7/9: Iowa 80- Jamboree

The decision to stay was a good one.

Thursday began as expected with coffee & breakfast. This time however, we were quite possibly treated to the best server the Iowa 80 has ever employed. Christi was a very pretty blonde, in her early 20’s and quite reserved at first, but as time went by became quite friendly and some would say… even playful. After Sally and her 45- minutes between half fill- ups the day before, Christi was stopping at our table at least every 5- minutes, and rarely let the cups get below half full. Slowly, we learned that she was a single mother of a young daughter, who has a pain- in- the- ass ex… and no life. Chris and I felt badly for her and, remembering Corbin City, only half- kidding suggested that the three of us get together at whatever bars Walcott offers. That went nowhere, of course, but our “first- shift” stay lasted the rest of the morning and all the way thru the rest of her shift, which ended at 3pm. We were quite happy and bordering on caffeine overload while Chris had actually taken up coloring- with crayons- by the time we packed up to see the Trucker Jamboree that was now in full swing.

Fun Fact: I believe this is the first time, in 150+ posts, 30+ states, and 14- months, I have EVER typed the word “crayon.” Thanks, Chris!

The Jamboree initially reminded me of a brand name circle- jerk. It was first and foremost a "Corporate Fair." There were logos and sales- generated displays everywhere, particularly beneath the massive tent. It was the type of setting where any of my old radio stations would surely have reserved a booth to pass out bumper stickers and free Styx/ REO Speedwagon tickets. This part was a bit too familiar for me, but I loved the truck displays. There was everything from Semi- Truck Hotrods, to 100- year old antiques, the latter of which I found fascinating. I have long loved old cars & trucks, despite knowing nothing about them mechanically. It was nostalgic to think who had originally bought and used these relics, and more than once I pictured the jalopy the Tom Joad had ridden to California.

We did a couple of slow laps around the site and in that time I came to realize that the nostalgia had unexpectedly continued. I had begun to appreciate Iowa, while at the same time remembering how I had all but hated it when I had lived here. It's funny how you view the same scenes differently at alternate points in life. Everywhere I looked were families. Young, 20- something couples with toddlers, people my age with teenagers, and periodically multiple generations walking together. Kids were everywhere, many actually working as volunteers’ side- by- side with their parents. It struck me that there was an ACTUAL sense of community; one not manufactured or contrived for image out of a sense of “Nuevo Idealism.” This was their heritage and tradition. It was, pardon the phrase hippie, organic.

I quietly snickered when I realized that this might have been the most conservative crowd since North Carolina in 2008, and that they had achieved the very thing that the hippies in Portland and Santa Fe were seeking: Community. The irony being that these farm boys would ultimately pummel most of the “community forging” progressive- elitists I have met. It occurred to me that perhaps the answers the dreadlocked granola- eaters seek exist, but wrapped within the very thing they despise: traditional conservative ideals. The brand of Conservatism that has nothing to do with Mississippi Racism, Pat Robertson, or Dick Cheney. A Conservatism where people are self- sufficient, take an unforced genuine interest in their neighbors and, yes, their community, but not needing or wanting a "Daddy State" as their babysitter. To a man, I’ll bet if you asked they’d point out that with an abdication of personal responsibility comes the correlating abdication of personal freedom and choice. Depending of course on rather you consider “credit or debit” or “paper or plastic” choice. I’ll leave the rest of the Illusion of Choice rant to Carlin. No need to thank me... I hear the chorus of "Thank God's" loud and clear!

However, and unlike many of mine, this particular mini- rant serves a purpose. Beyond the inner social- dialogues, walking around in this atmosphere with these friendly down- to- earth people began a process of snapping my purpose into perspective; reminding me of what I had encountered in 2008 while seemingly doing nothing in places like McCammon; much as I was at this Jamboree. The majority of my best experiences had little to do with living in the woods, or walking down a fucking road trying to get to the next town just to do it or update my mental- map, while hoping to have Grand Adventures to use as anecdotal evidence to prove my badassitude. No, it was the direct (or even indirect), seemingly random, insignificant interaction with all sorts of ordinary people. Passively being the sidecar, rather than it's propagandist.

It was the group in Randleman, after sitting passively at a gas station for nearly a day.

It was Drunken Dennis driving across the Rockies and randomly dropping me at Leah’s door, after passively sitting in Ft. Morgan for 2- days.

It was rides that had resulted from passively sitting on the side of the road: “Z”, Jack, Corey, Jo, Doug, Florian, Ken.

It was sitting quietly at a picnic table at a truck stop in McCammon, Idaho passively watching people: Ciel, Rick, and others.

Sure, it was also train hopping, but it seems the best stories and biggest lessons have oftentimes come when I am not seeking anything; waiting for “chance” to carry me off; just being where I was. This is Eckart Tolle’s “Present”: not being obsessed on the past or the future; where you’re going or how far you’ve been. In this case, it was not a lightning bolt of realization, but the Seed of Recall sprouting in the fertile, metaphorical farmland of Walcott, Iowa.

Chris and I staked out a piece of damp ground shortly before Aaron Tippin. He struck up a conversation with a woman from Illinois while I wandered off on the phone. The concert was good, since I knew at least a few of his songs, and afterwards we witnessed what was, unequivocally, the WORST fireworks “display” ever. I have seen better fireworks on a cul-de-sac!

The crowd, sparse early, had exploded just before Tippin took the stage around 7. The traffic was so heavy coming in that it nearly backed up onto I-80. Chris and I made our way to the front of Iowa 80 after the mass exodus had begun, getting coffee and finally setting up shop hoping to take advantage of the insane volume of slow moving, happy drivers. Neither of us was comfortable hitching with the police directing traffic next to the exit, so we tried the well- lit driveway leaving Iowa 80 hoping to reel in a truck, to no avail.

