5/22: Springfield, MA: Alex

Chris & I left the Amtrak station on- foot for the short walk to his friend Angus's house. Chris had been telling me for the better part of a year that he and I "needed to meet" because we have similar views and opinions on social & political ideas. This has always felt like something that was an important part of the trip, and missing it by omitting Mass. would have bothered me for a long time. He also began filling me in on some of the intense family/ friend based drama he had been dealing with, and in a somber manner that I was a bit unaccustomed to seeing from him. His week in Springfield had obviously been intense.

The walk was 2- 3 miles, but we would be delayed.

After perhaps a mile of walking through some of Springfield's most "interesting" & run down neighborhoods, we were approached by a young man who, for once, was more of a spectacle than we. He was wearing a red tank top, and red balloon pants... riding a unicycle.

Yes, a unicycle.

He spoke with a thick East London accent, and was asking all kinds of questions about what we were doing because, "you never see backpackers walking the streets of Springfield!" I didn't mention that I've NEVER seen a unicyclist riding the streets of... anywhere. He looked like he belonged in the circus, and it turned out that was exactly where he was from. He had traveled around the world his entire life performing with his family: The Sardine Family Circus. Alex began telling us all about the best countries in Europe. His pick: Spain, adding that it, "Beats the fuck outta the preppie little countries." All in the thick Cockney accent. I almost died laughing at the stares coming from cars passing by. Imagine seeing two backpackers accompanied by a unicyclist who was riding down the side walk of your town! I just missed the picture, to my everlasting shame. I was too busy laughing!

He was obviously quite interesting, intelligent, full of life, and found what were were doing quite fascinating, so when he invited us to their place for a beer, we quickly accepted. This was too good to miss!

Alex's family was staying in older- model RVs parked at the home of his sister's husband, and commuted from Springfield to Boston 5- days a week performing their street circus & making a living as they apparently had done for decades. His mom and dad warmly invited us in and insisted we join them for some beef stew, easily overwhelming our meager resistance. As we ate, Alex was off to the store for Natural Light, and pretty soon we were swapping stories. Alex was eager to hear some of ours, saying he was usually the one doing the entertaining, so we went to our old stand- by: The Tennessee Drug Search. This was the beginning of one of the most profound experiences for either of us as we quickly realized that what WE had done was only "amazing" in a relative sense. After our quick blurb, he then told us his "cop" story.

They had been pulled over by the police in Spain at some point, and they had found hash on the bus. As the young cop was proudly exclaiming, "look what we found!", his brother, who along with Alex is a juggler, snatched it from his hand and played keep away. He then flipped it over his head to Alex who promptly heaved it into a field. No evidence now, eh? As the befuddled, inexperienced police officers demanded to know where the rest of it was, Alex proceeded to quickly strip naked on the side of the road then declared, "See! I ain't got nothin'!" He finished by telling us that when "backup" arrived, in the form of two older policemen, they simply laughed both at the scene before them, and at the ineptitude of their cohorts. Still laughing, they instructed the Sardines to get dressed and be on their way, assuring them not to worry about the other two officers; that they'd "have a talk with them."

Well, we had... sat... on the side ... of I-40? Yeah...

We immediately felt like amateur hour had begun, and we were the featured attraction. And it got worse. He then asked us "what we do." Were we hunting? Trapping? What did we do to earn money? Now the audience at amateur hour was obviously not impressed! When the novelty of traveling was taken away, and was the common point of reference, what we had "accomplished" was pathetic! And it got worse!

Alex began sharing how he was a pilot who had flown across country, built his own motorcycles from junkers, and had crafted a long bow out of discarded items such as a broken guitar. I was wondering about all of these stories until he showed us the bikes and the longbow, then began delving into his Africa Plan. He wants to wait a few more years until he knows his family is well off, then secure the funding, manpower and equipment to actually start a village somewhere in Africa, beginning with the sanitation system. Apparently, he has secured old Soviet trucks that were auctioned off at the end of the Cold War and are waiting for him in Germany. None of this seemed out of the ordinary to them, and was reacted to by the other members of his family, and his girlfriend, Amber, as typical Friday night conversation.

It became apparent after a couple hours that they were ready to bed down for the night, but before we left, he offered to take us to Boston before we went west and teach us the finer points of street theater, suggesting we dress up as opposing cowboys, to make "probably $100/ day." Why the hell not?

As we left, we both had the feeling that we had just had our penis size mocked at a brothel! Extreme reality check and a grand dose of perspective at the same time. All from a 24- year old unicyclist who had never spent a day in "school." Alex was a study in "doing", rather than talking about, or "preparing to do." When I again lamented at how idiotic I suddenly felt, Chris astutely pointed out that this kid hadn't wasted 20- years in school. He had spent all of his 24- years just LIVING, and as a result had skills that had made him self- sufficient, and beholden to no one. I admire that!

As we walked toward Angus's dumbfounded, we decided we'd take Gus up on his "30- pack" suggestion, and spent the early hours of Saturday chatting, drinking, and theorizing. Gus didn't disappoint. He is a professional DJ who does parties, weddings, etc., and one of the smartest people you'd ever hope to meet. We talked about everything from music, to politics, to race and as the night went on I was struck by how raw & honest it all seemed. Eventually beer took over and it was time for bed, but this intense few hours was exactly what I needed. Coming to Mass. was obviously a wise decision, and I was eager to see what the rest of the weekend held!

