2/2: Slab City- Deaf, Dumb, and Blind

Since 2008, there have been surprisingly few significant slip-ups when it comes to following that "Voice." I've been fortunate enough to catch myself at the last moment, or rescued by serendipity and subtle nudges from others. This was not to be the case this week. Mistakes would be made. They were significant. They were valuable. They were mine. All mine. If, while at Slab City, I had been focused and not creating my own doubt-induced Quixotisms, the next several days would look far differently than they shall instead lay out before you!

1/31: Slab City- Sitting Down

The Sit Down & Shut Up (SDSU) idea is simple to comprehend, and maddeningly difficult to follow. It's basically relinquishing control and trusting things to work out as they should, without our interference. It's also having faith that eventually hindsight will make things apparent. For me, these moments rarely seem obvious: forest thru the trees.

I first feebly tried articulating this idea after its practice led to a "standing-down" of sorts which led, directly, to meeting my brother, Mike. In many ways, the time between September and January was an extended period of "SDSU." I could not comprehend why I was returning to Santa Fe in September. I just knew that everything seemed to push me there. As is usual, looking back it seems glaringly obvious! Had I thrown a ego-tantrum and insisted on pushing forward to show off or "achieve" something, the remainder of 2009 would look much different.

1/30: Slab City Limits

El Jefe had taken the time to closely observe things, and I was surprised to learn that he decided the place intrigued him enough to take the day off and hang around. That's quite a big deal for him, and nice that we'd be able to hang for another day. Saturday is also Chris's Phone Day: the day he catches up with everyone. Unfortunately, this one involved unexpected complications in Denver. Needing to focus on that, he took his leave of Leonard & Salvation Mountain. The three of us congregated at the bunker to see what the rest of the day held.

9/12: Portland- "What Do You Want?"

"What do you want?"

With this simple, yet mind-bendingly complex question, Andre opened a floodgate. This was not the first time he had asked it, but I had left it unanswered until we were able to dive in unrushed , and uninterrupted. Finally, here we were. Andre tends to dictate rather than listen, so he had a inadequate amount of background information to understand a specific answer. To provide some context I recapped, as briefly as I could, where I had come from over the past several years, and how that shaped the moment we were in: the present. This led later to why, I believe, he found me standing at Dave's marina. For the new kids, who haven't read much of the earlier text, my backstory includes a history of alcohol abuse that stemmed, not from "disease" or addiction, but from being cut off from myself; trying to fit into the pre-constructed box called the Amerikan Dream. Since I do not yet have a dedicated page to refer you to, I'll recap briefly below. If you've read this, jump a few paragraphs.

I had a relatively successful radio career that could have been much more profitable but in the end made me no happier than making mufflers. Once I found myself hurling stacks of CD's across the studio (and drinking as much as I ever had) the awareness that the answers weren't "out there" began to slowly sink in. Ill-equipped for this, I soon hit rock bottom emotionally. Only when the status quo became more painful than change could I embrace true, naked self- examination. This was in August 2004, and over the next 4-years I came to see that the feelings of discontent were actually my greatest asset; the depression that people tried to convince me was a "chemical imbalance" was in fact simply due to not living the life I knew I was meant to. I quit believing that "they" knew what was best; how I was supposed to live my life. I had little idea what that life was, but knew it had nothing to do with "their" expectations, or "their" predetermined notions of success. I would re-define these things, if not jettison them all together, and looking back that act transitioned into a steady process of eliminating the "crap" to which I was attached, and thus tethered. Arbitrary possessions ceased to own me.

Over the next four years, and through a series of social, political, and most importantly, spiritual realizations, I found myself on the road with a backpack in May 2008, with visions of Survivorman dancing in my head! Literally, in a matter of 3-days, however, my rapidly developing, instinctual notions of a synchronicity/ oneness with the rest of you took over. These supposed "coincidences" continued, then accelerated like a spreading California wildfire. I consistently met the right people at the right time, and slowly discovered that the insights and lessons I received from these experiences and interactions would prove colossal, and at times even overwhelming. I've been doing this now for nearly 18-months, with breaks of varying degrees when I need them to process things or raise money. I immediately and unexpectedly learned that I loved writing and documenting this experience; you'll notice that the entries have become much more in-depth and have added a bit of clarity (I hope!) over time.

I told Andre that I genuinely hoped not only to tell a story but also show people that, despite bizarre proclamations that I'm doing something courageous, I'm not at all remarkable. I believe nearly everyone is capable of these life-driven revelations, but in their own ways, along their own paths. Voltaire wrote, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear." I explained to Andre that I hoped to use myself as a mirror in an effort to help those with whom this resonated to muster the courage to go on their own journey. Not take to the road, but venture inward. Answers and [your interpreted] salvation lie within, but there is no shortcut. No "miracle" is coming. I wish I would have realized 20-years sooner that The Miracle, The Messenger is You: that little voice we too often ignore. Thankfully, mine was too much of a cantankerous prick to be ignored!

