8/17- 18: Denver to Gillette

Following a couple of false starts and a Craigslist Misfire, Greyhound finally dumped me in Denver Monday evening. I had gotten an email from another Craiglister, but by the time Eric had picked Chris and I up, there was no more contact with him.

Stepping off, it seemed that this stay in Denver would last either 8- hours, or a full day until the next bus heading my way left. Chris had made arrangements for me to stay with him at Loreli's if the ride flaked out, so we went to hang out with Eric at the Candle Light Lounge for a few beers and 7- months of catch up. Eric had read about Dennis in the Denver Post prior to my write-ups, so much of our time was spent discussing each of our particular insights and what living his particular life must have been like. As always, we later began discussing society, politics, and governmental uselessness as the beer settled in.

I learned that Eric had nearly drowned while rafting the Colorado River over the summer, and the experience had quite an affect on him. It seemed to put the notion of fear into perspective; he pointed out that he's no longer "afraid of much." The most basic of human conditions is survival, and once you experience something like that, it can't help but snap priorities into focus. Funny how fear has bubbled to the surface as a recurring theme.

Eric had to work Tuesday morning, so Chris and I walked to the Alameda Denny's to chat over coffee and see where we were after 5-weeks. It turned out to be one of our more remarkable conversations. This supposed month of "doing nothing" had instead been an intense period of reflection and realignment for him as well. Much of the conversation centered on each of us boiling our evolving ideas down into something easier to convey. We also noted how we had been able to incorporate tangible experience to both alter and expand them. I wish I could easily explain that process, but I can only invite you to re- read about Randleman, Ciel, Pat, Kim, Mike, and others. Suffice it say that analog eyes work much better than the digital ones and, for insight, this beats the hell out of anything on CNN.

This condensed stopover in Denver was quite nice on many levels, and served a nice purpose as a place to reset and launch forward. I obviously never heard from Rideshare #2, thus Tuesday was spent chatting, being entertained by Loreli's daughter, Izzy, and waiting for the bus to leave at 6pm.

Before I knew it, Eric had dropped me off, and I was back on the bus riding thru Ft. Collins and then into Wyoming. Cheyenne and Casper came and went, and I was quickly learning that my hopes of a good night's rest were futile. That would play a significant role Wednesday.

The bus dropped me in a cold, wet Gillette, Wyoming a bit after 5am and I was thrilled to learn that the stop was actually a functioning station. I organized my now- disorganized pack and caught some precious sleep before stepping off into unfamiliar territory again at 8am, and for the first time since late May in upstate NY.

8/12 CHAPTER 3 Ken II, 2 Months

Eric and I were up at on our way at 9:30, running all over the Denver metro basically tying up loose ends. We stopped at a Sprint store so I could get a car charger for my cell phone so as not to repeat the events in northern California with Eric and Marine. The damn thing cost me $25 and I knew I would live to regret buying it.

The work- day was uneventful, and I heard from Ken at about 2:00 letting me know that he was in Laramie, WY as we’d arranged the day before. Laramie is maybe 2 ½ hours from Denver, and now that I had a good idea of when he’d be in town, I could begin to plot a place to meet him.

I had hoped to be able to get to a convenient place on I-70, so he would only need to exit momentarily to pick me up, and then return immediately to his route. I was leery of that plan when, not knowing that part of Denver well, I couldn’t pinpoint locations that I was certain would be hassle- free. I decided on I-25 and 20th St., up the street from Coors Field, because it was maybe just ½ mile past the I-70 interchange, had a stop light, and he could just re- enter I-25.

Once that was set, I repacked again, foolishly eliminating food and rearranging the pack’s balance for the hike, via Light rail, to 20th St. Eric and I settled up on money, and much to my dismay I was forced to evaluate just how much money I had spent while in Denver. It isn’t a pretty picture. After the rain- fly, I was leaving with significantly less money than I should have been. The beer wasn’t THAT good.

Eric and I said the goodbyes; I loaded the pack on my back, and set off. For the first time in nearly a month, I was traveling again. Officially back on the road. There was no euphoria this time; no excitement for the unknown. I KNEW what to expect. In that sense, this phase, Phase #3, felt MUCH different. I was no longer the adolescent exploring the woods. I knew what was in the woods, how to handle it, AND I knew how what I would see from the woods would effect me. The lack of that excitement was a disappointment, and the fact that I was not experiencing the same energy- lift I had at the tracks after the Rockies game was surprising. It felt like I had just woken up in the bushes somewhere and was resuming the trip.

Go figure.

I decided to forgo paying the $1.50 fare for the ride to Union Station, remembering Thoreau’s “get what advantage of her” line in Civil Disobedience. I felt like quite the Anarchist as I rode the familiar route downtown. I was in a bit of a hurry, having spent more time chatting with Eric than I’d planned to and concerned about missing Ken in case he was early.

I got to I-25 & 20th without issue, and planted myself back in the old- familiar spot. The ramp. I arrived at about 4:00 and as I waited, a panhandler returned with his handy little sign pronouncing his abstinence from both drugs and alcohol, saying he just needed “a little help“. Todd was skeptical. The bum was NOT pleased with my presence. I wasn’t hitching, holding a sign, or ANYTHING; just sitting there. He must have thought that made him look bad, because after five minutes or so, he shouted across the exit ramp “Are you just sitting there for the Hell of it, or waiting for a ride?” I answered that I was waiting for a ride, but by now this guy’s demeanor and blatant stares were bugging me. He was acting as if his urine- soaked Jansport book bag had marked his “turf“. He apparently didn’t hear me, or was feeling belligerent, because he asked again. This time I replied “I LOVE the fucking views here… I might just have to stay here all night. Is that OK with you?” Again, I must have had a sinister look in my eyes because suddenly my presence seemed less important to him. Funny how that works.

At 4:34, four minutes after he predicted, Ken pulled off I-25 to 20th St. Our plan had worked perfectly. As I climbed in the cab, I saw my new ‘friend’s’ look of utter amazement. Here was a guy who had just been sitting there now climbing into a semi. Not so astounding, I know. But HE seemed to think it was. I just waved as we drove off.