When it began to lightly rain, we took our toys back to the front door where was witnessed one of our more intriguing incidents to date. As we were quietly sitting here, a nondescript couple passed in front of us followed by what seemed, initially, to be a replay of the “Fair Maiden of the Wood” incident in Maryland. Chris bolted off the bench, yet again mumbling something that sounded like Klingon while picking something up and sprinting after them. Considering the time of day, I half expected him to return with a fat lip, but all was well when he proudly came out of the store. The man had dropped a $50 bill out of his pocket and it had landed directly in front of us, which I had missed. Chris had chased him down to return it.

A brief discussion on rather we should have returned it ended in full agreement that we definitely should have because we had blatantly seen to whom it belonged. The thing that troubled me was that he initially (offhandedly) indicated that retuning it would "keep karma on his side.” This thought took me back to Randleman and Pastor Snake’s sermon about “loaded charity”; attempting to make a “business deal with ‘God’” by performing acts of charity simply to move ahead of the Heathens at Heaven’s gate. Perhaps, that $50 falling in front of us, and not 20- feet to the left or right, WAS “...karma on his side?” Either way, returning it was the right thing to do, but these motivational questions tuned my antenna to see what kind of karma Chris would incur from this point on. Be careful when reaching into Bitch Karma’s rabbit hole… it runs deep!

As it turned out they were, as you can imagine, grateful for the honesty. Chris struck up a conversation after they came out thanking him and handing him his reward: $2. Apparently the woman was half of a husband/ wife team that took I-80 all the way to California almost on a weekly basis, but not THIS week. She said she'd be happy to give us a ride because we were "obviously honest people." We'll see how that works out in the end, we do have their cell numbers!

With that, quite an eventful day ended. We had discovered the hard way that we were sleeping almost directly on top of a large anthill for the past two nights, so we switched nests, moving down a few trees as we prepared for a full day of trying to leave the hospitality of Iowa 80 behind us on Friday.

7/8: Iowa 80

It felt great to be in the bivy again, and I slept until late morning waking to the sound of steady rain hitting the goretex. After donning the rain gear, we slowly packed up and trudged back across the exit ramp to dry out and get coffee. This was the beginning of what would become ritual during our time there. A few hours passed sitting by the window watching it rain and being amused by Sally, our elderly and utterly incompetent server. Sally was so slow and disconnected that she wasn’t even annoying; just entertaining!

Around mid- afternoon, the rain let up enough for us to venture outside so we strolled through the site of Thursday and Friday’s Trucker Jamboree. I was enjoying the friendly atmosphere of the Iowa 80 and of course, the people watching it provided. One of these people we chatted up was another hitcher whose name I have forgotten, if we got it at all. He looked to be somewhere in his 50’s, and claimed to be on the very last leg of a 30- year hitching adventure, saying that he had supported himself as a welder, dishwasher, and by subtly panhandling. I didn’t quite believe everything he said, but also didn’t care. He had neat stories and, unlike another hitcher who had shown up, wasn’t trying to bum cigarettes or change from every person sitting beneath the roof watching it rain. Even if it was bullshit, his was easy to digest!

Somewhere along the way, we had almost silently decided to stick around to check out the Jamboree, unless a ride magically presented itself. We continued to “make ourselves available,” just in case, without actually seeking out an escape. The Aaron Tippin show was the next evening and, judging by all accounts, the previous 29 Jamborees had been huge, so we resolved to try to get some sleep, rise early, and spend the day “making ourselves available” again. If that failed, there was the flock of truckers and Iowans partying at the Iowa 80. How could we lose?

My mind was a bit agitated, so going to bed at 11:00 was something I couldn’t quite bring myself to do. I wandered back inside for more food, coffee, and conversation with Jess where I learned that she is a mass communications major in Davenport, and interning at a radio station. I did my very best to dissuade her from a radio career, while learning that she really wants “Matt Lauer’s job.” She wants to travel the world while being paid…. Don’t we all?

7/7: Iowa

Once nestled in on the bus riding west along I-94, I finally began to decompress. Chris was right in the sense that it was time to move on, and the reality that we were leaving Michigan began to provide the perspective I had been craving. Reflecting back on the previous month seemed a bit easier; the common "forest through the trees" effect became quite clear. Sometimes it’s hard to appreciate the events of the day until the day has ended. Someday, I will learn that lesson and more importantly, be able to apply it.

The ride to Chicago was typical, except for a quick stop in Gary, Indiana where I noticed that the flags were at half-staff. I quickly realized that this was the day of Michael Jackson’s memorial. Looking around Gary, I wasn’t sure why they were honoring him with the flags; he obviously had not “given back” much of his fortune to THIS community! Chicago’s attraction to so many is still an enigma to me, and I was happy that we were there for a quick 90- minutes. Chris and I spent $10 too much for a couple of nasty sandwiches, and were quickly on the bus that would take us over the Mississippi again.

By now, I was really looking forward to getting back to what I consider the west. The Kalamazoo cop had again reinforced just how much better things “feel" out here. People leave you alone. They treat you with much more respect. It’s hard to explain, but I don’t feel as though I am in competition with everyone else, or considered a cash- cow. The pace of life is slower, and folks don’t seem to have the same, hamster- on- a- wheel priorities. Their lives and families somehow take precedent over their jobs and bills. It is refreshing, and they seem genuinely happier with lower blood pressure as those in places like Detroit and Chicago! Articulating this is hard, but I have heard it a million times. People from places like Montana, Idaho, Oregon, Colorado, the Dakota’s, and New Mexico have asked me a hundred times, “How could you stand to live out east?!?” After living in the Mountain West for nearly five years now, I have no answer for that. I just didn’t know any better.

