9/10: Portland- King Andre of The Willamette

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, what the hell was I supposed to do!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So I did...

9/6: Boise- Caldwell, ID

Chris and I had grand plans of being on the road early Sunday, and beginning a kind of reunion adventure west. Of course, plans are ridiculous, as I keep saying and eventually will realize. I was honestly in no hurry whatsoever. I was putzing around pretending to pack, while in reality I was enjoying a final, very cool day with Lynette and her family. Morning became mid-afternoon, and suddenly we found ourselves seated around the table feasting on delicious pork with the entire Fogg clan. It was a perfect ending to a perfect week.

As 5pm approached, Chris was itching to get moving. I sensed some very familiar, and foul vibes that began to stink of Michigan. He tried very hard to conceal his it, but a thespian he is not! I began to believe that re-visiting Spring was ill-advised. When Lynette invited me along to gather school supplies, I accepted. This was the last day I was there, we had a good moon to walk by, and besides: Chris was free to exert his sovereignty, and leave whenever he wanted. I silently refused to sacrifice precious time at Lynette's in order to accommodate his personal urgency to continue on. As always, there was no animosity involved, it just was matter of quietly saying, "In a hurry? Then... go." We had been here before.

The school supplies trip was short, and soon enough we were both packed, watered, and taking pictures in front of Casa deFogg. Ben wanted to visit a friend in Star, so Lynette offered to drive us down US-20 for a 10-mile head start. Brad stayed behind, so I gave him a big hug, and as Lynette, Dave, Ben, Chris and I drove away the realization that this visit had ended and that I was back on the road settled in. The reality followed shortly at a rural intersection on Hwy. 20/26. Lynette echoed Mike's sentiments exactly when he had dropped us off in Battle Creek: "I feel weird just leaving you here!" We laughed at the deja vu, and assured her that she was just playing by rules! Saying goodbye was tough, but light. Dave had an odd look on his face that I still haven't figured out, saying finally, "You two sure have some adventure in you." We all hugged, then as we crossed the road I watched the new family members drive off. I would miss Boise, but have some priceless memories, and will forever feel Bob Seger's "traces they left on my soul"... and I don't deal in melodrama!

I had yet to decide on a tactically specific course. Either way, the crossroad seemed to lie near the Oregon border in familiar territory. Fruitland, ID and Ontario, OR are places I had ventured through in 2008, and also relatively close to Chris' chosen US-20 that would take him toward Bend, OR. Neither of us knew rather anyone would stop for two apparent backpackers, so were very encouraged when, after 10-short minutes, we found ourselves in the back of a pickup heading to Caldwell, I-84, a Flying J... and a decision.

Following half a coffee, I ignored my Spidey Senses, deciding to bypass I-84 (and the obvious route toward Fruitland and Oregon) in favor of embracing adventure, a new method, and trying out my new boots. We headed directly into Caldwell so we could chat, reflect, and relive old times. We did exactly that as we made the unexpectedly long walk thru the heart of town and surprisingly found ourselves using Google Maps to find US-20.

Soon after dusk, we were descending a treacherous, steep 80 ft. concrete embankment beneath an overpass, walking Union Pacific train tracks into the back country, and feeling like the Intrepid Adventurers we fancied ourselves in the spring. Eventually, we were spit out onto US-20 near the I-84 interchange. We deduced that we had probably walked six miles... to progress three. That didn't bother me in the least. Chris and I had much to talk about; our conversations continue to evolve. We had both experienced much recently, and I noticed that our abstract ideas had much more personal- flavor to them with actual life beginning to enhance, and often even supplant, empty words as the primary fuel.

All was not well on the Vagabond Front, however. My conditioning became an issue. I was physically feeling the fact I had done no significant walking since April or May! My wind was fine, but endurance and muscle tone were not! Since Chris and I were contemplating an Eastern Oregon desert crossing, it was an acute concern. We knew from experience that tandem hitching is much more difficult. I was afraid that these grandiose notions, for me at least, were bordering on McCandless-esque Hubris. Plus, I had no beaming interest in Bend. I needed to consider things carefully.