Ken and I shook hands, I explained the situation with Dufus, and we quickly settled back into our roles from last month. We got re- acquainted as I settled in for the ride to Limon, where he was going to stop for the night since he’d been driving from Idaho since 5am.

Shortly after I got in the truck, the indecision concerning my destination was resolved. Ken has a friend in Chattanooga, TN who wanted a ride to Tampa. I could ride to Nashville and see Kim, and he could pick Jay up a couple hours down the road. Simple. Easy. Go with it Todd… go with it. I went with it.

We did stop at the Flying J on the far- east end of Aurora, and the cashier asked Ken to take a box of urgently- needed fuel tickets with him to Limon, since they were running out. She told him that we’d get free dinner in exchange for their box occupying his floor. Quite a deal.
The ride to Limon was typical eastern- Colorado. Not a lot to see save some dramatic storm clouds on the horizon that got more intense as we moved further southeast.

We arrived in Limon at about dusk, and feasted on Steak and Salmon. The manager in Limon had apparently only intended to give us the soup n’ salad bar, but had neglected to tell Ken this before hand. That led to some mini- drama when we went to leave, but the acting manager handled it diplomatically.

We settled into the double- bunked cab for the night and watched “10,000 BC” on DVD player while I also wrote in my journal. The dominant themes as I reflected on the past couple of days were the ‘coincidences’ and the fact that I was feeling very little emotion about being back on the road. I also was encountering Che’s 'split- moment' phenomenon; feeling slight melancholy about not returning home, and also fleeting, inconsistent excitement stemming from the recall of past experience, experiences that were precluded by similar circumstances and emotions. In short, I was having trouble unplugging from The Matrix, and re- establishing a solid connection with… you choose the term! It also dawned on me that today was the two- month anniversary of leaving Santa Fe for Santa Barbara, and I was heading even further away this time. Maybe the # 12 is lucky for me!

Ken and I set the alarms and got to bed ready for a day full of Oklahoma.

8/11 Denver V: "'Plans' of Mice & Men"

Monday morning and early afternoon was spent working and trying to figure out this next step. Eric offered to let me stay at his place for the night so I could catch the 10:30 am bus to Santa Fe on Tuesday, if need- be.

Some people may be a bit confused, and with good reason. I had a plan when I arrived in Denver from Idaho almost a month ago, but somewhere along the way, the inspiration and motivation to go to New York City and Maine had left me, if it was really ever there at all. I have never been a big fan of NYC, and have already spent a small amount of time there, in Brooklyn during the anti- war march in 3/03. I have no interest in enduring a “San Francisco on Steroids” experience. In retrospect the idea was probably a temporary sedative to allow me to focus on the real purpose of this interlude. I DO want to see New Hampshire and Vermont, and I will. I just don’t feel a compelling urge to do it now.

So, on went the day. I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I was returning to New Mexico for lack of a better plan, figuring that I could get to work on stashing money for this winter’s trip south.

The problem was that there was only ONE bus from Denver toward Albuquerque per day, when there used to be FOUR, and I‘d missed it. That meant I had to hang out at Eric’s, or in the woods, until morning. I tried to contact Greyhound to inquire about the AAU “Americanos Americana” line that they list on their website. It goes to Albuquerque, with a stop in Santa Fe, at 6:30 every evening. However, that route does NOT seem to offer the option of getting OFF the bus in Santa Fe! I got no answer during the entire 40 minutes I tried to contact them. This coupled with Greyhound’s blatant disdain for ANY other kind of customer service, AND the fact that they were raising their fares AND cutting their routes … I began to become irritable. (Shocking I know) I used to enjoy Greyhound, despite the fact that I seem to be the ONLY one! Now it just seems like cattle- car service.

I finally gave up and decided to try to call my trucker- friends, Ken and Cesar, to see if by chance they were near, or would be near, Denver. I got a hold of Ken and was amazed, shocked, and floored by the fact that he was back in Idaho, and on his way back to Tampa. Through Denver. THE NEXT DAY. He told me that he was headed through Nashville to drop off a load, and that I could either ride there, or all the way to Tampa if I liked. I had no clue what to tell him; he said to get in the truck and decide on the way.

I was NOT returning to Santa Fe. This phase of the trip would continue.

The term coincidence was mentioned, and then brutally mocked. This made this Denver ‘experience’ feel like a longer, drawn out rerun of McCammon, and not just because it would again be Ken that I was leaving with. Denver was a bit of a struggle this time, mostly of my own cause. I spent the day stressing about ‘what I’m going to do’, and again, the solution presented itself- in its own time. I didn’t talk a lot about this, but it occupied my mind for most of the night. A lesson I just can’t seem to learn.

Ken set into motion a strange, quick moving chain of events. I had already finished packing and arranging a ride with Eric to his house, then Chris and I devised a plan where I would serve as a Bivy Guinea Pig. For those that don’t know, a bivy is essentially a waterproof sleeping bag cover that also covers your head. They usually weigh about a third to a quarter that of a normal tent, and take MUCH less space. The downside is, of course, that you can’t sit up, nor can you place the pack INSIDE with you, meaning that a more elaborate rain- fly system is needed to keep it from getting water- logged in the inevitable downpour.

We walked down to REI and put an Outdoor Research ‘Alpine’ 4- season bivy on his credit card. REI’s got the best return policy possible. If you’re not satisfied for any reason at ANY time, bring it back for a full exchange or refund. (I pity the price- gauging ’local’ outdoor- store in Santa Fe when the REI finally gets built!) I could take it east, get rained on, and if my review was satisfactory we would get another before South America. If it blows, return it with no damage done. A fine plan indeed.

I had called & sent emails to two friends: Kim in Nashville and Nikki in Tampa. I had a pretty good indication of how this was going to go after I called Nikki and someone, who sounded an AWFUL lot like her, answered but said that they weren't Nikki and didn't know who she was! I had left Kim a voicemail, and she returned the call on the walk back from REI. She said I could stay with her for a day or two on Nashville, and to just let her know if I decided to. Nikki emailed me back later claiming that her number had NOT changed, yet no one had called and she didn't know what I was talking about! O...K then.