After all this, I answered his question: I told Andre that quite honestly... I had what I wanted. For once, I didn't long FOR anything else, or to BE anyone else! The look on his face was priceless! People have such a difficult time believing that a person can be content sleeping in the weeds, sitting on exit ramps, eating cold instant oatmeal, and drinking my nephew Ben's favorite: cold instant coffee! But, from where I sit I would say that I can't imagine how a person can be happy sitting in a box 1/3 of their lives, only to go home and hand their wealth to someone else! Trading 1/3 of your existence for a sliver of safety and security never has made sense to me. How is this not mental slavery? Give me the freedom and exhilaration of uncertainty; waking in the weeds then speeding down the Willamette 12-hours later! I've never gotten a satisfactory answer to this one simple question: How is this life not preferable to a lobotomizingly monotonous existence that's dependent upon the illusion of safety and security? If you had to choose, which would you define as "living?" But, no man can tell another how to live; these are my hard-fought realizations and I hold them close. Yours will be different. All I hope is that you take the time to consider discovering them.

A Naked Soul

With that, I began to see a side of Andre I had yet to see. Despite our comically antithetical positions in life, we had found an incredibly powerful common ground. Sharing my background is not always easy; sometimes impossible. Chris and I have experienced it quite often, having realized that people either instinctively "get it or they don't." I long ago learned not to elaborate much to those who don't, but Andre more than got it! Smiling and nodding, he would often finish my sentences, and when I'd finished, it was Andre's turn and he began telling me about himself. He spoke with some surprisingly intimate detail about his life from early childhood to the present day, and how being forced to confront his own mortality had affected him. It was remarkable and moving to look on as this powerful, dominant personality periodically broke down in tears while talking about his late mother, father, and the success that he'd had in his life. This was the moment that helped to define Andre for me and gave a naked, exposed look at who he was, not on the surface, but at the core. Rather than feeling sorry for himself the cards he was dealt by a random brown recluse, he was... HAPPY! Andre was shedding tears of JOY as he sat in his chair, reflecting back on the incredible life he had been blessed with! He would have been forgiven, but not once did Andre fall to the depths of self-pity; he chose to focus on the positive, and thanked the stars that he had been given what he had. I was slowly coming to the realization that sitting before me was a man who may have accepted his fate, and was in the process of reflecting back while preparing for the future. It was, I thought, not dissimilar to an elderly person looking through boxes of pictures and letters, contemplating at the end the chain of events that weave into the tapestry of life. This helped to explain his intense reaction to the video tape the night before, and when I asked him if that was the case, he weakly confirmed that perhaps it was. I was astounded, and asked myself (he was mirroring me) how I would react sitting in his chair. My answer was not entirely encouraging ...

Andre's monologue went on for a long time; probably 90-minutes to two hours while I sat there mostly silent, intently engaged: listening. I was learning about this enigmatic, complex man, and as he continued to share these private thoughts and aspects of his life, I began to glimpse details of the bare-foundation of this peculiar "How can I be of maximum assistance?" question. He was genuinely grateful for his abundance, but also had come to the cold realization that amassed wealth will do him no good once he's gone. To him, a collection of "shit" was meaningless in the end; a man's legacy is in direct proportion to how he's benefited the world: Is the world a better place upon your exit as compared to your arrival? Andre strongly desired to do the best he could, "Make Magic" while he was alive. This was a thunderous, extraordinary example on display before me.

Our conversation then turned to metaphysics; the ideas of synchronicity/ serendipity, presence, Sit Down & Shut Up, Center of the Universe, and a plethora of others. As I had repeated constantly, he and I were nearly identical in our beliefs. Andre was a disciple of the Celestine Prophecy, which was also my cornerstone after reading it in 1998. Andre took it a bit more literal than I, believing that every meeting is potentially important if it's explored. I took the book as more of a biblical parable; best used as a tool to fertilize already fertile spiritual ground, and to help expand, in western prose, the sometimes confusing base of eastern theology. We talked a great deal about this and after exchanging several examples, I confessed that since I had arrived, I'd had a strong sense that I was supposed to be here; a sense that went all the way back to that morning in The Dalles. Admittedly, precisely what that reason was had been elusive and unclear. I had by then concluded that I was in the right place, but other forces were active elsewhere: Center of the Universe. My instincts would again, eventually, prove accurate.

