soon. He had offered to take me to the first exit across the Idaho border, but I asked him to drop me at the last Ontario exit, so I could actually walk across the Snake River and get my silly picture.

There happened to be a truck stop, so I got an Idaho map, replaced my little ear- buds that were falling apart, then sat down in the grass out by the road to re- pack and prepare for my walk across The Snake. An interesting mullet- bound character sheepishly walked up to me and asked if I was from around there. I thought that was a stupid question, with me sitting in the grass next to a backpack, so I said laughingly “Does it LOOK like it?” assuming he was panhandling. He slinked into the truck stop, and I continued what I was doing. By the time he would come back out toward the road, looking quite disoriented, I was feeling like an ass. I hollered at him to come over and asked what he was looking for.

Walt told me he’d just gotten out of prison and all he was given was a bus ticket to Albuquerque... they’d sent all the money he went in with to his Parole Officer as “insurance that he’d show up”. So, here was a guy who’d just paid his “debt to society”, left broke and trying to find a way to get some food. Not the first time I have heard this story. I immediately remembered the person in La Grande unexpectedly handing me $5. While I could not spare the money, I had food. I dug out a can of Pork & Beans (later to be to the chagrin of his fellow Greyhounders!) and let him have at it.

It turns out that Walt had spent three years in prison for running drugs from Arizona to Oregon. He was up front about it, so I said “So, you’re not one of the ‘I didn’t do it’ guys then?” He said, “Oh hell no. Guilty as hell.”

I love honesty.

He told me about the bust and that the cops had seized $20,000 in cash and a cache of guns in the process. He then told me how NONE of the guns and only $600 made it into the arrest report! Beneficial for him, no doubt. But it makes one wonder where all that money goes, AND the guns! To protect and serve, eh? The chat ended with me wishing him luck and wishing I had had some money to spare. He seemed like a very decent person in a trip filled with very decent people.

I got back on I-84 and to the mile walk toward the Snake River, and out of Oregon. The bridge spanning The Snake was having construction work done, and was down to one lane... with a shoulder that was about 18- 24" wide. That was a hairy crossing. In retrospect, I could have walked unmolested through the construction itself, but didn’t realize that until it was too late. After what seemed like an hour, and 1000 car horns angrily letting me know what they thought of my presence, I got to the other side. Idaho. I got my silly picture, and felt damn good about the fact that I had finally walked into another state.

I began to think about how much I loved being in Oregon, and there was a twinge of regret that I had only spent a week there. The people were just as incredible as the landscape and in the same way that California’s natural beauty had exceeded all expectations; EVERYTHING in Oregon seemed to do the same. I don’t think I’ve seen the last of it.

Idaho, eh?

I had NO idea what to expect. The state intrigued me, but had mostly been just a stretch of land that bordered Oregon. I kept an open mind, but actually felt sorry for any state that had to follow the one I had just left. I walked up a bit, getting some pictures of the now- setting sun, then sat down and “enjoyed” a can of Pork & Beans now realizing that a little variety in diet... if it can be called that... was nice!

Since the sun was setting and I had no urge to walk I-84 at night, I began to spy places to nest. There was a closed rest- area right next to me, but when I got to the other side; I was shocked to see that there was a HOUSE next to it, complete with barking dog and curious resident. Who the HELL lives next to a rest area ON the interstate! I decided not to ask and moved on.

As it got darker, I began to try hitching again, to no avail. After a mile or two, I saw the telltale lights of a gas station on the horizon, which probably would have a decent place to bed down. I figured I would try to get there and kept going... hoping for the ride that never came. I began to wonder if the exit would EVER get there, and was getting pretty tired. This was where Jordan had offered to take me.

The exit did eventually come of course, and I staggered into a Shell/ A & W combo that was next to an RV park. I decided to find a place to sleep near there, hiding from the RV-ers. I wanted to just collapse, but went inside to use the restroom to clean up a bit, and to try the “write off” trick. Some places, when they have food that they don’t sell... usually hot dogs etc. ... will throw the stuff out at a certain time. If you are there, they will sometimes let you have it rather than just waste it. Worked like a charm... here. I loaded up on corn dogs, mozzarella sticks, and tornadoes, said thanks and sat down to feast.