Removing the tent made a huge difference. Suddenly the backpack was not only lighter, but suddenly cavernous! I could now downgrade the pack, but thought it’s better to have too much room than not enough. Also, I could add another pair of pants and STILL be lighter. As I was about to leave for Eric’s, we weighed the pack in at 43#. Considering I left Denver on May 20th with the same pack weighing 55#, I’m quite thrilled. I also discovered that, for the first time since HIGH SCHOOL, I was below 160# myself! I have dropped 45 pounds in the last 15 months, and 30 in the last 4 alone. Yes… I AM proud, thank you.

Chris and I said our goodbyes and it was off to Eric’s place after a trip to McDonald’s and to the Skylark Lounge on Broadway for some PBR and a final rant- fest. This is in the neighborhood we lived in when we left Denver last summer, and it was nice to be back there hanging out. I love Capital Hill too, but it’s a bit ‘hip’ for me.

We got back to Eric’s place, and since Ken wasn’t going to be arriving until 4:30- ish the next day, I had one more day to work. I slept on his floor… and like a stone.

8/10 Denver V: Coming to an End

Today was a day of preparing to move on. Not alot to mention other than a quick trip to REI and a decision to leave... for somewhere... Monday evening, rather than Tuesday. As things stand right now, I still have NO idea where that may be! There are 3 options as I see it: Santa Fe, toward the eastern seaboard, or perhaps Florida. The thought of another 8- hour Greyhound rides takes me to the brink of nausea, but I'm not so sure I want to head all the way out east at this point and Florida? Ugh...

The Mexico/ South America trip has been consuming me a bit more over the last week or so, and I'm seriously considering sucking it up for the next few months to gather everything that's needed for it. I've decided to lighten the gear for this trip and eliminate the full- tent in favor of a bivy- tent, which wont be cheap. Neither will the added water purification equipment that will obviously be needed down there, especially in Mexico. It's not lost on me that my Spanish... well, WHAT Spanish?! ? Need to work on that.

This is just a consideration however, and I detest the idea of returning to Santa Fe so soon. There's a very good likelihood that I'll just walk or ride out of Denver... wherever. Maybe I'll pay a visit to the rail yard. Maybe I'll just hitch it toward Ft. Morgan or Cheyenne again. Maybe Kansas. I CAN say this for certain: it will NOT be toward Utah! I'm going to try to contact Ken and Cesar tomorrow to see where they are; if they happen to be this side of the Mississippi, it could get quite interesting.

Where will I go? I guess I really don't care. That's the bitch about freedom: deciding. I've said that too many times. I could flip a coin, or maybe I'll dig the dice out of my backpack again. I'm open for suggestions. Leave a comment, or shoot me an email if you have one; I'd love to hear some ideas.

I feel compelled to put a bow on this trip to Denver, but I don't know that I can. It's been humbling, frustrating, eye- opening, educational, disturbing, encouraging, invigorating and tedious (and too often intoxicating) all at once. I'm sure that some of the insights I've gained here will be useful in time; I hope so. I never intended to stay in Denver two full weeks, and that's frustrating. However, the point was to alleviate the money issues, and I've exceeded my expectation in that regard. I said I stayed too long with Florian, then Eric & Marine, and then Dave too. Is anyone surprised?

I want to thank Friar Chris for his extended hospitality. He is a great friend and was a wonderful host. We had some great times while I was here. The conversations and insights we exchanged were remarkable, deep, intense, AND exhaustive! It's these sorts of exchanges that really work a mind. The kind that are two- sided and original, rather than dictated from quotation and interpreted.

Eric deserves a thank you also. Working with him isn't 'work'; the days filled with the same kinds of observation, debate, and insight from a unique perspective are priceless. The fact I get paid mildly astounds me when I think about it, although I shouldn't say that until he DOES pay me tomorrow! Eric's been a great, loyal friend to me over the past few years, and I'm sure he's calling me a 'homo' for saying so, but it's true. I appreciate it, and it needs to be said more often.

Redneck!

Also, for those of you who are getting the email updates and maybe haven't been to the homepage lately, I've added a few more things including links to Kinga and Chris's travel pages, as well as a few other little nicknack's, so stop by and poke around once in a while... and sign the damn guestbook!

I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again; MAYBE Monday if work ends early enough. I'll let you know what I decide then, if possible. If not... stay tuned!

8/7- 9: Denver V

Thursday August 7^th was yet another fascinating day, with glimpses of a possible future that is beyond comprehension both physically and metaphysically. Unfortunately, I cannot elaborate right now and will have to attempt a literary tap dance.

Eric and I worked until about 2:30, then it was the now familiar routine of chatting with Chris until he was off to work at 4:30, then writing and chatting on the phone with Shalain until he returned at 10:30. Eric had called off work for Friday, then it was off to Barracudas to discuss the significance of this new possible course- change.

Things got VERY strange while we were there. One of the regulars, an acquaintance of Chris’, was driving out to Santa Cruz, CA the next morning and asked me if I wanted to ride along. She was venturing out to visit friends, and said I could ride if I would simply keep her company and try to keep her awake. She had also committed to taking a guy from Craigslist’s Rideshare toward Jackson Hole, WY and said that someone else in the car would put her at ease. We discussed this for a short time, and decided that she’d drop me off at Hwy. 1, and I’d start south toward Big Sur, Cambria, and San Luis Obispo; the same route I’d JUST traveled! The plan would then involve her picking me up on the return trip and taking the PCH toward LA, then to I-40 and I-25 in New Mexico, then back to Denver.

What an odd plan this was! It seemed to be an alternative however because at this point I was all but certain that I would be leaving on Saturday, and had not really decided on a destination. I had been wavering between heading east, my original plan, or returning to Santa Fe to begin to prepare for this winter’s South America trip. This would seem to accomplish a bit of both; a bit more traveling and getting me home to settle in gathering nuts, (both kinds!), for this winter. And, I loved how it came out of nowhere!

She sent her friend Drew over to size me up while she chatted with Chris, and that’s how we closed the bar. I drank a bit more than I wanted to, and got rather lit up! I drunk- called Shalain to let her know what had developed and got to bed about 3:30.