"Make it Happen"

At this point, I confess that as the Sunday sun began to rise over the Willamette, Andre had begun to have an interesting effect on me. His constant reminders of presence, as well as berating the phrase "Words are important!" had begun to stick, and I found myself applying them in my mind quite often. Another of these phrases was, "Make it happen" meaning, to be blunt, shut the fuck up and get it done. After all we had shared over the now- past several hours, I felt secure enough to verbalize a thought that begun as a quiet whisper, but was now screaming fanatically in my mind. I believed I had finally figured out why I was there. It was one of those "gems of circumstance," where the Dennis Lesson could be applied reciprocally. It was obvious, Andre agreed, that he needed help. And, I wanted to see how his story progressed. My suggestion was for me to possibly act as his 24-hour personal assistant in exchange for a small salary, housing, and the opportunity to just watch this incredible situation play out. I could act as an extra pair of hand and feet for him, and rather than replacing my teeth he would provide the opportunity to fund the next phase of this adventure, wherever it took me from there. More importantly, to me at least, this story could continue being told. I continue to be almost unbearably curious to see the application of his epiphany, AND the evolution of his beliefs. In addition, Andre had made an odd comment suggesting that perhaps he needed counseling to further explore his budding, powerful, spiritual beliefs- due to a perceived inability to have a dialogue "with himself." I found the thought of entrusting the development of personal spiritual beliefs to an "institutionalist" horrific! I pointed out that I would be more than happy to have more of these chats with him. It is after all where I thrive!

Obviously, this was a bold proposal! But, it made perfect sense as an opportunity for each of us to "be of maximum benefit" to the other, and Andre liked the idea. He saw the benefit of such an arrangement, but his leaving for Vancouver (supposedly later that day), then for his treatments in England complicated things as did upcoming renovations of his home. We chatted about some of the details, and agreed to revisit the idea when things had calmed a bit.

Understanding Cody

The final piece of this unbelievable Saturday- that- had- become- Sunday was his stunning reaction to how I had handled the Family Theater in Michigan back in June. I gave everyone involved the opportunity to show who they were, good or bad, while utilizing my Water through the Pipe technique: keeping the pressure on until the "cracks" (The Hens) were revealed. It was by now well after 7am Pacific time, and after hearing these thoughts and the ideas behind them, Andre sat thinking for a moment, then hopped up saying, "Let's work some Magic." He grabbed the phone, and in the end, details about Cody, that I had not been privy to, made me feel even worse about how I had treated him earlier.

I was wondering who Andre was calling at 7am on a Sunday, until he pointed out it was 10am in Ontario. On the other end was Cody's mother. I wont get into specifics, but I learned that their relationship had been a bit strained, and that he and Mom hadn't seen each other since he had left in April. Andre was pushing water through the pipe, and giving Cody's mom a chance to eliminate excuses- by offering to fly her to Vancouver to join them on this multi-day sailing trip he had put together. "Shut up and make it happen." Being of modest means, his mother was blown away and had no idea how to react. Andre was relentless however, almost too much so! She made it clear she needed to talk to her boss before she could agree, but anything less than a yes was unacceptable to Andre! In the end, thankfully, he removed himself from business-mogul mode, and seemingly left it open until she talked to her boss. I say "seemingly" because I later learned that Andre called her boss, explained the situation himself, and easily got her the needed time off. That's... Andre.

This final event was the perfect ending to the day, believe it or not. As 8am approached, I had experienced nearly every emotion imaginable, and possibly had seen a myriad of doors open. All that was left was the well-deserved dose of shame and humility I had earned earlier. When I began to grasp where Cody had come from, I got that industrial-strength dose- and another for good measure. We had similar backgrounds; I could understand him better than most. I had sensed an insecurity in him, but hadn't bothered to realize that it was one quite similar to my own from years past and had trampled all over it. I had exploited a treatable weakness out of little more than selfish impatience. I could understand him better than most, yet I chose to quickly judge him on the surface and through an unfair prism: mine. These pretty words would mean more if it weren't the hundredth time I've typed them. I vowed to repeat my apology to him the next morning (or mid afternoon!), and to be sure he knew I had regretted what had happened.

And with this, Saturday FINALLY came to an end! The rest of Sunday would be yet another important day; seeing a number of questions answered and a few more created. By now, I was invited to join Andre and Cody on their sailing trek to Vancouver, and because Sunday was the target day for departure, the end of my stay in Portland began when I awoke later that morning...

9/10: Portland- King Andre of The Willamette

With the confirmation that I was traveling, the captain of the boat invited me aboard saying he could get me 20-miles up the Willamette River. As I was lifting my pack to climb on, Dave looked at me and said emphatically, "Todd, GO!" This was something Chris and I had talked about, and I was not about to lose to chance to hitch a boat, especially one going that far. This little jaunt to Astoria, or so I thought, was getting interesting!