I slept across the Mississippi and during our quick stop in Davenport, we learned that the bus not only got us close to the Iowa 80, it actually stopped there. We had been hoping this was the case, and were quite happy to think that we would be dropped off at 1:30 am in rural Iowa, at what’s billed as the “World’s Largest Truck Stop.” Chris and I had each immediately thought of this place when we discussed Iowa. He had been there, and I always made a point to stop on my numerous trips home while doing radio in Des Moines & Waterloo during the late 90’s. Shalain and I had also stopped here in 2005 where I had taken a picture of me with the sign. One I was SURE to duplicate! I got a kick out of the thought that this journey was bringing me back here.

It was a great feeling disembarking the bus, stepping into the late Iowa night, and looking around at our new stage. This was Iowa! Walcott to be precise. The bus had stopped at the smaller Pilot station across the little road that takes you to Prairie View and Walcott. We were quite the sight to the other Dirty Doggers. This was their meal stop and, judging by the looks, they must have been wondering why two backpackers were getting off… here. I confess I had missed the feeling of being a spectacle! I got a picture, and then quickly arranged the pack before we crossed the road to the Iowa 80.

The Iowa 80 looked smaller to me than I remembered, probably because it was nighttime and I could not see how expansive it really was. That would change with daylight but right now the priority was food. We were starving, and they had a 24- hour diner. We went inside, sat down for coffee, and before we had a chance to breathe, we saw a glimpse of what our stay in Walcott would hold. Enter Jess.

Jess is a rather attractive 20- year old who works as a server in the diner. It was by now nearly 2am, the place was nearly deserted, and we were laughing, interesting characters, so she naturally took an interest in us. She asked what we were up to, listened to our stories, looked at our pictures, and asked us if we had come for the “Trucker Jamboree” that happened to be Thursday and Friday. We had no idea what THAT was but, after looking at some of the pamphlets, it seemed interesting. If the weather was good, perhaps there would at least be bikini tops? Chris and I were both exhausted and borderline ecstatic. All the drama of the previous weekend had seemingly dissipated long before Indiana had arrived, and it seemed that we were back in our element. The vibe at the Iowa 80 was welcoming and, if Jess was any indication, we were going to enjoy this place!

The Iowa 80 Kitchen was the perfect spot to begin. We ate like sloths, enjoyed the endless stream of coffee from Jess, and began to toy with the notion that we may just hang around and investigate this well- timed Jamboree. Country singer Aaron Tippin was performing a free concert Thursday evening, so that was sure to draw a crowd, and this was the perfect spot to hitch a ride west making it less urgent to try. If we failed, we had Photo Guy presumably coming through Friday. In short, we did not HAVE to do a damn thing. The irony of this new attitude, particularly after the previous weekend, was not lost on me.

5am approached before we decided that sleep might be a good idea. We had yet to scope things out, so we strapped on the packs and hunted trees in which to hide. No such luck. Nothing but fields, fields, oh, and a few more fields. It's Iowa! After a few minutes, I reverted to last year: interstate exit ramps. Inside a small grove of trees between the ramp and I-80 itself, we found a perfect spot. As the sun began to rise, I finally fell asleep quite happy with my new digs, and free from the mental spider web I had been tangled in only 24- hours earlier.

Forest through the trees, dumbass…

7/7: The Gestapo Comes to Kalamazoo

Chris decided to leave early to walk the 3- miles to the Kalamazoo Greyhound station, while I opted to wait to see if Brian came home. True to form, Brian returned maybe 10- minutes after Chris had left and we both had a chuckle at his impatience. Five weeks now, and these 10- minutes are just unbearable? Brian agreed to drop me off, and after a quick good- bye chat with Joey, who was still at work, we were off to find Chris and get our tickets. We found him huffing down W. Main, and after quick hugs, we got our tickets and propped ourselves outside for the 45- minute wait for our bus to Chicago.

As I was sitting outside smoking, a Kalamazoo bicycle cop rode up and let me know that “Smoking is prohibited at the Kalamazoo Transportation Center. Do... you… have… ID?” he asked rather sheepishly.

Here we fucking go again!

I had checked before I had lit- up to see if there were signs posted. As I looked again, I confirmed that the no smoking signs were ambiguous at best, cleverly hung to imply that it was prohibited INSIDE the building, while there was nothing beneath the area where the buses board; where we were sitting. As I was pulling my I.D., I asked sarcastically if it had occurred to anyone to make the smoking policy, you know, clear?

After he called in my stats and discovered that I was indeed warrant- free, he astoundingly decided to confirm my suspicion: this is intentional! An excuse to give these equivalent of rent- a- cops, who apparently can't be trusted with cruisers, the “probable cause” they need to ID anyone criminal enough to be smoking a cigarette! He confidently declared that I could have been a “murderer from New Mexico” for all he knew and that he had “arrested 167 people this way over the last year alone!” Using this pathetically veiled “Papers Please!” method? I could not believe my ears. A bicycle cop was actually bragging about his own personal implementation of a pseudo- Police State in Kalamazoo, or at least the parts he could pedal to!

The cops in Maryland and Tennessee had at least been smart enough to conceal their true motives, although they were no different than this guy's. This "cop" then acted a bit indignant, offended even, that I would question his tactics suggesting that I act a bit more “professional” (compliant) from now on and carrying himself as though I were lucky just to have had my privacy violated and not to have gotten a ticket to boot. A ticket I SURELY would have dragged his ass into court over.

As Goering- on- a- Bike peddled off reminding me of Reno 911's Lt. Dangle, I was of course steaming. I cannot believe what this country is becoming; how even the most basic right to privacy is being butchered in the name of an illusion: “Fatherland Security”. While Chris had typically been less offended than I, even he was dumbfounded at this brazen display of Fascism, asking repeatedly "Did he REALLY just say that?" For a state that's hemorrhaging it's population like a hemophiliac, I found this stunning on multiple levels. This was the perfect sendoff, and I was thrilled to finally be re- crossing the Mississippi that night.