5/20- 5/22: New Mexico to New England

Time management is not a strength of mine. I had spent Monday and Tuesday obsessed with editing pictures, so by the time Wednesday morning came around I had alot to do to catch the 2pm Amtrak from Santa Fe to either Boston or Springfield.

Shalain dropped me off in Lamy at about 1:30, and after the goodbyes, I found myself plopped down on the platform next to the tracks just as I had the year before on the way to Santa Barbara. It was a beautiful afternoon, as are most May afternoons in New Mexico, and as the train pulled in the realization that I was about to ride from the Southwest to New England set in, giving me a rush of adrenaline. Also adding to the intensity that this was the anniversary of the day Chris dropped me off near Ft. Morgan last year beginning all- that- was a very cool 2008. A good day to be hopping a cross- country Amtrak!

Once settled into my window seat for the 2pm pickup aboard the Southwest Chief to Chicago, I noticed that there was a film crew on board, in my car, shooting some sort of a movie. "39 Miles" was the working title, and I recall a distinct twinge of disgust as they proceeded to create this supposed electronic reality out of the limited view provided by the camera lens, and re- take after re- take! I kept picturing Bill O'Reilly as I watched all this! Keith Olbermann too...

The ride to Chicago was pretty through New Mexico and Colorado as usual, but uneventful. After the 24- hour ride and arriving in Chicago the next afternoon at around 3pm, I had six- hours to kill at Union Station. I took advantage of the lockers to lighten myself, and managed to walk around the block. That was about it. Growing up only a couple hours from Chicago, I've never been all that impressed with it, and don't get all the fuss. The Red Wings were up 2-0 in the Western Conference Finals against the Blackhawks, so I thought I'd wear my Wings cap to annoy the multitudes. Did it work? No one let on.

The Lakeshore Limited left at 9pm on Thursday for both New York and Boston. I learned that Albany, NY was where they would first separate, then add an engine to the back half of the train... taking that group of cars to NYC while we continued on unimpeded.

The ride through northern Indiana and extreme northern Ohio was quite nostalgic. Being raised just over the Michigan line, this is landscape embedded in my DNA. Oftentimes painfully. Although it was the middle of the night, I clearly recognized the roads and towns as the train sped along. South Bend. Elkhart. Goshen. Bryan. Defiance. Toledo. Defiance was particularly odd because that was where we had taken the "older kids" to buy us beer when Ohio's drinking age was 19. The wholesome, drunken, good ol' days.  

We then litterally passed within spitting distance of Shelly's house which is in Delta, a little town between Bryan and Toledo. I caught myself thinking that THIS was where we, only a few days ago, were discussing me getting off the train. For all intents and purposes, THIS was also my destination. I could see it, yet I was training another 600 or 700 miles to get there! I loved that.

Once thru Toledo, I slept. All the way to Rochester, NY , then to Syracuse, and finally almost to Albany. Dammit! I missed Sandusky, Cleveland and Erie! I'm pretty sure Sandusky will appreciate my low- ket arrival and departure this time...

Past Albany, the Adirondack Mountains get intensely beautiful, and I immediately realized that I had made a wise decision. This WAS the type of country we'd missed down south, and I wanted to swim in it. Western Massachusettes was just as beautiful, with more lakes and rivers, as far as I could tell.

I hadn't met anyone of note on the entire train ride, which may have been my fault as I was introspective most of the time. However a couple of specimens quickly made themselves apparent after Albany.

The first was a uniformed soldier. I never spoke with him, but he was apparently on his way to or from Iraq. "How do you know this?", a perceptive reader may ask. It was easy, considering he kept reminding an attractive young lady of this fact... at every opportunity. For instance, while we were outside smoking (hush!) in Albany she mentioned "snowboarding boots." I then heard him say in a pathetic, over- amplified, "far- away" voice, "These boots have been to IRAQ... and they're gonna go... again." I wasn't sure what was worse: Him using that line, loudly, or that it was apparently working! A nice case of syphillis may do him some good.

The other character was even more pathetic, but in a sad, revolting way. I only spent the short time between Pittsfield and Springfield chatting with this pasty, red- haired, obese 20- something , and have long since forgotten her name. She was the poster child for why we should need a license to reproduce.

Immediately after she sat down, and without using the changing station provided, she decided to clean a good dose of #2 from her infant daughter, while the poor teenager she'd chosen to pin between her and the window had no choice but to watch. All the while, declaring that she was ready to "end all the pain" and go get "all fuckered up" Really, she said "fuckered up." After her poo- cleaning skills were properly displayed, she then said to this 17- year old kid, "Do you mind?" while actually holding her child out toward him... to hold for her! This teenage boy, luckily for her, was a good sport. He took the little girl, and successfully occupied her while Mother of the Year got it together.