At the counter chatting with the girl working the register, was an older biker- type guy who obviously LOVED to talk! He told me that I should abandon my original plan to stealth camp behind the RV Park and just sleep in the grass in front of it and right behind the store; no one would say a thing. I said I would give it a look and the guy proceeded to join me at my table.

He was 69 years old and REALLY LOVED to talk! While I was eating, he told me all about his life. His 11 kids. Indian heritage. Two stints in different branches of the military. He reminded me in some ways of Pat; still not sure why. It was the perfect dinner conversation because I did not have to say a thing!

Eventually my new friend left, and I walked out back to see my accommodations. I picked a spot behind a rather large metal box that contained what I envisioned to be electrical things of some sort. It was actually perfect. It was 2-3 ft. high, and about 7 ft. long thus hiding me, a little, from people driving thru– although I cared little about that at this point! What a difference from Ft. Morgan and Cambria I thought to myself! There were also truckers pulling off the interstate to sleep for the night, so that made me a bit more comfortable. I figured no one looking to cause me trouble would with a lot full of truck drivers. Truckers are my friends.

The weather had been in the mid/ upper 80's so I didn’t even bother with the sleeping bag, although I should have. It got chilly, but I REALLY did not want to re- pack it in the morning! Still wound up sleeping quite nicely- between shivers.

7/7: The Dalles- La Grande, OR

I was right not to remove the sleeping bag. I awoke at about 4:45 to the sight of another train passing by very slowly, with me in full sight only saved by the fact that it wasn't fully light yet. A quick scan of the area quickly showed that we were pulling into a train yard. This bothered me immensely! Like everyone, I've heard the horror stories about the 'bulls'; Railroad Security people who will beat you to a pulp and maybe, the urban legend goes, shoot you.

We quickly began to try to make ourselves as hidden as possible, but being on the outside of a car, that wasn't very effective. It basically boiled down to hopping onto the side of the car on the opposite side of human eyes. The train NEVER broke 35 mph, and the rail on which we stood was pretty wide, with had- hold to use so it wasn't scary. Kind of fun at first, but that would be something we'd be doing quite frequently through the day.

After we were dodging the yard workers for a short time, the train started to move a short distance out of the yard, and we were thinking we were back on our way. But just after we got out of the main section, our little "Stop n Go Special" stopped and STAYED stopped. This was at around 5am, and by 5:30 we'd decided to get off the train and hide in some of the sagebrush, OFF the train, in case someone came along.

Then we waited....

and waited...

By 7:30 or 8:00 I felt comfortable enough in my little hiding place, and had seen very little activity near us so I rolled some cigs, arranged all me stuff for a quick re- boarding then crawled under a bush into some shade and must have slept for at least an hour and 15 minutes uninterrupted by anything.

Around 10 or 10:15 I heard Rich saying in a loud whisper "Dude, get up... it's leaving!"

After 5+ hours--- it was finally moving again. Just like some of my Amtrak trips!

The joy of moving again was short- lived. It would seem that this train was meant to stop at least every 15 minutes, and would RARELY get over 20- 25 mph. ALL DAY LONG!

Stop...

Wait...

Go slow for 15 minutes...

Stop...

Repeat...

We eventually figured out where we were, and how little progress we were making! By 3pm, we had been on the train for 18 hours, and had gone barley over 200 miles! It was easy, for me anyhow, to remember that I had paid nothing so couldn't really complain, but Rich was having difficulty with that concept. He had been a pretty good travel partner to this point, but about now began the incessant bitching! And whining... Yeah, the progress sucked and it was frustrating, but you TRAIN HOPPED FOOL! Do you expect a sleeper car on a non- stop? It was about here that I figured I'd get to La Grande, and resume my trip... MY way!

La Grande eventually came. To our great relief. We hopped off the train from No- Progress Hell, and proceeded to find a gas station to get some, water and COFFEE! I'd been plagued by headaches all day. I initially attributed them to a lack of caffeine, but in retrospect it may have been Rich vocally menstruating. Not sure to this day.

It was here that the day provided me with one of the coolest moments of the trip, and essentially slapped me back into line mentally.