Chris’s friend was supposed to call at about 9am, and if she didn’t I was supposed to call her. When I awoke at 10:15, hungover and second- guessing this plan, I decided I would leave it up to her. If she called, she called. If not, I would probably be better off. Just in case she DID call, I got up and gathered my gear then went back to sleep. Had I heard from her, I would have gone, but the more I thought about it the less I wanted to retrace old steps. The thing that appealed to me was possibly going to see my friend Amber in San Diego when she returns from WWOOF- ing in Italy, but I don’t even know when that is. As the day went on, the happier I was that she had apparently changed her mind.

The afternoon sucked. I felt terrible, and actually slept most of it away. I guessed that I had drank more than I had realized because THIS hangover was entirely excessive for what I remembered!

Chris had the day off and had spent part of it with Angela, and the rest by himself at the park reading. I finally woke up at about 6:45 when he returned and by then I felt human again.

As we sat there chatting about the night before, with me learning that his friend was ‘kinda freaking out’ about me riding along, and that in turn leading me to wonder “why bother to suggest it then?”, we noticed that it was getting radically darker and that it was beginning to sprinkle with these HUGE drops of rain. Sweet!

Over the last month or so, Denver has been sweltering. There was a record set for consecutive days over 90- degrees; something like 24; and next to NO significant rainfall over the last couple of months as evidenced by the dead lawns Eric and I had been maintaining for the banks.

Tonight Mother Nature would begin to restore her balance.

As it began to pour, both Chris and I commented that this reminded us of those storms we had both been used to out east. REAL thunderstorms, where you lose power for a few hours. While the power didn’t go out, I began to notice that more and more people across the street were flocking to their windows to take pictures. That seemed a bit odd, even for this. When we looked out the window to see why: 10^th St. had turned into a raging river flowing west toward Lincoln/ Broadway and the S. Platte River! Sweet!! It was quite remarkable in that not only was it flowing, but also the curb-sides were completely submerged.

We watched for a few minutes only then realizing that it would be great fun to go out and play in this! Not only that; this was a perfect opportunity for me to test a lighter pair of rain pants that I was considering using. We quickly donned the gear and stepped outside to survey the flood. Great fun indeed. We got some neat pictures, talked to some of the neighbors, and even found a guy selling a kayak that would have been useful!

The weather did not last long enough to suit us however, and while we were trying to decide where the most dramatic scene would be, it began to stop. We set off for the coffee shop to get coffee, decided to rent ‘Motorcycle Diaries’ , then went to King Soopers to grab some food, since we were already there.

As is typical for Denver, the street was almost completely dry when we returned.Water, and snow for that matter, does not seem to hang around long. When we got back to The Friary and prepared to watch our movies, I checked the 9 News website and learned that Cherry Creek had flooded to the point that 6 people, who were on the bike path at 6^th and Broadway, had to be rescued! Just 6 blocks from here! We should have gone that way! Rats.

The rest of Friday was eating pasta and watching movies.

Saturday essentially did not exist! I talked with Eric and Chris and decided to stay in Denver through Monday, and work one more day. Chris has guests coming in this week, and quite honestly, I feel like I have already long- overstayed. The extra two- days even felt like a bit much.

I felt human again, but spent the entire day writing and trying to figure out where I was going on Tuesday. Road or Santa Fe. I called Shalain, spoke with her for about an hour and a half, but got nowhere. I did get some inspiration from the writings of Kinga Freespirit, a young woman who, with a friend, arrived in New York City in 2000 with about $600 between them. They took the attitude that they would just ‘follow destiny’, and it took them all over the world during the next six years. Quite a remarkable story that, like Chris McCandless and 'Into the Wild', does NOT have a happy ending. She contracted cerebral malaria in Africa and died in 2006. A waste you may say, but I would rather die like that than in an Assisted Care Prison wishing I had done something.

Chris had to work, and when he got home, we made popcorn and watched Max. I went to bed with still no clear idea of what I am doing Tuesday morning! I just know I’m doing it!

8/5-6: Denver V- Scalped

Tuesday was a defining day, although I am not sure of the definition provided.

Work was fine, and I had emailed my people at Coors Field to arrange tickets for the game against Washington. If I were to pick ONE team I would LEAST like to see… it would be the Nationals, but ya can’t beat free.

I really did not feel like going to the game once I had relaxed after work, but knew that would change once I got there. Eric picked me up at about 6:00 and since he parked about 10 blocks up the street, we had time to chug a beer or two before we reached the “$6.25 Beer Zone”.

I had two extra tickets, so rather than let them go to waste we decided to find people in line to try to save them some cash. I never sit in these seats anyhow; I have a good friend who is the usher in the section behind my old camera and he seats me in some of the vacant box seats behind the dugout whenever I go.

I thought it would be nice to hook up a father/ son with these Row- 5 tickets as a nice surprise… if Eric couldn’t find his‘hot 30- year olds’! We had gotten there late, so there were very few people to fit the bill. The last thing I wanted was to hand these out to some drunken fool, or some backward- hat wearing Frat Monkey, in case we HAD to sit there for whatever reason.

We were about to give up when I looked across the street and saw a guy from suburbia trying to buy scalped tickets across Blake St. The scalpers had always driven me batshit when I worked at Coors. Whenever I would walk toward the stadium, they’d pounce. “Got any extra tickets man?!?! You work here dude… you can get me some tickets, brawh” (‘brawh’ is ‘scalper’ for ‘bro’ apparently; they all say it)

This was my opportunity to piss them off just a small fraction of what they had annoyed me. I bounded across Blake St., and asked the suburbanite if he wanted two free tickets in Row- 5. The look on his face screamed “Hell yeah!”, but before I knew it this Peruvian- looking scalper was in my face saying “I do!! Duuuude! I want em!!”, and in the process reaching across my body, in front of my face, trying to grab these tickets! Oops.

Remember The Greenpeace Affair?

Ron?

Yeah….

This was much worse however. I have no recollection of exactly HOW I got in this guy’s face, yelling, screaming, and completing a full time- warp back to Hillsdale and my Redneck Youth. However, there I was… none to nose with this idiot telling him to “back the f**k up”, “Stand down motherfu**er”, and “step the f**k back”. Lots of ‘f**ks’; NONE with upward inflection.