Once settled aboard, the Captain introduced himself as Andre. He was from the start a dynamic, forceful personality. The dreadlocked kid was Cody, and was from near Kingston, Ontario. The two had met earlier in the week at the end of Burning Man when Cody was looking for a ride to Vancouver, and Andre answered the random yell. 14-year old Javawn was also on board, wearing formal attire including a tie, that I later learned was his school uniform.

As we sped west down the Willamette, Cody quietly yet emphatically impressed upon me how he had hit the Vagabond Motherlode; eating $90 steaks, having an I-Touch purchased for him after cleaning Andre's camper, living for the week on a yacht. Andre was obviously the richest, most generous man Cody had met, and he was openly riding the A-Wave as far as it would take him. I was unsure how that affected me, but he seemed to think that I was about to be swept up in it. I highly doubted that, and was happy to enjoy my ride up the river... to wherever.

Wherever turned out to be in Scapoose, at Mark's on the Channel; a restaurant catering to the plethora of boaters and floating homes along the river. Andre pulled in, music blaring and to much fanfare, moored the Master Craft, then ordered me to leave my pack on the boat and follow along. Andre had announced that the trip out here was so that his nephew, Javawn, could take his first plane ride: in a WWII German Messerschmidt. Really? Really.

Andre was meeting up with Howard, who owned a construction company and was also a pilot. Javawn and Howard almost immediately disappeared, while Andre introduced me to Mark, the owner. It became apparent that Andre was a valued customer when alcohol and quiche- snacks began appearing seemingly out of thin air. There was no mention of money, and when I tried to verify rather I was expected to pay, Cody just winked and indicated to me to drink up. OK... I'm capable of that!

Pretty soon, we all heard the distinct buzz of the Messerschmidt, and were peering into the sky at what must have been an incredible ride for a 14- year old, or anyone. I continued to notice how Andre was treated; as though he were a captain of industry. I also noticed that he was hobbled, as though by acute arthritis. But, the more he drank the better it seemed to be. The alcohol continued to flow and, as the buzz intensified, I had no idea what the hell was going on! Cody and I had struck up a conversation with "Mandela," a South African ex-pat who now lived nearby and works in finance. The three of us dubbed Andre "Dos Equis Guy." The most interesting man in the world.

Drinks continued to magically appear, and the night took the form of an obvious, extravagant party. Andre, never shy about dictating, ordered us all back aboard the Master Craft; it was getting late and past time to get Javawn home to his mother! Mandela joined us this time, and without so much as a discussion, I was again speeding down the Willamette, this time back to Portland as (hopefully!) Andre's guest! If not, this would be a difficult, drunken stealth camp!

It was past dark as we coasted down this river that divides Portland down the middle. With downtown immediately to the west, I marveled at this life. Waking in the weeds in The Dalles 12-hours ago, and now I was randomly partying aboard an $85,000 boat with Dos Equis Guy on a river in downtown Portland! And, the night was obviously only beginning.

Soon, Cody, who at 21 has no shortage of testosterone, requested women. Andre obliged. After a quick phone call, Lauren and Karen were boarding the boat from a dock downtown. Karen was in her 30's and works for Wells Fargo Bank. Lauren was a very beautiful (exquisite?) 23-year old from Boston, and Karen's cousin. She was in Portland working for a video company that happens to be involved, to some degree, in the porn industry. Cody took to Lauren immediately, while Mandela and I laughed realizing that we felt 19 again!

We all felt the need for more booze, so Andre docked the boat at a bar on Portland's southwest side. We were told they were closed, but Andre "worked hi magic" and they actually opened the place back up for him. Quite impressive, this Dos Equis Guy! However, the staff was openly annoyed by having to remain, so with an aire of indignation, we took Andre's money elsewhere: To Karen's boat to pick up gallons of rum and tequila!

By now, it was well into Friday morning, and after a couple more stiff drinks, fatigue began to catch up to me. Andre continued zipping up and down the Willamette while I reclined and caught a few quick winks. Somewhere around 3 or 4am, we found ourselves at the Oregon Yacht Club and Andre's floating home. I caught a brief second wind, and had an interesting conversation with Lauren about her chosen field of study: Marketing and PR. Before long, I was inflating mattress in the "back tinder"; one of two spare apartments Andre kept behind his two-story floating home. As I drifted off to sleep feeling the slight rocking of the floating complex, I laughed out loud as I again thought about the progression of this incredible day. Weeds to multi-million houseboat. I love this life!


However, Friday (9/11), then especially Saturday would add texture and the slowly appearing back story of what I had been swept in to, and then the manifestation of what had caused the "Sit Down & Shut Up" feelings of the past few days. These are usually dramatic, though not quite to this level, and Andre's was a remarkable story indeed. His story went far beyond that of a rich tycoon who used Portland as his personal playground. His story, when disclosed, would make apparent that this was no random "chance-meeting" with a foundation of fun and frolic. Meeting Andre dovetailed perfectly with everything on this journey. I had a purpose here, and so did he.