A mile down US-20, away from I-84, I decided it would be wise to bed down for the night and think things through in the morning. I could honestly see no payoff in continuing this direction, but knew I tend to become a bit more negative when I am tired. We hopped a barbed wire fence into some ridiculously tall vegetation, with me destroying a pair of pants in the process, and I quickly dozed off to the sound of coyotes with a growing sense that this made no sense.

9/5: Boise, ID- Becoming Family

Saturday was the day the entire clan celebrated Robyn's birthday. Robyn is Dave's sister, and in accordance with Fogg tradition, a large birthday breakfast was planned at Cracker Barrel. Everyone was up and around by 9, and I was initially uncomfortable in tagging along, feeling a bit like dead- weight strapped to an already full breakfast wagon! When I timidly suggested that I may stay at the house to try to catch up on the blog, Dave was appalled. He went into Lawyerly Litigation Mode, and through some sort of bizarre cross examination, immediately isolated the core of my hesitation. Again, he would have none of my rationalization.

The way Dave had vehemently dismantled the notion of me skipping breakfast struck me as odd, and my instincts were solid. I decided, or so I thought, that a compromise was in order. After breakfast, I would accompany Lynette back to the house while the rest of the Foggs went to see District 9. As we were leaving Cracker Barrel, Dave told Lynette, "If he (me) gives you any shit, call me!" We had been playfully bantering back and forth for a couple days, so I figured it was just a wise crack. Again, I was wrong.

When Lynette pulled in to the Boise REI, I assumed she needed to pick something up for herself, Dave, or the kids. She then told me, in a teacherly, authoritative tone that after Dave had seen me gluing my shoes the day before, they had decided to get ME new boots. I had passively shown Dave where the heel had separated, then he and Lynette secretly conspired to fix that problem right after breakfast. Staying at home that morning would have thrown a big wrench in their plans! Dave had also, rightfully, deduced that I would have balked at the notion; thus the, "If he gives you any shit..." comment. I put up a short, weak, and pathetic resistance anyhow, but Lynette too would have none of it. I was outnumbered and overmatched. I was also floored, and almost speechless. Even beyond the mild structure failure, the boots I had been wearing had been a problem. They had caused the huge heel blisters in Maryland and New York State, and they could not be returned. A new pair from REI now meant that I could exchange these if they didn't work out, and more importantly, that I would NEVER need another pair of boots because of their return policy. Once the astonishment of the gesture wore off, I began to feebly try to make sure they new exactly what they had done for me. I don't think I quite articulated it, but I was beyond touched. I wish I was better equipped to show my gratitude.

This was a particularly special day from my perspective; the day that my long- held notion of separateness was crushed. Not through the simple spending of money, mind you, but by both Lynette and Dave tactfully forcing me to abandon juvenile, self- conscious assumptions that we would always be separate entities because we were not raised together. I'm not sure if it was intentional, but Lynette and her family took that antiquated, rotted fruit, and threw it out the window through simple acceptance, an absolute intolerance of drama, and a blunt, direct authenticity.

As I mentally prepared to end this incredible week- long visit, I was forced to reflect on the past few months, and what it takes to become a brother, as opposed to a "long lost" sibling. It's something I had managed to achieve with both Lynette and Shelly, but in very different ways. With Shelly, it was by sharing a very raw, personal experience and riding the ensuing emotional roller coaster together. Lynette and her family on the other hand metaphorically sat down that stubborn 10-year old Todd, and set things straight; but with actions and behavior that stood in stark contrast to those of The Hens. Words are powerful things and to the observant eye set standards and demand accountability. Long after the audible sounds have faded they continue speak; sometimes more loudly through the absence of accompanying action. Actions without the cliche', chest- pounding touting of intentions have the greatest effect. To quote a friend who, at this point I had yet to meet, "Shut up and make it happen."

Chris made his way back to Casa de Fogg, and we spent a nice evening just eating, and enjoying the busy, yet calm atmosphere. I began to see that I was going to be genuinely sad to leave Sunday...

9/4: Boise, ID- Colliding Bullets

Chris had left Denver on Monday afternoon and I had heard little about his progress, other than sporadic Facebook updates. As we learned in Maryland in April, he and I choose to travel in different ways. While technically hitching, he prefers to take less traveled roads, drawing from his walk when people would often just randomly stop and offer rides. I was curious as to how this would work for him, especially in the barrenness of western Colorado and Wyoming.