I could see the mental evaluation process in his eyes. Should he lip back, or let this one go? First, it was amusement because, apparently, he thought I was kidding. Then there was “oops, I messed up”. I believe he saw A LOT of rage in my eyes, because then I could see much fear in his. I had him. Todd was an Honorary Redneck again.

When I saw his fear and realized how close I actually was to fighting this guy, I regained control of myself. I literally have very little connective- memory of this exchange, until I heard his fellow scalpers, who wanted no part of me themselves, egging him on. They used the time- honored trick of questioning his manhood. He was a “pu**y” if he didn’t… get his ass kicked! PURE Hillsdale! Then his posturing changed.

All of the sudden he appeared to WANT to fight again, and told everyone so, as he was running away from me! Sprinting. Can you picture the comedy of a grown man talking trash WHILE he is running away from you? My blood was still boiling rapidly, so I began to pursue him. My agitated reptilian mind was telling me that this would be a WONDERFUL way to release some pent up frustration, but common sense got the better of this inner- debate. Either he did not want anything to do with me, and this was how he could save his “Scalper Cred”, OR maybe there was a weapon stashed wherever he was running. Whatever. Both scenarios told Todd to turn around and go to his ballgame. Therefore, he did.

The suburbanite/ gentry- type man had a look of shock on his face when I walked back across the street and asked him if he still wanted the tickets! Unfortunately, so did his kid. He was probably eight or nine, and I had completely forgotten he was there during all of this. Eric not-so- gently reminded me by informing me that “Well, you FREAKED that KID out dude.” I felt like an ass. In all honesty, the kid (and dad back at the office) now has a hell of a story to tell his friends later, but still…

The adrenaline rush was astounding, and familiar. I was literally shaking like a leaf in anger as we walked toward the gate, and Peruva-punk followed, still running his mouth… on the other side of the street. I blew a kiss at him as I obnoxiously waved my tickets high overhead. He reminded me of the dog behind a fence who WANTED to do SOMETHING, but just couldn’t quite climb it.

I said hi to a couple of friends I had worked with, more or less just to calm myself down. That helped a bit, but now the realization had set in that I was REALLY in a precarious mental state. Telling a Greenpeace Puppet to fuck off is one thing, and some might even say admirable. THIS however was something else. Dangerous. Foolish. Immature? All of the above?

Eric had yet to see that side of me, and I expected him to either laugh, smack me in the head, or never speak to me again. He knew about the other things that had happened however, and had some remarkable insights to offer: the same insights as Chris. I had no tolerance for any unnecessary hassles associated with being ‘plugged back in’. I’d been literally in survival mode for over a month, and apparently I liked it. I literally felt like I was short- circuiting when I tried to re- adapt to contrived priorities. I felt caged. As Veronika had put it in California: I’d “tasted the blood”.

As we sat there and watched the game, it began to dawn on me that I really needed to move on. It had been three weeks since I’d ridden in to Denver with Ken, and it was obvious that I was seriously disturbed by being there. I concluded that it did not really matter WHERE I went, but it had to be soon.

We finished watching the Rockies beat the Nationals, and then walked adjacent to the train tracks back toward the truck. The parking lot spans 12 city blocks, so we had ample time to survey the yard, and chat. A funny thing happened during that long walk, and something that is not so surprising. My energy level skyrocketed, my mental awareness sharpened, and I felt… oddly… at home. Everything I had been missing since I had returned from the road. Smokers will get the metaphor that this was to my brain like the first cigarette after going 2- days without. That was telling in the sense that it seemed apparent all of the sudden that I was seeing a mental manifestation of what Chris and Eric had been telling me: get the hell out of here!

On the way back to The Friary, I decided that I really needed a drink. Eric had decided not to work Wednesday, so I called Chris and we arranged, against my better judgment, to head to Barracudas. I just needed to chat about this stuff and did not want to be in the house caged for the night.

Remarkably, the night was rather uneventful, but productive. We discussed alternative ideas about the temper- flares, and even talked about the possibility that tonight’s example may have been The Road’s way of tapping into something a bit more primal than I am used to thinking about: a return from the Laws of Man back to the Law of Nature. The Anarchists in the audience will LOVE that! When I thought of it in that light, it didn’t seem so bad.

Much of the debate leading up to this trip had a lot to do with talk v. action, and killing duplicity by living YOUR ideals, as opposed to those imposed upon you. I will post a lot of that when I get more time, but these three weeks has seemed to bear that fruit.

Another series of discussion went along these lines in that the common theme with these outbursts have centered on manipulation. I was not yelling solely at the Greenpeace Puppet; I was yelling at the puppet master as well. The scalper had gotten to the brink of violence because he had gotten physically in my space by reaching in front of me, and was trying to protect his ‘Manipulation Zone’ as I saw it. There may be a tad bit of rationalization in there, but as is usually the case, there are probably elements of truth in all of this. Either way, it was becoming clear that it was time to move on.

Remember the two- day (week?) rule? HA!

We went from Barracudas to the Park Tavern for a couple of drinks, just because I’d never been in there- even during the year that I LIVED in Capital Hill. Amazingly, considering my initial mental- state, we did not drink much and got to bed relatively early.

Wednesday was a chill day. Not much of anything outside of walking to Office Depot to get business- card paper for the next leg of the trip. While there, I decided to buy Chris a stick of RAM for his laptop as a ‘thanks’ for letting me stay here. That took an extra trip, but it was worth it. His computer really needed the added memory! I spent the rest of the night writing, and dwelling some more on the previous night.

8/2-4: Denver V- Ron

Saturday it felt nice to just chill out and do nothing. Chris and I finally managed to get to the grocery store for food in the afternoon, thankfully without incident! On the return, we crossed paths with a friendly homeless guy hanging out in an alley with his little dog. We both commented that he seemed like a decent guy and noted that he was one of the few who will chat with you without the conversation turning to what we could give him.

Chris worked, and I wrote, until 10:30 then it was off to Barracudas to relax and have a bit of fun. So much for not drinking. It was an enjoyable night highlighted by a conversation surrounding the definition of ‘art’, on which I won (!), but we agreed to disagree.