Now, MY mistake was letting her bait me into a conversation. I knew better. But alas, I was suckered into hearing all about her "asshole boyfriend" who only "wicked fucks with her head", and how everyone is conspiring to take her child away "only" because she has "no job, real home, or no money", but only "right now". And, "Yeah, I used to be a crack head, but gave dat shit up."

She couldn't for the life of her understand why everyone was just out to get her. "They just don't understand the shit I been through and how hard it is!" Then came the suicide innuendo. That was the end of the conversation.

The train arrived in Springfield at about 6pm Friday. We had gotten a ticket for all the way to Boston, but getting off in Springfield quickly proved to be more practical. Chris was waiting for me in full backpack at the tracks when I got off, and after 11- days we were back at it.

I spent nearly 45- minuted arranging my pack and enjoying being off the train. Then, and out of the blue as we made our way toward Gus, we would quickly realize just how "back at it" we really were! Friday's story was far from over...

5/13- 5/19: Santa Fe

Although only on the road for a month, it was was great to be home. I was struck by how easy it was to fall back into the subtle routines, and briefly appreciated them much more. Then, predictably, I watched as the "trip" quickly became something abstract, again, as though it were the vacation I had taken months before as I settled back into the familiar. This used to bother me, but now I am prepared for it and it made me chuckle. All this says something about striving to exist in the Present; it's the only "reality" there is.

Shalain and I went to see the new Star Trek movie on Thursday, and had a few nice chats over the next few days. This interlude was much better than last year's, following Ft. Morgan. The atmosphere returning home after my first 10- days in 2008 was strained after just 48- hours. This year, however, we both knew what to expect, and had used last year to better prepare and adjust.

I was ecstatic to see Shalain had begun to create her "own" life in my absence, and OUTSIDE of work. She had talked about doing this quite often, but had had trouble with it in the past. By her own admission, she desperately needed this separation/ branching out in order to forge an independent identity. I found it ironic that she had taken up... hiking... as part of that!

Friday was significant in that critical photo- printing decisions were made. I got the information I needed from Joe to begin setting prices and selling pictures! The tacticals are a bit odd, but with some patience, we can now get any photo contained in the folders to the right printed and shipped anywhere. Immediately after I added the "All Time Favs" folder as a centralized depot for our best pictures, Google used one of mine as a "Featured Picture"; displaying it on Picasa's home page for over a week. Maybe not such a big deal, but my international traffic went guano, as did the comments! I spent a brief part of Saturday at REI returning the things I had deemed "frivilous", including a dry- bag, the failed sock liners, and fancy North Face convertible pants, which were now conveniently splitting in the crotch- just as the previous ones had. I also had a moment of machismo; swapping out the OR Aurora bivy for an REI Minimalist, saving lots of cash provided it works. This model has simple bug netting over my face, rather than sealing up like an Apollo Lander. I'm also carrying a tarp. Do the math. It adds up.

Sunday, Shalain and I went on a nice hike in the mountains toward the Ski Basin, then Monday I futilely began the process of preparing to leave again. For the first few days, there had been constant questions about how long I should remain, and even where I would leave TO once I left New Mexico again. We were still seriously considering the idea of changing my Amtrak ticket from Boston to Toledo, OH then using the money saved to bus Chris there from Mass. That idea was born from a surrender to impatience, but seemed logical, as I'd then be free to spend as much time in Michigan as I liked without having to navigate Mass., New York/ Pennsylvania, and Ohio. The problem was that a big part of me, fresh off the recent regrets in missing Virginia and Tennessee, WANTED to navigate these states. I saw how beautiful E. PA and NY is on the bus, and remembered western Mass. from years before. Plus, I really wanted to meet Chris' friend, Gus.

The question had become simple: Was I going to incorporate Michigan into the experience, or the experience into Michigan?

As far as I was concerned, it was up to Shelly and Chris. He was dealing with deep, high- octane personal things in Massachusetts and I was concerned with him remaining in New England on HIS time- frame. Shelly and her schedule would obviously play a big part in the logistics.

These questions were answered quickly on Saturday during my chat with Shelly. Her schedule could accommodate us much better after June 6th. June 13th or the 20th would be prime dates. In other words: "Take your time, boys."

With this, it became obvious that I was going to New England. The remaining question being when I was hopping on the train. That was decided once and for all on Sunday when we decided to just stick with the original plan to have me depart New Mexico on May 20. The exact date I began last year's trip.

5/11- 13: Newark to Santa Fe

Not alot to write here, but there was a comical debate between Chris, Mary, and I over of all things, this hat of mine.

I had been pondering returning it to REI when I arrived back in New Mexico as a quick way to recoup money. A little hobby of mine, no? I had gone into financial lock- down after Manhattan, and was now scheming ways to re- acquire it prior to getting the pictures ready to sell. The hat was an obvious, easy target. Chris, however, was a bit smitten and offered to buy it instead. Terrific! Easy! Just one problem...

I had become attached to the thing.

It had seen the Veggie Bus, DC, Trent's, The Chesapeake, black widows, ticks, and the euphoria on the beach in NJ. I had spilled beer on it in both Corbin City and in New York City! It was in half of our pictures! How could I just abandon it? Chris pointed out that I was like Indiana Jones, "Don't... touch... my... HAT!" Ultimately, and even after Mary offered to pay for it, I elected to keep it. Plus, Kwami had said that I look like a badass in it. He's a man of obvious taste, and that's good enough for me.