PS: While Stalin would have been proud of their enforcement of the "smoking policy" and "Paper Checking," there was absolutely NO security when it came to loading baggage beneath the bus!

None.

Go figure...

July 4th: Storm Brewing at Brian’s

Brian and Joey immediately shuffled us off for dinner when we arrived back in Kalamazoo, and calm- exhaustion set in as I gorged myself at IHOP. I had been eating everything, at every opportunity, for the past week still freaked out by the weight loss I had experienced in June! The feeling of calm contentment I felt that Friday night was a nice, but short- lived reprieve. This was not going to be the relaxing weekend I had hoped.

By Saturday, I had begun to notice a pattern between 2008 and 2009. It was the 4th of July and as with last year, this was a transition point. I had gotten to the final tack on my mental- map. Last year it was Portland. This year, I had finished my tasks in Michigan. Also as with 2008, the road past July 4th was unclear, other than a general direction. I began to hope that “Phase II” would begin to show itself a bit more clearly, while at the same time I ineptly began the monumental task of trying to process and incorporate all the events of the past month. In retrospect, I needed time and perspective. I was about to get neither. It was obvious that Chris was at the end of his wits, and was not- so- subtly letting me know it. He told me once that he believes he has a way of "conveying impatience” without actually disclosing what it truly is. I will take this opportunity to counter that he may not the clever thespian he fancies himself! To be fair, on this weekend I doubt he cared what he was conveying.

As Saturday wore on, I was making little to no progress on anything. I had a conversation or two with Brian, but each time the chats became sidetracked in favor of discussions about movies, the Twilight Zone marathon, or anecdotal blather. I was desperately in need of something tangible; something other than Chris & Todd’s Story Time. However, Brian was enjoying his downtime, and I felt as though I had already traveled all the possible avenues with Chris. I sat on it, and let my frustrations simmer through Saturday, eventually falling asleep on the couch and forgetting to say Happy Birthday to Mother Amerika.

On top of all of this, by Sunday I felt the familiar feeling that something was still unfinished in Michigan. After the revelation around the campfire, then consequently meeting Mike the week before, I was NOT simply going to ignore it. Frustrations were building in both of us, and were in danger of exploding. I doubt anyone knew it was getting to that point, but then again, my thespian skills are lacking also! Chris was also getting more impatient by the hour. He was understandably ready to go, and was feeling a now obvious, borderline obsessive urge to get back to Denver. The idea of pulling myself away from Michigan to let Chris simply wander home further perturbed me because in Massachusetts I had bent over backwards NOT to pressure him to leave. “I had not tied him to my ankle!” I thought. “He has been free to go the whole fucking time!” At the same time, I was reluctant to say anything because I was sympathetic to his plight, having been there. On some level I was grateful for, and even impressed by, the fact he was sticking it out- which is not his nature. He could just do it no longer. It is fucking hard to be someone’s caboose for a month!

A much-needed dose of perspective finally came on Sunday from a yet- again unexpected source: Shalain. She was sensing my extreme annoyance, and when I told her that I had a dream where I punched Chris in the face and relieved him of some teeth; she implored me to “get the fuck away from him, NOW.” I had not told Chris about this, despite my recent experience with these sorts of dreams becoming reality, but this was a warning and she was right:

A) Chris needed to move on alone or
B) We needed to get the hell out of Michigan.

And now.

Despite this, both Chris and I continued tap-dancing toward the tipping point Monday. We had discussed a variety of options on how to get to, or thru, Chicago to at least Joliet, including rides to South Bend and the dreaded Greyhound. At that point, it made more sense to me simply to walk out of there along M-43 toward South Haven. Neither of these appealed to both of us, and Chris began bordering on confrontational when asking, almost on the hour, what I wanted to do. I finally decided to tell him, voice shaking out of anger (NOT a good sign), that he just needed to move on. I wasn’t sure what was happening, and had no clear vision of how to proceed. I felt it best to “Sit Down & Shut Up” and see what presented itself.

As was the case in Denton, this began the process of clearing the air. Neither of us was pissed off at each other, unbelievably. It was a matter of each being profoundly frustrated that we were off our own tracks simultaneously. Somewhere along the way, we had lost sight, again, of the fact that we were on SEPARATE paths that NEED to split periodically. I was not angry with Chris at all; just annoyed with the situation and perhaps subconsciously even my own shortsightedness.

Having freed up the mental energy, we began exploring Craigslist Rideshares. We had already had conversations with “Photo Guy” who was going from Toledo to Omaha on Friday, and he seemed promising despite the lack of communication. I also had begun to discuss riding from Des Moines all the way to Denver or even Colorado Springs with Eli, a friend from my Iowa radio days who lives in Marshalltown. He and his wife were taking a week- long vacation, and it seemed to me that with some patience we might be able to get all the way from anywhere along I-80 to Colorado by Saturday or Sunday. Nothing was concrete however, so in the end, we resolved to let things sit Monday night to see what developed. We would then decide Tuesday, one-way or another, what we were going to do. Chris would be on his way toward Denver on Tuesday, with or without me.

It is amazing what happens when you unload frustrations. Despite being up half the night writing, the events of Tuesday were quick and fluid. I had somehow concluded that it was indeed time to move on. As Rideshare after Rideshare continued to fall by the wayside, by early afternoon we began re-focusing on Joliet as a target. While Chris seemed to be happy with this, the idea of wandering around this industrial shithole at 11pm, looking for sleeping quarters, abhorred me. I would have much preferred a pig farm, so (not coincidentally) I decided to check on an idea I had come up with over the weekend: a Greyhound through Illinois to Davenport, and possibly close to the "Iowa 80: The World’s Largest Truck Stop!” This seemed like the perfect place to begin hitching west, and perhaps even a spot to make more trucker connections. A quick online check showed that not only did Greyhound get us close; it got us within three miles!