After the bar closed, we were outside chatting with some people we had met and gawking at what appeared to be a souped- up hearse, driven by some characters from a Gothic novel. Quite interesting. As we were about to leave, we saw the homeless guy from earlier. Chris began chatting with him, and before I knew it, he had offered him a place to stay for the night. The Friar has a way of doing that! He had offered Catfish a place the week before as well; it is his way of returning the generosity he’d found on his cross- country walk. I didn’t think anything of it. Sounded like a nice thing to do, and a good way to generate some good will in the universe. I also remembered the alley earlier in the day, when he was content to chat with us and not expect anything. I had a good feeling about the guy. Ron was 50, seemed to be pleasant, didn’t reek, and had an ornery little dog. A perfect combination for a house guest!

We headed back to the Friary with Ron and Bella (the dog) in tow, and broke out the remainder of the Jim Beam gallon Chris has had since May. We all drank up, chatting, while Chris and I were getting to know Ron. He was from Raton, NM so I felt a kinship to him in that regard and he seemed to have a Christian background; spoke of “Jesus” quite often. We asked him why he was living on the street, and he said it was because he was ‘tired of all the bullshit’. He did not seem to be an addict of any kind, but did like his Jim Beam.

I began to notice some things that seemed odd however when I began to press him on some of his opinions. He would not elaborate. Just rattle off the same answer again. I pictured Eric’s analogy of the punks selling speaker boxes with no guts inside! That was enough for me, and I essentially shut myself down, and let them chat until it was time to pass out. Then...

I had been giving Ron cigarettes since he had been there. No big deal, but then out of nowhere he decided to reach over, grab my pack of Pall Malls, and start to put them in his pocket. I asked him, “What the hell do you think you’re doing with my cigarettes?” He responded that these were HIS cigarettes, Goddammit! I took them out of his hands, forcibly, let him know that he was full of shit, and asked him what kind of idiot he took me for. Again… he couldn’t elaborate. Just to further explore what he was all about, I reached over and picked up the glass of Beam & Coke Chris had poured him. Christ on His Throne! “Hey, that’s Fuckin’ MINE!” I had my answer.

Chris didn’t see any of this going on. I was going to let it go, to try to practice a new policy of forbearance. However, after I laid down, I realized that if this guy were going to try to steal my cigarettes with me SITTING there, what the hell’s he going to take when we’re asleep? My backpack and everything else I had brought with me was at the foot of the couch! I pulled Chris aside, told him what had happened, and he agreed that Ron had to go.

Chris, being the Friar he is, gave Ron a shot at redemption. He asked him about the cigarettes and, of course, he said he did not try to take them. When I told him to look me in the eye and say that, of course he could not. It is about here that my blood began to boil. Ron had been lucid all night, standing and walking just fine, then suddenly he was too drunk to talk! As this little exchange continued, my voice steadily got louder and I was getting angrier by the second. The one thought I remember having is that THIS is the EXACT stereotype I was fighting on the road. I was assumed by many people to be THIS character! I heard echoes of Eric’s sentiments on the welfare state, how people will gain a sense of entitlement. Then I heard the hippies saying ‘Oh, they’re ALL just down on their luck and need a second (or thousandth) chance’ with the upward inflection on ‘luck’ and ‘chance’ of course. The longer he sat there, the angrier I was getting.

Chris finally told him he had to leave. It was HERE that Ron mysteriously lost all use of his legs. When he tried to stand, he crashed into the makeshift bookshelf and onto the hardwood floor with a loud thud. Then he couldn’t stand up from there! Chris gave him the benefit of the doubt, but to me this was all too convenient and I began to tell him so. I believe my response to this was “Oh, just get the fuck up, and get the fuck out of here.” Upward inflection on ‘fuck’.

After some effort, Chris finally got him out the door, down the steps, and outside where Ron, again, mysteriously lost all motor- functions. He crashed onto the sidewalk, and refused to move. His dog was not any too pleased about any of this, and I tried in vain to get her back on her leash so she wouldn’t run off in what was left of the night.

Ultimately, we decided that if we left him there at least we could keep an eye on him from the window. That solution lasted maybe 3 minutes before Chris decided to go back down and try to get him back to his couch. I declined to take part.

Chris was gone quite a while, and I began to get a bit concerned to the point of getting up to go looking for them. When I heard the door open, and just Chris walked in I was quite relieved. Apparently, Chris had gotten him to the couch when Ron’s motor- functions just as mysteriously RETURNED, and he decided that THIS couch was not quite the proper place to be. He set off for a few different places, and Chris in his concern stayed with him until even HE was fed up and had come home. Thus ended the Saga of Ron.

I had no idea how to digest this, but it occurred to me that many of the conservative- leaning friends were correct. At what point does a person have responsibility for themselves? When does ‘I need a little help’ turn into entitlement and a get- everything- I- can mentality? How many of the ‘homeless’ people we see are simply looking to exist solely on handouts in an effort to avoid personal responsibility? Charity has its place, but so do common sense and the ability to see through a swindle.

Chris and I discussed this for a short time before we passed out with the sun already in the sky. The only conclusions we came to were that we are probably a good counter- balance to each other, and that Chris was right when he asked Ron “How many people try to help you out after you try to steal from them?”

Sunday consisted of nothing but recovery. We talked a bit more about Ron and a few other things including more about South America. I touched base with Eric regarding work on Monday and that was it.

Monday was again mostly uneventful. We worked almost all day, then Chris and I walked to a video/ CD store where he bought, then we watched, “What the Bleep Do We Know”. One of my favorite movies, and one that inevitably triggers deep discussions! However we both, and Eric too, had been noticing a type of mental fatigue. Chris and I spend most of our time in discussions, and Eric and I do the same thing, all day. It seemed that it was starting to wear all of us out! A good thing I guess.

Despite the fatigue, we talked about the movie, the Latin America trip, and began to do some research on what to expect once we got to Mexico. I also had arranged tickets for the Rockies/ Nationals game at Coors Field for Eric and I. THAT would turn out to be quite eventful, and even more eye- opening than the weekend had been, and it would begin to show the door out of Denver!