9/9- 10: The Dalles- Portland, OR

Riverfront Park and I liked each other! I immediately made my way to the shore of the Columbia River and, looking across to Washington, thought about Lewis and Clark. I had gotten my first glimpse of Mt. Hood the day before, and was continually amazed at the intense beauty of Oregon. My kinda place.

I sat on the ramp for a couple hours, but as dusk approached I knew I needed to get back into the park, which was Day Use only, and find a place to hide for the night. I was tired, and had begun getting frustrated at a perceived lack of drive and vision. I held the "Sit Down & Shut Up" idea close, but when I am fatigued I tend to get bitchy. As I dozed off in a perfect, soft spot just off a nature trail adjacent to the park, I was wondering what the hell I was doing. I also knew I needed sleep! Sleep, as it turned out, would not be a problem. The grass was at least 4ft. tall, which made for something of a mattress beneath the bivy, and I slept uninterrupted for nearly 12-hours. We had crossed into Pacific Time the day before, so the sun set an hour earlier. Getting to sleep at 8:15 gave me a great jump on a monumental Thursday, and had also given my psyche a colon cleansing. I was tuned-in, present, and excited about where I was. And, I should have been.

I was noticeably relaxed as I set up a little day camp on a picnic table. All I wanted was to relax and enjoy a morning next to the Columbia. Logic said I should get my ass to the ramp and try to take advantage of the early start to get thru Portland, but my intuition was telling logic to go fuck itself! I decided to side with intuition. I fully charged my cell batteries, repacked the pack, ate, shaved, and just... was. It was phenomenal!

Around noon however, being still present, I noticed a shift. It was inexplicably time to change locales and get to the ramp. I followed without question, and spent the next 90-minutes writing before a small SUV suddenly appeared from nowhere. Let the festivities begin.

Zeno was a middle-age, pony-tailed former UN artist. Yes, an artist that worked for the UN, and on his way to pick his daughter up from the Portland airport. He was also one of the more fascinating rides ever, and set the tone for the rest of the day. Zeno had been wildly successful with the UN, and had traveled all over the world. He found himself on the floor of the General Assembly with regularity, and met numerous diplomats and world dignitaries. Zeno had also given all that up when he discovered he had a daughter who was in her early 20's, and moved to The Dalles, just to be near her. The transition had not been easy; his artwork was being held hostage because someone felt his quitting was, somehow, a breach of contract. His assets were frozen, and this man who had made a fortune was now scouring for work at places like McDonald's. It was odd to hear a well spoken, articulate, worldly man give an educated dissertation on Syria, then tell of applying at Burger King! After a short time, I greatly admired Zeno. He was a man of conviction who followed a distinct sense of right; "career" be damned. The conversation eventually transitioned into how to make money while traveling, and he was a gold mine of insight and information. Taking notes, I soon had a page full of avenues to follow. Avenues such as how to work guarding workers from bears in Alaska, and traveling to archaeological sites to work, paid, as a digger! I greatly enjoyed every minute of my ride through the Columbia Gorge with Zeno, and again wished he were one of the multi-hundred mile variety!

He dropped me at the Pilot in Troutdale, on the far- east end of Portland. I knew from 2008 that this was where the rail line ended, and since it was still relatively early, if needed I could get to the far west end by transit system. I wanted to pay a visit to my friend and '08 Couchsurf, Dave, who runs a marina off US-30 in Linnton. My thoughts were that if I could get there, it would be smooth sailing to Astoria... then the Pacific Ocean. My worry was navigating Portland. The day, however, had now took on a life of its own.

Zeno and I had gone in for coffee and before he had even returned to the car, I had been offered a ride, literally, to Dave's doorstep. Brian had approached me asking to "buy" a cigarette. He was trying to quit, but was obviously jonesing! I have been there, and could sympathize! He noticed that I was wearing a "Michigan" t-shirt Lynette had given me, and I soon learned that he was from Schoolcraft, MI and had listened to my old radio station. We were fast friends and he, like Zeno, was an interesting guy but for very different reasons. I learned on the way to Dave's that he and his wife have 8-kids, and live for free on National Park and BLM land as they save their money. He was a self-described political activist, and had very strong views on banking and the nexus of political power. Obviously, I greatly enjoyed our little ramble through Portland in his overfilled station wagon; one that was outfitted with a Corvette engine! Brian dropped me off at Dave's door, as promised, and out of my typical- character, I gave him some money both out of great appreciation and respect. Eight kids? BLM land? That has to be a bitch at times.