The bus left Newark, and took me to exotic locales such as Allentown, Pittsburgh, Columbus, Indianapolis, Des Moines, Omaha, and finally Denver before my connection to Santa Fe two days later.

Des Moines was a bit odd. I had lived there from 1998- 99, and the bus happened to drive quite close to one of our old apartments then directly past the other. It's odd how things become nostalgic as time passes. Ten years ago, I would have never guessed that, at least as pertaining to Des Moines.

One note on Greyhound: They are making obvious improvements. The buses are still shitty, but the stations are resembling Bangladesh ghettos slightly less. I actually watched part of the Nuggets game at the swanky little station in Pittsburgh! Plus, I was quite shocked to learn that I would watch movies on TWO of the smaller lines: Trailways and Americanos. One featured Toby Keith, and another starred a pre- pubescent Lindsay Lohan, but they WERE movies! So, props to The Dirty Dog for being a bit less... filthy.

Shit, I AM a travel writer!

Americanos got me to Santa Fe 30- minutes early on Wednesday. That's unheard of in my experience, but true nonetheless. Shalain picked me up, and we spent the night simply hanging out.

It felt like I had just left, and been gone a year at the same time. I got a kick out of driving past the exit Devin had taken off I-25 in the Veggie Bus, exactly a month earlier. One hell of a loop I had just made!

5/10: Mother's Day

A day of self- imposed isolation.

I actually awoke in a good mood. We had a nice b'fast prepped by Chris and Wendie for their mom, but then I almost immediately felt an overpowering need for solitude. That happens sometimes and always has. Today was a bit different. I needed some of that "brutal honesty" my friend referred to, and it needed to be directed squarely at myself. I needed to write.

I told Chris to let the others know that I was going to vanish. I figured they wouldn't mind since it was Mother's Day and it would be nice for them to spend some time quality time with Mary, sans Todd. I strapped on the Mp3 player, crawled in bed and puked into the journal. For exactly the first time since we had left. Nearly a month ago. Astounding. I had written nearly every day last summer and this sort semi stream- of- conscious writing, as I've mentioned, has been something I have depended on to organize thoughts and clarify them into ideas.

The primary "Revelation- of- the- Obvious" was that, regardless of the rationalization, I had lost sight of why I was out here. That was a direct result of trying too hard to incorporate Chris, and vice versa.

We had discussed the idea that we were walking similar yet only parallel paths; not the same one. I'd used the metaphor "painting different parts of the same mural." Somewhere along the way, I had nearly quit focusing on my "part", and had let it turn into some odd sort vacation. One that now had no structure and little defined purpose; I was sailing without a compass. Enter irritation. My blessed discontent. Always my biggest nemesis and the canary in the mental coal mine at the same time.

The conversation with Chris and Wendie on Friday had helped to refocus my purpose in Michigan, but I believe the conversation Saturday may have been more important to the long term. I live to find truth, even if it's not to be found. It's the quest that drives me. It ensures that I continue to grow rather than slipping into complacency, waiting to die. It's a subconscious, unquenchable, and admittedly uncommon drive to define, then identify, agenda and to see the world without the filters of fear. Free from the standard- bearers masquerading as media then share what I see. Remember that? So do I, but where's it been? There have been glimpses, but somewhere along the way I had softened my edge, and started to play the role of some semi- mystical, douchebag travel writer. 

I don't want to be a travel writer. The world has too many travel writers. I would rather be raped by a pod of killer whales than be a travel writer. Travel writers make good cocktail party guests because they're comfortable with the ordinary. With few exceptions, they seem to prefer the practice of Cliche' Douchebaggery, writing the same things with only slightly different characters, and insisting on telling us about the "sun rising like a Phoenix from the ashes that was once the dead of night beyond the mountains to the east", or some silly shit like that. 

Phoenix? Phuck the Phoenix. 

Their contribution, in my mind, is not even bathroom reading material. It's wipe- your- ass material. I have no interest in following the footsteps of Peter Jenkins or Steve Newman. They have no real content (other than Pete's dead dog), so they simply spew warm, fuzzy, poorly constructed poetic anecdotes. Beware the writer who tries to be oh- so- pretty. Fancy wordsmithiness is often mental- makeup; a deception trying to conceal that they really have nothing original to say, hoping you wont notice, or worse- pretending to have something to say yet having no idea what the hell they're talking about. 

Somewhere along the way, I had been gelded. I had become concerned with hurting feelings, or seeming unfair. This started in Oklahoma City, and it's pissing me off. I'm not interested in making hundreds of friends to display in my ego's trophy case. Nor am I interested in singing Kumbaya to every town hoping they offer the jester a Coke and a Smile.

Once this obvious realization hit me, the weight lifted and my energy level skyrocketed. Chris and I have distinctly different voices, and equally diverging ways of dealing with people and world. I have little interest in placating anyone for the sake of peace, and often literally thrive on genuine conflict. Most of the few people I respect and admire have in common the willingness to stand up and tell me, family, friends, authority, and most importantly themselves and the world when they are wrong.

