8/13 Ken II: Oklahoma

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

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

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

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

Shakespeare. Pure fucking Shakespeare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5/29 cont.: Definitely NOT west- Rawlins- Denver

Day #10
Denver, CO

I left the library and started walking toward the T/A truckstop and I-80. On the way I ran in to Jeanette again, She gave me a hug and said she was praying for me. She seemed a bit down about something, but I couldn't really tell for sure. I retraced our steps from the day before and, like clockwork, the Wyoming Wind began to howl, pushing me and the pack around a bit. My right foot was beginning to blister- just the right one for whatever reason- and I started to notice some tightness in my right shin, calf, and thigh. Only the right side though! What the hell?

I had noticed some weather starting to push in consisting of heavy, dark clouds with a little thunder. The storm looked more like a winter storm than anything, but it didn’t surprise me. The weather forecast the day before had said it was supposed to be sunny and 70, but it was far from either! While I was crossing over I-80 on the overpass, the winds REALLY kicked up. I even had to hold onto the guardrail to keep from being pushed into traffic, and then the temperature must have dropped 15 degrees almost immediately. I was glad I was walking in when I was, although for all menacing tones, the weather ultimately did next to nothing.

I went in and bought some cigarettes, a coke, and 2 half- priced candy bars and sat down in the same place I had been with Doug on Tuesday night. I was still thinking the weather was going to do something, so I scoped out the truck stop and had thoughts of sitting down in the trucker’s lounge and taking a nap. I REALLY had gotten next to no sleep the night before and was really feeling it by now. The adrenaline from earlier in the day was fading fast, and I was really fighting to stay lucid. I concluded that I needed to stay inside for awhile, before I went out to the I-80 west on- ramp to try to get west, and thought that maybe some real food would help me to feel better. If that didn’t, a bunch of coffee surely would.

I went over to the restaurant, sat down and ordered the buffet and proceeded to gorge myself. I’m not sure I was supposed to raid the salad bar too, but I did. The service was pretty pathetic, so I wasn’t getting quite as much coffee as I had hoped and after I ate, the fatigue began to take hold. I could have, and thought about, just lying back and dozing and started to eyeball the big field behind the truck stop as a place to just throw down the tent and rest. I figured it was too early to do that just yet, only 1:30- ish, so since the weather had calmed itself I went to pay the bill, figuring I’d head out to the on- ramp to see what would happen.

While I was paying my bill, a trucker who was sitting a few seats away from me was in line chatting with someone and since he seemed pretty laid back and friendly I off- handedly asked him which way he was going. He said Laredo, Texas. Before I knew what I was saying I asked if he was going thru Denver, he said yes, and I said, “Think I could get a ride?” He checked me out for a split second and just nodded and said “Yeah” in a matter- of- factly sort of way. I was getting out of Wyoming! AND in a truck! I had wanted to get at least ONE ride in a truck on this trip to see how it went, and this guy- Cesar- was it. I was really surprised at how easy it was to hook up with him, and as we walked out to the truck my energy level began to soar. Maybe it was the food, but more than likely it was the adrenaline of being on the move again. I hadn’t even considered heading east, let alone southeast, but sort of chuckled when I saw the parallel between Rawlins and Ft. Morgan. Plans? HA! The Vagabond Gods shit on my ‘plans’!

Cesar’s truck was a brand new Volvo; beautiful. Cushy. Plush. As I was climbing in and getting the backpack situated the excitement was almost comical. I was doing one of the prime things I wanted to do on this trip, and was happy with the way I was able to improvise. We got on I-80 and began heading toward Laramie and Cheyenne.

What a fun ride. Cesar is in his late 40's I believe, and came to the US from Mexico 20+ years ago. He looks almost exactly like Al Pacino in “Scarface”. I would chuckle every time he said “Montana”, hearing lines from the movie. He was good- natured about it; obviously hearing that comparison a million times. His impression was dead- on: “You cocaroach!” He told me stories about how he used to pick up hitchers all the time, and since he’s Mexican would try to help out the illegals from time to time, giving them rides, food, and even money; then finding out some of his stuff had disappeared with them. That reminded me of a few of the people I had crossed paths with. The ones who brand everyone on the road as a thief, bum, or criminal. Really pissed me off, but I understand it. Hopefully I thought I could change a bit of that stereotype.