I had called Dave from Troutdale to let him know I was around, and to be sure he hadn't moved! We had not chatted since July '08, but had become good friends over the July 4th weekend I was there. As I walked up, it appeared little had changed in 14-months. Fred's Marina was the same, and I found him in the same spot I had last summer: manning the store. We quickly caught up, and exchanged stories before he invited me in to his floating home to meet his son, who is also quite a talented musician. Pretty soon, it was time to leave and continue up US-30 toward Astoria. We took a picture, but before we could exchange out proper goodbyes, a sudden influx of customers needing gas for their boats, or candy for their kids left me standing there feeling slightly awkward. Then, in pulled a blue and white Master Craft needing gas. Inside was an odd pair. One looked to be a middle aged, boisterous Italian, while the other was a dreadlocked young man who looked to be barely in his 20's. The kid saw my pack, and asked if I was traveling. I said yes, and just like that the most extraordinary, random weekend of either summer commenced.

Fasten your seat belts, and put your trays in the upright position...

9/7- 9: Caldwell, ID- The Dalles, OR

Waking up Labor Day Monday, it was increasingly clear that crossing the desert, potentially on foot, to get toward Bend, OR was neither desirable nor beneficial. Chris and I made our way back to a Stinker gas station we'd passed a mile back and that had been closed the night before where we could get coffee, and sort thru it from there.

It was a quick conversation. I was in no way compelled along Chris' path, even though I still had no idea where I WAS being driven. I just KNEW instinctively it was NOT there. This was a big deal. We had learned our lessons from May and June, and were not going to repeat these mistakes. We had come to the conclusions that it was imperative that we stay on our own personal paths; not falling victim to the idea of "partnership." I had written, sometime around our split in Omaha, that I needed a return to my 2008 mindset. As soon as we separated, and after the intense period in Santa Fe, I was able to do exactly that. It sustained me through Wyoming, the Dakotas, Montana, and Idaho, & as a result this supposed "secondary" phase of 2009 has since exceeded the "primary!" this is not "coincidence, but rather a direct result of traveling solo. The fruits of following my own compass rather than attempting to incorporate and compromise. "Go on your adventure. And go alone." I wish I could remember the author.

The Stinker was a colossal fork in the road, but one with an equally massive arrow! This decision would provide huge rewards very soon, although of course I had no idea at the time. The fact that there was minimal struggle, first in the reading then in the following of signs, in retrospect, is very encouraging. I would also be handed another lengthy "Sit Down and Shut Up" exercise that upon completion... again... would blatantly and immediately itself! We shook hands and wished each other luck. Chris' ultimate destination was Port Townsend, WA so we kept open the idea of meeting in Portland. With that, he was off on his adventure into Oregon.

Now, what the hell was I supposed to do!

I figured that, with I-84 nearby, I could take some time to figure it out and in the meantime try to get to US-95 in Fruitland as I was considering a change in course toward Winnemucca, Nevada. I was immediately offered a ride half of the 30-miles there by a young kid named Jason, but I didn't like the sound of the drop off, and felt compelled to remain at the Stinker to charge batteries and gather thoughts. A couple hours later, I wandered up to I-84, set up camp, and thus begins the next "Sit Down & Shut Up" period!

I spent the rest of the afternoon on the ramp next to a fireworks store, then as evening approached, decided to relocate to the next exit about a mile away. Taking the adjacent old US-30, I spent the rest of Monday evening sitting, listening to Mp3's, and thinking. I was oddly content! In no rush whatsoever, despite Chris' repeated mentioning of a "Tortoise & the Hare" race. This reminded me of someone revving their motor at a stop light, and when they peeled out, just sitting there watching them. If he wanted to run... let him!

Monday night was spent behind sagebrush next to the exit ramp, and Tuesday began a reminiscing tour of 2008. I finally got my ride to Fruitland with an unnamed flatbed driver, and after a fast, familiar re-visit, was picked up by another Jason who was on his way to Ontario, OR to be drug tested, as part of his parole. He was quite cool, and made it clear that "he" had yet to be drug tested!Ontario had an odd, ominous vibe from beginning to end. There had been a roving band of vagabonds who had been starting fights and ripping off the Pilot station, so it was essential to keep my eyes open. I was also sharing the ramp with a drunk couple, so by the time Wade stopped and offered a ride to Baker City, I was more than happy to go.

Wade was quite interesting. He was a rancher who lived in the mountains above Baker City, and quite religious. But, he was also open minded. We had a terrific conversation about our beliefs, and it reminded me a tiny bit of Randleman in that we both knew we were talking about the same things, just using different terminology. The ride was quick, and after we chatted for another 15-minutes outside the truck stop, I was quickly back to the ramp to try to get to La Grande before dark. The sun was setting, so I was beginning to scope out places to sleep when Jeff pulled over. He was on his way home to La Grande, and was also one of the coolest rides to date. Just a great guy to talk to! I wished that La Grande was a bit further away, or that he was heading to The Dalles!