This was it, as was evidenced by the now telltale surge of energy and adrenaline. Chris loved the idea because it would also get me out of reach of anyone in Michigan, eliminating any possibility of returning! Why I did not check on this sooner I have no idea, but within an hour we had our tickets and were making preparations to finally get out of Michigan after 5+ weeks; on a 6:30 Greyhound to Walcott, Iowa. But, before we were freed from Michigan's grasp, there was just one more piece of drama to endure...

7/3: Meet Mike

Getting up at 10:00 after the late night was rough going, but once I was packed and had dropped off the extra stuff at my mother's, we were on our way to Coldwater... a good hour later than "planned." The idea was to meet up with Mike at the familiar Big Boy around two or three o'clock. This would provide us with a few hours to eat, drink coffee, and plot. We said our goodbyes to Bob in the parking lot, and as Chris put it, let him get back to his normal life. I had spent alot of time with him over the past month, and I remember thinking that it was nice to still have a friend or two like that! Thanks for everything, Bobby.

After we had stuffed ourselves on burgers and coffee, we moved outside and were talking about how neat it would be to hitch a plane ride, when I realized that I actually had a friend who owns a plane and reportedly likes taking people up for rides! I instantly envisioned an extravagant hop across Lake Michigan, or even a simpler one from Kalamazoo to South Bend. I was quickly on the phone to explore possibilities. Through these discussions it also became apparent that staying in Michigan may be preferable to northern Indiana, not wanting to deal with toll roads. I decided that if all went well, I'd ask Mike if we could ride with him back toward his home in Charlotte, since Battle Creek and I-94 were on his way back.

Mike arrived around 3:30 and snuck up on me! I had become rather oblivious to my surroundings by then and was looking for a different car than the one he had driven, so when I looked over and saw a silver sedan pull up I was a bit shocked when I recognized him. This took me back to meeting Shelly for the first time at the end of May. There's no protocol for these situations; no prescribed dose of pleasantries to administer when you meet a brother for the first time. I'm sure he was experiencing the same things as we shook hands, hugged, and looked each other in the eye for the first time.

Mike is shorter and a bit stockier than I, but then again so is the poster child for Feed The Children. He reminded me of myself when I was living in Denver... and eating. I had seen pictures and at various times had felt like I was looking at my younger self, when I wasn't shaving my head. He seemed to be a low key, honest, up- front person. I sensed no bullshit about him and, as we all know by now, I respect that. Standing in this parking lot were two brothers who, up until less than 48- hours ago, had been just abstract ideas to each other. We were now real. This was VERY cool! There was a good vibe and I was glad for it.

Mike had brought his 9- year old daughter, Ally, and her mother Bobbie with him too. Ally is a beautiful, blonde, bundle of energy! I knew to expect that she'd be quite shy at first, but that didn't last at all. Pretty soon she was resuming her task: relentlessly tormenting her mother. It was obvious from the start that Mike adores his little girl, and has no trouble showing it.

We spent an unexpectedly, almost inappropriately long time in the parking lot smoking, chatting, and recollecting before we finally went inside so they could eat. The story telling and questions continued as we learned more about each other and our pasts. Mike has a creative streak in him, just as Shelly does. He loves restoring cars and works at a body shop. I also was horrified to learn that he had nearly been killed not too long ago, barely getting out of the way yet having his right ankle essentially shattered by falling steel . I thought to myself, "What if that had happened? Why the hell are we in this situation again?"

The original "plan" (ha!) had been for Mike to drop us off in Angola, IN where he would pick up 4th of July fireworks for his family, then head home. I submitted my revised Battle Creek proposal after I figured out we were getting along well, and he agreed. So it was on from Coldwater to Angola for munition and cigarette shopping. The conversations continued as we made the 20- minute drive down I-69 and the longer we hung out, the more we seemed to have to say and were at ease. No pretension; no bullshit. "Why the hell are we in this situation again?"

Fireworks and cigarettes in- tow, it was time for the 40- minute drive back north, toward Battle Creek and the Te- khi truck stop on I-94. I wasn't exactly sure what our next move would be, but I had friends in the area and even if we were stuck, there were ample places to hitch and/ or camp. More importantly, it wasn't far out of Mike's way. He said repeatedly that he felt "weird" about just dropping us there. I did my best to reassure him, saying that this is "what we do", and not to worry, although I did appreciate the concern. What I envisioned as a quick drop off turned into yet another 30- 45 minute conversation, in yet another parking lot! I had to laugh at the mild, typical concerns that I'd had about not having anything to say to each other! This was great! After taking some pictures, shaking hands and hugging again, they were off. As I watched him drive away, the reality that we may not see each other for a while, or often enough, set in. We had obviously connected on some level, and I was actually sad to see him go. "Why the hell are we in this situation again?", I asked one last time.

Meeting Mike was the perfect, unexpected possible ending to the "Eastern Phase" of this little adventure. He was the one that I had, unfairly, held the least hope for based on "old intel," and I rightfully and religiously have been chastising myself for making any judgment at all. I should have permanently learned that lesson with Lynn. One thing I've had reinforced repeatedly over June, and now July, is that I need to get my own answers and draw my own conclusions. See the world unfiltered. I have written alot about that, but find myself failing at some important times. To do that, I need to eliminate preconceived notions, or at least suspend them. Thankfully, Mike decided to do that with me and I'm glad I chose to listen to Shelly when she encouraged me to try to contact him. They unknowingly threw me a rope and rescued me from my own shortsightedness. In the process they helped me to reinforce this lesson and shrink it down from an abstract "social" concept to a tangible, applicable "personal" tool. Maybe I've helped them in that respect too.