No, I'm not "well adjusted". I tried it on for size, and didn't adjust well to the "Bullshit of the Well Adjusted", otherwise my life would not include sleeping with Black Widows and pulling ticks! For the record, I am damn proud of that. Google MLK's speech on being "well adjusted" while you sit and shake your head!

Traveling with another person can be difficult at times. Ultimately the trip can become a battle of wills, styles, and wants. In a case such as ours, that can be a good thing if for nothing else than to serve as a reminder that we're sharing experiences rather than jointly creating them. We're both willing to go our own ways if and when it's needed, and at this point it was needed, at least for a bit. I was eternally grateful on this Mother's Day that we had gotten the bus ticket. And, I was grateful to Shalain for suggesting it, seemingly out of the blue, and at just the right time. I called her and told her so.  

These are briefly some of the conclusions I had come to this Mother's Day afternoon in New Jersey. There were others of course, but this is enough for now. I feel as though I've written a manifesto. At least it was Phoenix- free!

5/9: Manhattan III- Angela

Saturday was filled with another trip to SoHo to see Wendie’s friend, Angela. Mary drove to the ferry terminal where we took the quick trip across the Hudson to a bus that would drop us within walking distance of Angela’s place.

Angela lives with her parents in a neat, industrial- feeling flat on the top floor of a building near Broadway. After a quick re- acquaintance and tour of the apartment, she took a break from studying as we all walked to a nearby coffee shop (always a good choice!) to enjoy some java, chocolate chip cookies and some surprising conversation.

Wendie, Mary, Chris, and Angela spent most of the first few minutes getting back in touch with each other while I resumed my familiar and enjoyable role as “people watcher.” Soon enough, however, the conversation suddenly turned to the topics on which I thrive: the state of society, life, and how people view their roles in it. The highlights (which will prevent a full- blown rant… I AM MERCIFUL!) included an examination of how we define seemingly simple terms and ideas; ones that are taken for granted, yet thinly understood. Terms like “happiness,”, “freedom”, “success.” We talked about how rather people were, in reality, living their own lives or those imposed upon them.

Ultimately, the simple- sounding yet complicated idea of “knowing yourself” was discussed, as was the idea of waiting for what I call “Leonard Cohen’s Miracle”. In a nutshell, this has to do with waiting for “someone or something to show you the way” (Pink Floyd); a divine, life- changing person, vision, or influence to alter your existence and “bring you” happiness. Something that magically enables you to lead a life of self- realizing authenticity. This, of course is a big barrel of bullshit. That’s what cults and religion are for: The manufacture of convenient illusion. They remove the notion of responsibility and accountability for our own happiness, and relieves us of the age- old realization that no one can “bring you” happiness. This creates the perpetual victim who has "waited half their life away" while failing to understand a very simple truth: You have to get off your metaphorical ass and go get it yourself.

These “miracles” exist, but they do not come as lightning bolts from the sky. They come from within; your own internal voice. Religions of all kinds have vaguely alluded to it in various ways, sometimes with cartoon characters (Casper the Holy Ghost?). Sometimes with ideas such as your “soul” is a little piece of “God” itself residing inside of you… meaning that We Are God! With this concept, the battle, the struggle that defines how we experience life, surrounds the elimination of the static that prevents us from seeing it: ego. It’s our handlers in the media’s job to try to be sure you’re never quite able to actually internalize; you may just realize how corrupt and self- destructive equating material- success to happiness REALLY can be.

Heavy stuff. I was right at home! I don't make a very good cocktail party guest...

This was one of the better conversations I remember having. It just flowed! We could pick up, then run with ideas and themes… taking them in new, yet applicable directions. This is rare and says a lot, since there were five of us actively taking part!

After struggling through conversations with Musty this week, it cemented my conclusion that these are conversations you can’t have with just anyone. These are concepts that the English language is just, sometimes, NOT equipped to articulate. If you’re having conversations with people who “get it”, you wont need to articulate them. There are ideas that need an "unspoken- understanding" to be discussed, and if the person you are engaged with lacks conceptualization, you may as well be talking to a stuffed Mr. Ed.

I thoroughly enjoyed Angela’s company, and I am glad I got the chance to meet her. She’s one of the people who can always add something to your life; and help you grow. Pretty high praise for someone I only spent a couple hours with! We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening walking the 40- blocks back to the ferry, taking pictures, then watching TV.

During the conversation, Mary mentioned something that reminded me of an email I had received a while ago. She had read some of my commentary regarding suburbs and the homogenization of culture. She vehemently disagrees, which I thought was great because she wasn’t disagreeing out of a defensive posture, she just thought I was wrong! It reminded me of a quotation that says “Agreement is not required. Thinking for oneself is." I’ve decided to post the email, with his permission, because it means a lot coming from him and perfectly articulates all that a person should hope to gain when seeking out truth, offering opinion & observation, and exploring ideas.

“No man can tell another man how to live…” Name THAT movie!