By La Grande, I was a bit creeped out by the '08-familiarity, so I asked Jeff to drop me at the Flying J on the far east end of town, to avoid a complete repeat of my La Grande- Fruitland day last summer. This, as it turned out, was ill-advised. Despite the truck stop, the ramp had little traffic. I had begun feeling an odd compulsion to see The Dalles, so I made my sign, but after a slight and futile effort, I returned to the Flying J for the buffet, to charge the phone and continue updating Boise. I did meet a trucker who offered a helluva ride; to Albuquerque!

After a night spent behind the trucks, Wednesday began much the same way Tuesday ended: not getting a ride. The weather was beautiful and I had vowed the night before not to sit there long, after realizing the error of the Flying J. To correct it, I made the surprisingly quick 5-mile walk into the heart of La Grande, and began to see the friendly and familiar sights. I considered spending the whole day there, but felt pushed to the I-84 ramp, where I had launched after the freight train in '08. This was the spot where my love for interstate hitching hatched.

Once there, I didn't even have time to light a cigarette; I almost instantly found myself in another pickup bed. Mark was on his way to Eugene and was offering a ride all the way to Portland. I enjoy the back of pickups on hot days, and spent the trek across the Blue Mountains there before, once through Pendleton, he decided I was no threat and invited me up front. I learned that he was up on "Menacing" & weapons charges, and going to Eugene for a court date! Great! He spent what seemed like an hour professing his innocence, then giving me the tour- guide treatment as the landscape changed and we entered the Columbia River Gorge area; some of the most beautiful landscape I've ever seen. I liked Mark, but he was a bit of a drain and my urge to see The Dalles was increasing the closer we came. To his surprise, I asked him if he'd let me out there, and I was soon unloading next to Columbia River at Riverfront Park.

I had seen the Gorge under a moonlit sky from last year's freight train, and knew it was gorgeous. The Dalles had stuck in my mind, but it made no logical sense to disembark here, rather than in Portland. I kept hearing "Sit Down & Shut Up!"

So I did...

7/12- 7-31: Santa Fe

In 2008, my “interludes” while traveling did not go perfectly. They generally degenerated, after a few calm days, into impatience and a mad- searching for signs & answers as to what step is next. This year has been different. My visit home in May was quite nice, and the rest of July continued that theme. Once off the bus and in the apartment, I literally exhaled and collapsed from mental exhaustion. I proceeded to sleep and do little else for the better part of the first week. Chris and I had left our futures open- ended, and didn’t communicate at all that first week as he settled into whatever Denver held for him, and I basked in the old routines and familiar surroundings hoping to do a bit of a study of what had changed from a familiar perch. Perspective is a constant battle.

The first thing I noticed was that I was in no way clear that I wanted to return to the road anytime soon, if at all. I had told Shalain and Chris that, on some level I was afraid that confronting my age- old demons in Michigan would leave me motivationally impotent after being the frustration- fuel for so long. I had attacked this peculiar, inwardly- directed anger and seemingly neutralized it, but was afraid complacency would now take its place. Someone asked me once what motivated me to “succeed.” I was surprised myself to learn that it was indeed this anger and my healthy ego needing to “show people” something. Externalization and adapting an identity- through- praise; pure, unadulterated ego and an attempt to fill a cavernous, festering sore with someone else's skin. No wonder it was infected.

The end of this cycle was when I hit a mental rock- bottom in 2004, which led to meeting Chris via his website. These two events directly connect; it was the first time I seriously considered jumping into a backpack and setting off to eliminate life’s fat in an effort to see what was truly necessary; what was real. It was also around the same time I began to take Thoreau seriously, which then led me to Gandhi’s ideas on unfiltered truth. Authenticity. I wondered now what that pursuit meant, and whether it still involved backpacking around the country and beyond. I could not answer that, but I knew in my core that something had at least fundamentally changed as to the method and purpose.

Shalain and I went camping, of all things, the first weekend I was here and once on the road had a great time driving toward Pecos Canyon and sitting around the little fire drinking beer. It was the most relaxed I could remember being in a very long time, and we chatted about all sorts of things past and future. It was the perfect escape even though it was only for one beautiful, calm night. I had also had an odd conversation with Chris that Saturday afternoon. He had seemed quite lost, not exactly sure what he was doing in Denver, and I was of little help. We had truly disconnected and were on our own little quests where neither could help the other. I was quite sure he would figure it out soon enough, and it took about two days until he was happily announcing a regained energy and focus.