When I learned that by Wednesday, he was already in eastern Idaho, I was both astounded and happy for him. Since the Iowa 80, he had felt all along that we would meet in Boise. Now that I was encamped at Lynette's, this suddenly became an impending reality rather than an abstract thought. I began knocking on the metaphorical doors on Thursday evening, asking Lynette if he could stay for a night if/when he made it. She needed to discuss it with Dave, but thought it would be fine. But, as we then went about our nightly routine of Rumrunner chats, we both put it out of mind. I didn't think it would become pressing before Friday. I was wrong.

An hour after they went to bed, I received a call from an odd Utah number. It was Chris. He was in Mountain Home riding with a trucker... and an hour from Boise. This put me in a moderate bind. It was my own fault for not addressing this with Dave personally, and I didn't feel I could leave Chris to just sleep behind a strip mall. There was room on the sectional couch where they had set me up, and since it was off the garage, he wouldn't actually set foot in the house until someone knew he was there. Plus, he wasn't a complete stranger. He had spent most of June at Shelly's, and both Ben and Brad had met him in Michigan. I debated waking up Lynette and Dave to clear things, but decided against it. Their mad- schedule and obvious fatigue made sleep a valuable commodity. I'd guide Chris in by phone, put him in the X-Box room off the garage with me, and pray that on Friday no one was too upset.

The boys had no school Friday due to Labor Day, so I was frantically trying to figure out how to explain Chris' midnight appearance. I had told the boys on Thursday that he was nearby, so when Brad unexpectedly walked in to say good morning, he wasn't taken by complete surprise. It was more of a reunion than a shock. Brad suggested that Chris shower immediately; Dave would be more understanding of another stranger if he didn't bring the smell of road with him!

Chris and I then settled in on the back porch and chatted while awaiting Dave or Lynette's return. I was feeling like a nervous teenager when Dave got home from picking his youngest kids up at the airport. He was of course surprised to see another vagabond at his home, but after a stuttering explanation, I believe he took a measure of amusement in my pain as I feebly assured him that I was not trying to turn his home into Hotel Fogg! Dave then agreed, enthusiastically, that I was right NOT to wake them up, and all was well. He even offered Chris a place to stay if he needed one. Chris had however had made arrangements to stay at a hotel that his friend managed, so Dave instead played taxi driver and dropped him off there for the night. I initially thought Chris and I would set off together the next morning, with visions of Portland dancing in our heads. But, he had an opportunity to meet up with his friend's father on Saturday afternoon, and I wanted to try spend at least another day, since everyone would be there. Sunday, we decided, would be the day we set off continuing west.

Friday evening was spent doing the new-usual: chatting while getting ripped on Dave's Rumrunners. Our conversations continued to get a bit more intimate, as Lynette and I shared more about our pasts. I had at some point finally identified that familiar "smell." It was anger. I then began to approach what appeared to be its source, thus further understanding the semi-estrangement from her family while also feeling like a protective brother! Furthermore, the idea that I had indeed been "the lucky one" cemented in my mind. My life wasn't perfect, but no ones is, and I had dodged much larger-caliber emotional mortars. I was glad to see that we were forging a growing bond. We were alot alike, and as the weekend commenced, I could not imagine not having ever met her, but was still nagged by that frustrating question: Why so long? That question will burn in my belly for a long time.

8/29- 9/3: Boise, ID- Lynette

I'm not sure what it says about the state of things that when Lynette pulled into the Krispy Kreame, I was used to meeting my full- grown sibling for the first time! It was not lost on me how much easier this had become since May and, as with Mike, there was no guess work. I knew her immediately after seeing pictures for decades. After a big hug, I greeted my 14-year old nephew Brad who had ridden along, while Lynette gave Don directions to the WalMart so he could get a night's sleep. It was then on to her house, and I was relieved that there was no forced conversation, uncomfortable silence, or tension at all. Despite arriving at 10:30 and keeping them awake, everything was better than I could have asked.