The smell of diesel exhaust triggered feelings of familiarity after Mike left. I felt oddly back in my comfort zone, and immediately called Shelly to let her know how things went. I then gave Joey a call in Kalamazoo to tell him what has been going on. He almost immediately offered to come and pick us up. Less than 2- hours after Mike dropped us off, we were back in Kalamazoo, where this eventful Michigan excursion had started a month before. Unfortunately, the plane- hitching idea fell through, but not for a shortage of interest! Adam's plane was in the shop, but otherwise said he would have loved to fly us out of Michigan! Maybe next time...

Being back at Brian & Joey's was a study in short- term contrasts. I began to compare where I was just four short weeks ago as opposed to now; only beginning to feel twinges of the effects of June. I was mentally exhausted, numb, and feeling an odd, nervous contentment. My only nagging concern was rather I was being just as shortsighted with Mike's sisters, Pam and Kim, as I had been with Mike. I had yet to see any indications otherwise and, quite honestly, I was too mentally cashed to go hunting again anyhow. That might have to wait...

6/29- 7/2: Sit Down & Shut Up

Sunday night around the fire was profound. Chris and I had discussed several times how difficult it is to grasp the concept that we as individuals are NOT the center of the entire universe, despite the fact that our eyes make it seem we are! When serendipity or "fate" is discussed, it's often from the perspective that these events only involve or happen to us, or because of us. That's the ego at work, and oftentimes we forget the obvious fact that others also make decisions and live their lives, thereby affecting the paths presented to us. Their application of freewill sometimes requires us to simply sit still until they play things out. With my ever evolving mastery if the English language, I describe it as being put in a state of limbo and told to "Sit the fuck down, and shut the fuck up!" Ever the wordsmith am I.

If you're unable to let go of the ego's need for control, this limbo it will feel like confusion; you'll be unclear about which path to take. There's a simple explaination for that: It hasn't been decided yet, or you're waiting for someone else on the path to come to you. There have been several examples of this, both this year and last, with the most dramatic this year being with the Church Lady the day Chris's mom decided not to pick us up in New Jersey. Last year's preeminent examples were in McCammon, ID and Randleman, NC. Chris and I have talked at length about it, but it has been one of the most difficult lessons because it requires continuous neutering of the pesky ego: a practice in patience. Sunday, we remembered it and decided to put it to the test. We resolved to sit still and let things happen, while eagerly anticipating Wednesday to see if some dramatic event would unfold. That's exactly what we did.

Monday was spent playing softball one last time, and again sitting around a small campfire chatting. Tuesday was even less eventful, except for yet another campfire. The conversations on these days, however, were quite enlightening. This was a time for us to both reflect back on the past 3- months, and begin to finally grasp exactly what we had experienced as a whole, AND to apply some lessons and ideas as we move forward. Ideas about the next phase became a bit more clear as we chatted about Denver, Santa Fe, Boise, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, England, and even Mexico. Most significantly, we decided to tell someone about this revelation on Sunday. We told Bob we were going to sit tight until Wednesday, thinking something significant was going to happen. If nothing happened Wednesday, Bob would drop us off in Indiana either Wednesday night or Thursday morning. All that was left was to see if it did...

Did it ever.

My brother Mike responded to that 10- day old Facebook request. I immediately sent him an email telling him that I was planning on leaving VERY soon, but that if he was interested I'd love to meet him and would arrange my "schedule" around it. Shit, that's WHY I'm here, after all! He replied that night and said he was definitely interested in getting together before we left, but needed to find out if he was getting a three day weekend for July 4th. If so, we could get together Friday. He wouldn't know until the next day, but after chatting for an hour or so on Yahoo, it was clear that I was going nowhere just yet- even if I needed to wait thru the weekend.

I really liked Mike. Through our little online chat, he and I traded a few stories as we began the now- familiar process of comparing notes, and hitting it off quite well. His reminded me of the response I had gotten from my cousin, Dewey, when he first found out I was related to him. This was NOT the Mike I expected, although to be fair, he's also easily the sibling I knew the LEAST about. I got his number, and made arrangements to call him Thursday night to see about Friday. I immediately called Shelly to let her know what had happened, and of course she was thrilled.

Thursday was understandably a bit restless. I devised a scheme where we could possibly meet Mike in Coldwater rather than Hillsdale on Friday, and would ask if he could drop us off in Angola, IN where I-80/ 90 comes through. If Mike couldn't make it, perhaps Bob would get us there instead. Either way, we could get on the road Friday.

I finally drafted the email to my father, which I had mysteriously been putting off four four days. I laid out the time line of events, and exactly who I had been in contact with and for how long. In it, I could now also tell him that Mike and I were in touch, and possibly getting together. I hoped that this email didn't reverberate too much, but at least it was the truth. At least now people may be able to speak freely, if they choose to. That can't be a bad thing, and neither can the man knowing who stands where. I sent copies to Shelly and Lynn, and decided to let Mike know when he called. After this, all there was to do was prepare to leave and wait for 7pm to roll around.

Mike did indeed get the day off. Friday was a go. I was stoked. I've never had a brother and I was about to meet one... and apparently a very cool one at that. We had a nice chat on the phone, and he liked the Coldwater/ Angola idea. He asked if he could bring his daughter, Ally, and her mother with him so that they could all go fireworks shopping... since they were going to be in Angola. Another niece? Hell, yeah!

Thursday night was a going away party of sorts. We had another fire in Bob's yard, and drank a whole lotta beer. Ian and Travis hung out for a bit, as did Bob's neighbors. No phones were sacrificed, so it was a good night, yet it was obvious that I was ready to go. Somewhere around midnight I mentally checked out of Hillsdale. Unfortunately, I didn't check into bed until 4:30!