Over the next couple of weeks, things began to sort themselves out. After the events of June slowly but surely began to make their way to the appropriate places in the recesses of my mind, I began to notice a tangible difference in my thinking. With a gentle nudge from Shelly, I began using my father’s last name; changing it on Facebook and various email accounts as a way of getting other people (and myself) used to it. Essentially, that is the name I use now and will complete the legal paperwork soon. That was a rather bold step for me, considering that I have been quite the thorn in the saddle of some people over the past couple of months. I have no idea how Pam and Kim have reacted to it, still not hearing from either since April. Right or wrong, on some level I kind of hope it stings as a reminder every time they see it. I also began one final blog transfer, although to date it is still not ready for full activation. I have been delaying while trying to decide rather or not to begin an actual full- blown website. In all likelihood, this will happen, in URL at least. This will be the third and final one. I like the procession of the three, from Running with the Wind, to Te Nosce (Know Thyself), to this new one.

I also began to find myself keenly annoyed when I occasionally would find myself looking backwards, beyond May 20, 2008. My focus is now forward, and integrating what I had learned over the last 15- months into whatever is to come. This would turn out to be some massive, unknown foreshadowing, and was quite astounding for a man historically haunted by ghosts. Not even real ghosts as it turned out but of course, those fabricated by victimist- thinking, creating little make-believe scenarios, and then letting them become a framework for an outlook on life and identity. Pathetic? Yes. The annoyance stemmed from just REALIZING how fucking pathetic and misguided it really was. This is obviously an important conclusion, but it also opens up what could be Pandora’s Box. Inside the box: "What is next? Have the travels of the last year and the visions of future adventures sprouted from within this rusted, rotting framework?" Tough questions to ask, but they obviously needed to be. I was afraid that this was the source of the misgivings about setting out again.

Chris and I had a good conversation around the 25th where we candidly discussed the future and what it was each of us was hoping to do. I did not let on about my questions, and thankfully so because things were rapidly changing. He had begun making a ton of progress bouncing around Denver, having several discussions with Robert, the Post- Apocalypse class teacher I had met in March, about a pseudo- plan that was developing. This “plan” entailed riding with them to San Francisco then Seattle on what sounded like a bit of a boat scavenger hunt. Yes. A boat. Penny (Robert’s girlfriend) and Robert had made plans to quit their jobs, hop in their veggie powered, self- contained blacksmithing van, and head toward the Northwest presumably to seek out like-minded people and begin unplugging from what is viewed a steadily collapsing system. A system that at the same time is clearly closing in on all sides. The boat? A sailboat that would eventually be capable of sailing at least to Central and South America, and at most crosses oceans. The trip to San Francisco would be to network with friends- of- friends who would “be more than happy to teach us to sail it.” This conversation shot my energy level through the roof and we quickly found ourselves scheming ways to re- connect in August heading toward Wendie’s place on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State, perhaps via the Bay Area. It slowly became apparent that perhaps I’d had enough of wandering for wandering’s sake. Now maybe it was time to get busy building something. Building what? Well, THAT IS for another post. Sorry Steve- O!

After this conversation, things seemed back to normal and we tentatively set August 4th as a date that would see him depart Denver for his “week alone in the mountains.” In the interim, we could discuss ways to meet somewhere. Somewhere like Boise, and Lynn’s place? Penny and Robert’s ideas triggered further discussions about my friend Amber in San Diego. She has continuously suggested that she “may” be interested in joining us if / when we venture into Mexico, or further. She holds dual citizenship, speaks fluent Spanish, has WWOOF-ing experience in Italy, and would be a huge help to a vagabonding troupe of gringos speaking next to no Spanish! Amber’s trouble is her family, and the fact that she is 21. No problem for me, since she does not act like a ditz, but she has traditionally been torn between going to school and living her life. Her family is also Hispanic, so there is a pressure to remain close to family. A pressure that Whitey does not always comprehend. This sent us on wild conversations about possibly meeting Penny and Robert in places like Moab, Flagstaff, Taos, or anywhere else, that may put the four of us on course toward San Diego.

Toward the end of the month, these “plans” began to get a bit more complicated due to the simple and obvious fact that we are four people who hate making plans. The obvious question then is how do four people in three different places (Penny and Robert are bound for S. New Mexico 8/9) connect… without plans?

Are you seeing a lack of cohesiveness here?

Friends, this is the aforementioned “Limbo” and a good example of your author’s feeble attempts to manipulate the fates; forgetting… again… the all too familiar reminder to, all together now, SIT DOWN & SHUT UP!

On August 1, 2009, your humble scribe would be grabbed tightly by the metaphorical throat and slammed into his seat, complete with duct tape around the mouth and wrist to force further introspection that is more genuine and a long overdue, but now possible, evaluation of purpose and ego. What will follow is for me easily the saddest and most dramatic event to date, including 2008. You folks in Denver and Colorado will take a keen interest in this when it's finally posted.


I did it to you twice Steve. In radio, they call these teases! In Te Noscestan, we call it preventing an overload.