I was filling my coffee cup at the gas station, and just getting ready to go pay for it when a guy walks in and tells me that he had been waiting for us outside, and asked if we were travelers. I thought it a silly question, since I was carrying a 50# pack, but let that go. I said yes, and he asked "Are you okay on money? Do you have enough to get food?" Of course money has been a nagging problem for a couple weeks, so I told him I wasn't really sure; not an outright lie! I wasn't!

Then he hands me $5.

He said that he had done alot of this, and wanted to return some of the help HE'D received along the way. I was dumbfounded, but not totally surprised.

Rich came out of the restroom, I paid for my coffee and Mt. Dew (love my caffeine) then told him about it when we began walking toward the McDonald's, and it's Dollar Menu, the guy had told me how to find.

I thought about splitting it with Rich, but I decided not to. He had been continuing his whining since we got off the train, and he obviously had a mild disdain for the town and the people here. Maybe life in general, but either way, if he wants to put out that energy let him; I'll get my 3 Double Cheeseburgers, fries, and another coffee and have even nicer things to say about the fine people in Oregon and La Grande in particular.

On the way to McDonald's I told Rich that I was done with the train hopping. I enjoyed it immensely at night, but having to hide from people all day was draining and I really hated that. The best part of my trip is that in addition to spectacular scenery and cheap travel, I've met some spectacular people, and the guy at the gas station came along at the perfect time to remind me of that, and place Rich in stark comparison with him. I was now hoping Rich would go away. I even thought about telling him so, but figured I'd see if his attitude improved first. I liked the guy when he wasn't imitating the He- Bitch.

We got to McDonald's and ate at about 6:00. From there I decided to head up to the I-84 on- ramp and see about catching a ride. i told Rich he could come along and see how it went with two people, or go catch his train. He was terribly conflicted and really couldn't decide what to do.

I could empathize with that! I even offered him the use of my dice.

He came along, and when we went to sit down, lo and behold, along comes the first State Trooper of the trip! He asked what we were up, we told him we were trying to catch a ride, and he said something to the effect that this was a great place to do it, and in fact HE had gotten from Portland to La Grande in about 8 hours once. He wasn't really harassing us as much as checking on us, although he did ask for our ID's. He wrote everything down, but didn't run anything. I thought that was odd, but whatever. Normally I have a real problem with searches without probable cause, and figured I may even go to jail because of my refusal to submit to an identity search because some ego- driven cop just wants to harass me. This guy wasn't coming off that way, and seemed genuinely interested in what we were doing.

We must have spent 20 minutes chatting with Trooper Madsen on the side of the road, and came away with clear understandings of the hitching and camping laws in Oregon. He even told me of a perfect place to lay out the bedroll that night, and informed me that walking up the interstate was just fine in Oregon. "This aint Washington" he said.

We sat there for probably an hour after the trooper left, and then Rich was heading off to explore his training possibilities. We shook hands, exchanged the obligatory promises to stay in touch, and he was on his way. I was a little sorry to see him go, but not entirely. I was rather enjoying the solitude now, and figured catching a ride with be much easier alone!

I called Shalain, and while I was chatting with her, I look over and guess what...

No, not a ride.

Rich.

He's back.

He said he ran into a possible ride with some people who were trying to decide rather or not they were going toward Idaho or Washington. Apparently they said if it turned out to be Idaho, they'd swing by the ramp.

So, Rich was back and seemingly ready to hitchhike. He threw his thumb in the air and was pretty animated about it. Borderline obnoxious, but he got some smiles and waves from people and made thumbing a bit more interesting for awhile.

But no rides.

I decided to bed down at about dusk, and told Rich he could hang out we could get to the library on Tuesday and try it again; whatever. He decided to stay, and even went and bought a could of 40 oz. beers for us to drink. We got to talking a bit, and I found out a bit more about him and possibly why he tends to come off as angry.

Again, I can empathize.

It felt great to lie down on something soft and the idea of a good night's sleep REALLY appealed to me after no sleep on the train. I had a long talk with Shalain about some things, and came up with an ambitious outline for a plan... I also chatted with Chris about some of the metaphysical aspects of this, which seem to get cut off in some sense when I'm too domesticated.