6/28: An Afternoon With Dad

Shelly and Chris had reconnected in Delta and as I waited for them to pick me up for this Sunday meeting, I was simply ready to get on with it. The thought, "Why does this have to be such a production?" was foremost in my mind, plus I was interested to see how the three of us would interact and see how it would compare to our brief meeting in 2000.

We deposited Chris at the place of his own choosing, the woods, then Shelly & I made the 40- minute drive toward Marshall, chatting about how we had gotten where we are and the possibilities of where we were all going now as adult siblings. It has been obvious from the beginning and more so as time went on, that there were cavernous inconsistencies between assumptions, realities, and expectations. Who knew what? Whom had talked with whom? My one hope for the afternoon was to annihilate these gaps, and be sure that the three of us at least were on the same page so as to be able to act from a position of fact. If I could somehow do that, I would be happy.

We arrived at the restaurant in Marshall ten minutes early for our 2:30 meeting. As 2:45 came and went, there was still no sign of him. We couldn't imagine him just standing us up but I confess: the thought entered my conspiratorial little mind! Shelly began making calls and discovered that there had been a mix- up on the time! He had arrived at 1:00 and apparently sat there for an hour, leaving 20- minutes before we arrived. He had gotten rid of his cell phone, so had no way to contact us on the way up. He was not pleased! Great.

Shelly was not giving up. She asked him straight out if we could just drive up to his house in Charlotte. As she was asking, I was cringing. I didn't like this idea! It felt like I was invading someones home, but to my amazement he was fine with the idea. It was up to me. This was a surprisingly difficult decision in the sense that despite the effort I had put in and that this may be my last opportunity, there was an urge to "cower to the moment", and just let it go. To my credit, I caught myself and saw it as it was happening. I had berated a perceived "lack of courage" just the day before, and now was on the verge of providing my own example of just that, and my very own "glaring hypocrisy." It's easier to be critical from the outside, isn't it? For my own self- respect I HAD to do this, and I needed to do it for Shelly. After a quick beer, we were off to Charlotte. The rest of the drive was light- hearted, even loose. It quickly became apparent how silly this all was, and I resolved to just have fun. Neither Pam nor his wife, Mary, were at home so it would just be the three of us having a nice little visit. I also figured he's be in his element; perhaps a bit more relaxed than the guy who was "sitting at the end of the bar drinking beer" as the waitress put it. That could help ease things a bit.

My father is an ex- Marine who has recently retired after running various DHL terminals for a number of years. I was just slightly nerved up as we arrived, but that quickly evaporated as we walked in the door. I shook his hand, told him it was nice to see him again as he smiled and returned the compliment. There was no obvious tension as the three of us went out to the back yard and began chatting. He did, however, seem a bit at a loss for things to say, as you can probably imagine. What do you say to a son you have spent less than an hour with, and that being 8- years ago? It was rather comical when he asked "What are you doing these days, Todd?" My typical response seemed a bit inadequate, so I quickly stumbled through the basic answer of "Threw my stuff in a backpack and am traveling around." He had NO idea what to do with that, and I'm glad! But, through that, I quickly discovered that we have a couple of significant common interests. The topics of traveling and New Mexico gave us the opportunity to get to a comfort zone.

Norv owns an RV and loves the southwest; New Mexico in particular. He and Mary have a spot in Las Cruces that they like to visit and he claims that he would retire there if Mary would. Our shared affinity for New Mexico goes beyond that, and is on the edge of creepy. He told of a trip he had taken through it as a young man, and how he had just gotten "hooked by it." Something that has stayed with him for the rest of his life. I then chuckled as I recounted how in 1998 I had taken a drive from Des Moines to Phoenix, through Santa Fe, and been completely hooked. "I WOULD move there one day!" And I did, in 2004. Don't laugh too hard! There's a "frequency" about New Mexico; one that grabs ALOT of people and just wont let go. These are just two examples of a story that's repeated surprisingly often. He's also not all that impressed with Santa Fe beyond what he called "Old Town"; the area around the Plaza where the Santa Fe Trail ends. I didn't ask, but I doubt this old Marine has much to offer the pretentious, bourgeoisie hippies on Canyon Road either!

While he was showing and narrating the picture DVDs, I learned that he had stayed in Espanola while I was literally living 5- miles away in Pojoaque. He had been driving on US-285 within 1/10 of a mile of my house. Visiting Buffalo Thunder Casino. As I saw his pictures of the Santa Fe Plaza, church, and the Palace of the Governors on his TV, it struck me how insane this whole drama REALLY has been. Really, why are we here? That would be for Shelly and I to discuss on the drive home. We wrapped up our visit by watching the Tigers beat the Astros on a Brandon Inge 9th- inning home run. I thought that was fitting too, sitting on the couch chatting baseball. It happened that he was planning on being in Colorado in August, so I offered my connections at Coors Field to get tickets if they make it to Denver. Norv had said he was contemplating extending that trip up to Boise, also in August. I told him to keep an eye out for a big red and black backpack. I think he thought I was serious, that made me chuckle a bit!

After a tour of the RV and snapping the first and ONLY pictures of us together, I got permission to get his email addy then Shelly and I were headed back to Hillsdale. Getting those pictures meant alot to me, as did the fact that he let me come into his home. That's not something to be taken for granted, and showed me something. I had been mischievously praying to Jeebus that Pam would happen home just to see the look on her face. Alas, Jeebus would have none of my shenanigans.

There were times during the nearly 3- hours that he had the look of a man who wanted to say something. That something obviously wasn't "get the hell out of here!", and for whatever reason just couldn't quite do it. Quite honestly, it spoke volumes as it was. I can only speculate what these "things" were, but the looks occasionally reminded me of Chris's father that afternoon in Springfield. The conversation was relegated to the superficial, but for once with me that was fine. It was great for what it was, and I learned quite a bit.