Hey Todd,

Just wanted to drop you a quick line. I finally finished reading your journal from '08 and have caught up with the new Te Nosce blog. First off, I just really enjoyed reading all about your adventures, struggles, triumphs. So often people don't follow through the way you have with full descriptions of everything they're experiencing. I'm talking partly about actually updating every day (I don't have that kind of discipline), but also I'm talking about your (sometimes brutal) honesty about how you feel about the given moment. It's just...cool. Growing up in California, I especially appreciated viewing through your eyes things that I had seen myself. Your slow journey gave me new perspective on the beauty of the state.

While I am wrapped up in this world of mortgage and work and taxes and such, you've made me think about it a bit more than I normally would have. Not what I expected when I started reading your blog, but I'm better for opening my mind to some of what you've had to say. We'll not see eye to eye on everything, but I think that you'll agree that that's okay.

For what it's worth, I am okay with my entrapment in this system. It works for me. That being said, you can also count me among the others you've mentioned who say they wish they could do what you're doing. And if it's okay, I'll be following along as if I'm out there too...not as simple escapism (though I suppose I have to admit that's part of it), but also...well, I'm just excited for you and to see where this all will take you. Hope that makes sense.

I don't know if it will work, but I'm going to try attaching a favorite song of mine by a group called Poi Dog Pondering (perhaps you ran across some of them back in your radio days, though never at a mainstream station I'm sure). Anyway, the lyrics speak to me when I think about your travels. If it doesn't work, maybe you can google the lyrics so you can see what I mean. The song's called "The Ancient Egyptians". I think you'll like it.

I'll catch you later. Safe travels my friend.

5/8: Sisters

This is the day I officially checked out of New York, and began looking west. Also, this is the day that Chris and I swapped positions from where we were in New Mexico! I now knew what it was like for him to be sedentary at our place while being anxious to get on the road east. The energy in the house was a bit odd. Not negative or unwelcoming as much as it was as though there were "opposing polarities" between Chris, Mary, & I and Musty. He was cordial, but it also was apparent he would like to have his house back, free of these misguided, spiritual vagabond kooks! I mean, who could blame him?

As Monday’s marathon Greyhound ride drew nearer, this was probably a contributor to the familiar feelings of agitation; the same as Cape May. This time the friction was subtly growing, rather than suddenly appearing, and it was becoming blatantly apparent that I was, potentially, significantly off- kilter. Yet, I was still at a loss to identify it. I hoped that Wendie’s arrival that night would interject some much-needed, new, positive energy to the situation. She most certainly did that, but in an unexpected ways for me.

After picking her up at the airport, the three of us stayed awake until the wee hours chatting about all sorts of life- things. Telling stories. Sharing experiences. It’s clear that she is someone who has a lot going and is willing to ask questions, and seek answers. I could physically feel the connection that exists between she and Chris, and it was nice to watch siblings that are that close. It drove home again, however, the admittedly juvenile feelings that I'd had six siblings withheld out of either selfishness, or cowardice; with two or three of which there seems to be developing a bond, even at this point in our lives, as we finally get to know each other. Yet, I wasn’t so much jealous as simply happy to see it on display between Chris & Wendie.

Seeing and hearing all this over the weekend slowly snapped into focus the fundamental purpose for my upcoming trek to Michigan: Getting to know the available members of that side of my “family”, and actually meeting the mythical “St. Shelly” for the first time. My mother always spoke glowingly about her, even though she was only a little girl when I was born. As a result, meeting her is something I have wanted to do for 30-years.

It is mind boggling to think that all of this “family stuff” has manifested just since February. It is particularly odd since I now have nothing to do with the two sisters with whomI was actually raised! Adding to the oddity, I had lost touch 8- years ago with the two sisters I HAD met from my father’s side, until a chance run- in on Facebook in January. The sole reason I was now in touch with Shelly was, once again, chance. She “happened” to be visiting, and in the same room with Pam while I was chatting with her one night, and “pounced” on the computer. You are forgiven for asking, “Why would she have to pounce on the computer?” In fact, I have asked similar questions often during the 15-years I have known Pam! (and Kim)

Yes… 15- years. Things that make you go… hmmmm! There are many of these “hmms” directed squarely at me. Over the last few months, I have finally begun to get answers thanks to Shelly. Lynn has helped a great deal, too, although probably without knowing it as we have only traded a pair of emails. Yet, a scant five months ago, I had only a few pictures a name, and 20- minutes with my father in a mall's food court. Now, thanks to Shelly’s patience and hard work, I have names, pictures, and nearly 400-years of history and a sense of where I have come from; a heritage beyond coded, biased anecdotes and watered- down hearsay. I still have two brothers with whom there's no contact, but oddly they don’t seem to play a role in anything.

Yes, the Michigan Pilgrimage will be quite significant beyond the traditional reunions with old friends and familiar places. I doubt much about it will be “familiar!” Not a lot happened on this Friday night that most would find interesting and “travel journal” material, but it would slowly play a significant role over the next few days and go a long ways toward a solution to a much-needed Mother’s Day Revelation-of-the-Obvious.

5/7: Manhattan- Day 2

Considering how late of a night it was, I felt good as we moved out of Ingrid's place on a search for coffee and a train to midtown. Just after we said our goodbyes, the skies opened up and let loose a deluge the likes of which I had not seen in as long time! This made the walk around Columbia's campus interesting, and we finally found a suitable coffee shop just as the heaviest rains began to fall.