The rest of the ride to Denver was great. We chatted, checked out all the antelope that were hanging out along the way and enjoyed the scenery. He took 287 from Laramie to Ft. Collins, then I-25 to the city. I called Chris and Eric, and made arrangements of Chris to drop his keys off at Barracuda’s, and to meet Eric at his baseball game in Wheat Ridge, just off of I-70. Cesar took me all the way there, we exchanged phone numbers and conceptualized a plan to keep track of each other in case we end up in the same area. Then I could hitch a ride with him… wherever. What a good guy he was. Yet another example, eh?

I got to Anderson Park at about 8:30 or so, and came bounding in looking like something out of a Kerouac novel, and smelling like campfire. Quite the sight. There was something odd in the air Thursday night; everyone seemed riled up over something. Chris, Me, Eric… the two teams that were playing the game were at each other’s throat the whole time! Normally I’d blow that off, but I’ve seen brawls in these rec. league games! Too many baseball heroes with shattered dreams of glory I guess, but I wasn’t exactly helping calm things! I was struck at the contrast that the day had held. Waking up in on a Wyoming prairie with the elk, then the truck stop, then walking up to the baseball field in familiar territory with friends. That still boggles my mind.

The game ended and Eric and I went straight to Barracuda’s in Capital Hill, a place becoming familiar again. We had a pitcher of PBR, and Chris and his friend showed up almost immediately. I was curious to see how Chris and Eric got along because while their VERY different in a lot of ways, including age, they’re VERY similar too. The synergy was great, and the conversations were cool, except for all the grief I got for being in Denver again so soon!

“Oh yeah, big world traveler!”

I couldn’t quite get the concept across that there are NO RULES here! Improvisation. I was in Denver; make it work! Later on it occurred to me that this was actually going to work out quite well. I had decided on the way back to take the car back to Santa Fe so Shalain wouldn’t have to worry about picking it up in July, It would save a lot of money, AND I could get rid of more gear and relax for a few days. It really did work out for the best. They just seemed convinced I was going to STAY there! No way.

The drinking commenced, and I made the mistake of letting Angela buy me a Jager shot, then had some of Chris’ Jim Beam when we got back to his house. Ugh!! I don’t drink much anymore, and when I finally got to sleep, after trying to convince Chris to come join me, I was flopping around on the couch like a fish!

Quite the day Thursday. Again, not what I expected when I awoke!

Wyoming

Denver

5/29: North, eh?

Rawlins, WY

Ha! More lessons learned, one I already knew but apparently needed some 'practical' experience to drive it home. Let's start from the beginning.

I left the library yesterday at about 3:00 and found my way out of Rawlins via 287 north- having to maneuver around the ubiquitous road construction (putting in a new sewer system). Getting out of town was relatively easy, but it became apparent that I've become spoiled. I called Chris to find out how close I was to where he crossed 287 on his trip, and through the discussion learned that he had the opinion of Wyomans(?) that they were much less likely to offer rides than other places. Unfortunately I had PLANNED on getting rides. The next town is 30- some miles up the road, and Lander was 120. I hadn't filled my water supply completely, and was carrying just my 3- liter Camelback. It soon became apparent that I should have left prepared. I have no idea what my stamina would be, although Wednesday was a good day for me to find out!

I continued up 287, and eventually got into the Prairie land of nothingness; not even trees. Traffic on 287 was medium, and the shoulder was wide enough. I took my time, stopped when I needed to to rest and eat, heard my first yells of "Git off thuh fukkin road...", and thought pretty highly of myself when I had gone 7 or 8 miles by 5:30 pm. I had been eyeballing places to camp for quite a while because I hadn't expected it to be so FLAT... no hills or trees to hide behind. I had also noticed places called "Walk- Ins" that consisted of a gate made of barbed wire, and a sign saying not to litter, and clean up after yourself. Obviously public, or state land. I found a place behind one of these gates that at least had some hills which would shield me from the wind, which was incredibly strong all day from midday on. I plopped down by the gate, and waited for a ride--- which never came. Chris was right.