Just as I was about to doze off, I head a loud cracking of a branch, and shot up thinking someone was coming down to say hello... metaphorically of course.

To my shock, it was a DEER. We were camped out in a little tree grove between the on- ramp & the I- 84, and there were 2 or three deer just milling around in there. They didn't seem to mind us being there much. A few minutes later I say another one, this one a larger buck on the other side of the tree I was under... maybe 6-8 ft. away from my feet. I tried to dig out the camera, but the only pic I could get was from about 12- 15 ft.

A nice way to fall asleep: visited by deer and listening to music.

7/6 Leaving Portland:"The Last Great American Adventure"

If you would have told me how THIS day would eventually be ending, I would have laughed you out of the room, especially when I woke up.

I rose pretty early after getting to bed at a decent time, and began preparing to leave, not really knowing exactly how I was going to do it. I had posted an ad on Craigslist's Rideshare the night before on the outside chance I may be able to catch a ride with a charitable person heading toward Colorado... fat chance, but why not?

I figured that I'd probably end up taking the transit system out toward Troutdale and then start hoofing it down US 30 toward Lewis & Clark State Park to check on the Hike & Bike, then take things from there. I was pretty much all set with my 'planning' (HA!) when I got an email from a guy via my Craigslist ad. He wasn't driving, but was also traveling toward Colorado on a limited budget, and suggested that maybe we try hopping a train out of Portland! He had done some research, and was certain that the trains would run into Grand Junction then Denver after that. I was immediately intrigued. It would be a DEFINITE adventure, get me a great distance, and it's impossible to blow money on a train!

We exchanged about 25 emails over about 2 hours. I wanted to make sure the best I could that I wasn't dealing with some sort of a tool, psycho, or otherwise illicit character... save the train hopping thing! It's funny, but you can tell alot about a person by their spelling. If they can't spell simple, yet uncomplicated multi- syllable words, tend to say 'bro' all the time, and show through words the size of their 'manhood', I tend to avoid them. This guy could spell, use a computer, had a gmail account with his real name (presumably), and wasn't trying to 'man- up' for me. I felt reasonably certain he wasn't too much of a vagrant, and thought it would be pretty cool to travel a ways with another person. Plus, he said if the train thing didn't work, he'd be open to hitching or whatever. Why the hell not?

We set up a time to reconnect, exchanged phone numbers (another good sign... he has a phone!) and I finished of the business at Dave's place. He had been working pretty much all day, so I hadn't seen much of him at all. We said our goodbyes, asked him to say goodbye to Bree for me and thank her for sharing all her training- info, and headed off the bus stop to catch the #17 toward downtown and head to REI for, I thought, just Clif Bars.

When I got to the bus stop, I sat patiently for about 35 minutes with no sign of the bus. The thought occurred to me that, perhaps, there was no Sunday service out that way, but I'd been on the Tri- Met website several times checking schedules and it said NOTHING about "No Sunday Service".

Turns out: No Sunday Service.

The only reason I ever found out was that a VERY nice woman turned around, pulled over and informed me with a smile that I'd be waiting all night if I stayed there. She then proceeded to offer me a ride first to the next stop, then said she'd just take me to REI! Seriously, where are all these assholes everyone kept warning me about?

She saw a friend of hers on the way, picked him and his dog up then got me downtown to the REI. She offered me a couch to sleep on the next time I was in Portland, and gave me her phone number. She was such a terrific person. Treated a complete stranger like she'd known him her whole life. I gave her the link to the journal, said thanks, and hopped out in a great mood and excellent outlook on how the day may turn out.

I went into REI and decided to go check, on the outside chance, if they'd give me any grief if I tried to exchange the North Face pants I was wearing that had begun to split "down there". I felt kind of weird about it because the pants were 2 years old, BUT they have the most liberal return policy EVER. If you're EVER not satisfied, you can exchange or return anything. I weighed the honesty and righteousness of it, then pictured the pants splitting in the middle of the woods! That would pretty much suck, so I gave it a shot. Eventually I found the same pants and had no trouble exchanging them whatsoever, so I walked out of REI with 6 Clif Bars and a new pair of pants after spending about $6.50. Not too shabby.