Shelly and I went to Arby's to make up for our missed lunch, then had much to talk about on the way home. I told her that we had just done something very significant, and that it was shared experiences like these that turn "siblings" into "brothers & sisters." It had occurred to me that exactly that had just happened. Shelly was beaming, and was thrilled that we had some success while I was here. Norv had shown her something, too and she appeared to have gained a new level of respect and affection for him. I was happy to see that, and glad that I was perhaps serving more of a purpose than that of the "Classroom Disturbance!" More on that to come...

We continued our exercise in pasting together the growing pieces of information, and I decided that I'd use this new email address to be sure that he knew exactly what had been going on since 1994. Who met whom when, etc. Shelly and I had begun to draw the conclusion that he was possibly in the dark over exactly what was happening beneath his feet. I wasn't going to perpetuate that. Plus, I wanted to show a bit of the "respect of direct honesty" after the man had let me into his home.

Once Chris was picked up, we said goodbye to Shelly again, for the 4th or 5th time! We quickly stopped in to let my mother know how it had gone, and soon Chris and I were on our way to Bobby's to let things sink in. Bob was at work all night, so the two of us sat around a small fire drinking beer and chatting about what had happened not only today or the past month, but the totality of events since April 13th. This phase was  seemingly closing down, and from the Veggie Bus to today it had exceeded even our lofty expectations. If we are not even three months in, imagine the next 12!

It seemed that I should now be free to head west, but we both noticed a sense that we weren't quite done just yet. For once, we noticed the sense of limbo as it set in, and it felt centered around Wednesday. We decided to do a little experiment, and just relax for the week to see what happened, if anything, on Wednesday. We even told people about it beforehand, just in case...

6/22- 6/27: Relaxation & Regression

This week was as close to a time machine as I'll see in my lifetime. Chris had stayed in Ohio to frolic solo, so I was back in Hillsdale alone staying with Bobby with no real ties to my current life, except for my backpack. It was funny to see my old habits take over as I essentially let go and re- immersed in the enigma that is Hillsdale. It was out of the question to stay with my mother after the week before, so the time warp was completed by staying at Bobby's house, playing softball, and drinking beer. Alot of beer.

One troubling aspect of this month was the frequency in which I was drinking. Another was the amount of money I was spending. The two were closely linked. The drinking was all in good fun, but there were indications that it was also in small part due to the fact that I was having trouble coping with the intensity of all the events of the month. My entire concept of who I was and where I had come from was steadily changing, and integrating all of this was understandably difficult, but it bothered me that I chose alcohol as a means to cope. Never a good sign. On the bright side, there was no drama, nor were there any Random Acts of Stupidity! Just good times reminiscing with friends, smoking cigarettes and suffering hangovers.

Summer finally arrived in full force with temps in the mid- 90's and Monday and Tuesday were spent playing softball. After three games in two days, I realized just how young I wasn't anymore. I was fine while playing, but as it was with baseball, my recovery time was pathetic! Thank God for ibuprofen and beer. It felt good to be playing ball again, and I ran into ALOT of people I hadn't seen in years. Softball it seems has replaced the bars as the social mechanism of the area. The softball fields are now where you go to see people, and there are many to choose from. I finally got to spend a little time with my cousin, Dewey, who along with his father was the first person from my father's side of the family to actually embrace me as "family." They did this way back in 1996, and for that simple fact I will always respect the hell out of them. Several of my old teammates now have wives and children, and a few have aged drastically! It was at times a sad, sobering reminder of just how much time has passed.

I had also quit eating... again. I've been battling weight loss the since leaving New Mexico at 165#. Toward Wednesday, I was noticing an extreme lack of energy, headaches, and dizziness. Obvious symptoms of malnutrition, but I had simply forgotten about food!! How the hell does that happen? By Wednesday, I was getting ridiculously close to 150# (153#), looked like a corpse, and had had enough of this folly. I began eating everything I could get my hands on! My weight fluctuates wildly at times, and by Saturday had "ballooned" to 157#... still to fucking scrawny for me. Hard to believe I was 200# in 2006.

Thursday night was spent around another bonfire. I was paid a visit by another blast from the past in the form of Ian. We had a nice chat and it was fun, except for the fact that after Ian had left I was thrown in Bob's son's wading pool. With the heat and humidity I probably would have enjoyed it, except for the fact that my cell phone was in my pocket. I initially thought I had just soaked it, but when it dried out the next day, I discovered that I had also shattered the LCD screen. Not only could I not use my phone, but I had also lost all of my contacts! This... was not good. Luckily, Bob had a spare Sprint phone lying around, so after a quick trip to the local Sprint store I had a phone again. The other phone works fine now, I just cant navigate it except to play mp3's. Hopefully the contacts can be retrieved Monday.

Friday night I spent with Dave & Bonnie eating pizza at Baw Beese Lake, traipsing thru my mother's abandoned house, and chatting up folks at the bowling alley. Through Dave, I learned some of the methods that people are using to cope in the economic cataclysm that is Michigan. Many people are telling the system to go fuck itself. They're trading labor while working for straight cash for friends; friends that wont outsource their jobs to Mexico. I had also heard about a state "re- education" program for "displaced" manufacturing workers. The problem is that they only "re- educate" people in what they deem to be "approved vocations." These "approved vocations" are, to a great extent, service- industry fields and when I heard "approved vocations" I immediately thought of the old Soviet Union. That was a nice visit, and I'm glad I got to spend a decent amount of time with them. Again, too much time had passed.

This was a nice, relatively calm week that served as a place holder for bigger events to come, and reminded me a bit too much of the good ol' days! By the time Saturday rolled around, I was mentally preparing to head west after the meeting with my father. I have been here throughout the month of June, and had a great time. I even toyed with the idea of sticking around until my class reunion on 7/18 and trying to use some contacts to find temporary cash- work, but in the end decided against it. It's time to refocus and get back to the task at hand... whatever that may be.