At about 7:30, I headed back to prospect my camp site only to discover it had many uses, none of which had much to do with hiking or camping. It was a dump, and a dirt- bike trail. Lots of activity back there, and much of the refuse that was left behind had bullet holes! Just like Hillsdale! Ugh...

I was pretty sure though that since the sun was setting there probably would be no one coming back there to dump or ride, so I found a decent spot and set up the tent. It was still relatively light out, so I had time to gather wood from the trash I'd seen laying around and I had visions of a glorious night. The clouds had even dissipated enough to give me one HELL of a sunset.

I was out collecting my wood when it happened. My lesson. I knew better than to camp near where there's high human activity. See... 'stealth camping' is supposed to be... stealth. I wasn't so- stealthy. A truck pulled thru the gate and literally destroyed my little piece of Nirvana! I began having thoughts that maybe I was on private land ( I knew better), or that these two guys had seen me walking and decided to come and relieve me of what little I had. They'd have plenty of Cliff bars to take home I guess. The truck bounced around, diving up and down the hills and I believe they parked for a minute to smoke a joint or make sure I hadn't disturbed their (imaginary) cocaine deposit worth millions more to them than my life. I ripped the rain- fly off my tent when one of these guys climbed a hill at the other end of this place, and looked toward my direction. I was pretty sure he saw me and was about to bug out, but remembered what had happened on the S. Platte in Ft. Morgan last week. Nothing. So, I decided to wait and see what they did.

They left.

See how paranoia works?

I waited for a bit to see if they returned and when they didn't I built my little fire by burning Canada. I mean really- what do I need Canada in my atlas for? It was a nice fire; easy to light and I even used horse- dung to get it going. Yes it DOES burn, and doesn't even smell that bad. Thanks Les Stroud.

The fire helped me to regain my senses, and since it was getting cold, kept me toasty while I talked to Shalain to let her know what was going on. I got off the phone, peed the fire out (THAT stunk), and hopped in the sleeping bag- making sure that most everything was in the backpack and not even bothering with the rain fly, although it was going to drop to near 40. All this in case I had to make a quick exit-- still having visions of doom.

Ever see Stand By Me? Remember the part where they're in the woods camping and the fat kid, Vern, is standing 'guard'? You know, every time he heard a noise, he'd spin around like there was a ghost or something, all freaked out? I was Vern. All night. But I was instead imagining phantom rednecks. In fact, I now have a road name:

Vern.

I'll keep Vern until I earn another one. I'll be taking suggestions for last names, and I'd appreciate any correspondence to be addressed to "Vern" until further notice.

I woke up early this morning to the sight of my kind of visitors: elk. A herd of them. One was particularly interested in me- just eyeballing me while I smoked and eyeballed him. He didn't budge until I got up, then he darted off toward his friends. That was a great way to start the day, even though this cold I got from Leah's kids is getting stickier!.

I packed up and headed back toward Rawlins feeling as though I had grown a vagina for being freaked out so easily, but glad that I rode it out using the Platter experience. I had also had time to think about the wisdom of going further north. I decided no. I'm far enough north; maybe too far. I like warm. Warm: gooood. Plus, if I get to Lander and need to be 'stealthy' again, which is a certainty here, I'll have to deal with bigger critters than the High Plains Redneck. I'm not yet wanting to play mountain- man, so I've decided to get back to I-80 and point my thumb west toward California. Maybe Fresno to see what my sister's got going on. If not, I should be close enough to get toward Astoria from there.

There I go... making plans again. I think I just make this shit up to SEEM like I have a plan...

Way to go Vern-o!



Oh, about the lesson. If you're going to stealth camp. Don't camp ANYWHERE that there's a likelihood someone will show up! Laziness kills! Or at least scares the Bejeesus out of you...