Ron was obviously the Event of the Weekend, but over the past couple of weeks as you have probably noticed Chris and I have been having more in- depth conversations about this winter’s trip south. I have neglected to detail much about this intentionally; I wanted to see how the ideas developed and rather we would have second thoughts. It is a much bigger decision for Chris because it means abandoning some of his plans and expectations in favor of the nomadic lifestyle again. Over the last 2+ weeks, it would appear, and he has stated, that this open- ended adventure seems to have almost set itself in stone. It feels right; synchronized. The “Rest of the Americas” trip outline and philosophy deserves its own space—like hippies, only it will not be a special place in Hell!

Human Capital

Denver

Work again started at 8am, and Eric and I were right back to our old ways, talking about the Human Condition and politics while observing how people live while driving all over the Denver metro. It's generally ideas and debate theorizing about where we're headed as a culture, and discussing how people are convinced to chase all these foreclosed houses we maintain for the banks, plus the cars, TVs, and the rest of the "American Dream". The whole time they are convinced that THIS is the essence of life! Work the best part of your lives only to take whatever wealth you accumulate and hand it to someone else... then wonder why life feels so "empty".

"America spells competition; join us in our blind ambition; get yourself a brand new motor car."

These discussions are the part of the job that appeals to me, and has for a couple of years.

This was a particularly intense day of discussion. Chris had reminded me of something I'd thought of a long time ago with an offhanded comment that a friend had made to him about the IRS and when/ why it was created. It HAS NOT been there from inception. Then, while Eric and I were sitting in a particular house the conversation turned to the systemic method of keeping people in a cooperative state of mental slavery. We discussed the selling, then exploiting, of fear. Encouraging, even fostering intentional ignorance by defining and marketing an idea of 'happiness and success'. An imposed definition that anesthetizes critical thought, and merely benefits the economic elite encouraging you to emulate them, while at the same time demanding you pay them 'tribute'.

"There's room at the top they are telling you still…"

** RANT ALERT***

YOU foot the bill to sustain that system, and with that money they, while in the same breath telling you that 'socialized' health care is 'too expensive', provide Corporate Socialism to oil companies, failing airlines, banks. They 'provide' a fabricated WAR that conveniently benefits, with BILLIONS of YOUR dollars, the conveniently well- connected Capitalists that are conveniently poised to make obscene profits, while 4,000+ mostly poor Americans and countless poor Iraqis lie dead. Moreover, what happened to the cheap gas and WMD they were promising with the war?

Your 'tax dollars at work'. However, break a leg without insurance? "Fuck you. Pay me." (Name THAT movie)

Combine the Corporate Socialism with the Iraq War and you could college- educate and provide health care to EVERY AMERICAN. Think they really want to do something about cutting dependence of 'foreign oil'? Bullshit. Prove it. Don't talk to me about it 'costing billions of dollars' to retrofit decaying auto plants in Detroit to produce wind turbines thereby replacing lost manufacturing jobs by creating a new American industry: American jobs to solve American problems. Ask them why they outsourced THESE jobs to India and China! Or solar panels on every home?

'Billions of dollars'? Fuck… you.

Health care, education, and sustainable energy. Add your own. These are the problems that REAL people are concerned with. Yet there are no results beyond the high- pitch rhetoric we hear from Obama and Clinton. Rhetoric to be elected. However, when the vast majority demands a different direction for their tax dollars, health care rather than dead Marines and Iraqis, health care rather than more corporate millionaires, and repeatedly nothing changes, the definition becomes clear: taxation without representation. You have elected 'representatives' in name, but it isn't YOU they're representing.

I believe it was Lenin who said that democracy only gives the illusion of choice: the real decision-making is done in the smoke- filled closets behind the visible Halls of Power. How pathetic is it that, in America, we can find more truth in the prophecies and observations of Marx and Lenin than Bush, Cheney, or Clinton? I'll add Obama to that list in about a year, don't worry.

One final thought. If you REALLY want to see your value as a human being beyond the abstract, suck it up and take a walk to a homeless shelter. To the prisons. To any street corner in any city. Go chat with my friend Pat in San Luis Obispo. Have an honest conversation with an elderly person in an Assisted Living Prison. That is the true estimation, at its base level, of how you are viewed as a human being in this culture; in this 'system'. Your human worth is equal to the capital you produce, then spend, then produce: consume.

That is the answer to "Todd, why do you hate the system so much?" My last (supposedly progressive Santa Fe) radio- boss asked me that question. He asked me too late to get the ladder- climber answer he sought. I had already figured out that money does not define me, will not turn me into a whore. Ever.

I was fired within a month.

The fact that I laughed when I heard "it's not working out" sent "Skippy" reeling. I'll never forget the look of bewilderment caused by actually seeing someone happy while being fired! It was as though he was seeing a creature from Mars walking out of the mothership; something that this simple product of identity capitalism could not possibly comprehend.

I was supposed to be crushed, right? He'd just taken all my money away!

What he did in fact was give me my life back by doing the hard part for me: forcing me to break the chains of monetary dependency. He also freed me from the absurd duty of feeding his pet pig.

"On bended knee is no way to be free…"

***END RANT*** brought to you by Carl's Jr.

This was an intense day that broke me out of the mini- funk I had been in. I also noticed that the same intensity, quickening anger, recurred while I was having this discussion! Normally I am quite calm when I'm sober and have these conversations with people I agree with. I was anything but calm this day however. I noticed my language changing. My tone, which normally is even keeled, was full of disgust and disdain. My voice steadily got louder to the point of shouting. Like with Hippie McDouche, I had tapped into something. I was beginning to, perhaps, actually find a few "splinters".

As is usually the case, my disgust had enough venom to go around. It wasn't just directed at the system and predatory capitalists, but also at the Left. It's a special kind of hate I have for THESE sheep. So special in fact, that it deserves its very own special rant.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Friar Chris and I came to the conclusion that sitting at Barracudas every night ran counter to both of our best- interests so we decided on conversation and a couple of games of Risk instead.

7/28- 29: Denver V

I should have just gone back to The Friary and gone to bed, but I saw that coming so there is no use complaining about it... after I've complained about it.