Coffee is a wonderful thing! We had originally decided to make our way to Penn Station and head back to New Jersey, but after caffeine and walking in the rain, it seemed like wandering the streets of New York for a few hours more was the thing to do. We found our subway and eventually Times Square and the United Nations. I cannot explain why the UN was such a draw, it wasn't like we were going to take the tour or anything, but it's a place I've just wanted to visit for a number of years now. I can now cross that off the list.

We were on the bus back to Jersey by late afternoon, and as we approached his Mom's driveway, we noticed a few deer wandering through a yard adjacent to the road. The deer closest to us had no interest in running off as we walked by. There were a couple others on that side nibbling on grass and across the road and I noticed another, younger deer navigating down the steep, wooded hill onto the asphalt trying to join his friends. He was maybe 25 yards ahead of us, and as I looked up, I saw a car speeding down the hill toward us.

The next few seconds were in stereotypical slo- mo. The deer began to run across the road, as the car came around a slight curve in the road. The driver was gabbing on his cell phone and never saw the deer, slamming it directly with the center of his grill... NEVER hitting his brakes until his front end was smashed. With a loud "thud" and the sounds of shattered fiberglass, the car sent the deer flying through the air, then along the asphalt directly toward us, before coming to rest in the brush only a matter of a few feet to our left... thanks to the curve in the road. We initially thought the carcass may actually hit us. I could see the whole thing develop, and could only say, "I didn't need to see that" while fighting the urge to implant the old- man's cell phone firmly, and sideways, up his ass. There was no reason for him not to see the deer in time. His phone call was obviously more important than looking down the road.

Being sensitive to such sudden events, seeing that deer annihilated created distinct reactions specific to our different personalities. For Chris, it seemed to be a possibly ominous foreshadowing of events as they related to him or us. For me, it was an instant, disturbing reminder of something that had happened in Baton Rouge at the end of my Carnie Adventure in 2008.

I had been with the carnivals for about 2- weeks by then and this particular Sunday evening, I had been playing with a kitten that someone had brought along. A few minutes later someone sat on the front end of a trailer. The added weight caused it to tip on its wheels. Unbeknown to him, this kitten was sitting beneath the trailer. The frame landed directly on top of her back- snapping her spine. The last straw was one of the degenerates spewing the machismo- filled "Well, time to snap its neck!" With my affinity for cats, at that moment I wanted to hurt him more than I ever wanted to hurt a person. I instead put my efforts into trying to convince anyone with a vehicle to take her to a vet. That failed. I was on a bus 3- hours later.


Perhaps I am a bit overly sensitive to energy as some have suggested, but it was only later that I realized that the cat was a serving as a brutal metaphor for other things that I had sensed there. It seems that whenever something positive was introduced, it was "crushed". I had seen it with a few people who were obviously there because they were searching for something. Trying to get that "something- unexplainable" to take root... only to have the negativity of the place suffocate it. That happened with my Chickasha friend, Jimmy. He had led the Easter Sunday Indian- ritual outlined on my other blog. I learned when I returned home that someone had beaten him up shortly after I left.

My sense of the deer- experience was that it was time for me to exit New York, and I was now grateful that I had my bus ticket for Monday. What solidified this notion was Musty. His witty reaction to our anecdotes: "Is it dead? Good, one less deer in the world." His primary concern: his lawn. Regardless of the fact that he owns property in their habitat, he believes that his deed trumps any sort of natural- law or obligation to balance. They should all be dead because they create what he perceives as an "inconvenience!" Not that he is in the minority, of course. But, is it any wonder that we are where we are as a species if the prevailing attitude is that wealth, property, or even simple convenience dictate supreme law, and another's right to exist? Sorry, but that's unsustainable.

After Musty's commentary, I was reminded of his theory about how "evil" will never have any problem "killing good." I laughed at the obvious irony! Since he was happy to arbitrarily kill these creatures simply because he had judged them as "pests", I wondered (at great length) as to how he'd define "good & evil"... and where he'd fall on an authentic scale. Ahh, these annoying "abstract" concepts like good and evil! I see no "empirical proof" that, in the grand scheme of things, YOU yourself are "good?" In fairness, that's an inventory many of us could stand taking, especially when expanding the idea beyond an isolated incident in New Jersey. I keep hearing the conversations with Eric back in Denver about coyotes and prairie dogs...

Regardless, this was pretty much the end of my interactions with Musty other than the polite, obligatory, superficial small- talk.

All considered, I was happy to make it an early night. Chris' sister, Wendie, was flying in from Seattle the next day to spend Mother's Day weekend with Chris and Mary. I had been looking forward to meeting her, curious to see if she'd be likely to play a significant role later on.

5/6: Manhattan

We caught the late morning train back to Penn Station and had lunch with Chris's friend, Stephanie. They had gone to SVA together, and been roommates for awhile. She lives in Brooklyn and works as a video editor for a midtown advertising agency, which means she edits TV commercials for a living... and hates it... claiming it's "killing her soul". I liked her immediately! We seemed to have a lot in common, although I chose not to explore this common hatred in any depth. They were having fun reminiscing over "award winning" grilled cheese, and I was content to mostly listen and watch people. I would come to find that People Watching is one of the great joys of New York City. I had heard that before, but for the love of Christ!, you just can't help it.