From there it was on to meet up with my new travel partner, Rich. We'd decided to meet at the largest bookstore I've ever seen, Powell Books, which is 3 stories tall, and takes up an entire city block. He got there about 20 minutes after I did, and we walked to a nearby park to get acquainted and scope each other out to see if the other was perhaps a tad psychotic. He doesn't make much of a first impression. He looks the role of a beat- generation train- hopper, with ripped up raggedy jeans, etc. I was hoping that the conversation would be sustainable and that he was pretty laid back. I wasn't so sure of my own ability to hop with all the weight on my back, and needed him to display some patience if that were the case. It seemed that he was exactly that, so as we set off across the bridge into E. Portland, I was cautiously optimistic.

We walked about 25 blocks, stopping for coffee, soda, and cigs, then went to find the spot he had tried and failed to hop from the night before. We eventually got there, relaxed and continued chatting about various things. Then came the first east- bound train. I figured I'd be shitting myself, running next to it trying to grab hold, but it was really no big deal. This train was moving a bit to fast for either of us, and Rich said it was probably no a very good train for us to be aboard anyhow. He had done this in Pennsylvania a number of times and at least knew, to some extent, what he was doing.

We then walked about a mile up the tracks and found a spot where the train would have to be going a bit slower, thereby making our job a bit easier. Just after we got there, at about 9:00, we spied a train stopped at the other side of the bridge. It was loaded with what looked like ship containers full of something from overseas that had just arrived at the port. It began moving, and was just CREEPING along. We hid from the engineers, waited for a moment after they passed then pounced! We got aboard with ease! We were situated outside, on the car itself, but there was a grate- platform, with a depression in the middle that backed up against the car's frame. It was designed so that with me and my backpack inside, there was NO way we could fall off no matter what. I was ecstatic!

The train had 3 or 4 engines, and was relatively long, so Rich figures this one would be going quite a ways, and with few stops, but he thought we were a bit too far toward the front of the train... easy to see when we pulled into the eventual train yards. We were still creeping along, so we hopped off again, and went further back until we were at least 3/4 of the way to the end and found another car with suitable accommodations. Once there, we were off!

Rich was situated on the back of one car, in HIS Union Pacific Hotel space, while I was on the front of the next car directly facing him. I would learn later that I had made a poor choice of sides. Another thing I learned about trains is that they are VERY unforgiving places to be. Not only for life and limb, but also anything you're carrying. EVERYTHING needs to be stowed someplace, or it will find a hole to fall thru and be lost forever. Thankfully, I realized this immediately and was overly cautious with the camera, cell phone, and water bottle. It also became apparent that you need to be prepared to sustain yourself with water when you get aboard, because you're not going to just be running to the 7-11 when you run out! We made that mistake, or at least Rich did, and that would affect things the next day-- for him.

It took quite a while to get out of Portland, so I called Shalain and Friar Chris to tell them exactly how proud I was of myself, and eventually the train picked up a little speed and I settled in to take in the view.

We followed I-84 most of the night along the Columbia River, and through the Columbia Gorge Scenic area, and scenic it was! There are no lights on any of these cars, no night- vision kicks in after a short time- enough that you can see what you're riding through and it was one of the most spectacular parts of the trip so far. A montage of mountains, lakes, rivers, forests, cities, towns, and the largest dam I've ever seen just north of The Dalles. I was hypnotized.

It began to cool down drastically, and since we were on teh outside of the car, I needed to be bundled up in everything I had including my rain pants and coat to break the wind. It would be a cold night. The rain pants would take the brunt of the abuse of the train because while it wasn't as dirty as I expected, it still was far from clean.

Eventually around 3:00 I dozed off curled up in the fetal position and shivering. I had my sleeping bag available to use, but had visions of having to make a quick escape and first needing to repack the bag into the backpack! I decided to shiver for a couple of hours, drifting in and out of a light sleep. No REAL sleep to speak of.

The night, even with the cold, was great. But this train made frequent unexplained stops, and was obviously low- priority because it would seem to stop for EVERY other train that passed. That was fine at night, and when the experience was new and exciting, but would become maddening in just a few hours...