As I've mentioned, I was dying to meet Lynette's husband, Dave! I had been led to believe that he was some sort of control- mongering domestic warden, conspiring to keep Lynette from her family. Since I was family of the "long- lost" variety, if this was true I figured that I would get especially cold treatment. The whole notion turned out to be a festering, imaginary, paranoid, heap of contrived, industrial- grade horseshit! Dave was warm, welcoming, and polite from the get- go, and went out of his way to be sure I knew that I was not only invited to, but EXPECTED to make myself at home. In fact, I was a bit taken aback by how welcome I was made to feel by Lynette's entire family! It wasn't as though Lynette and Dave had just met me at all. This was how I would expect the rest of the DuBays to treat each other, if they were "normal." The first order of business was getting a shower! I was a bit self- conscious of smelling like road, or worse. Once I had de-stenched, we chatted for a bit before Lynette, Dave and the boys headed off to bed. Simple. Drama- free. Impressive.

Sunday was a calm day, spent slowly getting acquainted over a barbecue that included Dave's sister, Robyn, and his 21-year old daughter Stephanie. I gorged myself on the delicious steaks, determined to fatten myself up in the process. I found great entertainment in watching Dave wage war with a water softener, and horsing around with Ben and Brad. The boys' first stay of school was Monday and Lynette, being a teacher, was also about to get mad- busy. She is in her Master's program, and had class immediately after work Monday thru Wednesday. I would see her very little over the next few days, but I had been warned well in advance; I knew this was coming.

I had intentionally not yet discussed length-of-stay, electing instead to see how things felt. If there was tension or uncomfortable vibes, I could then bow out gracefully. Dave pointed out, almost immediately and more than once, that I was welcome to stay as long as I liked. And he meant it. I was astonished at how nice my stay had begun, and was probably waiting for the other shoe to drop before committing to any length of time. In retrospect it seems silly, but it was out of a genuine concern and respect for their home. Plus, I really didn't want to be the long-lost, unemployed, vagabond uncle eating their food and sleeping on their couch long past his welcome! By Sunday night, I figured that a few days would be safe, and sent the OK for Shalain and Michele Montana to send packages.

At first, I believe Lynette and Dave felt bad that there was no one around to entertain me during the day, but I had plenty to do though, since I had been without computer access since Santa Fe. I had pictures to edit and upload, as well as blog updates to catch up. Dave continued to battle the water softener, and by Tuesday, I had to quietly chuckle. It reminded me of the Soviets invading Afghanistan, thinking it would be a quick, easy fight. The Culligan Guerrilla Resistance was formidable, but the calm perseverance he displayed was heroic! At night, we would all sit and chat before Lynette went off to bed, exhausted from her insane schedule.

It was terrific to have the chance to get to know Ben and Brad more fully, after such little time together in Michigan. They are truly wonderful kids and Lynette is rightfully proud of them. I saw much more of Brad since Ben is, well, 16, and discovered that persistent, common, often unrecognized DuBay trait in him: the need for a creative outlet. Brad is a budding musician and has a terrific imagination. Ben has seemingly perfected the social skills that were on display in Michigan, and is an academic stud. Dave was blunt in his opinion that Ben needed a girl to find a little balance, and I again had to laugh as Ben blushed at the analysis! Ben is a smart kid; smart enough to know that he doesn't need to plot his entire life's trajectory now. Spending time with them was especially nice for me because I have no relationship with the two sisters I did grow up with, or their kids.

By Thursday, Dave had gotten into the habit of making nightly, delicious, and potent Rumrunners. We would sit outside getting moderately hammered while chatting as the sun fell. A routine that suited me well indeed! As the week progressed and I got to know them I discovered that, not only did I have a new sister and brother-in-law, but also new friends. I continually asked, "Where are the people The Hens and The Norv described?" Of course, those people never existed.

Lynette and I began to engage in some short, intense discussions about our lives toward the end of the week. We compared notes, and a still-clearer picture emerged while we came up with both answers and new questions at the same time. Dave and I continued to get to know each other too, and the more I learned of him, the more I both liked and admired him, despite the fact he's an attorney! He has an unusual sense of balance about him, is great with the boys, and has that directness I have come to appreciate. He's genuine, authentic, and insightful. AND he's an attorney! Go figure...

With Wednesday ending, I was still unsure as to when I would be leaving, or for where. When I learned that Dave's youngest kids were coming in from California for the weekend, and it was clear I was still welcome, it made sense to stay at least thru Saturday. Thursday night would verify that and hold quite a surprise, putting me in a bit of an ethical bind in the process...