SVA was nearby, so from this swank restaurant the three of us were off on a brief, nostalgic tour of ye old stomping grounds. They showed me a couple of their favorite spots and old apartment before Stephanie had to, grudgingly, get back to work.

From there Chris and I began making our way toward Soho, where he had more friends to seek out. Along the way we took a casual stroll thru NYU's campus, where Chris imparted unto me the crucial knowledge that "NYU girls are easy." Thanks Chris, good to know... now. From there it was a slow stroll toward the subway, and eventually Soho.

I really liked Soho. We stopped into one of his old coffee shops from years ago where he was warmly, if not psychotically, greeted by an old customer who recognized him. She also had named, and was chatting with Mike- a bird in the tree.

Craig's coffee shop was next, a few blocks away but still in Soho. What struck me about both of these shops were how old and tiny they were. They couldn't have been more than 10 or 15 ft. across. Not the kind of place you'll write the phantom screenplay while drinking coffee to be seen.

Craig's place was staffed by an extremely attractive young lady, so we got coffee and sat outside on a bench to take advantage of the view while waiting for a call from his friend Margo. Chris had mentioned that Craig's "thing" is acting, and that he's been on CSI a number of times. I would rather be gang raped by rhinos than watch CSI, so I didn't recognize him at all when he eventually came by. Another interesting tidbit on Craig: on 9/11 he was standing in front of his shop when the first plane flew directly over his head just before hitting the WTC.

From Craig's we decided to stop in to a little bar called Milady's. It was only a couple blocks away, and we figured we could have a beer while we continued to wait for Margo's call. Chris had arranged to have dinner and/ or drinks with Ingrid later on in the evening, and we had now begun contemplating just calling it a city and heading back to Jersey after we'd finished. Chris called Ingrid and set an earlier time and a place on the Upper West Side to have drinks. In the interim, we decided to just stop in to see Margo for a quick hello, figuring he could come back the next week if he missed the sit- down. We grabbed another train, and headed to Wall St., and then the WTC site as it was approaching 5:00.

This was the first time I had been to Ground Zero in the daylight. It never ceases to silence me as I quietly look up to the now- empty skyline and replay the images long since burned into our psyche. The planes. People jumping. The towers falling. Policemen. Firefighters. The tidal wave of dust & debris swallowing the streets. Thoughts race, but none have to do with patriotism. It's the definition of "heroism"; how it has nothing to do with an athletic field or a television production. It boggles my mind to see the hole in the earth, nearly 8- years later, and think that 3,000 people died here, yet commerce and real estate values mandate our collective values: something simply MUST be built. I see the pile of rubble, still smoldering, in my mind. I hear George Bush making love to his megaphone. Then Dick Cheney giving his WMD proclamation followed by the images from Abu Grahib. This place is a magnet for me, yet obviously not for the reasons our handlers would like. Ground Zero both saddens and enrages me. This is the place that the world, yes, but my country in particular- changed. It's the place that America, at least the idea of it... died. The very spot where America became Amerika.

As we tried to walk the perimeter, I found a crack in the fencing that exposed the entire substructure, and the thing that they'd like to sell you as "The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes": The "Phreedom" Tower. On the spot where so many freedoms were obliterated. And not by the planes. As I saw the sight of this "Phreedom" Tower taking its embryonic shape, I think I may have vomited a bit in my mouth.

From the WTC site, it was a nice subway ride north to the Upper West Side, Columbia University, and Ingrid. Ingrid is Chris's ex- girlfriend, and his travel partner on the first part of his cross country walk. He freely admits that he ran her off, so I was eager to meet her! For whatever reason, I had very low expectations. Yet, the same had been true of Bill & Laura and the theme would continue; I greatly enjoyed her!

Their travels and relationship had ended, as best as I can decipher (and remember thru the drunken haze) from Chris's refusal to slow down and just enjoy the walk. He has been openly conscious of this while we've been out here, so no big revelations. I laughed when she told me she was amazed, and happy that I "had gotten him to slow down" because she couldn't. It's nothing I've done, but I got a kick out of it.

Beyond their past, Ingrid was interesting in other ways. She is another of the Philosophy/ Psychology double- minor types with which I love to have coffee driven conversations. She is obviously brilliant, and if we had had more time, and not been drinking, the chats would have been priceless! I mean, hell... she mentions Sartre on Facebook!

There were other people in this little bar near 115th and Amsterdam. Her boisterous, and annoying (to me) 20- year old friend, Perri and the poor guy she was stalking. She probably annoyed me because she's 20 more than anything! There was also Kwami, a guy who was quite interested in our travels, loved my hat, and was happy to tell us all about ourselves.

I had forgotten that NYC bars close at 4am. We started drinking at 9. Do the math. Ingrid, however, had a hookup at the bar so, although we were drinking the whole time, we spent next to nothing. Thank fucking God... that could have been horrific.

We had long since decided, again, to stay at Ingrid's, and I slept nicely on the most comfortable of yoga mats.