Eric showed up at 8:00 and we were off to work. I was out of it all day relying on aspirin and coffee to get me through. We did a few yards, boarded up a busted window, and I caught some much-needed winks in his truck while he was at Lowe's. The day was fine, but it could not end quickly enough! The day was worse for Chris; he had to open and was at work by 5:45!

Eric dropped me off at 3:00 and Chris was already home and in bed recovering. I decided to do the same, and got a few hours of sleep before we headed down to the coffee shop to get caffeine in our systems and say hi to Angela. We then went back home and watched Idiocracy and part of Easy Rider before Angela showed up to hang out and play Monopoly. Exciting times for exciting people!

And that was Monday. Good stuff, eh?

Tuesday, on the other hand, was much better. Work again started at 8am, and Eric and I were right back to our old ways, talking about the Human Condition and politics while observing how people live while driving all over the Denver metro. It's generally ideas and debate theorizing about where we're headed as a culture, and discussing how people are convinced to chase all these foreclosed houses we maintain for the banks, plus the cars, TVs, and the rest of the "American Dream". The whole time they are convinced that THIS is the essence of life! Work the best part of your lives only to take whatever wealth you accumulate and hand it to someone else... then wonder why life feels so "empty".

“America spells competition; join us in our blind ambition; get yourself a brand new motor car”

These discussions are the part of the job that appeals to me, and has for a couple of years.

This was a particularly intense day of discussion. Chris had reminded me of something I’d thought of a long time ago with an offhanded comment that a friend had made to him about the IRS and when/ why it was created. It HAS NOT been there from inception. Then, while Eric and I were sitting in a particular house the conversation turned to the systemic method of keeping people in a cooperative state of mental slavery. We discussed the selling, then exploiting, of fear. Encouraging, even fostering intentional ignorance by defining and marketing an idea of ‘happiness and success’. An imposed definition that anesthetizes critical thought, and merely benefits the economic elite encouraging you to emulate them, while at the same time demanding you pay them 'tribute'.

“There’s room at the top they are telling you still…”

** RANT ALERT***


YOU foot the bill to sustain that system, and with that money they, while in the same breath telling you that ‘socialized’ health care is ‘too expensive’, provide Corporate Socialism to oil companies, failing airlines, banks. They ‘provide’ a fabricated WAR that conveniently benefits, with BILLIONS of YOUR dollars, the conveniently well- connected Capitalists that are conveniently poised to make obscene profits, while 4,000+ mostly poor Americans and countless poor Iraqis lie dead. Moreover, what happened to the cheap gas and WMD they were promising with the war?
Your ‘tax dollars at work’. However, break a leg without insurance?

“Fuck you. Pay me.” (Name THAT movie)

Combine the Corporate Socialism with the Iraq War and you could college- educate and provide health care to EVERY AMERICAN. Think they really want to do something about cutting dependence of ‘foreign oil’? Bullshit. Prove it. Don’t talk to me about it ‘costing billions of dollars’ to retrofit decaying auto plants in Detroit to produce wind turbines thereby replacing lost manufacturing jobs by creating a new American industry: American jobs to solve American problems. Ask them why they outsourced THESE jobs to India and China! Or solar panels on every home?

‘Billions of dollars?' Fuck… you.

Health care, education, and sustainable energy. Add your own. These are the problems that REAL people are concerned with. Yet there are no results beyond the high- pitch rhetoric we hear from Obama and Clinton. Rhetoric to get elected. However, when the vast majority demand a different direction for their tax dollars, health care rather than dead Marines and Iraqis, health care rather than more corporate millionaires, and repeatedly nothing changes, the definition becomes clear: taxation without representation. You have elected ‘representatives’ in name, but it isn’t YOU they’re representing. I believe it was Lenin who said that democracy only gives the illusion of choice: the real decision-making is done in the smoke- filled closets behind the visible Halls of Power. How pathetic is it that, in America, we can find more truth in the prophecies and observations of Marx and Lenin than Bush, Cheney, or Clinton? I’ll add Obama to that list in about a year, don’t worry.

One final thought. If you REALLY want to see your value as a human being beyond the definition “Human Capital”, suck it up and take a walk to a homeless shelter. To the prisons. To any street corner in any city. Go chat with my friend Pat in San Luis Obispo. Have a conversation with an elderly person in an Assisted Living Prison. That is the true estimation, at its base level, of how you are viewed as a human being in this culture; in this ‘system’. Your human worth is equal to the capital you produce, then spend, then produce: consume.

That is the answer to “Todd, why do you hate the system so much?” My last (supposedly progressive Santa Fe) radio- boss asked me that question. He asked me too late to get the ladder- climber answer he wanted. I had already figured out that money does not define me, will not turn me into a whore. Ever. I was fired within a month.

The fact that I laughed when I heard "it's not working out" sent "Skippy" reeling. I'll never forget the look of bewilderment caused by actually seeing someone happy about being fired! It was as though he was seeing a creature from Mars walking out of the Mothership; something a simple product of capitalism cannot possibly comprehend. I was supposed to be crushed, right? He'd just taken all my money away! What he did in fact was give me my life back by doing the hard part for me: forcing me to break the chains of monetary dependency and materialism. He also freed me from the absurd duty of feeding his pet pig.

“On bended knee is no way to be free…”

***END RANT*** brought to you by Carl’s Jr.

This was an intense day that broke me out of the mini- funk I had been in. I also noticed that the same intensity, quickening anger, recurred while I was having this discussion! Normally I am quite calm when I’m sober and have these conversations with people I agree with. I was anything but calm this day however. I noticed my language changing. My tone, which normally is even keeled, was full of disgust and disdain. My voice steadily got louder to the point of shouting. Like with Hippie McDouche, I had tapped into something. I was beginning to, perhaps, actually find a few splinters.

As is usually the case, my disgust had enough venom to go around. It wasn’t just directed at the system and predatory capitalists, but also at the left. It’s a special kind of hate I have for THESE sheep. So special in fact, that it deserves its very own special rant.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Friar Chris and I came to the conclusion that sitting at Barracudas every night ran counter to both of our best- interests so we decided on conversation and a couple of games of Risk instead.